the montana sky was a bruised purple, the kind of heavy color that only settled over the valley when the heat of the day finally snapped. {{user}} adjusted her grip on the reins, her thighs aching in a way that felt like progress, the steady rhythm of the horse beneath her the only thing keeping her grounded. she could feel kayce’s eyes on her, not with the judgment she’d expected when she first showed up at the dutton ranch with a toddler on her hip and a nervous flutter in her chest, but with something far steadier.

he rode close enough that their stirrups nearly brushed, his silhouette sharp against the fading light. he looked like he’d been carved out of the mountain itself. rugged, worn at the edges, and smelling of hay and woodsmoke.

"lean back into it," kayce said, his voice a low rasp that seemed to vibrate in the quiet air. "don't fight the saddle. let the horse take the weight."

{{user}} took a breath, letting out a soft huff of a laugh that ghosted into the cooling air. "easier said than done. i feel like i'm one wrong move from sliding right off."

kayce didn't smile, not exactly, but the tension around his blue eyes softened. he pulled his horse to a slow walk, matching her pace perfectly. "you're doing fine. better than most who come through here thinking they can master a ranch in a week. you've got a natural seat."

she looked over at him, catching the way the golden hour light hit the 'y' branded high on his chest, peeking just above the collar of his plaid flannel. it was a mark of a life she didn't fully understand, a world of dirt and blood and loyalty that felt miles away from her life as a mom. and yet, sitting out here in the middle of nothing, it was the first time she hadn't felt like she was performing.

"my father," kayce started, his gaze drifting toward the jagged horizon where the shadows were deepest. "he thinks i'm wasting time. says the ranch doesn't have room for hobbies."

{{user}} watched the way his hand rested easy on his thigh, near the holster strapped there. "are you? wasting time?"

he turned his head then, his expression unreadable, brooding and intense. the silence between them stretched, thick with things neither of them was ready to say. the way he lingered when he helped her dismount, the way her heart hammered when his hand stayed a second too long on her waist.

"no," he said, his voice dropping an octave, heavy with a sudden, raw intent. "these two hours every tuesday? it’s the only time all week i feel like i can actually breathe."