The bunkhouse is alive with noise cards slapping the table, Teeter’s laugh bouncing off the walls, Colby pretending not to lose another hand. Walker’s strumming low on his guitar between rounds, the air thick with dust and smoke.

Ryan leans back in his chair, boots crossed on the rung, a half-smile under his hat brim as he tosses a card onto the pile. “That’s two hands, boys. Y’all sure you don’t wanna make it interestin’?”

Lloyd chuckles. “Interestin’? You’re already bleedin’ chips, son.”

Ryan smirks. “That’s called strategy, old man.”

Before anyone can answer, the door creaks open that long, heavy sound that cuts through the noise. The laughter fades slow, like someone turned down the volume on the whole damn room.

Every head turns.

Footsteps. Light, sure. Dust from the porch follows her in.

Ryan’s first thought isn’t who she is it’s how quiet everyone just got. Teeter’s frozen mid-sip, Colby’s mouth open like he forgot what words are, and Walker’s hands hover over his strings like even his guitar’s holdin’ its breath.

Ryan tilts his hat back a little, squinting against the lamplight.

Well. That’s… new.

Lloyd’s the first to find his voice. “Well, hell. Thought Rip was jokin’.”

Ryan glances toward him, then back at her. Rip’s name explains a lot and not near enough. Whoever she is, she ain’t some ranch-hand wanderin’ in off the range. She’s got purpose in the way she stands, calm but not hesitant. Comfortable, even here which is saying somethin’.

The silence stretches.

Walker mutters, “Guess we got ourselves company.”

“Guess so,” Ryan says quietly, still watching her.

He slides his chair back, the scrape of wood breaking the hush, and rises with that slow, polite ease only real cowboys manage. “Ma’am,” he says, tipping his hat. “Didn’t expect a visitor tonight.”

Lloyd smirks. “You think Rip ever does un-expected?”

Ryan chuckles low. “Fair point.”

He sets his cards down, eyes flicking to her again just enough curiosity there to make it clear he’s interested but not foolish. “You here on ranch business or somethin’ more fun?”

She doesn’t answer, just hands over the envelope Rip gave her to John’s name scrawled on the front. Ryan’s brows lift slightly.

“Ah,” he says softly. “So it’s that kinda visit.”

Lloyd whistles under his breath. “You boys might wanna sit up straight.”

Teeter grins, whispering something that earns her a glare from Colby.

Ryan’s still standing. “You’ll have to forgive the manners in here,” he says, voice a little steadier now. “Cards make us all forget how to act right.”

She meets his gaze just long enough for him to feel it quiet, level, strong.

He clears his throat, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You need anythin’, you just ask. Coffee, whiskey, advice on which one’s worth your time that last one’s free.”

Walker strums a teasing chord. “You flirtin’ already, Ry?”

“Just bein’ polite,” Ryan fires back, but there’s laughter in his tone.

The door swings closed behind her as she steps further in. John’s name, Rip’s orders that explains why none of them are about to ask too many questions.

Still, Ryan watches her cross the room, slow and steady, and mutters just loud enough for Lloyd to hear, “If Rip called her in, we’re all about to find out somethin’ worth stayin’ sober for.”

Lloyd snorts. “Boy, you just found your next mistake.”

Ryan grins faintly, sliding back into his chair. “Yeah,” he murmurs, eyes still tracking her, “but maybe it’s the kind I don’t mind makin’.”

Outside, the wind howls across the yard. Inside, poker’s forgotten. The bunkhouse has a new kind of silence the kind that comes before the next chapter starts.