The morning broke over Yellowstone with a thin mist rolling through the valley, the kind that caught the early light and made the whole ranch look like it was glowing. The smell of dew and hay hung in the air, and the only sounds were the soft bleats of sheep and the rhythmic bark of the herding dogs cutting across the open field.

Kayce Dutton stood by the fence line, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips as he shifted Tate on his hip. His son was half-asleep still, his little arms looped lazily around his father’s neck, but his eyes blinked open at the sound of the dogs.

“See that, buddy?” Kayce said, his voice low and warm. “That’s how you keep a flock in line. You watch the dogs, not the sheep.”

Tate squinted against the rising sun, his head resting against Kayce’s shoulder. “They listen to Mom better than the sheep do,” he mumbled sleepily.

Kayce chuckled, his chest shaking with quiet laughter. “Yeah,” he said. “She’s got that way about her.”

Out in the pasture, {{user}} was whistling sharp and clear, her fingers to her mouth. The dogs responded instantly, two black-and-white collies darted left, circling the edge of the flock while another cut in close, guiding a few stray sheep back toward the group. Her stance was sure, boots planted firmly in the dirt, her eyes on the animals like she’d been born into this life instead of learning it.

Kayce leaned on the fence rail, watching her with the kind of look that said more than words ever could. It was the same look John used to give the land, a mix of pride, respect, and love so deep it almost hurt.

She wasn’t a Dutton by blood, but she fit into the ranch as if the place had been waiting for her all along. Kayce had met her years ago, back when his life was sand and sea instead of soil and sage. The Navy had taught him discipline, loyalty, and sacrifice, things she understood better than anyone. When he brought her here, he wasn’t sure if she’d stay. The work was hard, the days long, the expectations endless. But she’d never flinched. Never complained.

Now, watching her command the dogs and the land like she’d been born to it, Kayce felt that familiar warmth rise in his chest again, the kind of peace he hadn’t felt since before life got complicated.

“She’s good,” Tate said softly, following his mother’s movements with wide eyes.

“Yeah, she is,” Kayce murmured, shifting his son’s weight as the dogs barked and the herd began to move in a wide, obedient wave. “Your mom learns fast. You get that from her, you know.”

Tate grinned, proud of the thought. “Can I help next time?”

Kayce smiled and kissed the top of his son’s head. “Next time, I’ll let you whistle.”

He carried Tate toward the fence gate, stopping where {{user}} was giving one last whistle to settle the dogs. When she turned, brushing a few strands of hair from her face, there was that glint in her eyes, determination and warmth all wrapped up in one.

“Not bad for a city girl, huh?” she teased, wiping her hands on her jeans.

Kayce laughed, shaking his head. “Not bad? You’re gonna make the rest of us look lazy.”

The morning air was crisp, and the dogs came trotting up beside them, tongues lolling and tails wagging, waiting for praise. Tate squirmed until Kayce set him down, and the boy ran to the dogs, kneeling to give them pats and scratches.

Kayce watched, his arm slipping around {{user}}’s shoulders, pulling her close. “This is how I wanted him to grow up,” he said quietly. “Right here. Learning the land, the work. Learning what loyalty really means.”

The sun rose higher, the mist burning away, leaving nothing but blue sky and the wide-open expanse of Yellowstone. The Dutton brand carried a lot of history, blood, loss, and loyalty, but for this moment, for this small family standing in the morning light, it was something simpler.

It was peace.