the sun had already dipped behind the jagged peaks of the montana skyline, leaving the dutton ranch bathed in a deep, bruised purple. the bunkhouse was alive with the muffled sounds of country music and the raucous laughter of ranch hands who had clearly had one too many beers. away from the golden glow of the porch lights, the air was crisp and smelled of dried pine and horses.

rip was right where {{user}} expected to be. leaning against the rough timber of the fence line, a silhouette of solid muscle and shadowed denim. the yellowstone logo on his black jacket caught the faint light as he tilted a beer bottle back. he looked like a statue, immovable and solitary, until she stepped into his line of sight.

"no," rip said firmly before she could even get the words out. his voice was a low rumble, vibrating in the quiet space between them. he didn't move from the fence post. "i don't dance. i move cattle, {{user}}. i don't spin."

{{user}} laughed, the sound bright against the heavy silence of the plains. she stepped closer, her hand reaching out to tug playfully at the heavy fabric of his sleeve. she felt small next to him, but she was the only person on the ranch who wasn't afraid of the heat in his glare. "it's just a song, rip. nobody’s even looking. they’re all too drunk to notice the big bad foreman swaying a little."

rip’s piercing blue eyes scanned the yard, looking toward the bunkhouse where shadows blurred together in the windows. he looked back at her, his expression stoic, but the corner of his mouth gave way to a reluctant, microscopic tug. he set his bottle down on the rail with a definitive click.

"if you tell a soul about this," he warned, his tone rough but lacking any real bite. he stepped into her space, his large hands finding her waist and pulling her flush against his chest. the holster at his hip pressed into her side, a reminder of the man he had to be for everyone else. "i’ll find a way to make you regret it."