The Dutton Ranch had a way of testing people.

Not with questions. With silence. With space. With the weight of land that looked like it could swallow you whole if it didn’t think you were worth keeping.

Kayce had warned her in the truck, fingers loose on the steering wheel, eyes darting between the road and her face.

“They’re… a lot,” he said.

“I work with ten-year-olds,” she replied. “I can handle grumpy cowboys.”

That earned a crooked smile.

She stepped out of Kayce’s truck in her jeans and boots, sunglasses tucked into her collar, and tried not to look nervous. It was their fifth date—officially. But this one came with expectations: dinner with the family. A little conversation. Maybe wine on the porch.

That’s what she thought.

What she got was Rip.

“You ever shoot before?” he asked, arms crossed, brow raised like he already had the answer.

She blinked. “Shoot what?”

Rip gestured to the field just beyond the barn, where someone had set up five rust-bitten tin targets in the shape of coyotes. “Targets. Or something that bites back. Either’ll do.”

Kayce, who had conveniently disappeared into the barn to “grab something,” reappeared at her side just in time to add, “You don’t have to—”

But she was already taking the offered shotgun from Rip’s hands, checking the weight with a calm efficiency that made both men pause. She looked down the sights once, took a breath, and nodded.

Rip whistled low. “Alright then.”

She fired.

The first shot cracked through the air like a whip—clean, controlled. The can flew off the post, a hit dead-center to the head.

The second—lower but still a strike to the chest.

Third—another head shot.

Fourth—gut.

Fifth—shoulder.

When she lowered the gun, she didn’t smile. She didn’t gloat. She simply turned back to Rip and asked, “That count?”

Rip stared at her like she’d grown a second head. Then he broke into a rare, slow grin. “Yeah. That’ll do.”

Kayce leaned over and whispered, “Remind me never to piss you off.”

She laughed, finally relaxing a little, the edge of the recoil fading from her arms.

The rest of the evening was easier after that.

John Dutton came out to the porch around sunset, hat in hand, and offered her a glass of something amber and sharp. Beth sized her up with one glance, then offered a cigarette and a compliment about her boots. Even Lloyd, quiet as ever, gave her a nod from where he sat watching the horses graze.

But it was Rip who surprised her most.

Later, after dinner, when the light was almost gone and the sky was bruised with indigo, he found her on the porch.

“You military?” he asked.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “My aunt taught me. She was ex-Army. Thought every girl oughta know how to shoot and sew.”

Rip grunted. “Smart woman.”

She glanced over at him. “I passed the test, huh?”

Rip didn’t answer immediately. Just lit a cigarette and took a drag.

“You didn’t come out here trying to impress anybody,” he said finally. “That’s what impressed ‘em.”

She smiled, not quite sure how to take the compliment—but grateful all the same.

Inside, Kayce was laughing with Monica, his voice low and warm. His boots were kicked off at the door, and the dog had already taken a liking to her.

She looked out over the darkening valley, the moon just beginning to rise, and thought—not bad for a fifth date.

Not bad at all.