the air in montana always turned sharp once the sun dipped below the jagged line of the mountains, a biting cold that settled into the wood of the fence posts and the marrow of your bones. you leaned your weight against the top rail, your breath blooming in small, ghostly clouds. across the corral, the rhythmic thud of hooves against dirt was the only thing breaking the silence of the twilight.

rip was a shadow moving with purpose, his broad shoulders squared under the dark fabric of his jacket. the yellowstone y on his chest seemed to catch the last of the fading light, a brand of loyalty he wore as naturally as his own skin. he was working a buckskin colt, his movements slow and deliberate, the kind of patience that only came from a man who had spent his life fighting for every inch of peace he owned.

you didn't say anything. you just watched the way his salt and pepper beard caught the dust, the way his heavy boots stayed planted even when the horse reared in a momentary panic. there was an unspoken understanding between you two, a tension that had been stretching thinner and thinner over the years until it felt like a wire ready to snap.

when he finally led the animal toward the gate, he didn't see you at first. his focus was entirely on the beast until the horse huffed, ears twitching in your direction. rip froze, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours through the dimness. he stopped just short of the fence, the space between you filled with the heat of the horse and the scent of leather and pine.

"you’re out late, {{user}}," he said, his voice low and gravelly, vibrating in the quiet air.

your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic rhythm that made it hard to breathe. "couldn't sleep," you replied, your voice barely a whisper. "you make it look easy. the way you get them to trust you."

rip looked down at his gloved hands, then back at you. his gaze lingered on your mouth for a second too long, a heavy, yearning look that made your skin flush despite the chill.

"it isn't about ease," he said, stepping an inch closer until the air between you felt thick enough to choke on. "it's about staying still long enough for them to realize you aren't gonna hurt 'em."

you gripped the cold wood of the fence, your knuckles white. "and if they never realize it?"

rip didn't flinch. he just stood there, a mountain of a man who had spent a lifetime waiting for things that might never come. "then you just keep standing there. as long as it takes."