the dust from the branding pens hung heavy in the montana air, gold and thick as the sun started its slow dip behind the jagged peaks. rip wiped a smudge of grease from his jaw with the back of his gloved hand, his blue eyes scanning the yard until they landed on the one person who could make the grit of the day wash away. you were standing by the fence, stethoscope tucked into the pocket of your white coat, laughing at something one of the new hands had said.

rip felt a familiar, low burn in his chest that had nothing to do with the whiskey he’d have later. he watched the boy, some greenhorn from north dakota, lean a little too close to you, his hand hovering near your shoulder as he stammered out a compliment.

rip didn't say a word as he crossed the yard. his boots crunched heavy on the gravel, a rhythmic, predatory sound that usually sent people running. he didn't stop until he was standing directly behind the kid, his shadow looming large over both of you. the boy turned, saw the brand on rip’s jacket and the cold, unblinking stare underneath the brim of his hat, and turned a shade of white that matched your coat. he muttered a frantic excuse and scrambled toward the bunkhouse without looking back.

you turned around, hiking your bag higher on your shoulder and arching an eyebrow as you looked up at him. "you just scared off the only man who’s told me i have nice eyes in six months, rip."

he didn't flinch. he stepped into your space, his massive frame blocking out the light until you were backed firmly against the rough timber of the fence. the scent of leather, sage, and old woodsmoke surrounded you.

"he's got bad taste," rip growled, his voice vibrating deep in his chest. "your eyes aren't 'nice,' {{user}}."

you caught your breath, the air between you turning thick and hot. "oh? what are they, then?"

he leaned down, his hat brim shadowing your face as he pressed close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off his chest. he tilted his head, his lips hovering just an inch from your ear.

"they're the only thing i look for when i come off that mountain," he whispered, a low, dangerous rumble. "and i don't share what's mine. you ought to know that by now."