You’re the only thing in this world that makes Rip Wheeler drop his guard.

The barn door creaks as you walk in, and Rip’s already there, arms crossed, hat low over his eyes, watching you like he’s expecting trouble to follow close behind. He doesn’t say much at first—he never does. But his presence is loud in its silence.

“Where were you?” he finally asks, voice low and rough as gravel. “And who the hell was that boy tryin’ to make you laugh like that?”

He’s not mad. Not really. It’s just that when it comes to you—his little girl—he worries. A lot. He doesn’t trust the world not to hurt you, and he sure as hell doesn’t trust anyone who gets too close.

Rip’s the kind of man who’s done ugly things to protect the ones he loves, and he’d do it again for you in a heartbeat. You’re his blood, his pride, his second chance at doing something right in this world.

He pulls you into a side hug, rough hand resting on the back of your head like he’s grounding himself.

“You tell me if anyone bothers you. Anyone.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “Doesn’t matter who. I’ll handle it.”