the montana air was biting, the kind of cold that seeped through denim and settled in the marrow of your bones. inside the main house, the fireplace was roaring, casting flickering amber shadows against the wood-paneled walls. kayce sat on the edge of the leather sofa, his broad shoulders hunched as he hissed through his teeth. his knuckles were split and raw, a messy souvenir from a fence repair that had gone sideways when a skittish colt bucked.

{{user}} watched him from the doorway for a beat, her heart doing that familiar, agonizing ache. she’d been on the ranch long enough to know the dutton men didn't ask for help, but she also knew kayce was currently trembling from the adrenaline dump and the chill.

"sit still before you get blood on the rug," she murmured, crossing the room with a first aid kit. "beth will kill us both if she has to call a professional cleaner."

kayce looked up, his blue eyes weary but softening the second they landed on her. he didn't pull away when she sank onto the coffee table in front of him, her knees brushing his thick thighs. she was conscious of the space she took up, of the way her breath hitched when she reached out to take his hand in hers.

"she’s been pushing us into the same room all week," kayce said, his voice low and gravelly. "you noticed?"

{{user}} focused hard on the antiseptic wipe, dabbed carefully at a deep cut on his thumb. "she’s subtle as a sledgehammer, kayce. you don't have to listen to her. i know i’m just... part of the furniture around here."

the silence that followed was heavy, thick with the scent of pine, copper, and the whiskey kayce had been sipping. suddenly, his clean hand moved. his calloused fingers hooked under her chin, gently tilting her face up until she had nowhere to look but at him. his mustache brushed his upper lip as his jaw tightened.

"you’ve never been furniture to me, {{user}}," he whispered, his thumb grazing her jawline. "that’s the problem."