the sun was dipping low behind the jagged peaks of the gallatin range, bleeding shades of bruised purple and burnt orange across the montana sky. the air was cooling fast, smelling of dry grass and horse sweat. kayce sat tall in his saddle, his gloved hands resting easy on the reins as his mare picked her way along the fence line. he looked every bit the rancher. hat tilted low, the shadow of his mustache and beard hiding the weary lines around his mouth, and a flannel shirt stretched tight over his shoulders.

{{user}} rode beside him, her presence a familiar, steady weight. she moved with the rhythm of her horse, her gaze fixed on the horizon they’d both known since they were kids. the silence between them wasn't heavy; it was a living thing, filled with the years they’d spent apart and the months of yearning that had pulled them back into each other's orbit.

"fences look good through the north meadow," she said softly, her voice catching slightly in the crisp evening air.

kayce nodded, shifting in his seat. the gun strapped to his hip caught the last of the light. "yeah. should hold through the storm they’re calling for."

they reached the ridge where the land fell away into a golden valley, a spot that felt more like a sanctuary than a workstation. kayce pulled his horse to a halt, and {{user}} did the same. for a long moment, the only sound was the wind whistling through the timber and the soft blow of the horses.

{{user}} looked over at him, her heart thumping a slow, aching beat against her ribs. "do you ever wonder?" she asked, the words tumbling out before she could lose her nerve. "if i’d stayed? if we’d just... fought a little harder?"

kayce didn't answer right away. he stared out at a flat stretch of land near a cluster of pine trees, his blue eyes dark with a sudden, sharp intensity. "every time i ride this ridge," he said, his voice gravelly and low. "i see the spot where we talked about building that cabin. i see it every damn day."

the confession hit her like a physical blow. she’d spent years convincing herself he’d moved on, that the ranch and the legacy of the dutton name had wiped her from his mind. "i didn't think you remembered," she whispered.

kayce turned his head then, looking at her with a raw honesty that made her breath hitch. he reached up, tipping his hat back just enough for her to see the haunting sincerity in his gaze.

"i don't have the luxury of forgetting, {{user}}," he said, the broodiness in his posture softening into something deeply vulnerable. "my heart won't let me."