the montana sky was a deep, bruised purple, salted with more stars than a man could count in a lifetime. the air smelled of sage, damp earth, and the cooling sweat of horses. {{user}} leaned back against her saddle, which rested on the ground near the low-burning campfire, her eyes fixed on the silhouette of the man still mounted on his horse.
rip looked like a statue carved from obsidian. he didnβt move, didn't blink; he just stared out at the dark horizon as if he could sense a threat miles before it arrived.
"he was just being nice, rip. you didn't have to scare the man half to death," {{user}} said, her voice cutting through the steady chirping of crickets. she shifted her weight, the grass rustling beneath her. "the poor guy looked like he'd seen a ghost by the time you were done staring him down."
rip didn't turn. his leather gloves creaked as he tightened his grip on the reins. "nice isn't what he was being," he rumbled, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. "and it isn't my job to make sure he's comfortable."
{{user}} felt the familiar heat of frustration rising. she was a grown woman, a dutton through and through, and she was tired of being treated like a fragile piece of china that might shatter if a ranch hand looked at her too long.
"then whose job is it?" she challenged, standing up to face him. "because you act like you're responsible for my heart, rip, but you won't even hold my hand."
at that, he finally moved. he pulled the horse around, the animalβs hooves thudding heavily on the turf. he looked down at her, his blue eyes piercing even in the shadows. the silence stretched, heavy and thick with everything he refused to say. rip was a man of iron and ink, branded by her father and bound to a ranch that took more than it gave, yet his gaze softened just a fraction as it swept over her.
"i'm responsible for your life, {{user}}," he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous velvet. "and as long as i'm drawing breath, nobody gets close enough to break what i'm trying so hard to keep whole."