Kayce was elbow-deep in work near the corrals when he saw the car turn up the drive, dust blooming behind it, slow and deliberate. He didn’t think much of it at first. Cars came and went on the ranch. Trouble usually followed, too.

Then the passenger door opened. {{user}} stepped out with a small suitcase in her hand, sunlight catching in her hair, boots hitting the dirt like she belonged there, even after all this time. She looked older. Not just grown, but shaped by things that didn’t ask permission. Her shoulders carried weight that hadn’t been there when she was a kid throwing rocks at him from the creek bank.

Kayce froze. Something in his chest tightened, sharp and unexpected. He pulled off his gloves without realizing it, dropped them onto the fence rail, and started walking toward her before his brain caught up. By the time he reached her, his hat was already off his head, thumb hooked awkwardly through the brim like he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, careful. He immediately reached for her suitcase, taking it from her hand without asking. It wasn’t heavy, but he carried it like it mattered. Like she mattered.

He opened the door for her. Stood aside. Took his hat off again when she spoke. She stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “What the hell happened to you?” she asked.

That night, the prairie stretched endless and quiet under a sky littered with stars. {{user}} sat on the porch steps, arms wrapped around herself, watching the dark roll of land breathe in and out. The ranch felt too big, too full of ghosts she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.

Boots sounded softly behind her. Kayce stopped a few feet away like he wasn’t sure he was welcome, then lowered himself onto the step beside her. He didn’t crowd her. He never did, except when they were kids and trying to drown each other in the creek. They sat in silence for a while. The kind that pressed instead of comforted.

She finally broke it. “Okay,” she said, glancing at him. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

Kayce exhaled through his nose, a quiet huff. “You always gotta come in swingin’.”

She smirked faintly. “You opened a door for me today. Took your hat off. You’re bein’ weird.”

He turned to her then, really looked at her. The girl who used to crush horse feed into his dinner because he’d called her a name. The girl who’d dragged him into freezing water, laughing like she’d won a war. He leaned back on his hands, eyes lifting to the stars. “You remember that creek?” he asked.

Her head tilted. “The one you tried to drown me in?”

“You kicked my legs out,” he said. “I was mindin’ my business.”

“You pushed me first.”

A corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. Almost. “Yeah. I did.”

“I was thinkin’,” he said, slower now, like each word had to clear a fence before it could leave him, “maybe we go down there. Just… see it. Remember somethin’ that wasn’t all this.”