the wind howled across the montana ridgeline, carving through the layers of canvas and wool as if they were nothing. the sky was a bruised shade of grey, heavy with the promise of more snow, but the work didn't care about the weather. a massive branch from a fallen pine had crushed a section of the northern boundary fence, and the cattle were already drifting toward the gap.

rip worked with a methodical, brutal efficiency. his movements were heavy but precise, the muscles in his shoulders bunching beneath his black jacket as he hauled a fresh post into place. he didn't look up, but he didn't have to. he knew exactly where {{user}} was. he could hear the crunch of her boots in the frozen grass and the rhythm of her breathing, which was coming a little faster in the thin, biting air.

{{user}} knelt by the tangled wire, her face flushed a deep pink from the cold. she looked small against the vast, unforgiving landscape, even with the strength he knew she carried. every time she moved, rip felt that familiar, nagging pull in his chest. the protective instinct that bordered on an ache. he wanted to tell her to go back to the truck, to sit in the cab with the heater blasting, but he knew better. she was a dutton, and she had her father's stubborn streak.

"hand me those cutters," she muttered, her voice slightly muffled by the scarf tucked around her neck.

she reached for the tool, but her fingers, stiff and clumsy from the plummeting temperature, fumbled the grip. before the metal could hit the dirt, rip was there. he moved with a suddenness that belied his size, his gloved hand closing firmly over hers. the leather of his palm was warm, a stark contrast to the icy air, and for a second, neither of them moved.

the proximity was suffocating. he was close enough to see the white mist of her breath mingling with his, close enough to catch the faint, lingering scent of her soap beneath the smell of cold pine and old leather.

"i can do it," {{user}} said, though she didn't pull her hand away. she looked up at him, a small, defiant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "stop hovering, rip."

his blue eyes narrowed, tracking the way her lips moved. his heart did a slow, heavy roll in his chest, a reaction he fought to keep off his face. he remained stoic, his expression a mask of ranch-hand indifference, even as he leaned in just a fraction closer to steady her.

"i ain't hovering," he grunted, his voice low and gravelly. "i'm making sure you don't lose a finger. your daddy would have my head."