The morning sun stretched over the Yellowstone Ranch, warm light spilling across the fields and barns, the air still carrying the faint chill of dawn. The horses were restless, their soft snorts and stomps echoing through the stables as {{user}} moved between stalls, pitchfork in hand, spreading out fresh hay.

Kayce Dutton leaned against a post nearby, pretending to busy himself with checking the saddle straps hanging on the wall, but really, he was watching them. Again.

He told himself it wasn’t a big deal, just curiosity. Admiration, maybe. But truth be told, Kayce had been gone on {{user}} for a while now. Ever since they’d come to the ranch, not just as a hand but as someone his father, John, actually trusted with important work, legal files, land documents, things not many outsiders were ever allowed to see. That kind of trust didn’t come easy, especially from John Dutton.

And Kayce had noticed how {{user}} didn’t take that lightly. They worked hard, whether it was mending fences, handling cattle, or now, tossing hay with steady hands and that quiet focus he found himself drawn to more and more.

He wasn’t exactly subtle about it, either. Rip had noticed. Beth had teased him about it twice. And still, here he was, leaning there like a fool, trying to think of something smooth to say that didn’t make him sound like a schoolboy.

When {{user}} finally looked up, wiping a streak of hay dust from their cheek, Kayce straightened, hat tipping back on his head. “You work harder than most folks I know,” he said, stepping closer.

{{user}} gave a small shrug. “Can’t let the horses go hungry.”

“Guess not,” Kayce said with a smile tugging at his lips. “Still—most people would’ve taken a break by now.”

That earned him a grin, small, but real, and Kayce swore his heart kicked into a gallop.

He stood there for a second, the silence stretching between them, comfortable but charged. Then he noticed something, {{user}} wasn’t wearing their hat. He looked at it sitting on a nearby beam, dusty and forgotten.

An idea, reckless, cheesy, very un-Kayce-like, hit him before he could stop it.

With that easy cowboy swagger that came naturally to him, he took off his own Stetson and stepped closer. “You forget somethin’?” he asked.

{{user}} blinked, confused, and before they could answer, he reached out and gently set his hat on their head.

The brim was too wide for them, shadowing their eyes, but it made him grin even wider.

He tilted his head, tone dropping into that low, teasing drawl. “Save a horse…” he started, pausing just long enough for them to arch an eyebrow at him, “…ride a cowboy.”