the sky was the color of a bruised plum, the deep purples and oranges of a montana dusk bleeding into the jagged horizon of the mountains. rip stood by the far fence line, his breath hitching in the cooling air. he looked every bit the weary soldier of the yellowstone, his black jacket dusty and his shoulders heavy with the weight of john dutton’s latest demands. the steel of the gun at his hip felt heavier than usual tonight.

the tall grass rustled behind him, a familiar rhythm he’d know anywhere. he didn't turn around, but the tension in his jaw loosened just a fraction.

"kayce said you haven't slept in two days," {{user}} said, her voice a soft anchor in the quiet of the ranch. "i brought you some coffee. real coffee, not that bunkhouse sludge."

she stepped up beside him, the heat from her body a welcome contrast to the rising wind. rip finally turned his head, his piercing blue eyes catching the last bit of light. he looked at the thermos in her hands and then at her, his gaze lingering on the way she looked in the twilight. she was a constant in a life that was usually filled with chaos and blood.

"you shouldn't be out here this late, {{user}}. it's not safe," he grumbled, though there was no real bite in his tone. his voice was gravelly from disuse and exhaustion.