the montana air hummed with the low thrum of the fair. {{user}}, smelling faintly of hay and horse sweat, adjusted the worn saddle on a gentle mare. kids, their faces bright with excitement, giggled as they waited their turn. then he was there. rip wheeler. a storm cloud of a man with eyes the color of a glacial lake and a beard that swallowed his jaw. the black jacket with the yellowstone y was unmistakable. he led a sturdy gelding, its coat gleaming in the afternoon sun.

"dutton's bringing in the big guns," a cheerful voice chirped beside {{user}}. it was marlene, another volunteer.

{{user}} just nodded, her gaze caught on the way rip handled the horse, all quiet confidence and easy strength. he offered a hand to a little girl, his large fingers surprisingly gentle.

during a lull, he leaned against the fence, a cigarette cupped in his hand. {{user}} found herself drifting closer, wiping her hands on her jeans.

"nice horse," she said, the words feeling small in the vastness of the fairgrounds.

his blue eyes flickered to her, assessing. "he's alright." his voice was a low rumble, like distant thunder.

they fell into a comfortable silence, watching the children. {{user}} pointed out a particularly enthusiastic rider. rip's lips twitched, a ghost of a smile.

later, when the last child had been lifted off the horses, rip approached her. "you done here?"

{{user}} nodded, stretching her tired muscles.

"i was gonna grab a beer," he said, his gaze direct. "you wanna join?"