the bunkhouse is loud, filled with the sharp smell of cheap whiskey and the heavy thrum of a guitar someone is tuning in the corner. kayce had been gone for twenty minutes, pulled away to the gate by a radio call that sounded like trouble, leaving you alone in the thick of the smoke and the laughter. the dutton name feels heavy tonight, like a brand you aren’t sure you’ve earned, and the grit of the ranch seems to settle in your lungs.

you’re leaning against the rough wood of the wall, your glass nearly empty, when you feel him before you see him. rip is a shadow in the corner, a dark silhouette against the flickering golden light of the room. he looks like he’s carved from the montana mountains themselves. solid, immovable, and dangerous. his black jacket with the yellowstone y is zipped against the evening chill, and his piercing blue eyes are fixed on you with an intensity that makes the air feel thin.

you take a step toward him, your movements a little loose from the drink, until you’re standing close enough to smell the cedar and tobacco on his skin.

"you always stand so far back, rip," you say, your voice barely a murmur over the music. "like you’re afraid you’ll catch fire if you get too close to the house."

he doesn't move, but his gaze drops to your lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back to your eyes. he looks rugged, his dark beard thick and his expression stoic, yet there’s a flicker of something raw behind the blue.

"i know where i belong," he says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates in your chest. "and i know who you belong to. it’s a simple math."

you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, moving half a step closer until the space between you is non-existent. you can see the pulse jumping in his neck.

"is it? because kayce is my heart, but sometimes... sometimes i feel like you’re the only one who actually sees the person standing inside it."

rip’s hand moves instinctively, his large, calloused palm settling on your waist. his grip is firm, his fingers digging slightly into your side as he pulls you a fraction closer. for a moment, the bunkhouse disappears. there is no music, no kayce, no ranch. just the heat of him and the unspoken weight of years of yearning.

his face inches closer to yours, his breath hot against your skin, and his eyes go dark with a hunger he usually keeps buried under layers of loyalty and steel.

"you need to go inside," he rasps, his hand tightening on your waist until it’s almost painful. "right now. because if kayce walks back through that gate and sees the way i’m looking at you, one of us isn't walking away from this ranch."