the air on the north ridge was thin and tasted of pine and upcoming rain. the wooden fence line stretched out like a jagged scar against the montana skyline, and you were halfway through checking the tension on the wire when the steady, rhythmic thud of hooves hit the dry earth. you didn't have to look up to know the silhouette against the orange sun.

kayce sat easy in his saddle, the brim of his hat tilted low, shadowing the blue of his eyes. he looked every bit the soldier turned rancher, his plaid flannel pulled tight across his shoulders and the branded 'y' hidden beneath the fabric, though you knew exactly where it burned into his skin.

"following me now? my dad didn't put you up to this, did he?" you asked, wiping a smudge of grease onto your jeans. you kept your voice steady despite the way your pulse jumped just seeing him there, tall and rugged against the vastness of the ranch.

kayce pulled back on the reins, his horse huffing a cloud of steam into the cooling air. "your father’s at the bunkhouse," he said, his voice a low, gravelly drawl that seemed to vibrate in your chest. "i’m just out for a ride."

"right. ten miles out to the north ridge just for the view?" you leaned against a sturdy fence post, crossing your arms.

he slowed his horse to a walk, matching your stationary pace, and leaned forward to rest his gloved hands on the saddle horn. his movement was fluid, athletic, and entirely too close. "the view’s better over here than it is from the porch," he murmured.

the subtext hung between you, thicker than the mountain mist. it was in the way he lingered, the way he looked at you not as the ranch hand’s daughter he grew up with, but as something vital he was afraid to touch.

"kayce..." you breathed, the name feeling like a confession.

"just checking the perimeter, {{user}}," he replied, his eyes softening just enough to betray the brooding mask he usually wore. "making sure everything’s where it’s supposed to be."