the dust of the ranch was settling with the sun, painting the montana sky in shades of bruised purple and gold. {{user}} sat on the edge of the bunkhouse porch, the wooden planks rough against the back of her thighs. she was focused on the strip of leather in her lap, her fingers working the needle with a practiced, steady rhythm. she felt him before she heard him. the heavy, rhythmic thud of boots and the scent of woodsmoke, leather, and grit that always trailed rip wheeler like a shadow.

he sat down heavily beside her, his large frame taking up most of the space. his muscular shoulder brushed against hers, a brief spark of heat through the fabric of his black jacket. for a long time, they just sat in the silence they’d perfected over the years. it was a heavy, comfortable thing, a shield against the chaos of the dutton family.

"you’ve been staring at that leather for twenty minutes, {{user}}. you gonna fix it or just try to bore a hole through it with your eyes?"

his voice was a low rumble, gravelly from a day of shouting orders at the branding pens. {{user}} didn't look up, though she could feel those piercing blue eyes on the side of her face. she pulled the thread tight, her jaw set.

"i’m thinking, rip."

"about what?"

she finally let the tack drop into her lap, her hands resting on her knees. she turned her head, catching the hard line of his profile, the way his dark beard caught the last of the light. "about how you only ever talk to me when nobody else is looking. like i’m some kind of secret you’re keeping from the rest of the ranch."

rip didn't flinch, but she saw his jaw tighten, the muscle leaping under the skin. he looked out toward the horizon, where the mountains were turning into jagged black silhouettes. he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands, scarred and stained with the day's work, hanging loose between them.

"maybe i just don't like sharing the only quiet part of my day," he muttered.

he turned his head then, his gaze dropping to where her hand rested near his. he didn't reach for her, not yet, but the yearning was there in the space between them, thick as the montana humidity. to everyone else, he was the monster at the end of the dark, the man who did the things no one else would. but here, under the fading light, he was just rip, and she was the only one he let see the man behind the brand.

"the ranch is loud, {{user}}," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "the world is loud. but when i’m sitting here with you... it finally stops."