the music from the bunkhouse was a dull thrum against the wood of the porch, a rhythm that didn't match the heavy beat of rip's heart. he stood in the shadows, his black jacket blending into the montana night, the yellowstone y on his chest feeling like a brand that was burning straight through to his ribs. he watched {{user}} laugh, a sound he hadn't heard in person for a long time, and it cut deeper than any knife. she looked radiant, her curves catching the light as she leaned into the man from the city. some suit with clean fingernails and a smile that had never seen a hard day's work.

rip didn't move until she headed toward the tack room to grab her coat. he was a shadow following a ghost, his boots silent on the dirt until he stepped into the small, dimly lit space behind her. the scent of leather and oil filled the air, thick and familiar.

{{user}} jumped when she saw him, her hand flying to her chest. "rip. you scared me."

"didn't mean to," he lied, his voice a low growl that vibrated in the small room. he stepped closer, his 6'1 frame looming over her, forcing her back against a heavy wooden workbench. "who's the kid, {{user}}?"

she straightened her shoulders, refusing to look away from his piercing blue eyes. "he's a good man, rip. he's kind, and he's stable, and he doesn't have blood on his boots every night."

rip flinched inwardly, but his face remained a mask of stoic iron. he leaned in, his hand resting on the wood beside her hip, his breathing heavy. "is that what you're calling it now? stable? he looks like a man who’s never had to fight for a single thing he's ever held."