the bonfire was dying down, the orange glow of the embers casting long, flickering shadows against the side of the barn. beth had already disappeared inside with a bottle of whiskey, but her voice still seemed to echo in the crisp montana air. her comment about {{user}} being the only woman who could handle a dutton man without losing her soul had landed like a stone in a still pond, the ripples hitting both of them harder than the bourbon ever could.

{{user}} shifted her weight, the grass crunching under her boots. she felt kayce’s gaze on her, heavy and constant, like the weight of the mountains surrounding the ranch. he was leaning against a fence post, his thumb hooked into the belt loop near the gun strapped to his hip. the light caught the blue of his eyes and the gold in his beard, making him look every bit the quiet, brooding force he was.

"she’s just being beth," {{user}} said finally, her voice small against the vastness of the night. she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to ignore the way her heart hammered against her ribs. "you don't have to look at me like i'm a ticking time bomb, kayce. i know how she gets when she's had a few."

kayce didn't look away. he didn't even blink. he just let out a slow breath that hitched in the cold air. "that’s not why i’m looking at you."

the honesty in his tone made her breath catch. "then why?"

kayce pushed off the fence post, his movements fluid and deliberate. he took a slow step closer, the scent of woodsmoke and leather moving with him. he stopped just inches away, tall and imposing, yet there was a softness in his expression that he only ever seemed to save for her.

"because i’ve spent three years trying to figure out how to be near you without beth noticing," he said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rasp that sent a shiver down her spine. "and i think i’m done trying to hide it."