the air in the stables was thick with the scent of hay, saddle soap, and the restless energy of horses waiting to be let out. {{user}} worked the leather of the cinch, her fingers moving with a practiced ease she’d learned over a decade on the dutton ranch, but the silence beside her was sharp enough to cut.

kayce was moving with a jagged, aggressive precision, pulling his own cinch so tight the mare let out a huff of protest. he didn't look at her, his blue eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat, but the tension radiating off his lean, athletic frame was unmistakable. he’d been like this since yesterday, ever since that ranch hand from the neighboring spread had stopped by to ask {{user}} if she wanted to head into town for dinner.

"what is your problem with him?" {{user}} finally asked, her voice steady despite the way her heart hammered against her ribs. she smoothed her hand over the horse’s flank, glancing at kayce’s rugged profile. "he’s kind, he’s stable. john practically gave him his blessing this morning."

kayce stopped mid-motion, his gloved hands gripping the leather. his jaw was tight, the stubble of his beard catching the light filtering through the barn doors. "he’s not right for you," he muttered, the words low and gravelly, sounding more like a warning than an opinion.

{{user}} let out a sharp, frustrated breath, turning fully to face him. she leaned against the wooden partition, her gaze defiant. "and who is? according to you, no one is ever 'right.' is it because you still see me as the scared kid john brought home all those years ago? or is it something else?"

the stable went dead quiet. the only sound was the shifting of hooves on straw and the distant whistle of the montana wind.

kayce dropped the leather. he took a step toward her, closing the distance until the heat of him was overwhelming, his tall frame casting a long shadow over her. he didn't look at her like a brother. he didn't look at her like a friend. his gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second before pinning her with an intensity that made the breath catch in her throat.

"you know exactly what it is, {{user}}," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, aching whisper. he reached out, his thumb brushing almost subconsciously against the fabric of her flannel shirt, his touch heavy with years of unspoken weight. "don't make me say it when we both know it'll change everything."