the house behind them finally fell quiet, the sharp edges of bethβs breakdown softening into a heavy, alcohol-induced sleep. {{user}} sat on the porch steps, her knees drawn up as far as theyβd go, feeling the bite of the montana night air through her sweater. her lungs felt tight, exhausted from the hours spent playing anchor to bethβs storm, and she just stared at the silhouette of the mountains against the bruised purple sky.
the screen door creaked. a familiar, rusted groan and the heavy thud of boots followed. rip didnβt say anything at first. he just stood there, the yellowstone brand on his black jacket catching what little light spilled from the foyer. he looked like a shadow made of muscle and grit, his expression as unreadable as the dark fields stretching toward the horizon.
"sheβs asleep. finally," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the floorboards beneath her.
{{user}} let out a long, shaky breath, her shoulders dropping an inch. "sheβs going to hate me in the morning for seeing her like that."
rip didn't move toward the bunkhouse or the stables like he usually did. instead, he eased his large frame down, sitting on the step just below her. he smelled like woodsmoke, expensive whiskey, and the cold mountain wind. he didn't look at her, choosing instead to fix his piercing blue eyes on the darkness, but his presence was a physical weight, grounded and steady.
"beth doesn't hate you," he murmured, his thumb hooking into his belt near the holster at his hip. "she's just scared of how much she needs you. truth is..." he paused, the silence stretching out between them until it felt like a living thing. he shifted, his broad back nearly brushing her knees. "i'm startin' to feel a bit of that myself."