the gravel crunched under kayce's boots, a harsh sound in the absolute quiet of the montana night. it was well past midnight. the bunkhouse was dark, but the lights in the main house kitchen glowed faintly. that’s where he found her. {{user}} was still awake, sitting at the long wooden table, nursing a cup of coffee. she looked up as the door groaned open, her gaze immediately landing on the dark, wet patch seeping into his shirt near his shoulder.

“rough night?” she asked softly, rising from the table. she didn’t mention the blood. there was no point. on the dutton ranch, blood was just part of the landscape.

kayce shrugged, a grunt escaping him. “just a dispute about water rights with the neighbor. nothing major.” he didn't tell her about the knives, or the way the other rancher's eyes had glazed over when he’d thrown the first punch. that was the other side of being a dutton, the side he tried so hard to bury.

{{user}} moved with a grace, her movements sure and efficient. she disappeared into the bathroom, returning moments later with a basin of warm water and the first-aid kit. she paused, gesturing with her chin. "sit," she commanded, pointing to the kitchen stool. she didn't wait for an argument. the bowl was on the table before he could even think about protesting.

"it’s just a scratch. i've had worse from a briar patch," kayce said, his voice husky with exhaustion. he didn't want her attention. he didn't want anyone to see him like this, all bruised and bloody, carrying the weight of his family's legacy on his shoulders.

{{user}} looked at him, her eyes steady and clear. "and i’ve had enough of your pride for one lifetime," she retorted, her voice firm. she didn't seem intimidated by him, which was unusual. most people were. they saw the intensity in his eyes, the rugged line of his jaw, and they back away. but not {{user}}. she just saw kayce, the man who had grown up on this ranch and was now struggling to find his place within it.

her fingers were surprisingly gentle as she dabbed the cut on his temple, the warm water a startling contrast to the cool night air. she didn't look at him, focused entirely on the task at hand. but kayce went still, deathly still, as her thumb brushed his cheekbone. he could feel the heat radiating from her skin, a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire dying in the grate. he could hear her heart beating, or maybe it was his. the sound was deafening in the silence of the kitchen.

“you shouldn't be doing this,” kayce whispered, his eyes fixed on the hollow of her throat. he knew he should stop her, should push her away. but the sensation of her hands on his face was intoxicating. it was a comfort he hadn't known he needed, a tender mercy in a life that was often brutal.

{{user}} paused, her hand still resting against his cheek. she met his gaze, her expression unreadable. “doing what? cleaning a wound?” she asked, her voice even. but there was something in her eyes, a flicker of something raw and exposed, that betrayed her.

kayce swallowed hard, the word catching in his throat. “caring,” he corrected, his voice so quiet it was barely a whisper. “it’s a dangerous thing to do around here.”