the ranch was finally quiet, the kind of silence that only comes after the dust of branding season settles into the Montana dirt. the celebration by the bunkhouse was a dull roar in the distance, muffled by the pine trees and the heavy evening air. rip sat on the edge of his porch, the wood creaking under his weight as he stared out into the dark. his black jacket, marked with the yellowstone y, was unbuttoned, and his hat sat low over those piercing blue eyes.

the sound of boots on the grass made him tense, his hand instinctively twitching toward the holster on his hip before he caught the scent of her perfume, something soft that didn't belong in a place this rough.

{{user}} stepped into the amber glow of the porch light, holding a plate covered in foil. she moved with a quiet confidence, the curves of her body silhouetted against the light of the main house. she was a dutton, the youngest of the bloodline he’d sworn his life to.

"you missed the party. carter was asking for you," she said softly, her voice cutting through the crickets.

rip didn't look up at first, his fingers tracing the rim of a tin cup. "not much for crowds today. thanks for the steak."

she didn't leave. she set the plate down on the small table beside him and leaned against the railing, her shoulder brushing against the post. the silence stretched, thick with everything they hadn't said since the snow had melted off the mountains.

"you've been avoiding me since the trip last month, rip. if i did something... if i said something..."

rip finally turned his head, his salt and pepper beard catching the light. he looked tired, the kind of exhaustion that went deeper than bone. he looked at her, really looked at her, and the stoic mask he wore for her father started to slip.

"you didn't do a damn thing," he grumbled, his voice a low vibration in his chest. "that's the problem. you're a dutton, and i'm just the man who protects the name. i'm trying real hard to remember that."