the clinic at the dutton ranch was the only building with a light still burning, a small golden square against the black montana horizon. the clock on the wall ticked steadily, marking the quiet minutes past midnight as you leaned over the last of the day's intake forms. the silence was broken by the heavy, uneven thud of boots on the porch and the creak of the door swinging wide.

kayce stood in the threshold, looking like he’d been dragged through the worst of the valley. his flannel shirt was torn at the shoulder, soaked through with a dark, spreading stain that stood out against the plaid. he looked exhausted, his hat pulled low, but those blue eyes found yours with an intensity that made the air in the small room feel suddenly thin.

"fence line," he muttered, his voice a low rasp that vibrated in the small space. "barbed wire didn't want to let go."

"sit," you commanded softly, already reaching for the medical kit.

he obeyed, dropping onto the exam stool. he was a big man, filling the room with the scent of pine, horses, and the metallic tang of blood. as you moved closer, your hip brushed his knee, a small spark of contact that neither of you acknowledged but both felt. you began to unbutton his shirt to get to the gash, your fingers steady despite the way he was watching you. not with the wary gaze he gave the rest of the world, but with a quiet, heavy yearning.

the wound was jagged, cutting deep across the muscle of his shoulder. as you cleaned the grit away, he didn't flinch, though you could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. the clinic lights were unforgiving, highlighting the weary lines around his eyes and the way his jaw stayed set.

"you need to stop treating your body like it’s rented, kayce," you whispered, your focus entirely on the delicate work of the needle. "one of these days, i won't be able to patch the holes."

he didn't look at the injury. he kept his gaze fixed on your face, his expression unreadable but his presence overwhelming. he looked at you with a vulnerability he never showed his father or the ranch hands, a silent admission of everything he couldn't say out loud.

"as long as it's your hands doing the patching..." he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper that made your heart stutter. "i think i'll take my chances."