the air in montana always felt a little sharper at dawn, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones if you weren't moving. rip sat on the porch steps, the rhythmic slide of a rag against leather the only sound breaking the silence. he was focused on his saddle, but his ears were tuned to the screen door. when it finally creaked open, he didn't have to look up to know it was you.

you were wrapped in a thick cardigan that didn't quite hide the soft curves rip had spent too many nights thinking about. your hair was a mess of sleep-tangled waves, and your feet were bare against the weathered wood. you leaned against the railing, clutching a mug of coffee like a lifeline.

"he’s been following you around like a shadow all morning, rip. i hope he’s not getting underfoot," you said, your voice still husky from sleep.

rip didn't look up from the leather he was oiling, but a small, rare tug appeared at the corner of his mouth. the image of your son trotting behind him in oversized boots, asking why the cows moved the way they did, was enough to soften the hard edges of his morning.

"kid’s fine, {{user}}. he asks a lot of questions about the horses, but at least he listens to the answers," rip grunted. his hands were steady, sure, and stained with the grease of a life lived hard.

you stepped closer, the hem of your pajama pants brushing against the porch. you watched the way his shoulders moved under the black jacket, the strength there that seemed to hold the entire ranch together.

"he looks up to you," you murmured, stepping into the space beside him. "and honestly... i think i'm starting to understand why."

rip finally looked up. his blue eyes were heavy and unreadable, mirroring the dark montana sky before the sun fully broke. he took in the sight of you. the way you fit so perfectly in the quiet of the ranch, even if you were only here because someone else had broken your heart. it made his chest tight, a protective ache he had no right to feel for beth’s best friend.

"you shouldn't be looking too close at me, {{user}}," he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. "you know better than most what i am."

"i know what people say you are," you countered softly, resting a hand on the railing near his shoulder. "but i also know who’s been making sure there's fresh wood by the fireplace every night. and i know who's been patient with a lonely little boy who just wants a hero."

rip went back to his saddle, though his movements were slower now. he didn't have the words to tell you that he’d burn the whole world down if it meant you never had to look sad again.

"just get some breakfast," he muttered, though there was no bite in it. "the day's burning daylight, and i promised the kid i'd show him the new calf."