the storm howls against the side of the stables, a violent symphony of wind and rain that drowns out the usual quiet of the montana night. inside, the air is thick with the scent of wet cedar, hay, and the sharp, metallic tang of electricity that vanished an hour ago. the only light comes from a single lantern sitting on the floor, casting long, flickering shadows that dance across the wooden beams.

rip is leaning against a heavy support post, his arms crossed over his chest. the black jacket with the dutton ranch brand stretched tight across his shoulders, the yellow y catching the dim light every time he breathes. he looks like a part of the building itself. solid, unmoving, and weathered. his piercing blue eyes are fixed on the open doorway where the rain falls in silver sheets, but his focus isn't on the weather. it’s on the woman sitting just a few feet away on a stack of hay bales.

{{user}} adjusts her position, the straw rustling beneath her. she keeps her eyes on the restless colt in the corner stall, watching the way its ears twitch at every crack of thunder. she can feel rip’s gaze even without looking up; it’s a weight she’s carried since she was eighteen, a silent gravity that always seems to pull her back into his orbit no matter how much distance she tries to put between them.

"you should head up to the main house, {{user}}. the rain ain't letting up," rip says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates in the small space. his salt and pepper beard catches the lantern light as he shifts his jaw, his expression as stoic and unreadable as ever.

{{user}} doesn't move. she just pulls her jacket a little tighter over her curves, her gaze remaining steady. "i'm fine here, rip. besides, you’re still here."

rip finally turns his head, those blue eyes locking onto hers. there’s a flicker of something there. yearning, maybe, or just the exhaustion of holding back a decade’s worth of things that can’t be said. he’s the ranch’s shadow, the enforcer, the man who does what needs to be done, but to her, he’s always just been rip.

"i'm paid to be here," he grunts, his thumb hooking into his belt near the gun strapped to his hip. "you're just being stubborn."