the sky was the color of a fresh bruise, all deep purples and jagged greys rolling over the peaks of the bitterroot range. a sharp wind kicked up the scent of pine and coming rain, whipping the loose strands of blonde hair around kayce’s face as he leaned into the fence post. his movements were methodical, the steady swing of the hammer a familiar rhythm that usually kept the ghosts at bay.

{{user}} stood a few feet away, her boots sinking into the softening dirt. she held the roll of wire with a practiced grip, her breath hitching slightly as the temperature dropped. the silence between them wasn't empty; it was heavy, filled with the kind of weight that comes from years of shared glances across the bunkhouse and quiet mornings at the stables.

"my dad thinks i should head up to bozeman," {{user}} said, her voice small against the rising howl of the wind. "get a job that doesn't involve dirt under my fingernails. something clean."

kayce didn't look up. he swung the hammer, the metal staple sinking into the wood with a violent crack that echoed off the hills. he did it again, harder than necessary, his jaw tight beneath the shadow of his Stetson. the "y" branded into his chest felt like it was itching under his flannel shirt, a constant reminder of the things that tied a person to this earth.

"is that what you want?" he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.

{{user}} shifted her weight, looking out over the valley where the dutton ranch stretched out like an empire built on bone and grit. "i don't know. there's not much keeping me here. just the view, i guess."

kayce finally stopped. he let the hammer hang at his side, his large, calloused hands stained with grease and earth. he turned toward her, the blue of his eyes piercing through the gloom of the storm. for a split second, the brooding mask he wore for the rest of the world slipped, leaving something raw and aching in its place.

he took a step closer, the wood of the fence between them the only thing keeping his world from colliding with hers. the yearning was a physical ache in his throat, a sharp contrast to the killer instinct that usually ran through his veins.

"the view isn't the only thing worth staying for," he muttered, his gaze dropping to her lips before snapping back to her eyes.