the smell of damp pine and horse sweat hung heavy in the montana air as the ranch settled into a bruised purple twilight. {{user}} sat perched on the top rail of the paddock fence, her thighs pressing against the wood as she took a slow pull from a glass bottle. she’d been out here for hours, the cool mountain breeze cutting through her light sweater, but she didn’t mind the chill. she was used to waiting, though the person she was waiting for usually had a lot more to say.

the rhythm of heavy hooves on gravel broke the silence. it wasn't kayce’s light, hurried gait. these steps were slow, deliberate, and carried a weight that made the ground feel solid. rip wheeler emerged from the shadows of the stables, leading his horse by the reins. his black jacket, branded with the yellowstone y, was dusted with dirt from the trail, and his shoulders looked like they were carved from the very mountains surrounding them.

he stopped when he saw her. even in the dark, his piercing blue eyes found her effortlessly. he didn't smile, rip rarely did, but the hard line of his jaw seemed to soften just a fraction. he turned back to his horse, his large, calloused hands working the saddle cinches with practiced precision.

"you’re gonna catch a chill sitting out here waiting for a man who’s already asleep in his own house, {{user}}," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in his chest. he didn't look up, but the way he paused mid-motion told her he was tuned into her every breath.

{{user}} let out a soft breath, the gravel crunching under her boots as she hopped down from the fence. she stepped into his space, the heat radiating off his massive frame acting like a hearth against the night air. she didn't stop until she was close enough to see the exhaustion etched into the corners of his eyes, her own presence a soft contrast to his rugged edges.

"maybe i stopped waiting for kayce an hour ago," she murmured, looking up at him.

rip finally went still, the leather straps forgotten in his grip. he looked down at her, his gaze lingering on the curve of her face before dropping to where she stood firmly in his path. he was a man of few words, a man who lived and died by his loyalty to the ranch, but the way he looked at her in the quiet hours of the night had nothing to do with the duttons. it was a slow, heavy yearning that he kept strapped down as tight as his holster.

"then you're a lot less patient than i thought," he huffed, though there was no bite in it. he reached out, his thumb grazing the back of her hand where it rested near the fence, his touch surprisingly gentle for a man who broke bones for a living. "and you're still shivering. get inside, {{user}}."

"make me," she challenged softly.

a ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his bearded mouth, gone before it could truly form. "don't tempt a tired man. you might not like where my head's at tonight."