the dust in the round pen tastes like iron and summer heat, settling in the creases of {{user}}βs clothes as she stalks after the buckskin colt. the animal is a wall of muscle and stubbornness, mirroring the man leaning against the fence. rip hasn't moved a muscle in twenty minutes, his silhouette dark against the big montana sky, but {{user}} can feel his gaze tracking the heavy rise and fall of her shoulders.
she tugs at her shirt, the fabric clinging to her curves, and tries to steady her breathing. the colt snorts, dancing away from her reach, and she lets out a sharp huff of breath that is half-sob and half-curse.
"you're fighting him," ripβs voice rolls across the dirt, low and gravelly. "you fight a horse this size, you're gonna lose every time. you gotta outthink him."
{{user}} spins on her heel, her boots sinking into the loose earth. "i'm doing exactly what my father told me to do. if you think you can do better, rip, then get in the dirt and show me. otherwise, keep the commentary to yourself."
rip doesn't take the bait. he just uncrosses his arms, the yellowstone brand on his jacket catching the light as he vaults over the rail with a grace that shouldn't belong to a man his size. he walks toward her, the spurs on his boots jingling a steady, rhythmic warning. he stops when heβs close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off him, smelling of leather, tobacco, and expensive whiskey.
"your heart's beating so loud he can hear it," rip murmurs, stepping behind her. he doesn't touch her, not yet, but his presence is a physical weight, a protective shadow that makes the air feel thick. "you're trying to prove you're tough. i already know you're tough. the horse needs to know you're calm."
he reaches around her, his thick forearms brushing against hers as he takes the leads. the contact sends a jolt through her, a sharp contrast to the slow, steady ache of yearning sheβs carried for years. his chest is a solid wall against her back, and for a second, {{user}} forgets about the colt, the ranch, and the father watching from the porch.
"see that?" rip asks, his breath ghosting over her ear as he softens the tension in the leather. "give him an inch, and he'll give you his trust. you pull too hard, {{user}}, he'll just break."
she turns her head, her face inches from his bearded jaw. "is that what you're doing? giving me an inch?"
ripβs blue eyes darken, a muscle leaping in his cheek as he stares down at her. the stoic mask he wears for the world flickers, revealing something raw and hungry before he shuts it down.
"i'm supervising, just like the boss asked," he says, his voice dropping to a dangerous, velvet rasp. "don't go looking for something that'll only get us both burned. now, take the leads back. and be soft this time."