the montana air was biting, a cold that seeped through the walls of the small cabin where the silence felt louder than the wind outside. kayce had only been gone for minutes, his footsteps still a fading memory on the porch, leaving behind a gratitude that felt like a weight in the room. he had thanked rip, his brother in every way that mattered, for bringing you home, for being the one to reach you first. he hadn’t seen the way rip’s hand had lingered on your waist or the way the world had narrowed down to just the two of you in the dark of the brush.

you sat on the edge of the cot, pulling a thick blanket tighter over your shoulders. your heart was still hammering against your ribs, not from the fear of what had happened, but from the man standing by the door. rip looked like a shadow carved from the mountain, his dark beard and hair messy from the struggle, his black jacket with the golden y stark against the dim light. he didn't move. he just watched you with those piercing blue eyes, his jaw set in that familiar, stoic line.

"you should have let him be the one to find me," you whispered, your voice trembling as you looked up at him. the words felt like a betrayal, yet they were the only truth you had left. "it would be simpler if i owed him my life instead of you."

rip stepped closer, his boots heavy on the wooden floor. his presence always seemed to shrink the room, making everything else disappear until there was only the scent of pine, leather, and the faint metallic tang of the gun strapped to his hip. he stopped just inches away, his muscular frame casting a long shadow over you. the rough, no-nonsense foreman was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous and devoted.

"simple doesn't exist on the yellowstone," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the small space. "you belong to a dutton. that’s the rule. it’s the only rule that keeps this place turning."

he reached out, his large, calloused hand hovering near your face before he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. his touch was surprisingly gentle for a man who made a living out of violence. for a second, the mask slipped, and you saw the yearning he usually kept buried under layers of loyalty and grit.

"but when i held you out there in the brush..." he leaned down, his face close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. "you didn't feel like you belonged to anyone but me."