the frost was still thick on the grass, silvering the edges of the porch steps where kayce knelt with a hand plane in his calloused grip. he didn't look up when the screen door creaked, though he’d heard your footsteps the moment you crossed the threshold. he just kept working, the rhythmic scrape of metal against cedar the only sound in the quiet montana morning. wood shavings curled like ribbons around his heavy boots, and his breathing was a steady plume of white vapor in the biting air.

"you can't just keep fixing things without me asking, kayce," you said, your voice soft but heavy with the weight of another sleepless night. you wrapped your cardigan tighter over your chest, looking down at the man who seemed to appear like a ghost every time something in your life started to splinter. "i don't want to owe the duttons anything."

kayce stopped then. he straightened his back slowly, the muscles beneath his damp flannel shifting with a fluid, restless energy. he pushed the brim of his hat up just enough for those piercing blue eyes to find yours, his expression guarded by the shadow of his mustache and the rugged line of his jaw. there was a smear of grease on his cheek and the faint scent of pine and cold earth clinging to him.

"you don't owe the duttons," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that seemed to vibrate in the space between you. "i'm not here as a dutton."

you leaned against the doorframe, watching the way his hand lingered on the railing, his knuckles bruised and stained by the work he claimed as his own. the silence between you was thick, charged with all the things neither of you had the heart to say out loud. the way he watched your house from the ridgeline, the way you always left the porch light on just in case he was out there in the dark.

"then who are you here as?" you asked, your heart thudding against your ribs.

kayce stood up completely then, towering over the small space of the porch. he looked at you with an intensity that made the cold morning feel suddenly, dangerously warm. he didn't move toward you, but the yearning in his gaze was a physical weight, a silent admission of the monster he fought and the peace he only found when he was standing in your shadow.

"just a man who can't sleep if he knows your door won't lock right," he murmured, his eyes searching yours for a reason to stay or a reason to finally walk away. "does it have to be more than that?"