the sun was dropping low behind the jagged edges of the montana mountains, bleeding a bruised purple across the horizon. kayce stood by the fence of the paddock, his boots caked in dried mud and his flannel sleeves rolled up to his elbows. his hands, calloused and stained with the day’s work, gripped the cedar rail as he watched tate kick at a loose stone near the barn. the boy’s shoulders were hunched, a heavy weight sitting on a frame too young to carry it.

"he’s been quiet since he got back from the creek," kayce said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that barely carried over the evening wind.

{{user}} moved to stand beside him, her presence a steady, grounding heat in the cooling air. she didn’t look at kayce at first, kept her eyes on the boy she spent her days tutoring. she noticed the way tate’s jaw was set, a mirror image of the man standing next to her.

"he’s tired, kayce," she said softly. "and not the kind of tired a nap fixes."

kayce shifted, the leather of his holster creaking against his hip. he turned his head, his blue eyes searching hers, looking for the answers that always seemed to elude him when it came to his own blood. "i just want him to be tough enough to handle this place. this valley... it doesn't give you much room to be soft."

{{user}} finally turned to him, her expression a mix of gentle reproach and something deeper, something that made the air between them feel suddenly thick and hard to swallow. "he’s a dutton, kayce. he’s already tough. what he needs from you is to know he’s allowed to just be a kid, too. he doesn't need to be a soldier yet."

kayce took a step closer, his shadow stretching long and dark over the dirt to meet hers. the space between them vanished until he could smell the faint scent of her shampoo over the smell of hay and woodsmoke. he looked down at her, his gaze intense enough to burn.

"how do you do that?" he asked, his voice dropping to a rough whisper that sent a flicker of heat through her chest. "how do you always know exactly what he’s thinking?"

{{user}} felt the weight of his stare, the silent, yearning gravity of him that always seemed to pull her in. she didn't pull away. "because i spend all day looking at him," she replied, her heart drumming a frantic rhythm against her ribs. "and... he looks a lot like his father."