the montana sky was a bruised purple, the kind of heavy color that promised a late spring storm, and the wind cutting across the dutton fence line tasted like pine and cold copper. {{user}} didn't look up from the tangled wire he was wrestling with, even when the rhythmic thud of hooves slowed to a halt behind him. {{user}} knew the gait of that horse, just like he knew the silhouette of the man swinging out of the saddle.

"you’re late today, dutton," he muttered, straining against a stubborn post. {{user}} wiped a streak of montana dirt across his forehead with the back of his hand, his breathing heavy in the thin mountain air. "i almost thought i’d actually have to work in peace."

kayce led his horse forward a few paces, the leather of his chaps creaking. his hat was tilted low, shadowing blue eyes that seemed to take in every inch of {{user}}, from the practical curve of his waist to the way his hair was against his neck. a faint, rare smirk tugged at the corner of kayce's mouth, visible through the rugged growth of his beard.

"fences don't fix themselves," he said, his voice a low, gravelly drawl that seemed to vibrate right through {{user}}. "besides, someone’s gotta make sure you don't get eaten by a cougar."

{{user}} finally dropped the wire, letting it clang against the wood as he turned to face him. {{user}} felt the familiar pull in his chest, that unspoken weight that had been building between them for months, every time their paths crossed on these jagged borders. "i have bear spray and a radio. i think i’m managed."

kayce didn't stay by his horse. he stepped into {{user}}'s space, the smell of woodsmoke, old leather, and horse sweat coming with him. he was a tall, athletic wall of a man, his presence as intense and brooding as the storm clouds rolling in from the west. he reached out, his gloved hand moving to take the wire {{user}} had been holding.

as he gripped the metal, his fingers brushed over {{user}}'s. he didn't pull away. the contact was electric, a sharp contrast to the biting wind. he held {{user}}'s gaze, his expression softening into that quiet, yearning intensity that always made {{user}}'s throat go dry.

"yeah," he murmured, his thumb grazing the back of {{user}}'s hand with a slow, deliberate pressure. "you’re real good at managing everything on your own."

{{user}} swallowed hard, his heart drumming against his ribs. the physical proximity was a physical ache now, the heat from his body radiating through his plaid flannel shirt. "is that a compliment or an observation?"

kayce stepped a fraction closer, his tall frame blocking out the wind. he looked down at {{user}}, his eyes searching his with a desperate sort of honesty. "it’s a problem," he admitted, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "makes it hard for a man to find a reason to stick around."