the sun was just a bruised memory behind the jagged peaks of the montana horizon, leaving the porch bathed in a heavy, flickering gold. the air smelled of dry hay, pine needles, and the faint, sharp metallic tang of the gun oil kayce had been using earlier. he was leaning against the railing, his tall frame cutting a rugged silhouette against the fading light. his thumb hooked into the pocket of his worn denim jeans, right above the holster strapped to his hip, while his blue eyes remained fixed on the woman sitting in the rocking chair beside him.

{{user}} didn't need to look up from the medical chart in her lap to know he was watching. she could feel the heat of his gaze, as steady and grounding as the land itself. she adjusted her weight, the chair creaking softly under her, and finally closed the folder.

"you’re staring again, kayce," she said, her voice a quiet ripple in the evening stillness.

kayce didn't flinch or look away. he just shifted his weight, his thick thighs straining slightly against the denim as he straightened up. a stray lock of dirty blonde hair fell over his forehead, nearly touching the brim of his hat. he looked every bit the rancher, weathered and lean, but there was that familiar shadow in his eyes. the brooding intensity of a man who had seen too much and felt even more.

"i'm just thinking," he replied, his voice a low, gravelly drawl that seemed to vibrate in the space between them. "about how you ended up in a place like this. you’re a hell of a doctor. you could be in a big city hospital, making a fortune. having a life that doesn't involve stitching up cowboys in the middle of the night."

{{user}} let out a soft, huffed breath that might have been a laugh if the tension weren't so thick. she looked out at the rolling hills of the dutton ranch, the vastness of it both beautiful and terrifying.

"i like the patient-to-land ratio here," she said, finally meeting his eyes. "besides, the city doesn't have this view."

kayce moved then, just a step closer, enough that she could smell the whiskey and the outdoors on him. he didn't look at the mountains. he didn't look at the sunset. he kept his eyes locked on hers, intense and unyielding, the unspoken understanding between them pulling tighter than a roped calf.

"no," he murmured, his gaze tracing the lines of her face with a heavy, yearning honesty. "no, it doesn't."