the barn was a cathedral of cedar and damp hay, the heavy scent of rain-soaked earth clinging to the rafters while the spring storm rattled the tin roof. {{user}} let out a breath she’d been holding since dusk, her shoulders dropping an inch as the newborn calf finally found its footing. she began to coil her stethoscope, her fingers clumsy and numb from the biting montana chill.

kayce was a shadow against the wood-slat walls until he stepped into the amber glow of the lantern. he looked every bit the ghost of the dutton legacy, his plaid flannel stained with mud and his cowboy hat pulled low over blue eyes that seemed to catch every flicker of light. he didn't say anything at first, just watched her work with an intensity that made the small of her back ache.

"he’s breathing steady now, kayce," {{user}} said, wiping a streak of mud from her forehead and only succeeding in leaving a dark smear across her brow. she gestured toward the stall, her voice raspy from the cold. "keep him warm, and don't let that mother push him around. she’s tired, but she’s protective."

kayce didn't move toward the animal. he stayed leaned against the heavy wooden post, his frame tall and rugged, the gun strapped to his hip glinting dully. his gaze tracked the way she moved. the exhausted tilt of her head, the way her frame braced against the side of the pen as she stood up.

"you’ve been on your feet for eighteen hours," he said, his voice a low rumble that cut through the sound of the rain.

"comes with the degree," she replied, offering a tired, half-hearted shrug as she reached for her medical bag. "cows don't exactly keep business hours, and your dad doesn't pay me to sleep when there's work to be done."

"no," kayce said, suddenly moving into her space. he was faster than he looked, his hand reaching out to take the heavy bag from her before she could protest. his thumb brushed the handle, mere inches from her fingers, and the air in the barn suddenly felt thicker than the humidity rolling off the fields. "you do it because you give a damn. most people would've called it at midnight and let nature take its course."

{{user}} looked up at him, her heart thumping a jagged rhythm against her ribs. standing this close, she could smell the whiskey and woodsmoke clinging to him, could see the way his mustache and beard were damp from the mist. she felt small in the way only kayce made her feel. not diminished, but shielded.

"i don't know how to do things halfway," she whispered, her eyes locked onto his. "you should know that by now. i'm either all in or i'm not there at all."

kayce’s grip tightened on the bag, his knuckles white. he didn't pull away. instead, he leaned a fraction closer, the brim of his hat nearly touching her hair.

"yeah," he rasped, his voice thick with a yearning he never put into words. "i'm starting to notice."