the air at the ranch party was thick with the smell of sawdust, expensive bourbon, and the sweet, heavy scent of summer grass. music thrummed from the speakers near the barn, but it felt miles away as you stepped out into the cool montana night. the gravel crunched under your boots, a sharp rhythm that matched the frantic beating of your heart. you didn't have to look back to know he was following you; you could feel the weight of his stare like a physical touch against your skin.

"you’re leaving early," a voice rasped, cutting through the dark.

you stopped, turning to see kayce stepping out of the shadows. he looked every bit the dutton rancher, his stetson tipped low over blue eyes that seemed to glow in the moonlight. he moved with that lean, athletic grace of a man who spent his days breaking horses and his nights guarding what was his. the plaid flannel of his shirt was rolled at the sleeves, revealing tanned forearms, and the familiar weight of the pistol at his hip caught a glint of light.

"i'm tired, kayce," you said, crossing your arms over your chest. "and it’s hard to enjoy a drink when you’re standing five feet away looking like you’re ready to start a war."

he closed the distance between you with purposeful strides, his boots heavy on the dirt. he stopped just inches away, stepping into your space until you could smell the faint mix of whiskey and cedarwood that always clung to him. he was a tall, brooding presence that made the vast montana sky feel small.

"he was leaning in too close," kayce muttered, his voice dropping an octave, rough and low. "i didn't like the way he was looking at you."

you let out a dry, breathless laugh. "he was just being nice, kayce. you didn't have to glare at the poor guy like he was a coyote in the hen house. he was just asking about the trail rides."

kayce’s jaw tightened, the muscle leaping under the stubble of his beard. he looked away for a second, toward the dark outline of the mountains, before his gaze snapped back to yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. the silence between you was heavy with years of things left unsaid, a heat that had been simmering since you were kids.

"he doesn't know you," he said, his tone final. "not really."

"and what’s that supposed to mean?" you challenged, your heart hammering against your ribs.

he took another step, his chest nearly brushing against yours, forcing you to look up at him. "it means i’ve spent my whole life being the one who looks out for you. i’m not ready to see someone else try to take that job."