the air in montana always felt a little sharper right before the sun dipped behind the mountains, turning the sky into a bruised palette of gold and violet. {{user}} leaned her weight against the weathered wooden fence of the corral, her eyes tracking her son as he mimicked the way the ranch hands walked.

the heavy, rhythmic thud of boots against the dirt announced his arrival before he even spoke. rip wheeler didn’t do anything quietly, yet he had a way of appearing exactly when the silence became too loud. he settled at the fence beside her, the black jacket with the yellowstone brand stretched tight across his shoulders. he didn’t look at her, he never did at first, choosing instead to stare out at the horizon with those piercing blue eyes.

"he’s got a good seat on a horse. brave, too. takes after his mother, i reckon," rip said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the space between them.