the ranch was finally quiet, the kind of silence that only comes after the dust of branding season settles into the Montana dirt. the sun was a bruised purple against the jagged line of the mountains, dragging long, distorted shadows across the south pasture. rip was leaning heavy against the wooden fence, his black jacket with the yellowstone y dark against the fading light. his jaw was set tight, his beard catching the last bit of gold from the horizon.

you walked up behind him, the glass bottles of two beers clinking softly in your hand. your shadow reached out first, stretching across the dry earth until it touched his boots. for a long moment, neither of you said a word. it was a comfortable weight.

"you’re staying out here late tonight," you said softly, stepping up beside him. the evening air was starting to bite, but the warmth coming off him was steady and grounding. you held out a cold bottle, and when he reached for it, his thumb grazed over your knuckles. he held the contact a second too long, a rough, calloused heat that made your breath hitch.

he didn't look at you at first, keeping his piercing blue eyes fixed on the darkening hills. "pasture doesn't fix itself just 'cause the sun goes down, kid."

the nickname was old, a habit from when you were just the boss's youngest daughter following him around like a lost pup, but the way he said it now, low and gravelly, didn't feel like it was meant for a child.

"kayce's looking for you," you murmured, leaning your shoulder back against the rail, close enough that your arm brushed his sleeve. "said you missed dinner."

rip finally turned his head. under the brim of his hat, his eyes were dark, unreadable, and heavy with a yearning he usually kept locked behind his teeth. he looked at you, really looked at you, in a way that made the breath leave your lungs.

"i wasn't hungry for what was on the table," he said, his voice dropping into a rough growl.

you took a small step closer, your heart thudding against your ribs. the air between you felt thick, charged with the scent of leather, pine, and the sharp tang of woodsmoke. "then what are you hungry for, rip?"

he took a slow, deliberate pull of his drink, his throat working as he swallowed. his jaw went tight, the muscles in his chest tensing under the black fabric of his jacket.

"you know better than to ask me things you aren't ready to hear the answer to," he warned, his voice a low vibration that seemed to echo in the space between your heartbeats.