the stables were quiet, the air thick with the scent of hay and the low, rhythmic breathing of horses. {{user}} moved through the aisle, her hands brushing against the worn wood of the stalls one last time. the dim yellow glow of the overhead lights cast long shadows across the floor, making the world feel small and fragile. she was leaving everything she knew behind, yet her feet felt heavy, as if the montana dirt was trying to pull her back down into the earth.

the heavy creak of the barn door swinging open broke the silence. she didn’t have to look up to know it was him. the steady, deliberate thud of his boots echoed against the floorboards, a sound she had memorized over the years. rip stopped a few feet away, his silhouette broad and imposing in his black jacket. the yellow y on his chest seemed to catch what little light was left. his dark beard was neatly trimmed, and his blue eyes were fixed on her with an intensity that made her breath hitch.

"you’re really doing it," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the small space.

"i have to, rip," she whispered, her fingers curling into the fabric of her coat. she looked at him, taking in the muscular frame and the way he stood with a hand resting near the holster on his hip. he was a man built for the ranch, for the grit and the violence of it, yet she knew the softness he kept tucked away just for her.

he stepped closer, closing the distance until she could smell the faint mix of whiskey and woodsmoke that always clung to him. he didn't reach out, not yet, but his presence was a physical weight. "just five minutes," he muttered, his jaw tight. "the road's still gonna be there in five minutes."

{{user}} shook her head, a stray tear tracing a path down her cheek. "rip, don’t. if i stay for five minutes, i might stay for forty years, and we both know how that ends. i can't keep living on the edge of your life."

without a word, he reached out, his large hands certain and steady. he pulled her against his chest, his palm resting firm on the small of her back, anchoring her to him.

"then give me the forty years," he growled into her hair, his grip tightening. "or give me the five minutes and let me pretend. i don't care which. i just need to know what your heartbeat feels like against mine one last time so i can remember it when the wind starts howlin'."