the tin roof rattled with a violence that made the small room feel like the inside of a drum. outside, the montana sky had turned a bruised shade of purple, unleashing a summer deluge that turned the ranch dirt into a thick, swallowing mud. inside the tack room, the air was heavy with the scent of oiled leather, dry hay, and the sharp, clean musk of rain-damp denim.

{{user}} pressed her back against the wooden slats of the wall, her breath hitching as rip stepped deeper into her personal space. he was a wall of solid heat, his black jacket slick with moisture and the yellowstone brand catching what little light filtered through the single, grimy window.

"it's loud," {{user}} whispered, her voice trembling despite her efforts to keep it steady. "i used to hate the sound of the rain on this roof when i was a kid."

rip didn't move away. he didn't even blink. his piercing blue eyes stayed locked on hers, shadowed by the brim of his hat. he looked at her with a gravity that made her pulse race, his presence both a shield and a storm of its own.

"you used to hide in the bunkhouse. i remember," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in his chest.

{{user}} looked up at him, her heart thumping against her ribs. as the youngest dutton, she was used to being overlooked or overprotected, but rip’s attention was different. it was a weight. "you remember a lot of things you shouldn't. why do you keep track of me like that?"

rip reached out, his large, calloused hand bracing against the wall just above her head. he leaned in, his muscular frame hovering inches from hers, the soft curve of his stomach pressing momentarily against her own frame. he was close enough that she could see the silver droplets of rain clinging to his dark beard.

"it’s my job to look after things that matter to this ranch," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper beneath the roar of the storm.