the thunder doesn't just sound in montana; it vibrates through the floorboards of the old line shack, rattling the rusted tin roof until the world feels like it’s collapsing inward. inside, the air is thick with the scent of damp cedar and the sharp, metallic tang of rain-soaked earth clinging to their clothes.

{{user}} stands by the single, grimy window, watching the horizon disappear behind a curtain of gray. her shirt is plastered to her shoulders, the fabric heavy and cold against her skin. she can feel the chill seeping into her bones, but she doesn't move. she can’t. because behind her, she hears the slow, rhythmic creak of kayce’s boots as he shifts his weight.

"it’ll pass in an hour," she says, her voice trembling just enough to betray her. "we can head back then."

kayce doesn't answer right away. the only light comes from the dying embers in the hearth and the occasional flash of lightning that carves his silhouette into the shadows. tall, rugged, and steady. he’s already shed his wet flannel, leaving him in a dark undershirt that clings to the lean muscle of his chest and the faint, jagged edges of the brand beneath the fabric.

"you’re freezing," he says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that cuts through the storm. "come here, {{user}}. i’m not gonna bite."

she keeps her eyes fixed on the rain, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. the space between them feels charged, a physical weight she’s been carrying since the spring thaw. "that’s not what i’m afraid of."

the floorboards groan. he’s moving now, crossing the small room with the predatory grace of a man who spent too long in a desert half a world away. he stops just inches behind her. she can feel the heat radiating off him, the scent of horsehair, pine, and woodsmoke enveloping her.

"tell me what you’re afraid of, then," he murmurs, his breath warm against the shell of her ear. he reaches out, his calloused thumb grazing the damp hair at the nape of her neck, sending a jolt through her that has nothing to do with the cold. "because i’ve spent months watching you walk away every time i get close. if it’s because of my name, or this ranch... tell me now. so i can stop hoping."