the ranch was quiet, the kind of heavy silence that only settled over the valley when the moon was high and the crickets were tired of singing. you were packing up your bag, the fluorescent lights of the small clinic humming a low, lonely tune, when the heavy thud of boots hit the porch. you didn't need to look up to know the rhythm of that walk. it was solid, deliberate, and carried a weight that had nothing to do with gravity.

when the door creaked open, rip filled the frame, his black jacket dusty and his jaw set in that familiar, rigid line. he looked like a man made of granite and bad intentions, but you saw the way his left shoulder hitched, a tiny fracture in his armor.

"it's late, rip," you murmured, not looking away from the tray you were sanitizing. "even the horses are asleep."

"horses don't have to worry about tomorrow's fence line," he grunted, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate the glass jars on your shelves. he moved into the room, the scent of leather, pine, and honest sweat following him like a shadow.

you pointed to the exam table. "sit. and don't tell me you're just passing by to say goodnight."

he sat, the metal table groaning under his bulk. he looked out of place in the sterile room, his muscular frame and the gun strapped to his hip clashing with the white walls. as you stepped between his knees to reach his shoulder, his blue eyes tracked every movement, sharp and unreadable.

{{user}} sighed, pressing a cold pack to the swollen muscle near his neck. "you know, rip, most people come to the doctor before they lose full range of motion."

rip grunted, his eyes fixed on you as you worked. "i had things to do. ranch doesn't stop because i’ve got a hitch in my giddy-up."

"the ranch won't disappear if you sit still for twenty minutes," you murmured, leaning in close to check his vitals. the air between you grew thick and warm. you were acutely aware of how small the space was, of the heat radiating off his chest, and the way his breath hitched when your fingers brushed the skin above his collar.

rip reached out, his calloused hand hovering near your waist, almost grazing the curve of your hip before he pulled back, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table. a low, rough sound left his throat. half a laugh, half a growl.

"maybe i just like the way you look when you're bossing me around, doc," he admitted, his voice dropping an octave.