the north pasture was painted in shades of silver and ink, the montana moon hanging heavy over the jagged horizon. {{user}} moved slow, the metal clink of her tools against the fence wire the only thing breaking the rhythmic buzz of the cicadas. her breath hitched slightly when the low rumble of a diesel engine vibrated through the grass, followed by the crunch of tires on gravel. the headlights cut out, leaving only the soft glow of the dashboard before the door creaked open.

rip didn’t say a word. he didn't have to. he moved with a heavy, deliberate grace, his boots thudding against the dry earth until he reached the front of his truck. he leaned back against the hood, his black jacket pulled tight over his broad shoulders, the embroidered dutton 'y' catching a glint of moonlight. he looked out over the cattle, his face a map of shadows and hard lines, but his blue eyes were soft as they landed on her.

{{user}} wiped her hands on her jeans, feeling the familiar pull of the space between them. it was a magnetic kind of ache, the kind that made her lungs feel a little too small for her chest.

"you're out late, boss," she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper in the vast stillness. "cows aren't going anywhere."

rip tilted his head, his gaze never leaving hers. "neither am i. just making sure the world’s still spinning the way it’s supposed to."