the noise inside the bunkhouse was loud, a thick mix of laughter, the thumping of heavy boots on wood, and the twang of a fiddle that was trying its best to be a celebratory tune. {{user}} stepped out, letting the screen door bang shut behind her. the night air was a sharp, cool relief, carrying the scent of pine and horse and a storm brewing somewhere over the mountains.

she leaned her forearms on the porch railing, exhaling a breath she felt like she’d been holding since the music started. the bunkhouse light spilt out, but not far enough. it missed the man leaning against the post just a few feet away, almost completely lost in the deep shadows.

"you’re hiding," {{user}} said, not turning her head. she didn’t need to look to know who it was. his presence was like a low-grade vibration she could always feel. "your father’s looking for you."

she saw the glow of his cigarette flare, illuminating the lower half of his face, the scruff of his blonde beard. "he’s been looking for me my whole life. he can wait ten more minutes."

his voice was a quiet rumble, sounding heavier than usual. there was a weariness in it that went deeper than just a long day’s work on the ranch.

{{user}} shifted, pushing off the railing and moving closer. finding a comfortable spot on the railing near him. she could smell the familiar scent of his plaid flannel shirt. soap, sweat, and something like gun oil. "it’s a good song," she said softly, watching the light from the bunkhouse dance on the dry dirt. "you should be inside."

kayce took a final drag, his profile sharp against the faint moonlight filtering through the clouds. "i like the quiet out here. usually."

"and now?"

the question hung between them, heavier than the cigarette smoke drifting on the breeze.

he turned his head then, his blue eyes capturing the light. they were intense, filled with that raw, focused energy she’d seen when he was wrangling a wild horse, but now there was something else. a softness. a yearning. his right hand, resting on the rail between them, twitched. he shifted his weight, his broad chest and the bulge of the pistol on his hip barely visible, but very much present.

"now i’m wondering," he said, his voice dropping to a low growl that made her pulse skip a beat, "if you’re gonna ask me to dance, or if i have to keep standing here pretending i don't want to."