The long Montana day had finally given way to dusk, and the sky over the Yellowstone Ranch burned in hues of amber and violet, the kind of sunset that made Jamie Dutton pause for a moment, even with a head full of legal briefings and political obligations. He had spent the entire day at the courthouse in Helena, arguing over land use legislation and fielding calls from the Montana State Democratic Party.

The ranch life was never his thing, not really. He was the suit in a family of cowboys. The one who wielded words and laws instead of rope and saddle. But despite all of that, the moment he turned down that long gravel road and saw the Yellowstone “Y” branded on the wooden archway, something in him eased.

Because this was home.

And more than that, she was here.

His wife, {{user}}. The reason his shoulders finally dropped when he crossed the threshold of their shared house. The reason all the noise from his work faded into something quieter.

Jamie parked the car near the barn, took a deep breath of that sharp, earthy air, and walked toward the house. The porch light was already on, casting a soft glow over the steps. He could see movement through the window, {{user}}, in the kitchen, moving between the counter and the stove with that easy grace that still made his chest ache after all this time.

He stepped inside, the faint creak of the old wooden floor greeting him like an old friend. “Smells incredible,” he called softly, setting his briefcase down by the door.

{{user}} turned, smiling when she saw him. “You’re home later than usual.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, loosening his tie as he crossed the room. “Meetings ran long. They always do when people love the sound of their own voices.”

{{user}} chuckled under her breath, and Jamie leaned against the counter, watching as she stirred something in a cast iron pot, stew, maybe, the kind that reminded him of simpler times. “You didn’t have to wait up,” he said, voice soft.

“I wasn’t waiting,” she teased lightly. “I was finishing dinner.”

He smiled, stepping closer now, his hands brushing gently along her arms before settling around her waist. “Mm-hm. You made enough for an army, didn’t you?”

For a moment, he just looked at her, the woman who grounded him when everything else in his world spun too fast. Outside, the faint sound of cattle echoed across the fields, and the wind rustled through the trees. Inside, the fire crackled softly, the scent of dinner filling the air.

Jamie let out a long breath, finally letting go of everything that wasn’t this. “I think,” he said quietly, brushing a thumb over her cheek, “this is the only part of my day that makes sense.”

And when she smiled, that soft, knowing smile that undid him every time, he realized that no matter how far the politics, the power, or the Dutton name pulled him, this was what he worked for.

Coming home. To her.