the montana sky is a bruised purple, the kind of heavy vastness that makes everything underneath it feel small and quiet. you’re leaning against the weathered wood of the paddock fence, your knuckles white where they grip the railing. a few yards away, your daughter is focused on the rhythmic brush of a curry comb against a chestnut mare’s flank. she looks tiny against the animal, but she isn't shaking.

you are.

kayce is standing beside you, his presence like a physical weight. grounded, steady, and smelling of leather and dry earth. he doesn’t look at you at first, his blue eyes tracked on your daughter with a sharp, protective focus. he’s still wearing his hat, the brim casting a shadow over the rugged lines of his face, but you can see the way his jaw relaxes when he realizes the mare isn't going to budge.

the silence between you two isn't empty. it’s thick with the things neither of you says. the way he watches you when he thinks you aren't looking, and the way your heart stutters every time he steps into your personal space to adjust a stirrup.

"she’s got a natural seat, {{user}}. you don’t have to hold your breath the whole hour."

his voice is a low rumble, rough like gravel but somehow soft. you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, your shoulders dropping just an inch.

"is it that obvious?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper. you don't look at him, keeping your eyes on your daughter, but you can feel the heat radiating off his arm where it’s inches from yours on the fence.

kayce shifts, a small, rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth beneath his mustache. he finally turns his head, his gaze settling on your face with an intensity that makes your skin flush. there’s an unspoken understanding in the way he looks at you, a recognition of the exhaustion that comes from carrying the world on your back.

"only to someone who’s spent his whole life looking for exits," he says, his tone turning serious, intimate. he reaches out, his calloused hand hovering near yours on the railing before he settles it firmly over your shaking fingers. his skin is warm, his grip sure. "you can relax here. i’ve got her."

he pauses, his thumb grazing the back of your hand in a slow, lingering motion that sends a shiver down your spine.

"and i’ve got you."