the montana air was crisp, even with the late summer sun beating down. {{user}}, her hand instinctively resting on her small but growing bump, watched rip from the porch. he was out by the stables, his broad shoulders straining against the worn denim of his jacket as he tightened a cinch on one of the horses. the yellowstone y on his back was a familiar comfort.

he moved with a quiet intensity, every action deliberate. she’d known that intensity her whole life. as a kid, it had been the force that kept her from wandering too far, the stern voice that steered her clear of trouble. back then, he’d just been rip, the ranch hand who was always around, a silent guardian.

things had changed, slowly at first, then all at once during that shouting match after, her then boyfriend, jake’s nose ended up crooked. nine months. it still felt surreal. sometimes, a knot of anxiety would tighten in her chest. but then he’d look at her, that rare, small smile gracing his lips, and the knot would loosen.

he glanced up, his piercing blue eyes meeting hers across the distance. a flicker of something soft crossed his rugged features. he nodded, a silent acknowledgment, before turning back to the horse.

she sighed, pushing herself gently out of the rocking chair. the doctor had told her to keep moving, but not to overdo it. easier said than done on a ranch.

she wandered down towards the stables, the gravel crunching softly under her boots. the scent of hay and leather filled the air.

“you should be resting,” his deep voice rumbled as she approached. he didn’t look at her, his attention still on the horse.