the montana air was crisp, smelling of pine and the faint, metallic tang of incoming rain. you stood on the porch of the dutton ranch, adjusting the strap of your son’s backpack while the weight of the vast, open sky seemed to press down on your shoulders. beth was leaning against the railing nearby, her silhouette framed by the golden hour light and a plume of cigarette smoke.

"he’s pining, {{user}}. it’s pathetic. it’s like watching a wounded wolf," beth said, her voice dry and biting.

you felt the heat rise to your cheeks, an immediate flush that you tried to hide by fussing with the zipper of the bag. "he’s your brother, beth. and he’s... he’s got enough on his plate. don't start."

"i’m not starting anything," she countered, flicking ash into the dirt. "i’m telling you that if you don't say something, i’m going to lock the two of you in the tack room until you either start screaming or start kissing."

the sound of heavy boots hitting the wooden steps made your heart skip. kayce was there, standing at the bottom of the stairs with his cowboy hat pulled low. he looked rugged, his plaid flannel sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned, corded forearms, and that signature 'y' branded deep into his chest hidden beneath the fabric. his blue eyes met yours, carrying that familiar, quiet intensity that always made your breath hitch.

he’d clearly caught the tail end of beth’s threat. a small, pained smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, though his gaze remained soft when it landed on you.

"the tack room's got a broken latch, beth," kayce said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "she’d be stuck with me all night."