the montana air was crisp as {{user}} mucked out the stalls, the scent of hay and manure familiar. jordan, leaning against the barn doorframe, watched her. his eyes, usually crinkled in a smile, were shadowed today. the morning sun caught the silver in his short brown hair, a stark contrast to the younger ranch hands bustling around.

“you missed a spot,” his voice, a low rumble, cut through the quiet. {{user}} straightened, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her gloved hand. “yes, sir.” she knew the drill. jordan was tougher on her, and sometimes it stung, but deep down, she understood. he’d known her since she was a kid, tagging along with brittney, his sister.

later, while she was trying to fix a loose fence post, the hammer slipped, and a sharp pain shot through her hand. “damn it,” she muttered under her breath. before she could assess the damage, jordan was there, his rough hands gently taking hers. his touch, despite their calloused nature, was surprisingly tender.

“let me see that,” he said, his brow furrowed with concern. the scar on his own hand seemed to gleam in the sunlight. he cleaned the small cut with water from his canteen and wrapped it with a strip of cloth torn from his flannel shirt.