Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The bar was dimly lit, the scent of whiskey and cigarette smoke clinging to the walls like a memory. The song’s last note lingered in the air, but Rip and Beth stayed close, their eyes locked in an unspoken conversation. Beth tilted her head, her smirk hiding the vulnerability she always kept under lock and key. Rip, steady as ever, kept his hands on her waist, reluctant to let her go.

“I hate that song,” Beth said, her voice low but sharp. “Too soft, too sentimental.”

Rip smiled. “It suits the you I know when no one’s watching.”

Beth’s smirk faltered, her lips tightening as if she wanted to argue but couldn’t. She took a step back and reached for her cigarette, lighting it with the flick of a worn silver lighter. “You don’t know me as well as you think, buddy,” she said, exhaling smoke and defiance.

Rip didn’t bite. He never did. Instead, he nodded toward the bar. “How about another drink?”

Beth studied him for a moment before flicking ash onto the floor. “Only if you promise to stop looking at me like some sad country song.”

Rip chuckled, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. “No promises, sweetheart.”

As they settled at the bar, Beth ordered another whiskey while Rip nursed a beer. They didn’t talk much—silence had always been their language—but there was a tension in the air, an invisible thread tugging at the fragile connection between them. Rip could feel her slipping into one of her darker moods, the kind that usually led to her lashing out or disappearing.

“I don’t know why you keep doing this,” Beth said suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet. “Why you keep trying to fix me.”

Rip took a long sip of his beer before answering. “I ain’t trying to fix you, Beth. You’re not broken.”

Beth laughed, a hollow sound that didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

She downed her whiskey in one go, slamming the glass on the bar. Before Rip could say anything, she grabbed her coat and started toward the door. He followed, catching up with her just as she stepped into the cold night air.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his tone gentle but firm.

“Home,” she said, though her tone made it sound more like a challenge than a statement.

Rip grabbed her arm, not to stop her but to ground her. “Beth.”

She looked at him then, and for a brief moment, the walls she’d spent years building around herself seemed to crack. But just as quickly, the mask slipped back into place.

“Goodnight, Rip,” she said, pulling away.

Rip watched her go, his chest heavy with the weight of things unsaid. He knew she was running—not just from him, but from herself. And yet, he knew he’d be there waiting whenever she decided to return.

As Beth disappeared into the night, Rip leaned against his truck, the cold biting through his jacket. He glanced up at the stars, their light pale and distant, and thought about the song they’d danced to. Stone.

It was a fitting metaphor for Beth: unyielding on the outside, but underneath it all, something real, something raw, something worth holding onto.

He got into his truck, started the engine, and drove back to the ranch, knowing tomorrow would bring another fight, another dance, and another chance to remind her that she didn’t have to do it all alone.

Rip pulled into the foreman’s cabin just as the cool night settled deeper into the valley. The headlights of his truck swept across the small wooden structure, casting long shadows before he cut the engine. The night was quiet, save for the faint rustling of the wind through the trees and the soft creak of the porch steps as he climbed them.

He hadn’t expected to find anyone there. Most nights, the cabin was his retreat—a place to get lost in the stillness. But tonight, as he opened the door, the faint smell of cigarettes greeted him before he even saw her.

Beth was perched on the edge of his worn couch, her boots kicked off and her legs curled beneath her. A half-empty bottle of bourbon sat on the coffee table, next to one of Rip’s old mugs she’d clearly decided was good enough for drinking. She looked up when he stepped inside, her eyes sharp and glassy, though whether from the drink or her emotions, Rip couldn’t tell.

“Took you long enough,” she said, her voice laced with sarcasm, but there was something softer beneath it.

Rip closed the door behind him, taking off his hat and setting it on the counter. He stood there for a moment, studying her. She was out of place in the small, utilitarian cabin, but at the same time, she looked like she belonged there—like she could claim it as hers with just a look.

“What’re you doing here, Beth?” he asked, his voice calm, almost tired.

She shrugged, picking up the mug and taking a slow sip. “Didn’t feel like going home,” she said. Then, with a flicker of vulnerability, she added, “Didn’t feel like being alone.”

Rip leaned against the counter, his arms crossed. “You could’ve just said that back at the bar.”

Beth smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “And ruin my whole ‘mysterious’ vibe? No thanks.”

He didn’t laugh, but the corners of his mouth tugged upward just a little. “You’re a lot of things, Beth, but mysterious ain’t one of them.”

She set the mug down and leaned back on the couch, her arms draping over the back like she owned the place. “So what’s the plan, Rip? You gonna lecture me? Tell me I drink too much, that I push people away?”

“Nope,” he said simply, walking over and sitting down in the chair across from her. “Not my job to tell you how to live your life.”

Beth tilted her head, studying him. “Then why do you stick around?”

Rip didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he met her gaze. “Because I know who you are, even when you forget.”

Beth looked away, her jaw tightening. She reached for the bottle of bourbon, pouring another splash into the mug. “You’re too good for this, you know that?” she muttered.

“For what?”

“For me. For all this…” She gestured vaguely at the room, the world, everything. “You could’ve had a quiet life. Someone simple. Someone who doesn’t come with all this baggage.”

Rip shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “You don’t get it, do you? You think all this”—he gestured at her—“is something I’m putting up with. But it’s not. It’s what I want.”

Beth looked at him then, her eyes wide, her walls cracking just a little. “Why?”

“Because I love you, Beth,” he said, his voice steady and sure, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Always have. Always will.”

For a moment, she just stared at him, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. Then she looked away, swallowing hard. “You’re a fool, Rip,” her voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe,” he replied. “A fool for you.”

She didn’t say anything after that, just sat there, staring at the floor. Rip let the silence settle between them, giving her the space she needed. After a while, she stood up, crossing the room to stand in front of him. She looked down at him, her expression unreadable.

Then, without a word, she leaned up and kissed him—softly at first, then with the kind of intensity that came with years of unspoken feelings. Rip didn’t hesitate; he pulled her closer, his hands finding her waist like they belonged there.

When they finally broke apart, Beth rested her forehead against his, her voice barely more than a whisper. “You’re not gonna save me, you know.”

“I’m not trying to,” Rip said. “I’m just gonna love you. That’s all.”

Beth closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. For once, she didn’t argue. Instead, she allowed herself to lean into the quiet safety of Rip’s arms.

Beth lingered there in Rip’s arms for a moment longer before pulling back just enough to look at him. Her blue eyes were softer now, stripped of the sharp edges she usually wore like armor. For once, there was no smirk, no biting remark on her lips—just a quiet plea she rarely allowed herself to voice.

“Will you just hold me tonight?” she asked, her voice almost fragile, like she wasn’t sure how the words would land.

Rip’s heart twisted in his chest. He’d seen Beth in every state imaginable—angry, reckless, defiant—but this side of her, vulnerable and raw, always hit him the hardest. It was the side she kept hidden from the rest of the world, and he felt honored every time she let him see it.

“Of course,” he said softly, without hesitation.

Beth nodded, her tough exterior cracking just enough to let him see the weight she carried. She stepped back, brushing a hand through her hair as if trying to steady herself. She lets Rip lead her up the stairs toward a small bed tucked in the corner.

“Your bed’s as rugged as you are,” she teased, the faintest hint of her usual bravado creeping back into her tone. “Not exactly the Four Seasons.”

Rip chuckled. “Didn’t figure you were looking for luxury.”

Beth smiled faintly. She climbed onto the bed, curling up on her side with her back to him. For a second, Rip just stood there, watching her, the sight of her in his bed something he’d dreamed about for years but never dared to expect.

“Don’t just stand there,” she murmured, her voice muffled by the pillow. “You promised.”

Rip shook his head with a soft smile and walked over, shrugging off his jacket and boots before sliding into bed beside her. The mattress creaked under his weight, but Beth didn’t flinch. Instead, she shifted closer to him, her back pressing against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. His hands rested gently on her waist, his grip firm but comforting.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The cabin was silent except for the faint crackle of the wind outside and the soft rhythm of their breathing. Rip felt her relax against him, the tension in her body slowly unwinding as she let herself sink into his embrace.

“You know,” she said quietly, her voice almost too soft to hear, “I don’t do this. I don’t… let people in.”

“I know,” Rip replied, his lips brushing against the top of her head. “But you let me in. That’s enough.”

She let out a quiet laugh, tinged with sadness. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It is simple,” he said. “You’re the one who makes it complicated.”

Beth didn’t respond right away. Instead, she reached for his hand, lacing her fingers with his. It was a small gesture, but for Beth, it spoke volumes.

“Don’t get used to this,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m still a storm, and storms don’t settle.”

Rip smiled against her hair, tightening his hold on her. “I don’t need you to settle, Beth. I just need you to keep letting me ride it out with you.”

She didn’t say anything after that, but the way she leaned into him, her body soft and pliant against his, was answer enough. For the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself feel safe—not because the world had changed, but because Rip had a way of making her believe, if only for a little while, that she didn’t have to face it alone.

As the night deepened, Rip held her close, his steady presence grounding her in a way nothing else ever could. And as sleep finally claimed them both, Beth allowed herself to believe, just for tonight, that maybe, this kind of peace wasn’t so far out of reach after all.

Chapter Text

The early morning light crept into the cabin, painting the walls in soft, muted hues of gold and gray. Rip stirred, the warmth of Beth's presence still lingering on the sheets beside him. But when he reached out, his hand met the cool emptiness of the bed.

He opened his eyes and glanced at the space where she’d been. The pillow was still slightly indented, the faint scent of her lingering in the air—bourbon, cigarettes, and something uniquely Beth. But she was gone.

Rip didn’t panic. He didn’t curse or let disappointment sink in. He just sat up slowly, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and took a deep breath. This was Beth, after all. She wasn’t the kind of woman who woke up in the same place she’d fallen asleep, and he’d long ago learned to accept that.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the floor cold beneath his bare feet. Rising, he grabbed his jeans and shirt from where they’d been tossed the night before. As he pulled them on, he noticed her boots were gone, along with the bottle of bourbon she’d been nursing. She’d left no note, no goodbye, no sign she’d been there at all, but that was just her way.

Rip walked to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot he’d brewed the night before. Leaning against the counter, he sipped it slowly, staring out the small window at the vast expanse of the ranch. The morning was calm, the sky a pale blue streaked with pink clouds, and for a moment, he let himself imagine where she might be.

He wasn’t worried. Beth was wild, untamed, like a fierce mustang that didn’t know how to be broken—and he loved her for it. She needed her freedom, her space to run, and he’d never been the kind of man to try to cage her. That wasn’t what love was, not the way he felt it.

He could see her now in his mind’s eye: the way she’d pull on those boots, tie her hair back with reckless indifference, and light a cigarette with that defiant glint in her eye. She’d leave without a word because she hated goodbyes, hated the weight they carried. It wasn’t that she didn’t care—he knew better than anyone how deeply she felt—it was just that she didn’t know how to stay. Not yet.

Rip finished his coffee, set the mug down, and pulled on his boots. The day wouldn’t wait, and neither would the work that needed to be done. As he stepped outside, the crisp air hit him, waking him fully. The ranch stretched out before him, endless and beautiful, and he felt a sense of calm wash over him.

He knew Beth would come back. She always did, in her own time and her own way. She was like the wind—unpredictable and unstoppable—but she always found her way back to the places and people who anchored her. And Rip, for all his patience and quiet strength, was the rock she returned to when the storm inside her settled, even if just for a little while.

As he saddled his horse and prepared for another long day on the ranch, Rip let himself smile.

Chapter Text

Later that evening the sun was low on the horizon, painting the sky in deep oranges and purples as Rip rode back from the pasture. His horse's steady gait and the rhythmic creak of the saddle were the only sounds, aside from the occasional call of a bird overhead. He was tired, his muscles aching from the long day, but the sight of her stopped him cold.

Beth was standing outside the arena, her arms crossed over the top rail, her head resting on them like she’d been there for a while. She looked small against the vastness of the ranch, yet at the same time, she seemed to command the whole damn space. Her golden hair caught the evening light, and Rip’s heart gave that familiar ache—the one it always did when he saw her.

She lifted her head when she caught sight of him, her piercing blue eyes locking with his across the distance. They stared at each other, the silence between them heavy but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that said everything words couldn’t.

Rip nudged his horse toward her, dismounting a few yards away. He took his time tying the reins to the post, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She didn’t move, didn’t speak, just kept that steady gaze on him like she was daring him to break the stillness first.

He finally walked up to her, leaning on the fence beside her, his hat pushed back slightly so he could see her better. “Figured you’d be halfway to Utah by now,” he said, his voice carrying that easy, low drawl.

Beth smirked, lifting her head and turning toward him. “Thought about it,” she replied. “But then I remembered Utah doesn’t have cowboys stupid enough to put up with me.”

Rip chuckled. “You’re probably right about that.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “Long day?”

“Long enough,” he said. “And it’s looking longer now.”

Beth raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Am I that much trouble?”

Rip glanced at her, his lips twitching into a small smile. “More trouble than a busted fence line in the middle of calving season.”

She laughed at that, the sound warm and unexpected. “You’ve got a way with words, Rip. A real poet.”

He shrugged. “Just callin’ it like I see it.”

They fell into an easy silence, the kind only they could share. Beth turned her gaze back to the horizon, watching the sun sink lower, its light casting long shadows over the arena.

“You always know I’m coming back, don’t you?” she asked suddenly, her tone softer now, more introspective.

Rip didn’t look at her. He kept his eyes on the horizon. “Yep.”

“How?”

He turned his head then, his dark eyes steady on hers. “Because you don’t know how to stay gone, Beth. You can’t. Not from here, not from me.”

She didn’t answer right away, her fingers tracing the rough wood of the fence. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” she said, her voice quieter. “I don’t know how to stay anywhere, even when I want to.”

Rip leaned in a little closer, his voice low and firm. “You don’t have to figure it out right now. You just gotta keep coming back. That’s enough for me.”

Beth looked at him, her expression softening in a way that made Rip’s chest tighten. She reached out and brushed a piece of hay off his shirt, her touch lingering longer than necessary. “You’re too patient for your own good, you know that?”

“Maybe,” he said. “But it’s not hard if you know what you’re waiting for.”

Beth stared at him for a moment, her walls crumbling just enough for him to see the vulnerability underneath. Then, as if catching herself, she smirked and stepped back, that familiar spark of mischief returning to her eyes.

“Don’t get used to this, Rip,” she said, her voice tinged with playfulness. “I’m not turning into some ranch wife who makes casseroles and cries at sunsets.”

Rip grinned, adjusting his hat. “Didn’t figure you were. Wouldn’t want you to be, anyway.”

Beth rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. “Come on, cowboy,” she said, nodding toward the foreman’s house in the distance. “Let’s see if there’s still some whiskey left in this godforsaken place.”

Rip didn’t hesitate. He fell into step beside her, knowing full well that this moment—this easy banter, this fleeting closeness—was exactly what made it all worth it. Beth was wild, unpredictable, and impossible to tame. But she was his, in her own way.

As they walked toward the ranch house, the air between them felt lighter, as if their shared words outside the barn had eased some of the tension that always seemed to follow Beth like a shadow. The faint crunch of gravel under their boots was the only sound for a while, but neither of them felt the need to fill the silence. It was in these quiet moments, in the spaces between their sharp words and fiery exchanges, that their bond felt strongest.

“You know,” Beth said suddenly, glancing over at him, “most men wouldn’t put up with half the shit I throw at you.”

Rip smirked but didn’t break his stride. “Good thing I ain’t most men.”

She laughed, the sound rich and genuine. “You’re not, are you? I mean, look at you—walking around like some stoic cowboy out of a John Wayne movie. Always steady, always solid. Don’t you ever get tired of being the good guy?”

Rip stopped, his hand gently catching her arm to stop her, too. When she turned to face him, her eyes were sharp, but there was a flicker of something deeper behind them. Curiosity.

“I’m not a good guy, Beth,” he said simply, his voice low and sure. “Not by a long shot. I’ve done things—things I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life. But when it comes to you…” He paused, his eyes locking on hers. “You make me want to be better. That’s why I stick around. Not because I’m some saint. It’s because you’re worth it.”

Beth stared at him, her expression unreadable. She didn’t say anything right away, and for a moment, Rip thought he’d pushed too far. But then, she stepped closer, closing the space between them, her voice quiet but firm.

“You’re the only one who thinks that,” she said, her tone tinged with sadness.

Rip shook his head, his gaze unwavering. “You’re wrong about that. You just don’t let anyone else get close enough to see it.”

Beth’s lips quirked into a faint smile, though her eyes glistened with emotion she’d never admit to feeling. She reached up, brushing a hand lightly over his chest. “You really are a damn fool, cowboy.”

“Maybe,” he said, his voice soft. “But I’d rather be a fool with you than a wise man with anyone else.”

She let out a shaky breath, her hand lingering against him for a moment longer before she pulled it back. “Come on,” she said, her tone lighter now, though her eyes still carried the weight of their conversation. “I need a drink.”

Rip chuckled, falling into step beside her again as they continued toward the house. 

The lights of the ranch house grew brighter as Rip and Beth approached, their laughter and banter faint against the cool evening air. Beth’s arm loosely looped through Rip's, her head tilting toward him every now and then as she teased him about something inconsequential. Rip, as always, took it in stride, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

From the wide porch of the lodge, John Dutton leaned against the railing, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. He was still as a stone, his sharp eyes watching the two figures draw closer. The orange glow from the porch light caught the edges of his weathered face, and though his expression was unreadable, there was a certain weight in his gaze.

It wasn’t the first time John had seen Rip and Beth like this, though the sight was still jarring in its own way. His daughter—the hurricane that could tear through anything and anyone—was walking beside Rip with a softness he rarely saw in her. It wasn’t the same Beth who tore into enemies with venomous words or who carried the scars of her past like armor. This Beth looked... at ease..

And Rip? Rip looked like he always did: steady, grounded, and unshakably loyal. John had known Rip since the boy had first stepped foot on the ranch, a scared, angry kid with nowhere else to go. Over the years, John had watched him grow into a man he could depend on, a man who had bled for this family time and time again. If anyone could hold his daughter steady, if only for a moment, it was Rip.

John took a slow sip of his whiskey, his gaze never leaving them. He’d spent years grappling with the idea of anyone being good enough for Beth. But the truth was, Beth didn’t need someone to fix her, and she sure as hell didn’t need someone to control her. What she needed was exactly what Rip offered her: patience, understanding, and the kind of love that didn’t come with conditions or expectations.

As Rip and Beth reached the cabin in the distance, they paused, still oblivious to John’s watchful eyes. Beth leaned back against the railing at the base of the stairs, her arms crossed over her chest as she said something that made Rip chuckle quietly. He stepped closer to her, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back—an instinctive, protective gesture.

John’s lips tightened into a thin line, but it wasn’t disapproval. It was a complicated mix of emotions—relief, pride, and something resembling peace. For so long, he’d worried about who Beth might let into her life, who might take advantage of her wild, wounded heart. But looking at her now, with Rip by her side, John realized he didn’t need to worry. Rip wasn’t just a man who loved Beth. He was a man who understood her. And that made all the difference.

As they lingered on the steps, Rip glanced up toward the lodge, his sharp eyes finally catching John’s. For a moment, they just stared at each other, a silent exchange passing between them. Rip’s expression didn’t falter—he didn’t flinch or look away. Instead, he nodded ever so slightly, a quiet acknowledgment of the man who had given him a place in the world.

John returned the nod, lifting his whiskey in a subtle toast. Then, without a word, he turned and walked back inside, leaving them to their moment.

Beth, still oblivious, glanced over her shoulder. “What’s the matter, cowboy? Seeing ghosts?”

Rip shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Nothing like that.”

Beth rolled her eyes, though there was a flicker of warmth in her expression. “Come on, before my dad comes out here and starts interrogating you about whatever he thinks we’re up to.”

Rip followed her, his hand resting briefly on her back again as they entered the house. He didn’t need to explain the look John had given him, the unspoken understanding between them. Rip knew he didn’t have to prove himself to John. He’d already done that a hundred times over.

Chapter Text

The next morning Beth lay in bed for a few more moments after Rip had gone, savoring the peace that lingered like the fading scent of his cologne. It wasn’t something she was used to—peace. But she didn’t want to waste it, even if it was fleeting. Eventually, though, reality called, as it always did.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and began dressing, layer by layer. Her corporate armor, as she thought of it, was as much a part of her as the fire that fueled her. A tailored pencil skirt, a sharp blouse, and a jacket with lines as crisp as her words. She pulled on her heels, each click of her steps a deliberate reminder of her power. Finally, she stood before the mirror, tying her hair back into a tight, severe bun. With each step, she built the walls she’d let down for Rip, brick by brick, until the woman who stared back at her was every bit the warrior she needed to be to face the world.

By the time she reached the office, Beth was back to being the force of nature no one dared cross. The hours blurred together in a haze of meetings, phone calls, and documents—deals to be made, enemies to crush. Her assistant, Jason, tried to keep up, his desk cluttered with files and Post-it notes. By evening, the office was quieter, the once-bustling space now subdued, except for the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the faint clink of ice in Beth’s bourbon glass.

Beth sat hunched over her desk, papers scattered in organized chaos around her. A cigarette dangling between her fingers, the smoke curling lazily into the air as she scrawled notes in the margins of a contract. Jason, ever loyal, sat at his own desk nearby, his tie loosened and his posture slumped as he typed on his laptop.

“I don’t pay you to sit there looking tired, Jason,” Beth said without looking up, her voice sharp but tinged with a kind of weary humor.

Jason glanced up, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Good thing I’m on salary, then.”

Beth smirked faintly, but her eyes remained glued to the paper in front of her. The glass of bourbon in her other hand rested on the edge of her desk, the amber liquid catching the dim light.

The sound of the front doors opening echoed faintly through the office. Beth didn’t look up, assuming it was a janitor or some late-night straggler. Jason, however, froze, his eyes flickering toward the figure walking through the glass doors. His expression shifted from tired resignation to surprise as a cowboy stepped inside.

Rip stopped just inside the doorway, his boots silent on the polished floors as his dark eyes took in the scene before him. Beth, with her sharp pencil skirt, cigarette in hand, and glass of bourbon resting dangerously close to a pile of contracts, was a sight to behold. He’d always known she was a force in the workplace—she carried the same fire here as she did everywhere else—but seeing it first hand was something else entirely.

The office around her felt too small to contain her, her energy filling every corner. Her focus was razor-sharp, her movements calculated and deliberate. Even here, surrounded by paperwork and the sterile glow of office lights, she was untouchable, her walls higher than ever.

Rip stood there for a moment, watching her in silence. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, his hat resting in his hand, but for once, he didn’t move to announce his presence. He let himself admire her, soaking in the sight of the woman he loved completely, in her element.

Jason cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable under Rip’s steady gaze. Beth finally looked up, her pen pausing mid-note as her sharp blue eyes locked onto Rip’s. Her expression softened, just slightly, the hard edges of her usual demeanor easing as recognition settled in.

Rip tilted his head, his lips curving into a faint smile as he eyed her up, his gaze warm and steady. “You look like you’re running this place into the ground,” he said, his voice low and teasing, the slightest drawl making the words softer than they might have sounded from anyone else.

Beth leaned back in her chair, exhaling a long stream of smoke before stubbing out her cigarette. She picked up her bourbon, swirling the glass slowly as a small, mischievous smirk played on her lips. “And what would you know about running anything?” she shot back, her tone playful but with an unmistakable warmth.

Rip stepped farther into the room, his presence grounding her in a way that nothing else could. For a moment, neither of them said anything, the tension between them shifting into something familiar, something safe.

Beth’s smirk widened as she raised an eyebrow, her voice dropping to a low, almost purring tone. “Well, are you gonna just stand there looking pretty, or are you planning on coming over here?”

Rip chuckled, his eyes sparkling as he closed the distance between them. Jason muttered something under his breath about needing coffee and made a hasty exit, leaving the two of them alone in the quiet office.

Beth’s smirk lingered as Rip stopped just in front of her desk, his large hands resting lightly on the edge, his eyes never leaving hers. The fire between them burned steady, familiar, and unbreakable.

Rip leaned in, his face so close to Beth’s that she could feel the heat radiating off of him. His dark eyes searched hers, steady and patient, a small, knowing smirk tugging at his lips. He had come 99% of the way, leaving just that last sliver of space between them for her to close. It was his way of giving her control, of letting her decide. He never demanded—he simply waited.

Beth let the moment hang there, her eyes narrowing slightly in challenge. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she leaned forward and closed the gap, her lips brushing against his. The instant their mouths met, it was as though the entire room became electrically charged. The air itself seemed to hum, the tension between them exploding into something raw and magnetic.

Rip’s hand cupped her cheek, his fingers tangling in the hair she had so neatly tied back earlier, while Beth’s nails grazed the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. It was intoxicating, and for a brief moment, the world outside her office disappeared.

Jason, who had peeked back into the office after grabbing his coffee, immediately decided it was time to call it a night. Without a word, he grabbed his bag and made his exit.

Rip pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting lightly against Beth’s. His lips curled into a soft grin, but before she could say anything snarky, he straightened, his attention suddenly shifting to her office.

He turned away from her, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he began wandering around the room. It was the first time he’d seen the place where she wielded her power—where she became the woman who could make men twice her size crumble under her sharp words and sharper mind.

Rip picked up a paperweight from her desk, turning it over in his hands before setting it back down in almost the same place. Then he moved to a bookshelf, his fingers trailing over the spines of the books and binders. Every now and then, he’d glance back at Beth, his expression unreadable, as though he were piecing together this side of her that he’d never fully seen before.

Beth leaned back in her chair, a new cigarette resting between her fingers, the bourbon back in her other hand. She kicked off her heels, propping her bare feet up on the edge of her desk as she watched him roam. Usually, she hated distractions when she was working, but Rip wasn’t just any distraction. He was the only one she’d ever allow to take up this kind of space in her world.

“You like snooping?” she teased, exhaling a stream of smoke as her lips curved into a smirk.

Rip glanced over at her, one hand on a framed photo of her and her father from years ago. “Not snooping,” he replied, setting the photo back down. “Just getting the lay of the land.”

Beth chuckled, shaking her head as she took a sip of her bourbon. “And? What’s the verdict?”

Rip walked back to her desk, leaning against it casually, his dark eyes scanning her in that slow, deliberate way that always made her heart race. “It’s impressive,” he admitted. “But it’s missing something.”

Beth raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh yeah? What’s it missing?”

Rip leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “Me.”

She laughed, a deep, throaty sound that echoed through the room. “You’re already invading my space, Rip. What more could you want?”

Rip straightened, his arms crossing over his chest as his gaze flicked back around the room, then returned to her. “You really want me to answer that?”

Beth leaned further back in her chair, her bare feet still propped up on the desk, her eyes locked on his. Her smirk grew wider as she took another drag from her cigarette. “I do. Let’s hear it. Any fantasies you’ve been holding onto? Anything you’d like to make good on while you’re here?”

Rip’s eyes darkened, his lips twitching into a slow, dangerous grin as he stepped closer to her. “Just a few,” he said, his voice low and teasing, his gaze flicking over her in a way that made her pulse quicken.

Beth’s smirk didn’t falter, but her heart was pounding as she waited for what he’d say next, the charged air between them crackling with unspoken possibilities.

“Alright, baby,” she purred, leaning back further in her chair, looking every bit the queen of her domain. “Let’s hear it. What’s on your mind?”

Rip’s lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile, one that held a dangerous kind of promise. He leaned forward, placing his hands on either side of her desk, his broad shoulders cutting through her carefully controlled space like a storm. He wasn’t loud, wasn’t forceful, but his presence was all-consuming, the kind of power that didn’t need to shout to be felt.

He started speaking, his voice low and gravelly, each word measured and deliberate. He didn’t rush, didn’t hold back, as he painted a picture of exactly what he wanted to do to her—how he’d start by trailing his lips along the curve of her neck, how his hands would follow, taking their time to explore every inch of her skin. He described the way he’d pull her onto the desk, scattering her neatly stacked papers without a second thought, the way he’d lay her back and make her forget the world outside this office even existed.

His words grew more detailed, more vivid, as he laid out every fantasy he’d ever had about her. How he’d grip her thighs, how her nails would dig into his shoulders, how her gasps and moans would fill the room as he drove her to the brink over and over again. He told her how she’d come undone for him, completely and utterly at his mercy, right here in this space she ruled so fiercely.

Beth’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second—just the smallest twitch of her lips that someone else might’ve missed. But not Rip. His sharp eyes caught the slight change, and then he saw it—the hard swallow, the way her throat moved as she tried to keep her composure.

He’d shaken her.

She took another drag, slower this time, as if she needed the extra second to steel herself. “That’s a hell of a vivid imagination you’ve got there, cowboy,” she said, her voice steady but quieter than before.

Rip didn’t miss the slight tremble in her fingers as she tapped the ash from her cigarette. He didn’t gloat, didn’t press her, but the look on his face said everything—he knew he’d gotten to her. He straightened up, still leaning slightly over the desk, his gaze locked on hers as if daring her to deny what she was feeling.

Beth refused to break, her smirk still intact as she exhaled the last of her smoke and stubbed out the cigarette. But Rip could see it—how her chest rose and fell just a little faster than before, how her grip on the edge of her chair tightened. This was her turf, her game, and yet somehow, he was the one winning.

“Your move, sweetheart,” Rip said, his voice soft but loaded with meaning. Then he leaned back slightly, giving her the smallest reprieve, though his presence still dominated the room.

Beth crossed her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes at him, her smile sharpening as she fought to regain the upper hand. But deep down, she knew the truth—this man had just tipped the scales, and for the first time, she wasn’t sure how to tip them back.

Ever the master of control, slowly and deliberately rose from her chair. Her gaze never wavered from Rip’s, her smirk sharpening into something that promised she was about to turn the tables. She moved with purpose, her movements slow and calculated as she shrugged off her jacket, letting it slide down her arms and drop to the back of her chair without a word.

Rip’s eyes tracked her every move, his chest tightening as she reached up, her fingers slowly unfastening the first button of her blouse. The air between them crackled, thick with tension, as Beth took her time undoing the buttons one by one, exposing just enough skin to keep his focus entirely on her.

She stepped around the desk, her hips swaying in that effortless way that always drove him mad. Each step brought her closer, the curve of her smirk deepening as she saw the effect she was having on him. Rip stood his ground, but his jaw tightened, his dark eyes flickering between her face and the skin she revealed with every agonizingly slow movement.

By the time she reached the edge of the desk, Rip could barely see straight. She was so close now, her scent wrapping around him like a vice, her presence completely overwhelming. He swore he could feel the heat radiating off her even before she touched him.

Just as she was about to close the last inch of space between them, her lips parting as if to speak, she stopped. Her voice a low, teasing purr. “You’ll have to catch me first, baby.”

Before Rip could even process what she’d said, Beth darted to the side, her laughter echoing through the room as she made a move to run. But she didn’t get far—before she could even take a full step, Rip’s hands were on her, his reflexes faster than she’d anticipated. His strong arms wrapped around her waist, and in one fluid motion, he spun her back toward the desk.

Beth gasped, the sound quickly dissolving into a low laugh as her back hit the surface of the desk. Papers and pens scattered to the floor as Rip pinned her there, his body pressed firmly against hers. His hands braced on either side of her, caging her in as he leaned down, his dark eyes blazing with intensity.

Beth looked up at him, her breath coming quicker now, though her smirk never fully left her lips. “That all you’ve got, cowboy?” she teased, though her voice betrayed the slightest tremor of excitement.

Rip’s lips curved up. “Not even close,” he murmured, his voice low and rough as he leaned in, his nose brushing against hers.

Rip’s grin deepened, his dark eyes glinting with a challenge as he leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. “I’ll show you what I’ve got,” he murmured, his voice low and full of promise.

Before Beth could quip back, Rip’s hands moved with purpose, gripping the edges of her blouse. In one swift motion, the fabric gave way, the buttons scattering across the hardwood floor with faint, hollow sounds. She laughed, breathless and wild, her head tilting back as she watched him with that spark of defiance still burning in her eyes.

Rip wasted no time. His hands, rough and sure, slid down her sides, finding the zipper of her skirt and working it free. The fabric slipped down her legs, pooling at her ankles. Beth arched an eyebrow, amusement dancing across her face at his urgency. “Didn’t know you were in such a rush,” she teased, her voice low and daring.

Rip didn’t answer. He grabbed her thighs, his strength undeniable as he parted her legs and pulled her forward, settling her onto the edge of the desk. Her breath hitched, the laughter fading into something heavier, more primal, as his hands and mouth roamed her skin with a possessive kind of reverence.

The room around them seemed to fade into nothingness—the lights blazing, the glass walls exposing them to the empty night outside, and the scattered papers forgotten as Rip claimed every inch of her focus. Beth’s hands found his hair, clutching at him, her body melting into the intensity of his his mouth on her. 

Rip’s focus didn’t waver, his movements deliberate and methodical, like he knew exactly what to do to unravel her. Beth’s sharp, confident exterior began to crack, her head tilting back as she let herself get lost in the moment. Her grip tightened, pulling him closer, her soft gasps filling the room.

The build was fast and fierce, leaving Beth breathless, her heart pounding as her body responded to him with abandon. Her fingers tangled in his hair, grounding herself as the tension reached its peak, a rush of electricity sweeping through her in a way that left her shaking, her head spinning.

Rip didn’t give her time to recover. His hands never left her skin, his strength and determination unwavering. He stood, his dark eyes locked on hers, the intensity of his gaze cutting through the haze. Beth was still catching her breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly, when Rip pulled her close again, his touch firm yet careful, just the way she liked.

He leaned over her, one hand sliding to cradle the side of her neck, his thumb brushing over her jaw as his forehead rested briefly against hers. Sliding inside her the connection between them was unspoken, a perfect understanding that didn’t require words. The room, their world, was theirs alone, filled with the sound of their breaths, their shared heat, and the electric pull that had always existed between them.

Beth clung to him, her legs wrapping around his waist as she surrendered completely, her sharp tongue silenced for once by the sheer power of the moment. Rip didn’t let up, didn’t falter, his focus wholly on her. They moved together like they always did—like two halves of the same storm.

When it was over, Beth lay sprawled across the desk, her body still trembling, her lips parted as she tried to catch her breath. Rip stood over her, his chest heaving, his hands still resting on her hips as he watched her with a quiet intensity.

Beth tilted her head up, her signature smirk slowly returning as she reached for him, her fingers brushing against his jaw. “I don’t think I’m getting much work done tonight,” she murmured, her voice soft but laced with that familiar teasing edge.

Rip grinned, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “Didn’t think you’d mind,” he replied, his voice rough but full of affection.

Letting the moment settle around them. Beth stretched her arms over her head, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips as her eyes flicked up at Rip. He was still standing over her, his hands resting gently on her hips, watching her with a look she rarely saw—tender, almost bashful, though it didn’t dull the intensity in his gaze.

After a long, quiet beat, Rip sighed and reluctantly pulled away. “Come on, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “We better put you back together before someone wanders in here.”

Beth laughed, low and throaty, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Let ’em see,” she teased, but there was no bite to it, just that wicked edge that Rip had always loved.

Still, she didn’t resist when he reached for her skirt, gathering it from where it had fallen and carefully sliding it back up her legs. His calloused hands brushed against her skin as he worked the zipper at the side, his touch lingering a little longer than necessary. He straightened, smoothing the fabric into place, his focus entirely on her.

Next, he reached for her blouse—now ruined, the buttons scattered across the room. Rip held it up with a sheepish grin, one she didn’t get to see often. “Not sure this is salvageable,” he muttered, slipping it over her shoulders anyway.

Beth smirked, tilting her head as she watched him fuss over her. “You gonna sew it back together for me, Rip? Show me your secret skills?”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he picked up his own jacket from the floor. Without a word, he draped it around her shoulders, the heavy material enveloping her completely. Then, to her surprise, he zipped it up, his hands lingering at the collar as he adjusted it, making sure she was fully covered.

“You’re not walking out of here like that,” he said firmly, his voice soft but resolute. “Don’t want anyone else lookin’ at you.”

Beth blinked up at him, her sharp demeanor momentarily disarmed by the protectiveness in his tone. She reached out, grabbing the front of his jacket and tugging him closer for a quick kiss.

Together, they moved through the room, collecting the scattered items from the floor and straightening her desk. Rip placed everything back exactly where it had been, while Beth leaned against the edge of the desk, watching him with a bemused expression.

“You sure you don’t wanna stick around and file these papers, too?” she teased, lighting another cigarette as she watched him carefully adjust a stack of contracts.

Rip shot her a look, shaking his head as he placed the last folder back on the desk. “Let’s get you outta here before you come up with more ideas,” he said, his lips twitching into a grin.

They walked together to her car, the night air crisp against their skin. Rip opened the door for her, holding it as Beth slid into the driver’s seat. Before she could start the engine, he leaned in, resting one hand on the top of the doorframe.

His other hand tilted her chin up, his thumb brushing against her jaw as he kissed her—slow, deliberate, and with a tenderness that made her chest tighten. When he pulled back, he locked eyes with her, his voice low as he said, “I’ll follow you home.”

Beth arched an eyebrow, smirking. “You always do, baby.”

Rip stepped back, letting her start the car. He climbed into his truck, keeping a steady distance as they drove down the long dirt road leading away from her office. The lights of the ranch grew closer, the familiarity of home settling over them like a quiet promise.

Beth pulled up outside the foreman’s cabin first, her car idling for a moment as Rip parked his truck behind her. She stepped out, leaning against the door of her car as she waited for him to join her. When he did, his steady presence filled the space between them, the comfort of him grounding her in a way that nothing else ever could.

He watched her lean against the door, her eyes holding his, that signature smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. But tonight, there was something softer behind it—an ease, a quietness he hadn’t seen in her in a long time.

He didn’t ask her what she was thinking. He didn’t wonder aloud if she’d be gone before dawn, or if this moment was fleeting like so many others before it. Rip had spent twenty years playing that game, waiting, hoping, wondering. But not anymore. Tonight, he simply said what he knew in his gut.

“You’re staying,” he said, his voice steady and certain, no question in it—just a quiet declaration.

Beth’s smirk widened, her blue eyes sparking with something unreadable but unmistakably hers. She pushed off the car door, moving closer until she stood inches away. Her gaze never left his, and for a moment, she simply studied him, her head tilting slightly as if she were weighing his words.

Then, without saying anything, she reached for his hand, her fingers lacing through his in a gesture so simple yet so deeply intimate it made Rip’s chest ache. She tugged him gently toward the steps, her grip firm but easy, her actions doing all the talking she needed.

Rip let her lead him, his boots falling in step behind hers as they climbed the few steps to the foreman’s cabin. The old wooden boards creaked softly under their weight, the familiar sound grounding him as much as the warmth of her hand in his. When they reached the door, Beth paused for a beat, glancing over her shoulder at him with that same unreadable smile.

Then she pushed the door open, stepping inside and pulling him in with her.

The room was dimly lit, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the windows casting long shadows across the worn wooden floors. Beth turned to face him, her fingers still tangled in his. Her expression softened as she let her eyes roam over his face, the tension of the day melting away in the quiet of the cabin.

She didn’t say a word, didn’t feel the need to fill the silence. Instead, she let her actions speak. Her free hand reached up, brushing along the rough line of his jaw before sliding to the back of his neck, pulling him down to her. She kissed him—not with the fire and fury she so often carried, but with a tenderness that made him feel like the only man in the world.

Rip responded without hesitation, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her close, the weight of her in his arms feeling more right than anything he’d ever known. For the first time in years, he didn’t feel the lingering question, the nagging fear that she’d slip away when the morning came. Because tonight, Beth wasn’t running. She was here, with him, and that was all he needed.

As the kiss deepened, Beth broke away just enough to look up at him, her lips brushing against his as she whispered, “You’re right, Rip. I’m staying.”

Beth’s fingers found the zipper of Rip’s jacket, tugging it down with slow deliberation. She slipped it off her shoulders and hung it neatly on a hook near the front door, her movements purposeful yet teasing. She turned back to him, her sharp blue eyes glinting with mischief as a playful smirk tugged at her lips.

Rip stood still, his hands resting on his belt buckle, watching her with the quiet intensity that always made her pulse quicken. There was amusement in his dark gaze, a flicker of anticipation as he waited to see what she’d do next.

Beth didn’t disappoint. Slowly, she began to undo the few buttons left on her blouse—the same ruined one he’d put back on her an hour ago—her fingers moving with an exaggerated slowness that was entirely for his benefit. She let the fabric fall open, exposing her skin, before shrugging it off and letting it drop to the floor. Her skirt followed, sliding down her legs as she walked toward the small bathroom at the back of the cabin, her bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor.

Rip’s eyes tracked her every move, his chest tightening with a mix of admiration and desire. Beth didn’t look back right away, though she knew he was watching her. She paused in the doorway to the bathroom, leaning against the frame, her body silhouetted by the soft light spilling out from within.

Finally, she turned her head, giving him a look that was equal parts challenge and invitation. “Well,” she drawled, her voice low and sultry, “you coming?”

Rip grinned, his amusement deepening as he slowly unbuckled his belt and tossed it onto a nearby chair. “Didn’t think you’d have to ask, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and rough with affection.

He stalked toward her with that deliberate, confident stride of his, the sound of his boots on the floorboards echoing softly through the cabin. By the time he reached her, Beth had already turned to walk further into the bathroom, but Rip didn’t let her get far. He caught her around the waist, his strong arms pulling her back against his chest as he pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck.

Beth let out a soft laugh, leaning into him for just a moment before pushing playfully at his chest. “Shower, Rip. Focus.”

Rip chuckled, releasing her just long enough to turn on the shower and let the water heat up. The tiny bathroom filled with steam almost immediately, the air growing warm and humid as Rip began stripping out of his own clothes. His shirt and jeans hit the floor in a pile, and by the time he stepped out of his boots, Beth was already testing the water, her hand under the stream as she looked back at him with an approving smile.

Rip didn’t give her time to tease him again. He closed the distance between them in two quick strides, his hands finding her waist and pulling her against him. Her back pressed to his chest as he bent down, his lips grazing her shoulder in a way that made her sigh softly, the sound barely audible over the rush of water.

Without a word, Rip stepped into the shower with her, the warm spray cascading over them as the steam swirled around their bodies. His hands never left her, holding her close as the door to the outside world seemed to fade away entirely.

“You’re staring” she teased, tilting her head slightly to glance up at him, her smirk clear even through the mist. “See something you like?”

Rip chuckled low in his throat, his hands moving to her hips, pulling her closer under the spray. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he said, though the amusement in his tone betrayed him. “You’re just blocking the water.”

Beth laughed, the sound deep and throaty, echoing off the tiled walls. She spun in his arms, now facing him, her hands sliding up his chest as her eyes locked onto his. “Blocking, huh? Let me fix that for you.”

With deliberate slowness, she reached for the soap, lathering it between her palms before running her hands down her own arms, her neck, her stomach. She was clearly putting on a show, her lips twitching as she watched his eyes darken. Rip stood still, his arms crossed over his chest, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth gave him away.

“You trying to distract me?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, dripping with affection.

She cocked her head, arching an eyebrow. “Distract you? From what? You got somewhere else you need to be?”

Rip stepped forward, the distance between them shrinking to nothing, his hands finding her waist again. “Just trying to figure out if you’re teasing me or testing me,” he said, his voice playful but firm.

Beth grinned, reaching up to trace her fingers along the line of his jaw. “Maybe both,” she replied, her tone dripping with mischief.

Rip murmured, his hands sliding down her back. “It’s damn entertaining.”

She laughed again, “Wouldn’t want you getting bored.”

Rip’s response was to spin her around, gently pressing her back against the cool tile wall, his hands bracketing her on either side. “The day I get bored of you, Beth, is the day they bury me,” he said, his voice rough but full of unshakable truth.

They lingered there, caught in the heat of the water and the pull of each other, trading kisses and teasing words until the steam grew so thick it clung to their skin. When the water finally started to cool, Rip leaned past her and turned off the shower, stepping out first and grabbing the towels hanging on the hook.

“Stay put,” he said, wrapping the first towel around her shoulders and patting her dry with an exaggerated care that made her laugh.

“Trying to act like a gentleman now?” she teased, her eyes glinting as she watched him work.

Rip grinned, grabbing the second towel and wrapping it snugly around his waist. “Figured I’d try it on for size. Don’t get used to it, though.”

Beth stepped out of the shower, the towel clinging to her as Rip led her out of the bathroom. The cool air of the bedroom hit them as they stepped inside, the contrast to the humid heat of the bathroom sending a little shiver down Beth’s spine.

Rip moved to his dresser, pulling open the top drawer. He rummaged through it for a moment before pulling out a pair of his boxers and a plain white T-shirt. Turning back to her, he held them out with a small smirk.

“Here,” he said. “Unless you’re planning to sleep in that towel.”

Beth took the clothes, arching an eyebrow as she glanced between them and him. “I don’t know, Rip,” she said, holding the boxers up as if inspecting them. “I think this is more your look than mine.”

“Put ’em on,” Rip said, shaking his head but smiling. “Or don’t.”

Beth rolled her eyes, slipping the shirt over her head and letting the towel drop.

Rip didn’t respond right away, his eyes trailing over her as she dressed in his clothes. The sight of her in his T-shirt, the hem falling just below the curve of her thighs, was enough to knock the air out of his lungs. But he didn’t say anything—he just watched, the faintest trace of awe flickering in his expression.

Beth caught him staring and smirked, her hands going to her hips. “Careful, buddy,” she said, her voice teasing. “You’re lookin’ soft.”

Rip stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of damp hair from her face. “Not soft,” he murmured, his voice steady. “Just lucky.”

Beth’s grin faltered for a moment, her eyes softening as she looked up at him. “Yeah,” she said quietly, her voice losing some of its edge. “Me too.”

Rip leaned in, brushing a kiss against her forehead before stepping back and gesturing toward the bed. “Come on. Long day tomorrow.”

Beth gave him one last playful look before crawling onto the bed, settling in as Rip followed.

Beth curled into Rip’s side, her body melting into his warmth as his arm draped over her, pulling her close. She rested her cheek against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat like a soothing melody that wrapped around her. For the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to let go, to feel safe in his arms. The walls she so carefully maintained, the ones that kept the world at bay, seemed to crumble in the quiet of this moment. The rise and fall of Rip’s chest beneath her cheek lulled her toward sleep, her breathing evening out as the tension of the day ebbed away.

Rip lay there a little while longer, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as he held her. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare disturb her. This wasn’t the Beth he was used to—the sharp, untouchable force of nature who could tear through anyone or anything in her path. This was the Beth he’d always known was buried beneath it all. The one who let her guard down only when she was with him.

He sighed quietly, his hand brushing against her hair. He’d started to wonder if this day would ever come—if she’d ever let herself fully lean on him, trust him to carry her through the weight of the world she’d been fighting against for years. Just when he’d been ready to accept she never would, she surprised him the way she always did. Beth Dutton, impossible to predict, even when it came to love.

Eventually, Rip’s own exhaustion caught up with him, and he drifted off to sleep, his arms still wrapped around her.

Beth’s sleep was restless. Dreams plagued her—a torrent of memories from when they were teenagers, moments when her sharp tongue and broken heart had lashed out at Rip in ways that still haunted her. She saw his younger self, the boy who’d always loved her, standing there as she pushed him away again and again. The regret curled tightly in her chest, even in sleep.

She woke with a start, her heart pounding, her body slick with sweat. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she sat up in bed, her wild hair clinging to her damp skin. Rip, still beside her, was undisturbed, his face peaceful in sleep. She watched him for a moment, guilt gnawing at her as the remnants of her dream faded into the quiet of the cabin.

Beth slipped out of bed quietly, grabbing a flannel from where it hung by the bed and pulling it over her shoulders. It smelled like him—leather, wood, and the outdoors. She made her way downstairs, needing space to clear her head. She poured herself a glass of bourbon, the amber liquid catching the glow of the fire she lit in the small stone hearth.

Her gaze wandered as she sat down in the living room, catching sight of a dusty old book tucked into the corner of a shelf. It was worn, the cover cracked and the pages yellowed, clearly untouched for years. She pulled it down, flipping it open as she settled into the couch, her bare feet tucked beneath her. It wasn’t Rip’s—she was sure of that. Maybe it had belonged to a former foreman, or maybe one of her brothers had left it behind years ago. Either way, it didn’t matter. The feel of it in her hands, the distraction it offered, was enough.

The bourbon in her glass disappeared quickly, and Beth let the book rest open on her chest as her body finally gave in to sleep. Her arm hung off the side of the couch, and the fire crackled softly beside her, filling the room with warmth.

When Rip woke in the early morning, his arms reaching for her, the emptiness of the bed hit him hard. The memories of mornings like this—of her being gone before he’d even had the chance to hold her—flooded back. He sat up slowly, his jaw tightening as he fought the ache threatening to creep into his chest. He wouldn’t let himself feel it, wouldn’t let himself hurt over something he couldn’t control. Instead, he turned it into anger, like he always had, resolving to channel it into the day ahead. He had enough on his plate, and there were men out there making trouble for the ranch who deserved every bit of it.

Rip dressed quickly, tugging on his jeans and boots before making his way downstairs. He moved through the cabin with a quiet intensity, heading for the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, the routine keeping his mind occupied.

That’s when he saw her.

Beth was curled up on the couch in front of the dying fire, her hair a wild mess around her face. His jacket hung loosely on her frame, the half-empty glass of bourbon sitting on the table beside her. A book lay open on her chest, rising and falling with each steady breath, her arm dangling off the edge of the couch.

Rip froze, the sight of her hitting him harder than he expected. She hadn’t left. She’d stayed.

The flood of emotions that followed was almost too much—relief, gratitude, love, and a thousand things he couldn’t name. He didn’t want to acknowledge it, didn’t want to let himself feel how much this mattered, but it was impossible to ignore. She’d had her moment—he could see it in the glass, the fire, the book—but she hadn’t run. She’d stayed. For him, for them.

Rip leaned against the doorway for a moment, letting the sight of her calm the storm inside him. He wasn’t going to wake her—not yet. She’d earned her rest, and he’d let her have it. Rip moved quietly across the living room. He crouched beside the couch, careful not to disturb Beth as he gently slipped the book from her chest and placed it on the table. Her breathing stayed steady, her face peaceful in a way he didn’t often see. For a moment, Rip lingered, just watching her, his hand resting lightly on the edge as if to anchor himself.

He stood and reached for the blanket draped across the back of the couch, pulling it down and carefully tucking it around her. The flannel she wore was oversized and crooked on her frame, and it made him smile faintly. She looked so small like this, so different from the sharp-edged woman who faced the world head-on every day.

Rip picked up the empty glass from the table, the faint scent of bourbon still lingering in the air as he carried it to the sink. He poured himself his first cup of coffee, the warm steam rising in the cool morning air, and sat down at the small kitchen table. The sight of Beth lying on the couch, wrapped in his blanket, held his gaze as he sipped his coffee. She was chaos, fire, and unpredictability—but right now, she was everything that mattered. He let himself soak in the moment, the quiet beauty of the woman he’d loved his whole life resting peacefully in his home. It wasn’t a sight he took for granted—not with Beth. 

His responsibilities to the ranch pulled him from the quiet warmth of the cabin. Rip moved towards the front door, grabbed his hat from its hook, and placed it firmly on his head. He didn’t look back—he didn’t need to. He knew for the first time she’d still be there when he returned.

Chapter Text

The morning was crisp and silent as Rip made the short walk down to the bunkhouse. The world was still asleep, the ranch bathed in the faint light of early dawn, but Rip was already thinking ahead to the day’s work. He pushed open the door to the bunkhouse, the familiar sounds of snoring and shifting boots greeting him as he stepped inside.

“Alright, rise and shine,” Rip said, his voice carrying just enough authority to cut through the grogginess of the room.

Lloyd was the first to stir, sitting up and rubbing his face with a grunt. Walker stretched lazily. Colby and Ryan muttered curses as they sat up, and Teeter, already half-dressed, shoved her hat onto her head with a grunt that Rip took as acknowledgment.

Rip leaned against the doorway, his hat pulled low over his eyes as he gave them their orders. “Walker, Colby, and Ryan, you’re with me fixing that south fence. It’s been busted for weeks, and I’m tired of hearing about it. Lloyd, take Teeter and Jake out to move the herd at pasture nine. Get it done before the heat picks up.”

There was a chorus of tired mutters, nods, and curses as the crew started to move, pulling on their boots and grabbing their gear. Rip stood back, watching them shuffle around with an expression that was equal parts exasperation and amusement. It was the same every morning, and yet it never changed how seriously he took his role.

“Let’s move,” he barked, clapping his hands. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

The crew filed out, their voices carrying into the cool morning air as they made their way to their assignments. Rip followed behind, his boots crunching against the dirt as he stepped out into the day, his thoughts already shifting back to Beth and the peace she brought to his otherwise demanding world.

The morning light spilled softly through the cabin windows, warming Beth’s skin as she blinked herself awake. For a moment, she didn’t move, her mind drifting in the quiet peace of the room. She stretched lazily, the smell of coffee wafting through the air bringing a faint smile to her lips—not the kind she showed the world, sharp and full of edges, but a softer, private one that was just hers.

She swung her legs over the edge of the couch, the blanket Rip had draped over her falling to her lap. She rubbed at her eyes, her smirk deepening as she noticed the flannel she still wore hanging loosely over her shoulders. He’d left her coffee, she realized as she made her way into the kitchen, the mug sitting just to the right of the coffee pot, waiting for her.

“Cowboy never misses,” she muttered to herself, pouring a fresh cup and taking a slow sip, the heat spreading through her chest as she leaned against the counter for a moment. The cabin was quiet, still holding traces of him in every corner, and she let herself savor it for just a little while longer.

After a few moments, Beth wandered back into the living room, setting the cup down briefly to fix the blanket on the couch. The corner of her lip twitched as she thought of Rip, imagining him meticulously straightening her mess like it was second nature. “Neat freak,” she muttered, amused. Then, with the coffee back in hand, she slid on her heels—yes, her heels—and headed for the door.

Beth stepped out into the cool morning air, cigarette in one hand, coffee in the other, dressed in Rip’s boxers, his T-shirt, and his flannel. The stark contrast to her sharp heels and wild hair only seemed to amplify her confidence as she made her way up the dirt path toward the lodge. It was a walk of shame in name only, because shame wasn’t in Beth Dutton’s vocabulary. If anyone saw her, she didn’t care. In fact, she almost welcomed it. Let them look. Let them whisper. She’d never been one to regret her choices, and Rip was a choice she planned to make every single day for the rest of her life.

Her stride was purposeful, her heels clicking against the wood of the porch as she reached the lodge. She had no intention of running into anyone on her way to get ready for work, but life had other plans.

“Morning,” came the clipped, judgmental tone of her brother. Jamie stood just outside the door, arms crossed, his expression already sour.

Beth slowed her stride just enough to look him over, her eyes narrowing slightly as she blew out a puff of smoke. “Well, if it isn’t the family disappointment,” she said coolly, taking another drag of her cigarette as she brushed past him.

Jamie turned to face her, his mouth tightening as his gaze flicked over her. “Where have you been?” he asked, his tone brimming with disapproval.

Beth paused at the door, turning slowly to look at him. Her smirk grew sharp, her eyes gleaming with dangerous amusement. “None of your business,” she said simply, her voice like a blade.

Jamie’s lip curled, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “You know,” he said, stepping closer, “running around with the ranch foreman isn’t exactly what I’d call good judgment. What are you trying to do, Beth? Ruin what little reputation you have left?”

Beth didn’t flinch. She didn’t blink. Instead, she took another slow drag of her cigarette, exhaling deliberately before leaning toward him with a ferocity that made Jamie step back.

“My judgment?” she hissed, her voice low and venomous. “You don’t get to question my judgment, Jamie. You’re the last person alive who gets to weigh in on my choices.”

Jamie tried to speak, but she cut him off, her words like fire. “He is ten times the man you’ll ever be. He’s loyal, he’s honest, and unlike you, he’d never take something from me without my permission.”

Her voice grew colder, sharper, as she continued. “You want to stand there and judge me? Fine. But remember this: Rip is the only person on this goddamn ranch who’s earned the right to tell me a damn thing about my life. And you? You’re just the coward who hides behind his daddy’s name.”

Jamie’s face turned red, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to muster a response, but Beth wasn’t done. She stepped closer, her heels clicking loudly against the wood, her eyes locked on his like a predator closing in on its prey.

“You don’t like me seeing Rip?” she said, her tone laced with mockery. “Good. That makes it even better. Because every single day I choose him over you, is a day I know I’m doing something right.”

Beth turned on her heel, exhaling another puff of smoke as she reached for the door handle. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do.”

And with that, she pushed open the door, leaving Jamie standing there, flustered and fuming, as she disappeared into the lodge.

Jamie stormed into John’s study later that afternoon, his jaw tight and his movements sharp with frustration. John was seated behind his desk, a glass of bourbon in one hand and his reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose as he reviewed a stack of documents. He didn’t look up immediately, but the tension in the room shifted as Jamie came closer.

“Dad, we need to talk,” Jamie began, his tone clipped and brimming with indignation.

John didn’t bother glancing up. “If this is about the zoning issues in Livingston, it can wait.”

“It’s not about that,” Jamie snapped. “It’s about Beth. She’s out there running around with cowboys like it’s a goddamn soap opera.”

That made John pause. He slowly removed his glasses, setting them on the desk with deliberate care before leaning back in his chair. He looked at Jamie then, his piercing eyes narrowing. “If you have any common sense at all, Jamie,” he said in a low, even tone, “you’ll drop this conversation right now.”

Jamie’s lips thinned, but he didn’t back down. “Dad, she’s reckless. She’s making a spectacle of herself. Rip’s the foreman, not exactly the type of man Beth should be—”

“Careful,” John interrupted, his voice low but warning. “Think real hard about your next words.”

But Jamie, as usual, didn’t heed the caution. “It’s not right,” he continued, his voice growing louder as his frustration bubbled over. “She’s parading around with him like it doesn’t matter how it looks, like it doesn’t matter what it could mean for the family, for the ranch—”

John’s hand slammed down on the desk, the sudden noise cutting Jamie off mid-sentence. John stood slowly, his eyes burning with the kind of controlled fury that could silence an entire room. “That’s enough,” he barked, his voice firm and unwavering. “You don’t get to talk about Beth. Not her choices, not her life, not a damn thing.”

Jamie blinked, startled by the force of John’s voice but still holding onto his indignation. “I’m just saying—”

“I don’t care what you’re saying,” John shot back, his voice rising. “Do you think I don’t know why Beth is the way she is? Do you think I don’t know who played a part in breaking her? You want to stand there and talk about her judgment? After what you did to her?”

Jamie flinched, his face paling slightly. “Dad, that’s not—”

“That’s exactly what this is about,” John growled, stepping out from behind his desk and pointing a finger at Jamie. “You took something from her that she can never get back. You made a decision for her that wasn’t yours to make, and you destroyed a part of her because of it. So don’t you dare come in here and act like you have any right to judge her, or him.”

Jamie opened his mouth to respond, but John didn’t give him the chance.

“Rip is more of a man than you’ll ever be,” John continued, his voice filled with a quiet, cutting authority. “He’s loyal, he’s steady, and he’s spent his whole life proving himself. If there’s anyone I trust to stand by Beth, to hold her together when the rest of the world tries to tear her down, it’s him.”

Jamie stood frozen, his fists clenched at his sides, his jaw working as he tried to process his father’s words.

John leaned in closer, his voice lowering but losing none of its edge. “You’d be wise to remember that, Jamie. Because if you do anything— anything —to upset her, to hurt her, or to get between her and Rip, I’ll make sure you’re off this ranch so fast you won’t have time to pack a bag. You’ll be out there on your own, with no family, no name, and no help.”

Jamie’s face twisted in frustration and hurt, but he didn’t say a word. John straightened, taking a slow breath as he turned away, his hand moving to rest on the back of his chair.

“You’ve done enough damage to Beth,” John said, quieter now but just as firm. “If you want to stay here, you’ll fall in line. Otherwise, you can find your own way.”

Jamie stood there for a moment longer, his face red with a mix of anger and shame. Then, without another word, he turned and left the study, slamming the door behind him.

John let out a slow breath, shaking his head as he sank back into his chair.

Chapter Text

The day had been productive—more than most, if Beth was being honest. She had spent the morning in a high-stakes meeting, verbally eviscerating a room full of men in expensive suits who had thought they could out-negotiate her. They had learned quickly that wasn’t the case.

By the time the meeting ended, she had closed a deal that would greatly benefit not only Schwartz & Meyer but the Yellowstone as well. It was the kind of move that reminded her exactly why she was good at this—why she thrived in this world of power plays and ruthless strategy. The satisfaction of knowing she had secured another win, another advantage for her father’s empire, was a feeling she never tired of.

But now, with the late afternoon sun filtering through her office windows, the adrenaline of the deal had faded, and the quiet had settled in. She leaned back in her chair, her eyes drifting toward the polished surface of her desk, where her fingers lightly tapped against the wood.

And just like that, she was back there.

The memory hit her like a punch to the chest, vivid and consuming.

Rip’s rough hands sliding up her thighs, his voice low and teasing in her ear. The way his strength had pressed against her, caging her in, making her feel utterly, deliciously trapped in a way she never wanted to escape.

She swallowed hard, shifting slightly in her chair as her breath hitched at the ghost of his touch. Her gaze flicked to the spot on the desk where her hands had gripped the edge, where papers had scattered to the floor in the heat of it all.

Beth closed her eyes, exhaling slowly, but that only made the memory stronger.

Rip's voice, that deep, rumbling growl, taunting her just before he made good on every single filthy thing he had whispered against her skin.

Her fingers tightened against the desk, a quiet chuckle escaping her lips as she shook her head at herself. Jesus, Cowboy, you’ve ruined me.

She reached for the cigarette resting in the ashtray and took a slow, deep drag, allowing the smoke to settle in her lungs before exhaling. She had work to do—deals to close, enemies to crush. But right now?

Right now, she was sitting in the middle of her office, feeling like a damn teenager, flushed and breathless from nothing more than the memory of that man.

Beth let her head fall back against her chair, smirking up at the ceiling as she muttered, “I need to get a grip.”

But as another wave of heat rolled through her, she already knew—there was no getting a grip on this.

Jamie stormed out of the lodge, slamming the door behind him so hard that the sound echoed across the yard. He stomped down the steps, his face red with frustration and humiliation, muttering under his breath as he kicked at the dirt like a petulant child. His suit was dusty now, the fine lines of his carefully curated image completely undone by the heat of his anger and the sharp sting of John’s words.

The wranglers down by the barn had paused their work, their shovels and tools resting idle in their hands as they watched the scene unfold. Colby leaned against the barn wall, crossing his arms with a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“What the hell’s he doing now?” Ryan asked, spitting into the dirt as he adjusted his hat.

“Looks like he’s throwin’ a tantrum,” Teeter added with her signature drawl, grinning as she propped herself against a fence post. “Like a calf what lost its mama.”

Lloyd chuckled, shaking his head as he rubbed a hand over his weathered face. “Boy needs to learn to take his licks and keep walkin’. Ain’t no point kicking dirt like it’s gonna fix anything.”

Jamie’s muttering grew louder as he gestured angrily to no one in particular, pacing back and forth near the edge of the yard. He kicked at a rock, sending it skittering into a water trough, then turned and kicked at the dirt again, leaving scuff marks across his polished shoes.

Rip watched the scene unfold from atop his horse in the arena, his dark eyes following Jamie’s erratic movements with quiet amusement. He didn’t say a word, didn’t even smirk, but there was a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth that betrayed his thoughts.

Lloyd glanced over toward the arena, noticing Rip’s silent observation. “You seein’ this?” he called out, gesturing toward Jamie with a nod of his head.

Rip didn’t respond right away, his hand resting casually on the saddle horn as his horse shifted beneath him. Finally, he tipped his hat back slightly, giving Lloyd a calm, measured look.

“I see it,” Rip said, his voice low and steady. “Ain’t my problem.”

The wranglers laughed quietly, the tension breaking as they turned back to their work, though they still kept one eye on Jamie, who was now mumbling louder, throwing his hands up in frustration.

Rip shook his head slightly, giving his horse a gentle nudge to continue its trot around the arena. He wasn’t going to waste his time or energy on Jamie’s tantrum. There was work to be done, and he had no patience for a man who couldn’t keep his emotions in check.

he amusement over Jamie’s tantrum faded as the wranglers turned back to their work, the ranch running on a rhythm that didn’t slow down for anyone—not even a pissed-off Dutton. The sun was high, the heat settling over the land like a thick blanket, and the men knew they had a long day ahead.

Colby and Ryan were the first to shake off their laughter and get back to it. They saddled up, riding out toward the south fence where they’d be working on repairs. Walker followed, his guitar nowhere in sight for once, swinging up onto his horse with the ease of a man who had nowhere else to be but here. Teeter, never one to be outdone, spat into the dirt before swinging onto her own mount, tipping her hat against the sun as she adjusted her reins.

Lloyd stayed behind near the barn, watching as Rip trotted his horse toward them from the arena. “Fence line should hold once we’re done,” he said, gesturing toward the stretch of pasture beyond the corrals. “You want me riding out with ‘em?”

Rip shook his head, his eyes scanning the horizon. “Nah, stay back. We still got cattle to move, and I need someone here keepin’ things in line.”

Lloyd nodded, already knowing what that meant—keeping an eye on Jamie, making sure his temper didn’t get the better of him, making sure he didn’t decide to get under Rip’s skin when no one was watching. Not that Rip needed anyone handling his business, but Lloyd had been around long enough to know when to step in before things turned ugly.

Rip turned his horse toward the main herd, spurring it into a steady canter as he caught up with the others already moving into position. Ryan and Colby were already pushing a group of cattle toward a new grazing area, their whistles sharp against the afternoon air as they worked the herd. Dust kicked up beneath their horses’ hooves, the familiar scent of sweat and dirt thick in the heat.

“Push ‘em steady,” Rip called out, his voice carrying over the land. “Keep ‘em bunched, don’t let ‘em scatter.”

Walker angled his horse around a stray calf, clicking his tongue as he guided it back toward the others. “These ones are stubborn,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Think they know somethin’ we don’t?”

Teeter laughed from across the field, tipping her hat back as she rode up alongside them. “Maybe they’re runnin’ from somethin’,” she quipped, tossing a knowing glance toward the lodge in the distance. “Like a certain lawyer havin’ a fit.”

That earned a few chuckles, but Rip wasn’t paying attention. He was focused, his sharp eyes scanning the herd, his hands steady on the reins. This was where he belonged, out here in the open, doing the work that needed doing. He let the familiar rhythm of the job settle him, the weight of the day slipping away as they worked together, moving as one unit.

An hour passed, then two, the heat becoming more oppressive as the afternoon stretched on. But none of them complained. This was the job, the life they’d all chosen, and they weren’t the type to back down from a long day.

As they reached the far end of the pasture, Rip pulled up his horse, watching as the last of the herd settled into their new grazing spot. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his glove, exhaling slow and steady.

“Good work,” he said, nodding toward the others. “Let’s get back before we lose light.”

With that, they turned their horses back toward the ranch, the dust settling behind them as they rode. The day wasn’t over yet, but they’d done what needed to be done. And as Rip rode back toward the barn, he knew one thing for certain—Jamie could stomp and whine all he wanted, but out here, where the real work was done, he didn’t matter.

Beth’s car tore up the gravel drive in a plume of dust before screeching to a halt outside the lodge. The engine cut off, and the driver’s side door swung open with purpose. Beth stepped out, cigarette in hand, the sharp click of her heels echoing through the quiet evening. She took a final drag, exhaling smoke into the fading sunlight before dropping the cigarette to the ground and crushing it underfoot. With a toss of her golden hair and a straightening of Rip’s oversized flannel on her shoulders, she strode up the steps and through the front door like she owned the place. Because, in many ways, she did.

The sound of conversation and clinking silverware drifted from the dining room as Beth walked through the lodge, her sharp gaze taking everything in. When she entered, the room was already filled with the family. John sat at the head of the table, sipping his bourbon with that quiet air of command. Kayce was on one side, Monica next to him, helping Tate arrange his silverware in some intricate design only he seemed to understand. Jamie sat stiffly across from Kayce, nursing a glass of water and looking every bit as wound up as usual.

“Evening,” Beth greeted as she strolled in, her heels clicking loudly against the floorboards, announcing her arrival. She leaned against the back of an empty chair, her eyes moving to her father first.

“You’re late,” John said, his tone gruff.

“Win big, and you can afford to be,” Beth replied smoothly, sliding into her seat. She poured herself a glass of wine from the decanter at the center of the table, her movements deliberate as she let the silence stretch before continuing. “Closed the deal this morning. Big one. Good for Schwartz & Meyer , great for the Yellowstone. Guess you’ll have to name a pasture after me now, Daddy.”

John’s lips twitched in the barest hint of approval. “Good work,” he said simply, though the pride in his voice was unmistakable.

Before anyone else could chime in, Tate leaned forward, his voice bubbling with excitement. “Guess what?” he said eagerly, ignoring the grown-up talk. “Lucky learned a new trick today! Grandpa helped me teach him!”

Beth arched an eyebrow, a genuine smile creeping onto her lips as she leaned toward him. “Lucky, huh? What’s this trick?”

“He can bow!” Tate said, beaming with pride. “Grandpa says he’s the smartest horse on the whole ranch.”

“Well, that makes sense,” Beth quipped, smirking. “He belongs to the smartest Dutton, after all.”

Tate giggled, puffing up a little under her praise as Monica gently ruffled his hair. The table was alive with warmth, the family—at least most of them—enjoying a rare moment of shared laughter and camaraderie.

Everyone except Jamie.

He sat stiffly, his expression tight, his eyes flicking back and forth as if waiting for the right moment to speak. When he finally did, his tone was sharp enough to cut through the ease in the room. “That’s great, Beth,” Jamie said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Another deal for your resume. You must be very proud of yourself.”

The table fell silent. Kayce leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly as he observed. Monica reached for Tate’s arm, as if preparing to shield him from whatever was coming. John sat back, his gaze shifting between his two eldest children, knowing full well where this was heading but choosing to let it play out. Beth didn’t need him to step in—she never had.

Beth turned her head slowly, her smile now razor-sharp. “Careful, Jamie,” she said, her voice soft but deadly. “You’re starting to sound bitter. That little law degree of yours not pulling its weight these days?”

Jamie’s jaw tightened, his grip on his glass white-knuckled. “At least I don’t spend my time sabotaging everything around me,” he snapped. “I don’t think ruining people’s lives counts as a skill, Beth.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Beth said with a laugh, leaning forward, her eyes narrowing. “You really want to go there?”

Jamie leaned forward too, emboldened by the heat of the moment. “Maybe I do,” he spat. “Because unlike you, I actually care about this family. About this ranch. You’re just a selfish, destructive—”

Before he could finish, Beth lunged across the table, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. Jamie barely had time to react before her fist connected with his face, sending him sprawling back in his chair. Plates clattered, glasses tipped over, and chaos erupted as Beth pinned him down, landing another punch.

“You want to say that again, you little shit?” she growled, gripping the front of his shirt as she cocked her fist again.

“Beth, stop!” Monica cried, pulling Tate to her side as Kayce moved quickly to intervene.

“Alright, enough!” Kayce barked, wrapping his arms around Beth’s waist and hauling her off Jamie. “Jesus Christ, Beth!”

Beth wrenched free, her chest heaving as she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room without a word. The sound of the front door slamming echoed through the lodge.

Monica stood, her hand on Tate’s shoulder. “I think we’re going to call it a night,” she said softly, guiding her son out of the room.

Kayce followed, shooting Jamie a hard look as he passed. “You had that coming,” he muttered.

When the room was empty except for Jamie and John, Jamie sat up, wincing as he dabbed at his bleeding lip with a napkin. He glared at his father, waiting for some kind of reprimand.

But John didn’t offer sympathy or scolding. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, sipping his bourbon. “You shouldn’t poke a bear, Jamie,” he said calmly. “Especially one with claws as sharp as hers.”

Jamie opened his mouth to respond, but John cut him off with a raised hand. “And before you even think about complaining, let me remind you—you earned that. And if you keep it up, it won’t just be Beth you’ll have to deal with.”

Jamie stayed silent, licking his wounds—both physical and emotional—as John stood, poured himself another drink, and walked out, leaving Jamie alone with his thoughts.

Beth stormed out of the house, the slam of the heavy front door behind her still echoing across the yard. The cool evening air hit her skin like a slap, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the adrenaline pumping through her veins. Her heels clicked against the stone steps until she reached the grass, where she finally stopped, yanking her cigarette pack from her pocket with shaking fingers.

She lit one with a practiced flick of her lighter, taking a long drag and holding it for a moment before exhaling slowly. The smoke curled up into the fading light, and she let her head tip back slightly, her sharp jawline catching the last streaks of gold in the sky. Her pulse was still hammering, her hands trembling faintly as she paced back and forth in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

Her thoughts were scattered—Jamie, his words, the satisfaction of her fist connecting with his face. But also guilt. Not for what she’d done, but for letting him get under her skin in the first place. She had told herself, over and over, that he wasn’t worth her energy, and yet here she was, bloodied knuckles and a storm brewing in her chest.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the shadow leaning against a nearby post until a deep, familiar voice cut through the quiet. “Do I even need to ask who’s on the receiving end of that bloody hand?”

Beth startled, turning quickly, her cigarette halfway to her lips. Rip stood there, arms crossed, his hat tilted low over his eyes as he leaned casually against the post. His gaze dropped to her knuckles, and he smirked, nodding toward her hand. “Looks like someone had a real bad day.”

Beth looked down at her hand, finally noticing the faint streaks of blood smeared across her fingers and along her knuckles. “Shit,” she muttered, more amused than concerned. She wiped her hand halfheartedly on Rip’s flannel she still wore, shaking her head.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Rip added, straightening up as he walked toward her. “But watching you pace out here, looking like you’re ready to fight the next thing that moves, I figured I should step in before one of the wranglers gets unlucky.”

Beth laughed, a short, sharp burst that softened into something warmer. “You saying I’m scary, Rip?”

Rip shrugged, stopping just a few feet away from her, his hands resting on his belt. “Only to the people dumb enough to deserve it, darlin’” he said, his lips twitching in that faint, teasing grin of his.

Beth smirked, taking another long drag from her cigarette before flicking the ash to the side. “Jamie had it coming,” she admitted, her voice light but unapologetic. “He’s been asking for that punch since the day he was born.”

Rip tilted his head slightly, studying her. “That so?” he asked, his tone casual. “Must’ve been some punch. You still look fired up.”

Beth let out a soft, exasperated sigh, her free hand waving dismissively. “It’s not just Jamie,” she said. “It’s everything. That house, the family, this goddamn ranch sometimes. It all makes me feel like I’m going to explode.”

Rip nodded, not saying anything right away, just letting her vent. When he did speak, his voice was calm, steady. “You’re not gonna explode, Beth. You’re too stubborn for that.”

She gave him a sharp look, though the corner of her mouth quirked up in amusement. “Oh, so now you’re a damn therapist?”

“Just calling it like I see it,” Rip replied, his smirk deepening. “You’re still standing, aren’t you? Still swinging?”

Beth laughed again, this time louder, her shoulders relaxing slightly as the tension started to drain from her body. “Yeah,” she admitted. “Still swinging.”

Rip stepped a little closer, his voice dropping into something softer but no less firm. “Whatever it is, you’ll get through it.”

Beth met his eyes, her smirk softening into something warmer, something almost vulnerable. She took one last drag of her cigarette before flicking it into the grass and stepping closer to him, her hand resting lightly on the edge of his belt.

“You really think so, cowboy?” she asked, her voice low and teasing but with a thread of sincerity beneath it.

Rip nodded, his dark eyes steady on hers. “I know so.”

Beth looked at him for a long moment, her smirk returning as she let out a quiet laugh. “You always know how to say the right thing, don’t you?”

“Only with you,” Rip said, his grin widening. “Rest of the world, I don’t give a damn.”

Beth laughed, shaking her head as she leaned into him slightly, her hand brushing against his chest. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

“And you’re the love of my life,” he replied, his voice steady and certain.

For a moment, they just stood there, the evening settling quietly around them, the weight of the world feeling just a little lighter in each other’s presence.

Chapter Text

...A few days later...

Beth sat at the end of the bar, nursing what had to be her third—or maybe her fifth—vodka of the night. She wasn’t keeping count, and neither was the bartender, which was just the way she liked it. The neon glow from the beer signs flickered overhead, her gaze fixed somewhere past the shelves of whiskey and tequila, locked onto a world that only she could see.

The cowboy beside her was running his mouth, going on about something—cattle prices, or maybe the last bronc he rode. She hadn't been listening long enough to know, and she had no intention of starting now. She lifted her glass, swirled the three olives inside, then knocked back the rest of her drink like it was water.

The bar door swung open with the kind of weight that made people turn. Rip stepped inside, followed by a few of the wranglers. Colby, Ryan, Teeter, and Walker—all looking to burn off whatever long day they’d had with whiskey, women, or trouble.

Rip didn’t give the room a once-over; he didn’t need to. His eyes landed right on Beth like they always did, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. She was slouched against the bar, shoulders tense, fingers drumming against the empty glass. Whatever storm was brewing in her head, she was drowning it, one sip at a time.

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. He knew the signs. She was in one of those moods. The kind that made men nervous, the kind that made him brace himself.

Trouble was brewing behind those pretty eyes.

He crossed the bar, brushing past a few locals and ignoring the way Teeter elbowed Colby, pointing toward Beth like they had any right to comment. They knew better than to say a damn thing.

When he got close enough, he saw the cowboy next to her, still yammering on, oblivious to the fact that Beth had absolutely no interest in him. She didn’t even acknowledge his existence.

Rip let out a dry chuckle, stepping in close enough that the cowboy finally got the hint. The man turned, looking up at Rip, who simply raised a brow.

“You talkin’ to her?” Rip asked, voice calm, but with the edge of something sharp underneath.

The cowboy hesitated, glancing between Beth—who still hadn’t moved—and Rip, whose presence alone was enough to make him rethink every decision he’d made in the last ten minutes.

“Uh—”

Rip leaned in slightly. “She don’t hear you, friend. And if she did, she wouldn’t give a shit.”

The cowboy cleared his throat, muttered something about needing another drink, and slid off the stool, vanishing into the crowd.

Beth finally stirred, letting out a long sigh as she picked up an olive, popped it in her mouth, and chewed with lazy disinterest. “Now why’d you go and do that?” she asked, still not looking at him.

Rip took the now-empty seat beside her, signaling to the bartender. “Figured I’d save the guy some time. No use barking up a dead tree.”

She smirked at that, reaching for the fresh drink the bartender slid her way. “Wasn’t listening to a word he said.”

“I know,” Rip said, taking off his hat and setting it on the bar. He ordered a whiskey neat, then turned his attention back to her. “What’s eatin’ at you, or do I gotta drag it out of you?”

Beth tapped her fingernail against the rim of her glass, her gaze finally shifting to meet his. There was something unreadable in her eyes, something sharp yet distant, like she was balancing between anger and exhaustion.

“Nothing,” she lied.

Rip just looked at her.

She sighed again, rolling her shoulders before taking another sip. “Just washing away the sins of the day, baby. Same as always.”

Rip hummed, sipping his own drink. He knew better than to push her when she wasn’t ready, but he also knew she’d tell him eventually. She always did.

The wranglers had spread out by now—Teeter was already harassing Colby by the pool table, Ryan and Walker were throwing back shots.

Rip wasn’t interested in any of them. His night, as always, began and ended with her.

He watched her for a beat, then leaned in just enough that only she could hear him. “You wanna dance?”

Beth arched a brow at him, smirking. “You serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

She studied him, weighing something in that beautiful, chaotic mind of hers, then finally grinned. “Alright, cowboy. Let’s dance.”

She slid off the stool, grabbed her drink, and sauntered toward the jukebox. Rip followed, knowing damn well that whatever song she picked would stir up trouble.

Beth’s hips were already swaying before the first chords even hit. The moment Rumor by Lee Brice started playing, a slow smirk curved at her lips.

“Fitting, don’t you think?” she murmured, casting a glance over her shoulder at Rip.

Rip exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, but he wasn’t fool enough to argue. The moment Beth Dutton picked a song, it became law.

She downed the rest of her drink, set the glass on the bar without a second thought, and grabbed his hand, dragging him onto the makeshift dance floor. The place wasn’t exactly built for it—just a wide enough space between tables where tipsy couples swayed when the mood hit—but that didn’t matter. Beth moved like she owned every inch of wherever she stood.

Rip didn’t hesitate when she pressed against him, her arms sliding around his neck, her body molding against his like she was born to be there. His hands landed on her hips, rough fingers gripping just enough to remind her that she wasn’t the only one in control.

“You feelin’ sentimental tonight?” he teased, his voice low.

Beth’s lips curled. “You think this is sentimental?” She rolled her hips against him just enough to make his jaw tighten.

“Not exactly what I meant,” Rip murmured, fingers flexing on her waist.

She laughed softly, tilting her head as she met his gaze. “I just like this song,” she said.

Rip exhaled, shaking his head, but his grip on her only tightened. “You’re somethin’ else, Darlin’.”

The song pulsed around them, slow and heavy, Lee Brice’s gravelly voice carrying through the room.

There’s a rumor going ‘round, ‘bout me and you…

Beth smirked at the lyrics, eyes flicking past Rip’s shoulder toward the bar, where the wranglers were doing a piss-poor job of pretending not to watch.

Ryan had a knowing smirk on his face, sipping his beer like he was watching a damn movie. Colby nudged Teeter, who rolled her eyes but grinned all the same. Walker, still nursing his whiskey, looked like he was already composing a new song in his head.

Beth turned back to Rip, dragging her nails lightly up the back of his neck. “They’re talking about us, baby.”

Rip barely spared them a glance. “They’ve always talked about us.”

She laughed, tipping her head back just enough that he couldn’t resist leaning in, brushing his lips against the curve of her jaw. The contact was brief, but enough to send heat licking up her spine.

Well I can shut ‘em down, tell them all they’re crazy I can do whatever you want me to do, baby…

Beth hummed, swaying a little slower now, letting the words sink in. They had plenty of people waiting for them to fall apart, plenty of doubters, plenty of enemies.

“You wanna give ‘em somethin’ to really talk about?” she whispered against Rip’s ear, her breath warm.

Rip’s grip on her tightened, his fingers digging into her hips. “Darlin’, you already did.”

Beth grinned, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes.

Then, right there in the middle of that nowhere bar, under the neon lights, with every damn person watching—she kissed him.

And not just any kiss..

Slow. Possessive. A declaration.

A guarantee that by morning, the whole damn town would know one thing for sure.

The rumors were true.

Rip wasn’t a fool. He knew damn well what was coming the moment Beth pulled away from that kiss, her blue eyes dark with mischief, her fingers already slipping into the front pocket of his jacket like she was about to rob him blind.

He caught her wrist before she could snatch his truck keys. “Oh no, sweetheart. I’m drivin’.”

Beth just grinned, slow and smug. “No, you’re not.”

Rip sighed, knowing he was already losing. He didn’t fight it when she snatched the keys from his grip, but he sure as hell didn’t look pleased. As they wove through the bar toward the door, he spotted Ryan out of the corner of his eye, beer still in hand, watching them with that knowing smirk of his.

Beth didn’t even break stride. She tossed the keys at him.

“Make sure my truck gets home,” Rip muttered.

Ryan caught the keys mid-air, his smirk widening. “Yes, sir.”

Beth chuckled, pushing open the bar door and stepping into the crisp night air. The cold bit at Rip’s face as he followed her toward the Mercedes..

She slid into the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors even though she wasn’t going to use them, just to rub in the fact that she’d won.

Rip climbed in beside her, arms crossing over his chest. “Don’t drive like an asshole, Beth.”

Beth shot him a smirk as she cranked the ignition. “I’d never.”

With that, she threw it in drive, peeling out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell.

Rip didn’t realize where they were headed until she pulled up outside the lodge instead of the foreman’s cabin. His stomach tightened.

Beth threw the truck into park and cut the engine before turning to him with a smirk. “C’mon, baby.”

Rip didn’t move. His hands rested on his thighs, his jaw set tight. “Beth.”

She sighed dramatically, reaching over and flicking his hat up just enough to see his face. “What now?”

Rip glanced up at the massive lodge, then back at her. “You know I don’t like stayin’ here.”

Beth rolled her eyes, pushing open her door. “And why is that?”

Rip exhaled heavily, but followed her lead, stepping out and shutting the door behind him. The night was dead quiet, save for the rustling of the trees. His boots crunched against the gravel as he took a step closer.

“You know why,” he said.

Beth turned, crossing her arms over her chest, looking at him like he was being willfully difficult. “If you’re about to start in on some bullshit about disrespecting my father, Rip, I swear to God…”

Rip held his ground. “Beth, it ain’t right. Your daddy’s in there, and I—”

Beth snorted, cutting him off. “Like he doesn’t already know we fuck?”

Rip winced. “Jesus, Beth.”

She huffed, rubbing a hand over her face before stepping closer, her voice dropping to something softer. “Baby, I don’t wanna go to that damn cabin tonight.”

Rip studied her face, trying to read between the lines. “Why?”

Beth hesitated—just for a second—but then she shrugged, her tone casual. “Gotta get up early for work.”

Rip narrowed his eyes.

She was lying.

Beth Dutton never made a plan for work. She woke up when she damn well pleased, strolled into that office whenever she felt like it, and did whatever the hell she wanted when she got there.

She wanted to stay here tonight.

Not for work.

For something else.

Rip exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand over his beard. He knew better than to argue with her. If Beth wanted him here, she’d get her way, one way or another.

She smiled knowingly, grabbing his wrist and tugging him toward the front steps. “Come on, cowboy.”

Rip let her pull him inside, his boots heavy on the lodge’s hardwood floors. The place was too damn big, too damn quiet. He knew John was asleep, but that didn’t make him feel any less like an intruder.

Beth didn’t give him a chance to protest again. She led him upstairs, straight to her room, and shut the door behind them.

Rip sighed, looking around. The room smelled like her—whiskey, perfume, something wild and untamed. He glanced at the massive bed, then back at her.

Beth grinned, stepping close and slipping her hands under his jacket. “Relax, baby.”

Rip shook his head, even as his hands found her waist. “You’re impossible.”

Beth just smirked, standing on her toes to press a slow, lingering kiss against his lips.

“I know,” she whispered.

And just like that, Rip gave in.

Chapter Text

Without a word, she moved toward the en suite bathroom, leaving the door open as she flipped on the light. Rip followed, leaning against the doorframe as he watched her walk to the massive clawfoot tub in the center of the room. The bathroom was a stark contrast to his cabin—a space of luxury and elegance, with gleaming fixtures and soft lighting that reflected off the pristine tiles. It felt foreign to him, but Beth moved through it like she did her whole damn life.

She turned the faucet, the sound of rushing water filling the room as the tub began to fill. Steam rose almost immediately, curling into the air and fogging the edges of the mirror. Beth stood there for a moment, her back to him, one hand resting on the edge of the tub as she tested the temperature.

Rip watched her, his hands resting on his belt, his shoulders tense. “What’s this about, Beth?” he asked quietly.

She turned her head slightly, glancing at him over her shoulder. “You’ve had a long day, cowboy,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “Figured you could use a soak.”

Rip’s brow furrowed. “This doesn’t feel like my kind of soak,” he said, the hint of a grin tugging at his lips.

Beth smirked, the edge of her wildness flickering back into her expression. “No, it’s not. But it’s mine. And tonight, you’re doing what I want.”

Rip shook his head slightly, his grin deepening despite himself. “You don’t have to convince me, Beth. I’m here.”

She turned fully now, leaning against the edge of the tub with her arms crossed over her chest. For a moment, she just looked at him, her gaze softer than usual. “I know you don’t like being in this house,” she said, her voice quieter now, more honest. “I know you’d rather be in your cabin or out under the stars. But… I need you here tonight.”

Rip’s expression softened, his dark eyes steady on hers. He nodded once, his voice low and sure. “If that’s what you need, that’s where I’ll be.”

Beth held his gaze for a moment longer, then stepped forward, her hands reaching for the buttons on his shirt. “You’re gonna love this tub,” she murmured, a faint smile on her lips as she worked the buttons loose.

Rip let her undress him, his calloused hands moving to rest lightly on her waist. She wasn’t rushed, wasn’t teasing—it was almost tender, her movements careful and deliberate as she helped him out of his shirt and unbuckled his belt. When he was stripped down to nothing, she gave him a gentle nudge toward the tub.

He stepped in, the hot water lapping at his skin as he sank down into the deep basin. It was unfamiliar, too luxurious, but he didn’t protest. He leaned back, his muscles relaxing despite his discomfort with the space.

Beth didn’t follow him in right away. Instead, she perched on the edge of the tub, one hand resting in the water as she watched him settle. “See?” she said, her voice soft. “Not so bad.”

Rip let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Not bad at all.”

Beth dipped her fingers into the water, letting the warmth seep into her skin. “I’m not good at taking care of people,” she admitted, her voice almost too quiet to hear.

Rip reached for her hand, his fingers curling around hers. “You do more than you think, Beth.” 

She didn’t say anything, but the way her fingers tightened around his told him she’d heard him. After a moment, she stood, slipping out of her clothes and stepping into the tub infront him. She sank into the water, her back resting against his chest, and for a while, they just stayed like that, the world outside fading away.

Beth might have been wild, untamed, and unpredictable, but in moments like this, Rip knew she was exactly where she was meant to be. And so was he.

Steam rose around them, drifting lazily through the warm, dimly lit bathroom. The only sounds were the faint trickle of water and the gentle rhythm of their breathing. Neither felt the need to speak—words would have been too small, too clumsy for the intimacy they shared in this quiet moment.

Rip’s calloused hands roamed over Beth’s skin, the roughness softened by the water. His touch was reverent, exploring every inch of her arms, her stomach, her legs with a tenderness that belied the hardness of his life. Each stroke of his fingers spoke the words he could never fully express, telling her that she was loved, cherished, and wanted in every way.

Beth melted into his touch, her eyes closed, her body relaxing into the soothing warmth of the tub. She leaned her head back against his shoulder, a sigh escaping her lips as she surrendered to his care. Rip reached for the sponge, soaking it before he gently dragged it over her skin, the lather creating a soft sheen that glistened in the candlelight.

His hands worked slowly, methodically, as he massaged the soap into her hair, the pads of his fingers pressing against her scalp in a way that made her hum with contentment. Once the lather had built, Rip reached for the shower head, his movements careful as he rinsed her hair, the water cascading down in rivulets that sparkled against her shoulders.

Beth settled back against him, nestled between his legs, the tension she carried with her every day easing away like the dirt washed from her skin. Rip’s arms wrapped around her, his fingers grazing over her belly before slipping between her thighs. The touch was gentle at first, exploratory, before growing bolder as he felt her respond.

Beth’s breath hitched, her back arching slightly as his fingers worked their magic, drawing her closer and closer to the edge. Rip’s lips found the curve of her shoulder, his kisses soft and lingering as he continued his ministrations. When she finally shattered, her breath came in ragged gasps, her body trembling against his.

They sat like that for a while, Beth’s breathing slowly evening out as Rip held her close, his arms wrapped securely around her. The water had cooled slightly, but neither of them seemed to notice, content in the afterglow of their shared intimacy.

Beth broke the silence first, her voice quiet, almost timid—an emotion Rip rarely heard from her. “Rip… there’s something I need to tell you.”

He pressed a kiss to the side of her head, his arms tightening around her. “Whatever it is, I’m here,” he assured her, his voice a low rumble.

Beth hesitated, the vulnerability in her posture making Rip’s heart ache. “I can’t have children,” she admitted, the words heavy with a pain she’d carried for years. “When we were teenagers… Jamie took me to a clinic. I thought it was just—” Her voice cracked, but she forced herself to continue. “I thought it was just birth control, but he—he made sure I could never get pregnant.”

Rip’s breath stilled, the weight of her confession settling over him like a shroud. The loss of a child they’d never be able to conceive, the choice ripped away from Beth without her knowledge—it was a wound he hadn’t known existed, but now that he did, it bled deeply.

He didn’t speak immediately, didn’t try to fill the space with platitudes or promises. Instead, he turned her in his arms, cradling her face in his hands as he looked into her eyes. “Beth,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “I don’t need anything else. Just you. Always you.”

Tears welled in her eyes, her usually sharp, defiant gaze softening into something fragile and raw. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, the words trembling on her lips. “I’m sorry for what we lost, for what was taken from us.”

Rip leaned in, his forehead pressing against hers, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slipped down her cheeks. “It wasn’t your fault,” he murmured, his voice fierce and unyielding. “None of this is your fault. Doesn’t change a damn thing.”

Beth’s hands clutched at his wrists, grounding herself in his touch, in his unwavering love. The water had turned cold, but neither of them moved, anchored in the painful but necessary truth they now shared.

Finally, Rip pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, a promise sealed without words. “You’re all I need,” he whispered against her mouth, each word a vow. 

In that moment, in the sanctuary of the old ranch house, Beth allowed herself to believe him—to believe that despite the scars and the losses, she was still enough for him. And as Rip held her close, she realized that in his arms, she could be both wild and free, yet still find a place to call home.

As the bathwater grew cold and the night deepened, Rip followed Beth into her bedroom. The space was uniquely hers, filled with small, subtle traces of her personality that made it feel less like the Dutton lodge and more like Beth’s private sanctuary. The soft scent of her lingered in the air, and the warm light from the bedside lamp cast a golden glow over the room.

Beth climbed into the massive bed, her damp hair falling loose over her shoulders. She didn’t say much, didn’t need to, as Rip slid in beside her. She nestled against him, her head on his chest and one hand lazily tracing patterns over his stomach. Rip wrapped an arm around her, his fingers running through her hair in slow, soothing strokes. He could feel the tension slowly leaving her body as her breathing evened out.

“You’re staying, right?” she mumbled, her voice thick with exhaustion but carrying a hint of vulnerability.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Rip replied softly, his hand trailing up and down her back in steady, rhythmic motions.

It didn’t take long for Beth to drift off, her soft, steady breaths signaling she was finally at peace, if only for a little while. Rip stayed there for a moment, watching her sleep, his heart heavy with everything she’d just told him. The pain in her voice, the weight of her loss, and the betrayal she’d endured at Jamie’s hands all swirled in his mind like a storm.

Careful not to wake her, Rip eased himself out of the bed. He tucked the blanket snugly around her before grabbing his boots and slipping out of the room. As he walked quietly down the hall, his jaw tightened, his mind made up. He couldn’t let this go—not after what Beth had been through. Jamie needed to answer for what he’d done, and Rip wasn’t the kind of man to let things lie.

The lodge was silent as Rip made his way toward the study, where Jamie often worked late into the night. The faint glow of a desk lamp spilled out into the hallway, confirming his suspicion. Rip’s footsteps were slow, deliberate, as he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Jamie looked up, startled, his usual arrogance flickering into unease at the sight of Rip standing there, his broad frame silhouetted in the doorway. “Rip,” Jamie said, clearing his throat. “What are you doing here?”

Rip closed the door behind him, his movements deliberate and calm, but there was an unmistakable fire burning in his eyes. He took a step closer, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re gonna tell me everything, Jamie. About Beth. About what you did to her.”

Jamie’s face paled, his hands twitching nervously as he scrambled for an answer. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Rip slammed a hand down on the desk, leaning in close, his voice dropping to a growl. “Don’t lie to me. She told me what you did—what you let them do to her.”

Jamie’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air, his usual composure crumbling under Rip’s unrelenting stare. “I… I thought I was protecting her,” Jamie stammered, his voice trembling. “She was too young, too reckless. I was just—”

“You took her choice away,” Rip interrupted, his voice rising just enough to cut through Jamie’s excuses. “You took something from her she can never get back. And you didn’t have the right.”

Jamie’s face twisted, a mix of guilt and defiance. “I was trying to protect the family! Do you think Dad would’ve—”

The door opened behind them, and both men turned to see John Dutton stepping inside. His expression was unreadable, but his sharp eyes quickly assessed the scene before him. “What’s going on here?” he asked, his voice calm but carrying an edge that demanded answers.

Rip straightened, his fists clenched at his sides. “Beth told me what Jamie did. What he let happen to her.”

John’s gaze shifted to Jamie, his face hardening as realization dawned. Jamie looked like a cornered animal, his hands shaking as he tried to form a coherent response.

“I was trying to protect her,” Jamie said weakly, his voice barely above a whisper. “She was just a kid, and she didn’t know what she was doing. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

John stared at him for a long moment, the weight of his disappointment and fury heavy in the room. “You thought taking away her future was the right thing?” he said, his voice quiet but filled with ice. “You didn’t protect her, Jamie. You betrayed her. And you betrayed this family.”

Jamie flinched, his shoulders slumping under the weight of John’s words. Rip stood silently, his chest heaving with restrained anger, waiting for John to decide Jamie’s fate.

John turned to Rip, his expression softening slightly. “Go back to her,” he said. “She needs you.”

Rip hesitated for a moment, his eyes still locked on Jamie, but eventually he nodded. “This isn’t over,” he said quietly, a promise more than a threat, before turning and leaving the room.

As Rip made his way back upstairs, his heart was heavy, but his resolve was unshaken. He couldn’t undo the past, couldn’t erase what had been taken from Beth, but he could be there for her now. And as long as he was breathing, no one—not even Jamie—would ever hurt her again.

Chapter Text

The faint glow of dawn began to seep through the curtains, painting the room in muted grays and blues. Beth stirred before the alarm clock had the chance to break the fragile quiet of the morning. Her head lifted slightly from the pillow, her golden hair falling messily around her face as she glanced toward the window, then back at the man beside her.

She watched him for a moment, his broad chest rising and falling steadily, his face relaxed in a way she rarely saw. The lines of his life etched into his features seemed softer here in the stillness of the morning, and she felt a pang of something she couldn’t quite name—gratitude, maybe, or a deep, unshakable longing.

Beth shifted slightly, her movement stirring Rip from his sleep. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking at the sight of her so close, her face inches from his. For a moment, they simply looked at each other.

“Mornin’,” Rip rumbled, his voice thick and low from sleep.

Beth smiled faintly, her hand reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “Morning, cowboy,” she replied, her voice unusually soft.

They lay there in silence for a moment, the cold morning air creeping around them, though neither seemed to notice. Beth shifted closer, tucking herself into the warmth of Rip’s body, her fingers tracing idle patterns over his chest.

“I don’t think I’ve ever woken up like this,” she said quietly, her voice almost hesitant, like she was admitting something she hadn’t even realized before.

Rip glanced down at her, his hand moving to rest on the small of her back. “Like what?”

“Like… I don’t have to run,” she said, her fingers pausing over his chest. “Like I can just be here.”

Rip’s hand moved in slow, soothing circles against her back, his voice calm but steady. “You never had to run from me, Beth. Not then, not now.”

She let out a soft laugh, though there was no humor in it. “I didn’t know how to stay, Rip. Still don’t, really.”

“You’re here now.” he said simply, his tone so matter-of-fact that it left no room for doubt.

Beth tilted her head to look up at him, her blue eyes meeting his dark ones. “How are you so damn patient with me? After all this time, after everything I’ve put you through?”

Rip’s lips curved into a small, wry smile. “Because I know you,” he said. “I know why you run, and I know why you come back.”

She didn’t reply right away, her gaze dropping to where her hand rested against his chest. Her fingers splayed out, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm. “I never thought I’d have this,” she admitted softly. “Not with you. Not with anyone.”

Rip’s hand moved to cradle the back of her head, his thumb brushing against her hairline. “You’ve had it all along, Beth,” he said quietly. “You just didn’t want to see it.”

Her throat tightened, and for once, she didn’t fight the emotion welling up inside her. Instead, she pressed her face into the crook of his neck, letting herself sink into the comfort of him. Rip held her close, his other hand running up and down her arm as they lay there in the stillness of the morning.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured against his skin. “For all the years I wasted. For all the times I pushed you away.”

Rip kissed the top of her head, his voice gentle but firm. “You don’t need to apologize for any of it. We’re here now, and that’s all that matters to me.”

Beth pulled back just enough to look at him, her hand brushing against the stubble on his jaw. “You know you’re the only thing that’s ever felt like home, don’t you?”

Rip’s eyes softened, his lips curving into a rare, genuine smile. 

The two of them lay there, the cold morning air forgotten as they held each other in the quiet intimacy they’d never been able to share before. For the first time in twenty years, it felt like the running, the fighting, the pushing and pulling had all led them to this moment.

As the morning light began to creep higher, spilling softly into the room and casting golden streaks across the bed. Rip lay there, holding Beth close, savoring the quiet moment. Her head was tucked under his chin, her fingers lazily stroking the side of his chest as if to keep him tethered there with her. He wanted nothing more than to stay, to spend the whole day wrapped in this rare peace with her. But loyalty, duty—they were embedded in his bones. They always had been.

Rip shifted slightly, his hand brushing through Beth’s hair one last time before he spoke. “I gotta head to the barn,” he murmured, his voice low and reluctant.

Beth’s fingers paused against his chest, and she let out a small, contented sigh before tilting her head to look up at him. “Of course you do,” she said with a faint smirk, though there was no edge to her words. Her voice carried a softness, an understanding that was new between them.

Rip chuckled, his chest rumbling against her cheek. “The ranch doesn’t stop, and those cows sure don’t care how good this bed feels.”

Beth pulled back slightly, her sharp eyes studying him. For a moment, she said nothing, just watched him. Then she leaned up, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. “Go on, then, cowboy,” she murmured against his mouth.

He leaned down, pressing one last kiss to her forehead before untangling himself from her. Every movement was reluctant, every step away from her a silent act of will. He dressed quickly, pulling on his jeans, boots, and shirt, his hat resting snugly on his head. Before he left, he glanced back at her one last time.

Beth was still lying there, the blankets pulled up around her, her hair wild against the pillow. She gave him a look that was both soft and playful, her lips curving into that signature smirk of hers. “Go save the ranch, Rip,” she teased. “I’ll be waiting.”

Rip nodded, a calm settling over him as he turned and walked out the door. For the first time, he didn’t feel the familiar weight of worry or doubt. As he made his way down to the barn, the crisp morning air biting at his skin, Rip felt a rare sense of balance settle over him. He had the ranch, he had his loyalty to John, and now—finally—he had Beth. And for a man like him, that was more than enough.

Chapter Text

…later that day…

The barn was alive with the sound of country music humming from an old radio, the low murmur of poker hands being played, and the familiar chhht of beer cans popping open. The scent of hay, sweat, and cigarette smoke mixed with the crisp evening air as the wranglers gathered around the bunkhouse, letting loose after another long day on the ranch.

Lloyd sat at the center of it all, his battered cowboy hat tipped back as he leaned against a stack of hay bales, nursing a beer. Across from him, Ryan was shuffling a deck of cards with practiced ease, his boots propped up on the edge of an overturned feed bucket that had been repurposed as a makeshift poker table.

“Alright, boys, place your bets,” Ryan drawled, passing out cards to the circle of players—Walker, Colby, Teeter, and Jake.

Teeter, half-slumped against Colby’s shoulder, took a long pull from her beer before narrowing her eyes at her hand. “Hell, I dunno what the hell I’m lookin’ at,” she muttered, tossing her cards down with a dramatic huff. “I’m just here for the free beer and the shit-talkin’.”

Walker chuckled, strumming the guitar that rested against his knee between hands. “Ain’t that the truth,” he said, smirking as he threw a few crumpled bills into the pot.

Colby peered at his cards, shaking his head. “Man, I swear, if I lose one more hand to your shady-ass dealin’, Ryan, I’m taking my boots off and callin’ it a damn night.”

Ryan grinned. “Ain’t my fault you got the worst poker face on this ranch.”

“ The worst,” Lloyd agreed, tipping his beer toward Colby in mock sympathy.

Colby grumbled something under his breath but stayed in, tossing a few bills onto the pile. Across from him, Jake leaned forward, squinting at the pot. “Damn, y’all are feelin’ brave tonight,” he mused. “You do remember we’re all workin’ at sunrise, right?”

Teeter waved a dismissive hand. “Sunrise can kiss my ass. I’m ridin’ hungover or not.”

Walker let out a short laugh, adjusting his hat. “Ain’t the first time, won’t be the last.”

The group settled into the next hand, the radio crackling as an old George Strait song played low in the background. Boots scuffed against the barn floor, and the occasional burst of laughter echoed through the space.

Lloyd, who had been mostly observing, leaned forward slightly, his eyes shifting toward the doorway where Rip had just appeared. He was leaning against the frame, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with quiet amusement.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Lloyd said, raising his beer toward Rip. “You here to drink or babysit?”

Rip smirked, stepping fully into the barn. “Depends. Y’all playin’ fair, or am I gonna have to break up a fight before the night’s over?”

Ryan held up his hands. “Hell, Rip, you wound me,” he said, feigning offense. “This is a respectable game.”

Rip snorted. “Yeah, sure it is.” He grabbed a beer from the cooler in the corner, popping the top before settling onto an empty crate near the circle. He took a slow sip, letting the cool bitterness settle in his chest as he watched the game unfold.

Teeter glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. “So,” she drawled, her words slightly slurred, “we all saw Jamie havin’ another hissy fit. What’s the over-under that Beth had somethin’ to do with that?”

Rip smirked against the rim of his beer. “Wouldn’t bet against it.”

The table erupted in laughter, Colby slapping his knee. “Shit, I wish I’d seen it.”

Lloyd chuckled. “I didn’t see much, but I sure as hell heard it. Bet you ten bucks that boy’s got another black eye by breakfast.”

Walker strummed a lazy chord on his guitar, grinning. “Hell, I’ll double that if it means she clocked him good.”

Rip just shook his head, taking another sip of his beer. “Let’s just say he shouldn’t have opened his mouth.”

Teeter grinned. “That’s always his problem.”

Jake leaned back in his chair, stretching. “You know, I’ve been on this ranch a long time, seen a lot of shit, but one thing I know for sure—Beth ain’t ever lost a fight.”

“Damn sure hasn’t,” Rip muttered, shaking his head, though there was no mistaking the trace of pride in his voice.

The night carried on, more beer disappearing, more jokes tossed around, the easy camaraderie of the wranglers settling deep into the barn. The Yellowstone might have been a place of hard work, of blood and sweat, but moments like this? These were what made it home.

…the next day…

The faint glow of dawn crept over the horizon, painting the landscape in soft hues of gold and lavender. The ranch was still, save for the occasional rustle of the wind through the trees and the quiet stirrings of animals in the barn. John Dutton stepped out onto the front porch, the screen door creaking softly behind him. A steaming cup of coffee rested in his hand, and his sharp eyes immediately landed on the figure seated on the wooden bench near the railing.

Beth sat there, cigarette in one hand and her own coffee in the other. Rip’s oversized flannel swallowed her frame, pulled tightly around her against the crisp morning air. Her hair was slightly disheveled, a wild mess that betrayed her habit of shrugging off the world’s expectations, even when no one was looking.

John approached quietly, his boots scuffing softly against the porch as he came to stand beside her. “Good morning, Beth,” he said, his deep voice breaking the silence.

Beth glanced up at him briefly, her lips curving into a small, tired smile. “Good morning, Daddy,” she replied, exhaling a puff of smoke before taking a sip of her coffee.

They didn’t speak for a while after that, the silence between them comfortable and familiar. John leaned against the railing, watching the sun rise over the sprawling fields of the Yellowstone, the land he’d dedicated his life to protecting. Beth sat with her legs tucked under her, her gaze distant as she tapped the ash from her cigarette into the tray beside her.

Finally, John broke the silence, his voice soft but probing. “So, are we going to talk about this, honey?”

Beth turned her head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Talk about what, Daddy?”

John gestured toward her with his coffee cup. “Well, for starters, where you’ve been spending your nights. And whose jacket that is.”

Beth smirked, flicking her cigarette into the ashtray before leaning back against the bench. She took another sip of her coffee, savoring the warmth before answering simply, “I love him.”

John paused for a moment, his face unreadable as he studied her. Then he gave a slow nod, his expression softening. “I know, honey.”

Beth glanced at him, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. “Is that your way of giving me hell for it?”

John shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “No. It’s my way of telling you I approve. Not that you’ve ever cared about that.”

Beth snorted softly, her lips twitching into a half-smile. “Not once.”

John chuckled, then turned his gaze back toward the horizon. “You know, Beth, there aren’t a lot of men I’d trust with you. Hell, there aren’t any men I’d trust with you. But Rip? That’s different.”

Beth didn’t respond, just watched her father quietly, her expression softening as he continued.

“He’s solid,” John said, his voice firm. “Loyal as hell. He’d do anything for you, for this ranch, for this family. You’re the wildest thing I’ve ever known, Beth, and somehow that man knows how to keep you steady without ever trying to change you. I don’t think you could’ve found better if you’d searched the whole damn world.”

Beth blinked, her chest tightening at the unexpected warmth in her father’s words. She looked away, taking another slow sip of her coffee as she tried to collect herself.

John glanced at her, a knowing look in his eyes. “You don’t have to say anything, honey. I just wanted you to know. I’m glad it’s him.”

Beth let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “You’re getting soft, Daddy.”

John grunted, a wry smile tugging at his mouth as he straightened. “Don’t let it get around.”

Beth laughed softly, her eyes following him as he turned to head back inside. Before he reached the door, she called out, “Thanks.”

John paused, turning back to look at her, his expression soft but steady. “For what?”

Beth shrugged, pulling Rip’s flannel tighter around her. “For not fucking all this up.”

John chuckled, tipping his hat to her before stepping inside, leaving Beth alone with the rising sun and her quiet thoughts. For the first time in a long while, she felt a sense of calm settle over her, knowing she didn’t have to fight for this—not with Rip, not with her father, not with anyone.

Chapter Text

Beth strode through the halls of Schwartz & Meyer like a storm rolling through, her heels clicking sharply against the tile floor, every movement precise and intentional. The employees who crossed her path either scurried out of her way or pressed themselves flat against the walls, hoping to avoid being caught in the crossfire.

In her glass-walled office, Beth was a whirlwind of energy. Her desk was covered in papers, contracts, and sticky notes, but it was controlled chaos—everything exactly where she needed it to be. She paced as she shouted into her phone, her voice cutting through the office like a blade.

"I don’t care what he said!" she snapped, dragging a hand through her hair. "I want the deal signed today , or I’m going to make his life miserable. And trust me, sweetheart, I’m very good at that."

Beth slammed her hand down on the desk for emphasis, her cigarette burning in the ashtray nearby. Her assistant, Jason, peeked his head around the door cautiously, holding a file like a peace offering.

"Not now, Jason!" Beth barked, but then immediately waved him in anyway. "Wait—what’s that? Is it worth my time?"

Jason shuffled in nervously, dropping the folder on her desk. "It’s the final draft of the agreement with the developers. They pushed back on—"

"Tell them to kiss my ass," Beth interrupted, already flipping through the pages. "If they don’t like it, they can build their little project somewhere else, and we’ll watch them burn. Got it?"

Jason nodded quickly, retreating before she could change her mind. Beth didn’t even look up, her phone already back to her ear as she launched into another tirade.

"Listen to me, you spineless bastard," she hissed. "You’re going to sign that contract, and you’re going to do it with a goddamn smile, or I’ll personally see to it that your company folds faster than a lawn chair in a tornado."

Her voice carried through the office, leaving a wave of wide-eyed employees in its wake. But Beth didn’t care. She was on a mission, and nothing—and no one—was going to stop her.

Back on the ranch, the wranglers were in the middle of their own kind of chaos. The late afternoon sun beat down as they worked the herd, dust kicking up around the cattle as the horses moved in tight circles.

"Get your ass moving!" Teeter shouted, waving her hat at a particularly stubborn steer. The animal ignored her, and she turned to Colby with a glare. "You wanna trade horses? Maybe yours’ll listen better than mine."

Colby snorted. "Or maybe it’s just you."

The others laughed. "She ain’t wrong, though," Walker said, nodding toward the steer. "That one’s got a mind of its own." 

Teeter scowled but couldn’t keep the grin off her face. "You try workin’ this thing," she shot back. "Bet I could out-rope all of y’all blindfolded."

Lloyd, watching from a distance, chuckled as he leaned against the corral. "Less talk, more work," he called out, though his tone was more amused than stern. "We got fences to check before sundown, and I ain’t in the mood to listen to excuses."

Ryan tossed his hat in the air, catching it as his horse trotted ahead. "Just admit it, Lloyd. You like seein’ us suffer."

"Gets me out of the bunkhouse," Lloyd replied with a grin. "Y’all are too damn loud in there."

The group kept at it, laughter and good-natured ribbing filling the air as they worked the herd, their banter a welcome distraction from the hard labor.

As the sun dipped lower, Rip made his way up to the lodge, his boots crunching against the gravel drive. He was looking for John, but the house was oddly quiet as he stepped inside. No one seemed to be home, and the absence of the usual hustle and bustle made the place feel almost eerie.

Rip walked through the halls, calling out once. When there was no answer, he headed toward the study. Pushing the door open, he stopped in his tracks at the sight before him.

Jamie was seated in one of the leather chairs near the fireplace, his face a swollen, bruised mess. One eye was blackened, his lip split, and his usual polished appearance was completely undone. He looked up at Rip with a mixture of embarrassment and defensiveness.

Rip leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms as his dark eyes flicked over Jamie’s injuries. He didn’t bother hiding the smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Guess I don’t need to ask who did that," Rip said dryly.

Jamie scowled but didn’t reply.

Rip stepped farther into the room, his boots heavy against the wood floor. "Bet you deserved it," he added, his tone casual. "Hell, I’d say you’re overdue."

Jamie’s jaw tightened, but he stayed silent, glaring at Rip as if daring him to continue.

Rip took a long, slow breath, his smirk fading as his eyes darkened. "You know," he said, his voice low and deliberate, "I’ve been real patient. For Beth’s sake. For John’s."

Jamie shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard.

Rip leaned closer, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl. "You better sleep with one eye open, Jamie. ‘Cause sooner or later, I’m gonna make good on my promise. And when I do, it won’t just be your face that’s broken."

He straightened, his gaze still locked on Jamie. "This is your warning," Rip said.

With that, he turned and walked out of the study, leaving Jamie sitting there, the weight of Rip’s words hanging heavily in the air.

Chapter Text

Beth’s tires crunched against the gravel as she pulled up in front of the lodge, her body aching from the long, grueling day at the office. It had been one battle after another, but that wasn’t anything new. She thrived in the chaos, but that didn’t mean it didn’t take its toll.

Without wasting a second, she climbed the steps and made her way inside, kicking off her heels as soon as she hit the grand staircase. She took the steps two at a time, heading straight for her bedroom. The moment she was inside, she stripped out of her work clothes and pulled on a well-worn pair of jeans and a soft T-shirt that clung comfortably to her frame. She tossed a few necessities into an overnight bag, tugged on her boots, and slung the bag over her shoulder before heading back downstairs.

As she reached the main living room, she spotted John standing near the fireplace, a drink in hand, lost in thought. The fire cast flickering shadows across his weathered face, his expression unreadable.

Beth walked over to him without hesitation, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Don’t wait up for me,” she murmured, already moving toward the side table where he kept the liquor.

John chuckled as she grabbed a bottle of bourbon and two glasses, shaking his head with quiet amusement.

Beth paused, catching his expression. “What?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

John just took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes twinkling with something unspoken. “Nothing, sweetheart.”

Beth smirked, knowing better but not pressing. As she walked toward the door, she glanced back over her shoulder. “Good night, Daddy,” she called, a rare softness in her voice, a genuine smile playing at her lips.

John watched her go, shaking his head again, a small smile tugging at his lips as he murmured, “Good night, Beth.”

Beth made the short walk down to the foreman’s cabin, the cool night air wrapping around her as the ranch lay quiet under the dark sky. She could tell the lights were off from the outside, but that didn’t stop her. Rip’s truck was parked out front—he was home.

Reaching the porch, she tapped lightly on the front door. No answer.

Beth rolled her eyes with a smirk before turning the knob and letting herself in. “Guess we’re past knocking,” she muttered to herself, setting her bag down inside the door.

The cabin was dark, the smell of leather, wood, and something distinctly Rip wrapping around her like a warm embrace. Then, through the glass doors at the back of the cabin, she caught sight of a faint glow flickering outside. The firepit was going.

Quietly, she made her way through the cabin and stepped out onto the back deck. Rip sat there, boots kicked up on the railing, a slow-burning cigar in hand, the firelight flickering against his sharp features. He looked up at her, his dark eyes steady, not surprised but still seeming pleased by the sight of her.

“Took you long enough, darlin’,” he said, his voice low and easy, like he’d been expecting her all along.

Beth smirked, holding up the bottle and glasses. “I come with a gift.”

Rip chuckled, shaking his head as he sat up a little straighter, reaching for one of the glasses as she settled next to him. She poured them both a generous amount, the amber liquid catching the firelight.

They sat there lazily, sipping their drinks, letting the warmth of the fire and the night settle around them. The conversation was easy, unhurried—talk of the ranch, of their day, of nothing and everything all at once.

For Beth, this was the only peace that ever felt real. And for Rip, she was the only thing that had ever made a place feel like home.

The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the deck as Beth and Rip settled into their familiar rhythm—drinking, talking, teasing. The weight of the day had lifted, leaving nothing but the warmth of bourbon in their bellies and the easy comfort of each other’s company. The night stretched endlessly before them.

Rip traced lazy circles along the back of Beth’s hand with his thumb, his touch light, casual, but deliberate. Beth, nestled against his side, swirled the last of her bourbon in her glass before setting it aside and turning toward him, her smirk just visible in the firelight.

“You keep looking at me like that, sweetheart, we’re gonna have a problem,” Rip murmured, his voice rough with amusement, his fingers still dancing along her skin.

Beth tilted her head, her blue eyes flashing in the firelight. “Like what?” she asked, feigning innocence as she leaned in slightly, her lips grazing just beneath his jaw.

Rip exhaled slowly, his grip on her wrist tightening just enough to still her teasing. “Like you’ve got plans to ruin me,” he said, his voice dropping lower.

Beth chuckled, brushing her lips against his ear. “You say that like it hasn’t already happened.”

Rip turned then, one large hand cupping the back of her neck as he kissed her, slow and deep, the taste of bourbon and firewood lingering between them. There was no rush, no desperation—just the steady, intoxicating pull of two people who had all the time in the world for the first time in their lives.

They kissed like that for a while, the conversation coming and going between touches, laughter spilling between their lips as they toyed with each other, taking their time, stretching out the anticipation until it became something tangible, something that curled low and warm in Beth’s stomach.

Every other time had been fast, urgent—a need to consume each other before the moment slipped away. Rip never knowing when he’d get another taste. Beth never knowing when her head or her heart would let her stay long enough to be loved. But now? Now there was no reason to rush.

And Beth was hell-bent on making up for lost time.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her fingers slipping beneath his shirt, dragging across the hard planes of his stomach. “You ever fuck under the stars, cowboy?” she murmured, her voice low, teasing.

Rip’s lips twitched. She knew that answer. They’ve fucked just about everywhere on this ranch over the past 20 years. 

Rip let out a soft chuckle, but his expression turned serious as he let her lead him away from the fire, into the soft grass beyond the deck, where the sky stretched endlessly above them. The moon hung low, silver light bathing her skin as she tugged him closer, her hands slipping beneath his shirt, peeling it off of him before reaching for his belt.

Rip caught her wrists, stilling her movements just long enough to search her eyes. “You sure?” he asked, his voice rough, reverent.

Beth huffed, rolling her eyes even as she smirked.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

He kissed her again, slow and deep, the way a man does when he’s got forever to memorize every inch of the woman in his arms. The night stretched around them, the firelight flickering in the distance, and the only sound was the quiet hum of the crickets and the soft, breathless laughter that melted into the dark.

The soft glow of the moonlight bathed them as they lay entwined in the grass, Beth’s head resting against Rip’s chest. The warmth of his embrace, combined with the rhythm of his steady heartbeat, lulled her into a quiet calm she rarely allowed herself to feel. Her eyes fluttered closed, and for a brief moment, she let herself drift, letting the world fade away.

Rip glanced down, brushing a hand lightly over her back. “Come on, darlin’,” he murmured softly, his voice low and gentle. “Let’s head inside.”

Beth groaned, reluctant to move, but when he shifted beneath her, she let out a small laugh and sat up, her fingers brushing through her wild hair. “Fine,” she muttered, smirking up at him.

They gathered their clothes, laughing quietly as they fumbled in the dim light, the remnants of their teasing banter following them up the steps to the cabin. As they stepped inside, the warmth of the space wrapped around them, and Beth made a beeline for the bathroom, Rip following behind her.

When she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she stopped short, tilting her head as she studied her reflection. Her hair was a complete mess, sticking out at all angles, and small pieces of grass clung to her wild waves. She raised an eyebrow, running her fingers through the strands as she chuckled to herself.

Rip stepped up behind her, his large frame filling the doorway. He grinned, reaching over to pluck a couple of stray blades of grass from her hair. “There,” he said, his tone teasing. “Now you look decent enough for the barn.”

Beth shot him a playful glare through the mirror. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion,” she said, though her smirk gave her away.

Rip chuckled and stepped closer, brushing a kiss to the side of her head before turning on the faucet. They cleaned up quietly, the occasional laugh slipping between them as they worked around each other, the kind of unspoken ease that only came from knowing someone inside and out.

Once they were finished, Rip led her into the bedroom. He opened his dresser, pulling out a fresh pair of boxers and another one of his plain white T-shirts. Without a word, he handed them to her, his eyes meeting hers.

Beth took the clothes, her lips curling into a soft smile this time. No snarky remark, no teasing—just quiet gratitude. She didn’t have to say anything. He already knew.

But Rip, being Rip, couldn’t resist. “You know,” he said, leaning against the dresser with a crooked grin. “I’m gonna need those back at some point.”

Beth pulled the T-shirt over her head, her smirk returning as she glanced over at him. “Wasn’t planning on starting a collection,” she replied, pulling the boxers on and adjusting the waistband. “It just sort of… happened.”

Rip laughed, shaking his head as he moved toward the bed. “You’ve got more of my clothes than I do,” he teased, sitting on the edge of the mattress and kicking off his boots.

“And I wear them better,” Beth shot back, climbing in beside him and settling against the pillows.

Rip slid under the covers, reaching over to pull her close. Beth curled into his side without hesitation, resting her head on his chest, her hand splayed across his heart. His arm wrapped around her like it belonged there, his fingers trailing idly through her hair as she sighed contentedly.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the quiet of the cabin wrapping around them like a blanket. Rip kissed the top of her head.

He smiled, letting his hand drift through her hair again as her breathing slowed, her body relaxing completely against him. It felt so natural, so easy, like they’d been doing this their whole lives.

And as Beth fell asleep in his arms, Rip lay there, watching the moonlight filter through the curtains.

…the next morning…

The first thing Rip registered before even opening his eyes was warmth—soft, unmistakable warmth pressing against him. He blinked, still heavy with sleep, his body slow to catch up with his mind. The cabin was still dim, the soft light of early morning creeping through the curtains, and the world outside was quiet. But inside, Beth was anything but.

She was straddling him, her body warm and bare, her hands trailing over his chest with lazy intent.

Rip groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he squinted up at her. “You’re relentless, you know that?” he murmured, his voice still thick from sleep.

Beth smirked, tilting her head as she leaned down, her lips grazing along his jaw. “Are you complaining,” she whispered, her breath warm against his skin.

Rip exhaled sharply, his hands finding their way to her hips, his fingers pressing into the soft curve of her waist. “Didn’t even let me wake up first,” he muttered, but there was no complaint in his tone—just quiet amusement mixed with something deeper.

Beth rocked against him slightly, her smirk deepening as she felt the effect she was having on him. “You’re awake now, aren’t you?” she teased.

Rip let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, darlin’,” he murmured, his grip tightening as he flipped them over, pinning her beneath him in one swift movement. “I’m awake now.”

Beth gasped, laughing as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down into a slow, lingering kiss. Their movements were unhurried, filled with the kind of confidence that came with knowing someone your whole life.

Beth had drifted back into a deep sleep, her body warm and relaxed beneath the covers, but Rip was already slipping out of bed. He moved carefully, pulling on his jeans and tucking his shirt over his broad shoulders. He ran a hand through his messy hair, glancing once more at Beth’s sleeping form before stepping quietly out of the bedroom.

The cool morning air greeted him as he made his way down to the barn, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. The wranglers were already stirring when he pushed open the bunkhouse door, the scent of stale coffee and sweat hanging in the air.

Lloyd, already dressed and drinking his first cup of coffee, raised an eyebrow at Rip’s slightly disheveled appearance but didn’t comment.

“All right,” Rip said, his voice carrying over the early morning grumbles. “Colby, Ryan, I want y’all out at the north pasture checking that fence line. Walker, you’re working the new horses today, get ‘em saddled and moving. Teeter, Lloyd, you’re with me moving the herd over to the south ridge.”

There were the usual murmurs and stretches of protest, but no one argued. They knew Rip’s orders were final.

After finishing in the bunkhouse, Rip went about the morning chores, taking care of the animals and making sure everything was in order before heading back to the cabin. The warmth of the small home welcomed him as he stepped inside, the quiet settling around him in contrast to the rowdiness of the bunkhouse.

He moved to the kitchen, setting a pot of coffee to brew. The familiar routine grounded him, the rich scent filling the cabin as he poured himself the first cup and settled at the small wooden table. He leaned back slightly, savoring the moment of peace, his calloused fingers wrapped around the warm mug.

Beth’s footsteps on the stairs made him glance up, and when he did, he couldn’t help the slow smirk that spread across his face.

She was dressed to kill, her corporate armor firmly in place—form-fitting skirt, crisp blouse, sky-high heels, and an energy that said she was about to walk into Schwartz & Meyer and take over the world. Her hair was swept up, her makeup flawless, but it was the confident gleam in her eyes that did it for him.

She smiled at him as she stepped into the kitchen, and Rip, without a word, pushed a fresh cup of coffee across the table toward her.

Beth took it with a smirk, wrapping her fingers around the warm ceramic. “Thank you, baby,” she said, her voice smooth, easy.

Rip sipped his own coffee, raising an eyebrow over the rim. “I think maybe I should be thanking you,” he said, his smirk widening.

Beth rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t fight the grin that tugged at her lips. She reached out and gave him a small, playful shove before taking a long sip of her coffee.

They settled into easy conversation, the morning routine falling into place as naturally.

Beth leaned against the counter, watching him as she stirred her coffee. “What’s happening on the ranch today?” she asked.

Rip leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out. “Same as always. Moving the herd, fixing what’s broken, keeping the boys from doing something stupid.”

Beth smirked. “So, a full-time job.”

Rip nodded. “Pretty much.”

He took another sip before glancing at her. “What about you? What’s on your agenda, and when am I getting you back from that glass tower of yours?”

Beth exhaled, rolling her shoulders. “Meetings, contracts, making sure people do what the hell I tell them to.” She took another sip of coffee, then shot him a look. “I’ll be back when I’m done making men cry.”

Rip chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds about right.”

They stayed like that for a moment—easy, unhurried, just enjoying the quiet before the day carried them in separate directions.

Chapter Text

Beth stormed into her office like a queen surveying her kingdom, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floors. Her assistant, Jason, practically jumped out of his chair when he saw her approach.

“Morning, Jason,” Beth said without stopping, tossing her purse onto his desk and handing him a folder. “That’s the Carrington deal. Get the lawyers on the phone; they’re dragging their feet. I don’t care if they’re in the middle of their kid’s recital—this isn’t amateur hour.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jason replied, already dialing as she swept into her glass-walled office.

Beth dropped her bag on the desk and lit a cigarette, pacing as she barked orders into her phone. “No, I don’t care what the offer is. We’re not giving up a single damn acre,” she growled into the receiver, punctuating the statement by flicking ash into a crystal tray. “If they don’t like it, tell them they can find another ranch. Let’s see how that works out for them.”

Jason appeared in the doorway, hesitant but holding another folder. “Beth, the developers are pushing back on—”

“Tell them to push harder,” she interrupted without looking up. “And get me coffee. Black. I’m losing my patience for this bullshit.”

Jason disappeared, and Beth turned her attention back to the phone. “Listen to me,” she said, her voice like steel. “You’re not negotiating with some farm wife in overalls. You’re negotiating with me . And I promise, sweetheart, you’re going to lose if you keep playing chicken.”

The call ended, and she tossed the phone onto her desk with a smirk, exhaling a plume of smoke. Another win in the books.

Down at the ranch, Rip was just as busy, though his world was far quieter. He stood in the barn, leaning against the stall door as Walker struggled to saddle a particularly stubborn horse. The animal snorted, stomping its hoof as Walker muttered curses under his breath.

“Need a hand?” Rip asked, his tone casual but amused.

Walker glanced over his shoulder, scowling. “Only if you’re gonna magic this damn thing into cooperatin’.”

Rip smirked, stepping into the stall. He placed a calming hand on the horse’s neck, his voice low and soothing. “Easy there, buddy,” he murmured, his touch steady. Within moments, the horse stilled, and Rip gestured for Walker to finish the job. “There you go. Just gotta know how to ask.”

Walker grumbled something under his breath but didn’t argue, cinching the saddle tight as Rip stepped out of the stall. Lloyd appeared in the barn doorway, his hat tipped back, watching the scene unfold.

“You ever think about writing a book, Rip?” Lloyd joked, leaning against the frame. “Something like, ‘Horse Whisperin’ for Dummies’?”

Rip shot him a look, his smirk widening. “Yeah, and you’d be the first one I give a copy to.”

Lloyd chuckled, adjusting his hat. “Herd’s moved, fence line’s checked. What else you got for us today?”

“Check the irrigation down by the south pasture,” Rip replied. “Last thing we need is another busted pipe.”

As Lloyd and Walker headed out, Rip stayed behind, making his way through the barn, checking on each of the animals. His work was quiet, methodical—exactly the way he liked it. He didn’t need the chaos of Beth’s world; his was loud enough in its own way.

By late afternoon, Beth had finished off her last cigarette, slammed her final contract onto her desk, and scared the hell out of every executive who crossed her path. She leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing as she glanced at her phone. The thought of heading back to the ranch—back to Rip—was the only thing keeping her sane.

She grabbed her phone and sent a quick text: On my way home, baby. Start the bourbon.

She hit send, smirking to herself as she grabbed her bag and strode out of the office, Jason scrambling behind her. “Call me if anything goes wrong,” she called over her shoulder. “But only if it’s catastrophic. And Jason? Lock up after you finish.”

Jason nodded frantically, watching as Beth disappeared into the elevator, her heels clicking sharply, her exit as commanding as her presence.

Rip was sitting on the porch of the foreman’s cabin, his hat pushed back slightly as he leaned against the railing, sipping whiskey from a tin cup. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out, his lips curling into a soft grin when he saw Beth’s text.

He typed back quickly: I’ll have it waiting for you, darlin’. Don’t scare any more suits on your way home.

With a shake of his head and a quiet chuckle, Rip stood, heading back inside to get the bourbon ready for her arrival. As always, she was the storm he was more than willing to weather.

Beth pulled up to the foreman’s cabin like a hurricane, the gravel crunching loudly beneath her tires as she came to an abrupt stop. The tension from her day still clung to her like a second skin, but she was already letting it melt away as she climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut. She practically bounded up the steps, her heels clicking against the wood, eager for the promised drink—and the man who made all the chaos worth it.

As she pushed open the front door, the smell of something warm and inviting hit her instantly. Her steps slowed, her head tilting slightly as she inhaled. It wasn’t just the familiar scent of the cabin—wood, leather, and the faint trace of Rip’s cologne—but something unexpected. Something…cooking?

She followed the smell into the kitchen, and there he was. Rip stood at the stove, his broad back to her, a pan of pasta simmering in front of him. His sleeves were rolled up, his forearms flexing as he stirred the sauce with deliberate care. Beth stopped in her tracks, leaning against the doorway, her lips curving into a soft, bemused smile.

“Well, well,” she drawled, crossing her arms as she watched him. “Is there anything you don’t do, cowboy?”

Rip glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyes meeting hers with an easy grin. “Figured you’d be hungry,” he said simply, turning back to the stove. “And darlin’, I don’t sing.”

Beth snorted, stepping further into the kitchen, her gaze sweeping over the scene in front of her. The smell of garlic and herbs filled the air, and sitting off to the side of the counter, just for her, was her signature drink—a glass of Tito’s with three olives skewered perfectly across the top.

Her chest tightened slightly at the sight, her smirk faltering for just a second as a wave of something unfamiliar—something vulnerable—washed over her. She didn’t deserve this man. Not his patience, not his steadiness, not the way he seemed to know exactly what she needed before she even asked. And yet, here he was, standing over a stove in his tiny kitchen, cooking pasta and making her feel like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

She walked over to the counter, picking up the glass and examining it like it was the first drink she’d ever seen. “How’d you know I needed this?” she asked, her voice softer than usual.

Rip shrugged, still focused on the pan in front of him. “You always need that after a day like today,” he said matter-of-factly, glancing at her with a faint smile. “And you’ve had a lot of ‘days like today.’”

Beth smiled, taking a long sip of the drink and letting the cold vodka and briny olives settle her nerves. She leaned back against the counter, watching him with a look that was equal parts admiration and disbelief.

“How did I not know you could cook?” she asked, her tone playful but genuinely curious.

Rip smirked, turning off the stove and reaching for a pair of plates. “You never asked,” he said simply, dividing the pasta between the two dishes. “Figured you’d just assume I survived on steak and beer.”

Beth laughed, setting her drink down as she moved closer, her hand brushing lightly against his arm. “Don’t get me wrong, that sounds about right. But this?” She gestured to the plates. “This is new.”

Rip handed her one of the plates, his expression softening as he met her eyes. “Figured I’d surprise you,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “You deserve more than just steak and beer.”

Beth stared at him for a moment, her usual quick wit failing her. She took the plate, her fingers brushing his, and gave him a rare, genuine smile. “You’re a good man, Rip,” she said softly, her voice carrying just a hint of vulnerability.

Rip chuckled, stepping back and grabbing his own plate. “You make it sound like it’s a surprise.”

Beth smirked, regaining her edge as she took another sip of her drink. “Oh, it’s definitely a surprise.”

They moved to the small table, settling into their chairs as the evening stretched on around them. For Beth, the chaos of the day was nothing more than a memory now. For Rip, the sight of her, unwinding in his space, was all the reward he needed.

Dinner was easy, comfortable, filled with the kind of conversation that came naturally between them. Rip leaned back in his chair, nursing the last of his beer as he smirked across the table.

“So, Colby,” he started, shaking his head with amusement. “Spent half the damn morning trying to out-rope Teeter. Poor bastard thought he had her beat—hell, we all did—but then she pulls some trick I ain’t never seen before, flips her rope, and gets the steer down in half the time it took him.”

Beth snorted, twirling her fork against the remnants of her pasta. “Oh, I love that for him,” she drawled. “He’s gonna be hearing about that for weeks.”

Rip chuckled. “Oh, he’s already suffering. Teeter ain't let him forget it all day. Told him she’d teach him how to rope proper—for a ‘small fee’ of course.”

Beth let out a full laugh, shaking her head. “She’s a damn menace.”

Rip smirked. “Yeah, but she’s our menace.”

Beth nodded, taking a sip of her drink before leaning forward slightly. “Well, I had my own rodeo today, except instead of steers, I was wrangling boardroom jackasses.”

Rip grinned, his eyes filled with quiet amusement. “That so?”

Beth exhaled dramatically, rolling her eyes. “This executive—big shot, thinks he’s the smartest bastard in the room—tried to lecture me on financial risk analysis.”

Rip smirked. “Bet that went over real well.”

Beth placed a hand over her heart, feigning innocence. “Oh, I was very understanding. I let him have his little moment, let him dig himself into a hole with all his corporate bullshit in front of his colleagues… then I made sure he left the meeting knowing exactly who I am.”

Rip shook his head, laughing. “Damn, Beth.”

Beth grinned, picking up her glass and taking a slow sip. “I almost killed him, Rip. I could have killed him.”

Rip reached across the table, plucking an olive from her glass and popping it into his mouth. “But you didn’t.”

Beth smirked. “Because murder’s bad for business.”

Rip chuckled again, shaking his head. “You ever think about takin’ it easy on those guys?”

Beth tilted her head. “Would you take it easy on a wild horse that needed breakin’?”

Rip exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with a smile. “Fair point.”

When they finished eating, Rip collected their plates and headed toward the sink. Beth kicked off her heels with a sigh, sliding out of her blazer and rolling up the silk sleeves of her blouse before joining him.

Rip shot her a look as she grabbed a dish towel and started drying. “Didn’t take you for a woman who dries dishes.”

Beth smirked, bumping her hip against his. “Didn’t take you for a man who cooks .”

They fell into an easy silence, the faint sound of music playing from the small speakers in the corner of the room. The quiet clink of dishes, the hum of the water running, the soft brush of shoulders as they moved around each other—it was the kind of domestic simplicity neither of them had known they needed.

As the last dish was put away, Beth turned to him, leaning against the counter. “Thank you,” she said simply. “For dinner. For the drink. For still being full of surprises after all this time.”

Rip dried his hands, glancing over at her with a knowing smirk. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Just then, the familiar opening notes of Tennessee Whiskey started playing low through the speakers. Rip turned toward her, holding out his hand. “Dance with me.”

Beth raised an eyebrow. “ You dance?”

Rip shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

At first, he showed off, swaying his hips exaggeratedly, throwing in a few ridiculous moves just to make her laugh. Beth rolled her eyes, shaking her head, but she was grinning the whole time.

Then, without warning, he pulled her close. His arms wrapped around her waist, his body warm and steady against hers. Beth melted into him, her hands sliding up his chest, resting lightly against his shoulders as they swayed.

Rip started humming, then singing—low and soft, barely above a whisper—as they moved together.

Beth closed her eyes, letting the sound of his voice wrap around her, letting herself feel every part of this moment. When the song faded, she tilted her head up, her lips brushing against his jaw as she whispered, “You’re a liar.”

Rip’s brow furrowed slightly, his hands still resting against the small of her back. “How’s that?”

Beth pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, a small, teasing smile tugging at her lips. “You can sing.”

Rip smirked, shaking his head. “Only for you, darlin’.”

Beth smiled, pressing her forehead to his, and in that moment, there was nothing else in the world but them.

……

The low hum of the TV filled the cabin, the PBR broadcast flickering across the screen as Rip sat on one end of the couch, comfortably reclined, a beer resting within arm’s reach on the coffee table. Beth was sprawled on the other end, her legs stretched across his lap, her reading glasses perched on her nose as she flipped through a stack of contracts she needed to prioritize in the morning.

Rip’s hands worked absently over her bare feet, kneading gently, his thumbs pressing slow circles into her arches. Beth barely acknowledged it, though she wasn’t about to complain—she’d spent all day in heels, and if Rip wanted to massage her feet, who was she to stop him?

For a while, they existed like that—comfortably, quietly, in their own little world.

But after a few minutes, Beth felt it.

Rip was watching her.

She didn’t look up, but she could feel the weight of his gaze, the way he was studying her.

She kept flipping through her papers, feigning concentration, waiting him out.

Eventually, he sighed and turned back to the TV.

Beth smirked slightly, shaking her head as she set her papers down on her lap. “Spit it out, cowboy.”

Rip, feigning innocence, shrugged, his hands still working over her feet. “Ain’t got nothin’ to say.”

Beth raised an eyebrow, setting her papers aside completely. “Rip, what is it?”

Rip let out a long breath, then, with little effort, he pulled her forward, shifting her into his lap, his arms circling around her waist as she settled against his chest. Beth blinked at the sudden movement, adjusting her glasses as she looked up at him, waiting.

“Have you talked to Jamie since the fight?” he asked, his voice calm, but weighted with something unspoken.

The question caught her off guard, knocking her out of the quiet ease of their evening. For a moment, she just stared at him, not because she had an answer to find, but because she hadn’t even thought about Jamie. Not once.

Beth had spent the better part of her life pretending Jamie didn’t exist, so much so that, for a blissful stretch of time, she actually hadn’t.

She blinked once, then twice, shaking her head slightly. “No,” was all she could think to say.

Rip studied her, his fingers tracing absent patterns against the fabric of her shirt. “Ain’t surprised,” he murmured.

Beth tilted her head, narrowing her eyes slightly. “You expecting me to? ‘Cause that would be a first.”

Rip smirked, shaking his head. “Just wonderin’ if he was dumb enough to try.”

Beth rolled her eyes, settling more comfortably against his chest. “I forgot he existed,” she admitted, almost amused by the realization. “Best days of my damn life.”

Rip chuckled, his arms tightening around her slightly. “Guess that answers that.”

Beth sighed, tipping her head back to look up at him. “You worried about him or somethin’?”

Rip snorted. “Not in the way you think.”

Beth smirked, running her fingers along the collar of his shirt. “Then what is it, baby?”

Rip exhaled, his hand brushing over her back. “Ain’t nothin’,” he said, though his tone suggested otherwise. “Just makin’ sure he don’t try to crawl his way back in where he ain’t wanted.”

Beth scoffed. “Rip, Jamie knows better than to come sniffin’ around me.”

Rip tilted his head, giving her a look. “That a fact?”

Beth smirked. “Oh, it’s a fact .”

Rip chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, letting the conversation die right there.

They lapsed into silence, the TV humming in the background, the flickering light of the fire dancing against the walls. Beth relaxed fully against him, her fingers lazily tracing over his forearm as he held her close.

Jamie was a distant memory. And Beth planned on keeping it that way.

Beth let out a slow exhale, the weight of the day finally settling as she tucked her papers away into her bag, folding her reading glasses neatly on top. There’d be plenty of time to deal with contracts and corporate warfare in the morning—tonight, she had everything she needed right here.

Rip reached for the remote, clicking off the TV before stretching with a satisfied grunt. He glanced over at her as she stood, rolling her shoulders, and smirked. “Done playin’ boss for the night?”

Beth shot him a look, smirking as she picked up her drink and finished off the last sip. “For now.”

Rip stood, running a hand through his hair as he moved through the cabin, flipping off the lights one by one. The fire had burned low, casting flickering shadows across the room, but even that wasn’t enough to keep Beth’s eyes open much longer. She was tired, but it was the kind of exhaustion that settled in a good way, like every part of her was right where it was supposed to be.

She reached down, picking up her blazer from where it had been discarded on the couch, draping it over the chair as Rip turned back to her, his gaze easy, steady.

“C’mon,” he murmured, tipping his head toward the stairs. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Beth smirked, stepping closer and running her fingers along the front of his shirt as she murmured, “You gonna tuck me in, baby?”

Rip chuckled, shaking his head as he wrapped an arm around her waist, guiding her toward the stairs. “Somethin’ like that.”

They climbed the steps in comfortable silence, their movements unhurried, the quiet weight of the cabin settling around them. When they reached the bedroom, Beth stripped out of her clothes before crawling under the blankets, sighing softly as she sank into the mattress.

Rip tugged off his shirt and jeans, tossing them onto the chair before sliding in beside her. As soon as he was settled, Beth curled into his side, laying her head against his chest, her hand resting lightly over his heart.

Rip pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his fingers brushing through her hair. “You good, darlin’?” he murmured.

Beth hummed, already half-asleep. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I’m good.”

Rip smiled against her hair, his arm tightening around her as sleep took them both, the quiet of the cabin wrapping around them like a promise.

……….

Beth stirred, stretching lazily in the empty bed, blinking against the morning light filtering through the curtains. The sheets were cool beside her—Rip had been up for a while. She turned toward the bedside table, catching sight of the clock and letting out a quiet curse. She’d slept later than she intended.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she rubbed a hand over her face before gathering her scattered belongings. It wasn’t that she minded staying at Rip’s cabin—hell, she preferred it—but she needed fresh clothes, and she sure as hell wasn’t walking into Schwartz & Meyer in yesterday’s wrinkled shirt.

She grabbed her bag, slipped on her boots, and headed out, making the short drive up to the lodge. The gravel crunched under her tires as she pulled up, barely cutting the engine before climbing the steps two at a time.

John was already on the porch, sipping his coffee, watching her approach with an amused smirk.

“My long-lost daughter,” he greeted, tipping his head. “What brings you up to the lodge this morning?”

Beth barely slowed down, brushing past him with a huff. “I need clothes, Daddy. I have to get to work!”

John chuckled, shaking his head as he watched her disappear into the house.

Beth quickly climbed the stairs, making her way to her bedroom. She stripped, stepping into a hot shower, letting the water work some life back into her. A few minutes later, she was dressed and put together, her hair twisted into an effortless updo, her signature red lipstick swiped on as she buttoned up her blouse.

She moved with purpose down the hallway, pausing only in the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee before making her way toward the front door. Just as she turned the corner, she nearly collided with Jamie.

Her grip tightened around her coffee as she felt his gaze on her, lingering, calculating.

Beth exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “You’re safe today, Jamie,” she said flatly, taking a slow sip of her coffee. “I’m running late, and I don’t have time to waste on you.”

With that, she breezed past him, not even bothering to glance over her shoulder as she walked through the door, her heels clicking against the hardwood before they hit the porch.

John, still standing there, smirked behind his coffee cup as she stormed past, making her way down the steps toward her car.

The engine roared to life, and within seconds, she was peeling down the driveway, the sleek car kicking up dust as she sped toward town.

Down by the barn, Rip caught sight of her car speeding past a little too fast for his liking. He sighed, shaking his head.

Lloyd, leaning against the fence, watched the tail end of Beth’s car disappear down the road. “Where’s she off to in such a hurry?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

Rip didn’t even have to think about it. He just smirked, adjusting his hat as he turned back toward the herd.

“To take over the world.”

Lloyd chuckled. “Sounds about right.”

And with that, they got back to work, just another day on the Yellowstone.

Chapter Text

John walked down to the barn, his usual slow, measured pace giving him time to take in the sights of the ranch as the morning unfolded. He didn’t rush—he never did. The Yellowstone ran on his time, and the men working it knew that well. By the time he reached the arena, Rip was already there, leaning against the fence, watching a couple of the wranglers work the horses.

Rip straightened when he saw John approach, his sharp eyes shifting from the riders to the man who had given him a home all those years ago.

“Morning, sir,” Rip greeted, tipping his hat slightly.

John nodded, resting his forearms against the top rail as he surveyed the scene in front of them. “How’s it lookin’ out here?” he asked.

Rip exhaled, adjusting the brim of his hat. “Good. South pasture’s holdin’ up fine after the move. Colby and Ryan finished checking the irrigation lines yesterday, no issues there. I’ve got Walker and Teeter workin’ the new horses today, seein’ which ones are worth their feed.”

John nodded slowly, listening without interrupting. The morning sun cast long shadows across the arena, the dust swirling under the hooves of the horses as they moved. The two men stood in silence for a moment, both watching, both thinking.

John finally broke the quiet. “Fencing along the north side still needs replacing?”

Rip nodded. “Lloyd and I were gonna start that this afternoon.”

“Good,” John murmured. Another pause. Another stretch of silence.

Rip took that as his cue to leave. “Well, sir, I’m gonna get back to it.”

But just as he pushed away from the fence, John spoke again. “That’s it? We’re not gonna talk about it?”

Rip stilled, his jaw tightening slightly. He knew exactly what John meant, but he held out for just a second, hoping— maybe —he was wrong.

John chuckled, shaking his head. “Are you really gonna make me ask you what your intentions with my daughter are?”

Rip inhaled slowly, eyes shifting away from John for a moment, looking out toward the vast stretch of land beyond them. He didn’t like feeling caught off guard—not with John, not with this. He’d always known this conversation was coming, but he’d hoped it would be on his own time.

He didn’t want to disappoint John.

Rip let the silence hang between them for a moment longer before he finally answered, his voice steady.

“I love her,” he said simply.

John turned his head slightly, studying him. “I know that,” he said. “Hell, anyone with eyes knows that.” He paused. “What I want to know is—what are you gonna do about it?”

Rip looked at him then, his gaze unwavering. “I’ll do whatever she’ll let me,” he admitted honestly. “I ain’t gonna push her, sir. Beth don’t do well with bein’ told what to do.”

John let out a quiet chuckle at that, nodding. “No, she doesn’t.”

Rip sighed, glancing back toward the horizon. “She stays, she stays. She runs, she runs. I’ve spent my whole damn life loving that woman, and I ain’t about to stop now.”

John was quiet for a long moment before he nodded, a rare, genuine smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Good,” he said simply. “That’s the right answer.”

Rip let out a slow breath, relaxing slightly.

John turned back toward the arena, watching the riders again. “You know,” he mused, his voice softer now, “I used to think there wasn’t a man alive good enough for my daughter.”

Rip swallowed, his throat tight.

John glanced at him then, eyes sharp but warm. “But I gotta tell you, Rip—you’re damn close.”

Rip didn’t say anything, just tipped his hat slightly, his expression unreadable. But inside? Inside, those words settled something deep in his chest.

John gave him a final nod before stepping away from the fence. “Alright,” he said, his usual gruffness returning. “Get back to work.”

Rip smirked slightly, adjusting his hat. “Yes, sir.”

And with that, they both went back to doing what they did best—running the Yellowstone.

…….

Beth had spent the morning cutting through boardrooms like a blade, reducing corporate men to stammering messes with nothing but her words and an unwavering stare. But there was one problem that wasn’t going away with a contract or a closed-door deal.

A problem that needed handling.

She sat behind her desk, drumming her nails against the polished wood, her eyes locked on a name printed across a folder in front of her. Wayne Tillman. A smug, entitled developer with too much money and not enough respect for boundaries. He’d been circling Schwartz & Meyer’s holdings for months, sniffing out weaknesses, and worse—he was gunning for Yellowstone land, using backdoor deals and legal loopholes to try and stake his claim.

Beth had warned him once.

Now she was going to make it clear.

She flipped the folder shut and stood, grabbing her purse and tossing her assistant, Jason, a look as she strode out the door.

“Cancel my afternoon.”

Jason blinked. “Uh…all of it?”

“All of it.”

“Should I ask where you’re going?”

Beth shot him a grin that was more teeth than warmth. “No, Jason. You should not.”

Wayne Tillman’s office was in a sleek downtown high-rise— too sleek, too modern, too removed from the kind of people whose lives he was playing with. Beth strode through the marble lobby like she owned the place, ignoring the startled receptionist as she stepped onto the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor.

By the time she walked into his office, Tillman was mid-laugh, sipping an overpriced espresso, completely unaware that his afternoon was about to take a sharp turn south.

“Wayne,” Beth greeted, her voice smooth as silk, closing the door behind her. “You have exactly three minutes to explain why you’re still making my life difficult before I start making yours a living hell.”

Tillman’s smile faltered as he set down his cup. He leaned back in his chair, attempting to mask his nerves with a smirk. “Beth Dutton,” he mused. “Always a pleasure.”

She sauntered forward, leaning on his desk with both hands, forcing him to meet her gaze. “I warned you once, Tillman,” she said, her voice quiet but laced with fire. “I told you to back off my family’s land. And yet, here we are. You trying to get yourself killed, or are you just naturally this stupid?”

Tillman chuckled, but it was nervous now, forced. “Beth, business is business. You can’t expect me to ignore good opportunities.”

Beth’s eyes darkened. “You don’t get to call our land an ‘opportunity.’ You don’t get to circle us like a goddamn vulture and think I won’t pluck your feathers one by one.”

Tillman sighed, rubbing his temple. “Beth—”

She grabbed the espresso cup off his desk and tossed the contents onto the floor, making him flinch. “Let me be real clear,” she said, her tone now razor-sharp. “You keep pushing, and I’ll ruin you. Not just in business. I will personally ensure that your reputation, your wealth, your whole goddamn world crumbles beneath you. And trust me, I will enjoy it.”

Tillman swallowed hard, shifting in his seat. “You think you can scare me?”

Beth smiled, slow and predatory, leaning in just enough to let him feel the weight of her presence. “I know I can.”

Tillman held her gaze, but she saw it—that flicker of doubt, of hesitation. She leaned back, adjusting the cuff of her blouse, and gestured toward his desk.

“You have until the end of the day to withdraw your bids, dissolve your contracts, and crawl back into whatever hole you came from.” She tilted her head. “And if you don’t?”

She picked up a heavy paperweight from his desk, studying it idly before dropping it back down with a loud thud.

“If you don’t, I’ll burn you to the ground. And I won’t even have to light the match myself.”

She turned and walked toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back at him over her shoulder.

“Enjoy the rest of your day, Wayne.”

Then she was gone, leaving behind nothing but the scent of expensive perfume and the unmistakable sense of doom.

………

Beth pulled up to the lodge like she owned the whole damn world—because, in her mind, she did. The tires of her sleek car crunched against the gravel as she threw it into park, stepping out with the effortless confidence of someone who had just left a trail of destruction in her wake.

She didn’t bother with pleasantries or small talk. She marched straight through the front door, shrugging off her blazer as she made a beeline for the bar cart. She grabbed a tumbler, poured herself two fingers of bourbon, and downed half of it before even exhaling.

The ice clinked softly as she swirled the remaining amber liquid, her mind still buzzing with the encounter she’d just had.

The sound of approaching footsteps barely registered before John walked into the room, his sharp eyes taking in the scene with an amused smirk. “Well,” he drawled, watching as she poured herself another sip. “I take it your day was…productive?”

Beth didn’t answer right away. Instead, she grabbed another glass, poured a matching drink, and held it out to him.

John took it without question, lifting it slightly before bringing it to his lips. “That bad, huh?”

Beth let out a dry chuckle, dropping onto the leather couch with a heavy sigh. “Not bad,” she corrected. “Just messy.”

John took a seat across from her, resting his forearm on the armrest. “Wayne Tillman.” He said it as a statement, not a question.

Beth smirked, shaking her head as she took another sip. “You know, Daddy, there’s a special kind of stupid that comes with men like him. The kind that makes them think they can take something that isn’t theirs.”

John exhaled through his nose, nodding slightly. “And what’d you do about it?”

Beth tilted her head. “Let’s just say he won’t be making any more plays on our land anytime soon.”

John studied her, his expression unreadable. “You sure about that?”

Beth leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her blue eyes sharp as glass. “I made him think twice. But men like Tillman? They don’t scare easy. So yeah, he might back off for now, but he’ll regroup, find another way.”

John nodded, his jaw tightening slightly as he took a slow sip of his bourbon. “And if he does?”

Beth smirked, leaning back again, draping her arm over the back of the couch. “Then I’ll do what I do best.”

John chuckled, shaking his head. “And what’s that?”

Beth took another slow sip, letting the burn settle before answering. “Destroy him.”

John sighed, rubbing a hand over his chin. “Beth, I trust you to handle this. But I need to know—how far are we gonna have to take this?”

Beth tapped her fingers against her glass, considering. “For now? It’s just business. I put the fear in him, made him realize what he’s up against. But if he’s got half a brain, he’s already scheming another way in.”

John nodded thoughtfully. “Which means we need to be ready.”

Beth smirked, raising her glass in mock celebration. “Good thing we’re always ready.”

John studied her for a moment before raising his own glass, clinking it lightly against hers. “That we are.”

They drank in silence, the weight of the conversation settling between them. Tillman was a problem—but he was a problem they would handle. Just like they always did.

John leaned back in his chair, studying Beth as he took another slow sip of his bourbon. “Invite Rip to dinner tonight,” he said casually.

Beth arched a brow, swirling the last of her drink in her glass. “What’s the occasion?”

John smirked. “Do I need one?”

Beth snorted. “No, but you’re up to something.”

John didn’t deny it, just tilted his head. “Just think it’s time he got more comfortable at this table.”

Beth eyed him for a long moment before exhaling through her nose. “Fine, but I’m telling him it was your idea.”

John grinned. “Figured you would.”

Rip wasn’t nervous exactly, but walking into the Dutton lodge for dinner wasn’t something he did often. And when he stepped into the dining room, his eyes immediately swept across the long table.

John.

Kayce.

Monica.

Tate.

And fucking Jamie.

But no Beth.

Rip clenched his jaw slightly, stopping just inside the doorway, his hands slipping into his pockets as he studied the room.

John caught the question in his eyes immediately and smirked. “Relax, son. Beth likes to make an entrance.”

And, as if on cue, Beth strode in from the other room, her usual effortless confidence. She slid into the seat between Rip and her father, her hand resting lightly on the back of Rip’s chair as she reached for her wine glass with the other.

“Miss me?” she teased, smirking at Rip.

Rip exhaled, shaking his head slightly, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Always, darlin’.”

The table filled with conversation, mostly surrounding Kayce, Monica, and their life on the reservation.

“You ever think about moving back to the lodge?” John asked, cutting into his steak.

Kayce glanced at Monica, his expression unreadable. “We’ve talked about it.”

Tate, however, perked up, his face lighting up. “Can we, Mom? I love it here!”

Monica sighed softly but smiled. “We’ll see, sweetheart.”

John smirked. “Well, I don’t suppose you’d at least let the boy stay for a sleepover tonight?”

Tate’s eyes widened with excitement. “Really? Grandpa, can I?”

Kayce and Monica exchanged a glance before Monica nodded. “Alright. But only if you promise to go to bed when Grandpa tells you to.”

Tate nodded enthusiastically, barely containing his excitement.

John chuckled. “Guess that settles that.”

Then, casually, he turned his attention to Beth, his smirk widening. “What about you, honey? Where are you planning on staying tonight?”

Rip’s entire body stiffened beside her, though he didn’t react outwardly.

Beth rolled her eyes, sipping her wine before nudging Rip’s knee under the table. “Quit teasing him, Daddy.”

John chuckled. “It’s too easy.”

Rip let out a slow breath, shifting in his seat, but Beth just smirked, patting his leg before turning back to her meal.

Of course, Jamie couldn’t resist inserting himself into the conversation. “I think we all know where she’s been sleeping,” he muttered under his breath.

The entire table went silent.

John, without looking up from his plate, said evenly, “Jamie, it’s probably best you leave the dinner table.”

Jamie looked up, mouth parting as if he wanted to protest, but the sharp look from John made it clear—this wasn’t up for debate.

Sulking, Jamie pushed back from the table, tossed his napkin down, and stalked out toward the front door. Moments later, they heard his car start and pull out of the driveway.

“Well,” Kayce muttered, stabbing his fork into his steak. “That was awkward.”

Beth snorted but didn’t say anything.

They finished dinner in lighter conversation, playful banter between Beth and Kayce, Tate chatting excitedly about his night at the lodge. Eventually, Monica and Kayce said their goodbyes, and Tate scampered upstairs to get ready for bed.

Beth stood, draining the last of her wine before leaning over Rip’s shoulder. “I’m gonna go pack a bag,” she murmured, brushing a hand against his back before disappearing up the stairs.

Rip exhaled, leaning back slightly as John poured him another drink.

John leaned back in his chair, studying him as he took a slow sip. “So,” he mused, “how’s she treating you?”

Rip smirked, shaking his head slightly before lifting his glass. “Like she always has.”

John chuckled. “Good. Means she loves you.”

Rip didn’t say anything, just nodded slightly as they settled into quiet conversation, the fire crackling low beside them.

And just like that, another night at the Dutton lodge carried on.

Beth descended the stairs with her bag slung over her shoulder, her eyes immediately locking onto Rip and John sitting in the living room, both sipping their drinks, the air between them easy and familiar.

She smirked as she reached them, tilting her head slightly. “You ready, baby?”

Rip set his drink down, standing as he reached for her bag without hesitation.

John, watching the exchange with quiet amusement, patted Rip on the leg as he stood. “Good luck, son.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Daddy, you make it sound like he’s marching into battle.”

John chuckled, draining the last of his bourbon before standing. “Ain’t far off,” he muttered before heading toward the staircase. “Night, kids.”

Beth smirked, shaking her head as she turned toward the door. Rip followed, carrying her bag as they stepped out into the cool night air.

Beth slid into the driver’s seat, starting the engine with ease, while Rip, ever the silent enforcer, stowed her bag in the back before settling into the passenger seat.

The headlights cut through the darkness as they made the short trip down to the foreman’s cabin, the distant hum of crickets filling the air as the lodge disappeared behind them.

When they pulled up, Beth barely killed the engine before Rip was out of the car, grabbing her bag and following her inside.

The warmth of the cabin wrapped around them as Beth tossed her keys onto the counter, stretching slightly as she kicked off her heels. Rip, still holding her bag, watched her for a moment before shaking his head with a quiet smirk.

“What?” she asked, glancing at him over her shoulder.

Rip set her bag down near the bed, turning back to her. “Just thinkin’,” he murmured, stepping closer, his hands finding her hips. “How this keeps feelin’ more and more like home.”

Beth smiled then, that rare, genuine kind—the kind that wasn’t sharp around the edges. She let her fingers slide over his chest, feeling the steady, solid warmth of him beneath her touch.

“Then maybe,” she murmured, her voice softer now, “you should stop thinking about it and just let it be.”

Rip studied her for a moment, then, with the ease of a man who had already made his decision a long time ago, leaned in, pressing his lips to hers, pulling her in the only way he knew how—completely.

And just like that, the cabin door shut behind them, sealing them into their own quiet world for the night.

Chapter Text

Beth stormed into the office like she always did—fast, decisive, and utterly uninterested in anyone standing in her way. Her heels clicked against the tile, the sound sharp and impatient, a direct contrast to the pitiful sight waiting for her at Jason’s desk.

He looked like absolute shit. His skin had taken on a damp, pasty sheen, his eyes were bloodshot, and there were dark circles beneath them deep enough to suggest he’d either been on a bender or dying of some medieval plague.

Beth stopped, took one slow glance at him, and sneered.

“Jesus Christ, Jason. You look like you spent the night sucking whiskey out of a homeless man’s dick.”

Jason groaned, resting his forehead against the desk like he might actually perish right then and there.

“I think I have the flu,” he muttered weakly.

Beth let out a sharp laugh, tossing her bag onto her desk. “Flu? The hell are you doing here, then? You think I’m gonna hold your clammy little hand while you sweat it out?”

“I didn’t want to call in,” he mumbled.

“Well, that’s a fucking mistake, isn’t it?” She ripped off her coat and flicked on her computer. “If you puke on my floor, Jason, I swear to God, I’ll have you stuffed into one of those tiny mail carts and rolled out into traffic.”

Jason groaned again. Beth ignored him and got to work.

The morning passed in a flurry of phone calls, deep dives into business records, and aggressive typing that made the interns scurry past her office like mice in a burning house. Beth was on a warpath, and Wayne Tillman was the target. Every dirty deal, every backroom handshake, every under-the-table exchange of power—she was going to dig up something that would bury him.

She leaned back in her chair, tapping a pen against her teeth as she scrolled through reports. There were rumors of government contracts, sketchy financial ties to developers, and at least one hushed-up labor dispute that had ended in some poor bastard "retiring" a little too early. Nothing concrete yet, but she’d find it. She always did.

A wet, miserable sound dragged her out of her focus.

Beth turned her head just in time to see Jason lurch forward, gagging violently into the wastebasket next to his desk. The sound was horrible. The smell was worse.

Beth recoiled, her face twisting in revulsion. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Jason wiped his mouth, looking at her with watery, pleading eyes. “I think I—”

“I don’t give a shit what you think,” Beth cut him off, already reaching for her cigarettes. “Get your disgusting ass out of my office. Take that goddamn trash can with you.”

Jason groaned again but shakily got to his feet, gripping the wastebasket like a lifeline as he shuffled toward the door.

Beth lit a cigarette and waved it through the air, smoke curling between her fingers as she tried to overpower the stench of sick.

“Don’t come back ‘til you’ve been disinfected,” she called after him. “And if you die, send a note so I can hire someone who knows when to stay the hell home.”

Jason barely managed to push the door open before staggering into the hallway.

Beth exhaled a long drag of smoke, shaking her head as she turned back to her screen.

“Fucking flu,” she muttered. “Some people have real problems.”

And with that, she went right back to war.

……..

The cabin was quiet, save for the soft crackling of the fire and the faint rustle of fabric as Rip pulled Beth against him. His hands slid over her waist, slow and reverent, like he was memorizing every curve, every inch of her he already knew by heart.

Beth smirked against his lips, her fingers working the buttons of his shirt as she murmured, “You planning to keep staring, cowboy, or are you gonna do something about it?”

Rip chuckled low in his throat, shaking his head as he ran a rough palm up the length of her back. “Darlin’, I’ve been doin’ something about it since the first day I laid eyes on you.”

He kissed her then, slow and deep, letting the taste of her settle into him. There was no urgency. They had nowhere to be.

Beth let herself melt into him, her hands sliding over his shoulders as he peeled her shirt from her frame, his lips following the path of newly exposed skin. He took his time, trailing soft, lingering kisses down the length of her throat, across her collarbone, down to the center of her chest where he paused, his breath warm against her skin.

She let out a quiet hum of satisfaction, her fingers threading into his hair as he worked his way lower, his hands steady, unhurried. He wasn’t just touching her—he was learning her, like she was something sacred.

Rip lifted her effortlessly, guiding her down onto the bed, his hands bracketing her hips as he hovered over her, his eyes dark and unwavering. “You know how long I’ve waited to have you like this?” he murmured, brushing a kiss against her jaw.

Beth’s lips curled into a knowing smirk, though her voice was softer now. “Probably as long as I’ve been waiting to let you.”

Rip exhaled, shaking his head before pressing his forehead to hers. “Then let me, Beth,” he murmured.

And she did.

She let him take his time, let him worship her the way only he could—like she was the only thing in the world that mattered. Every touch, every kiss, was deliberate, slow, as if he was making up for every lost moment between them.

Beth arched into him, meeting him stroke for stroke, her body answering every question his hands asked. It wasn’t just passion—it was something deeper, something neither of them ever had to name.

And when they finally collapsed together, tangled in sheets and each other, their breath still mingling in the warm air, Rip ran his fingers through her hair, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her temple.

Beth sighed, completely sated, curling into his side with a lazy smile. “You’re good at that, you know.”

Rip chuckled, brushing a hand down the length of her back. “You bring it outta me, darlin’.”

She smirked, her eyes already growing heavy. “You should probably rest up then. ‘Cause I ain’t done with you yet.”

Rip grinned, wrapping his arms around her as she drifted off, the weight of her resting against him like she finally belonged exactly where she was.

…..

The first thing Beth registered before she even opened her eyes was the unease settling deep in her gut. Something was wrong.

She didn’t get sick. Ever. But as she blinked the sleep away, trying to shake the heavy fog from her mind, the sensation twisted sharper inside her. A slow-building nausea curled low in her stomach, making her pulse quicken.

Before she could even finish the thought— What the hell is this? —she was already moving, shoving the blankets back and practically sprinting down the hall, barely making it to the bathroom in time before her stomach turned inside out. FUCKING, JASON.

She gripped the edges of the toilet, her knuckles white as she emptied the contents of last night’s dinner, her body convulsing with the force of it. She hated this. Hated the lack of control, hated the way her body felt weak beneath her own weight.

When it was finally over, she slumped back against the cool tile, breathing heavily. She reached up, grabbing a towel to wipe her mouth before dragging herself to the sink, turning on the faucet and splashing cold water against her face.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror—her skin was paler than usual, her lips pressed into a thin line. I’m going to kill him .

Grumbling under her breath, she grabbed her toothbrush, scrubbing away the aftertaste before padding barefoot back down the hall.

Rip was still half-asleep when she slid under the covers, but the second she settled against him, his arm instinctively wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. His lips brushed against her temple as his voice rumbled sleepily, “You okay, darlin’?”

Beth swallowed, nestling against his warmth. “I’m fine,” she murmured. Letting the steady rhythm of Rip’s heartbeat lull her back into sleep, his warmth wrapping around her like a security she didn’t even realize she needed.

…….

Beth had been dealing with fires all day—the kind she couldn’t just set and walk away from.

Wayne Tillman had found another way in, just like she knew he would. And this time, he wasn’t playing around. He had leveraged an imminent legal maneuver—something slick, something designed to tie up Schwartz & Meyer’s assets in a way that would directly threaten the Yellowstone.

It wasn’t just a problem. It was a full-blown crisis.

And to make matters worse, Beth felt like absolute shit.

Her head pounded, her throat burned, and her stomach was doing somersaults. She had ignored the scratchy feeling creeping up on her the day before, blaming stress, but there was no ignoring it now. Her limbs ached, her patience was nonexistent, and every time she swallowed, it felt like she was swallowing razor blades.

Jason.

That little disease-ridden idiot had come into her office, puked in her trash can, and now she was paying for it.

Her office was a war zone. Papers were scattered across her desk, her phone was practically glued to her ear, and the temp assistant—some nervous-looking kid who clearly had no idea what the hell he’d just walked into—was about two seconds away from getting his ass handed to him.

Beth slammed a tissue down onto her desk and barked into the phone. “Listen to me. I don’t give a shit what loophole Tillman thinks he’s found. I want you to find me one bigger, nastier, and make it clear that if he so much as breathes in our direction again, I will burn his entire operation to the ground. You understand me?”

A pause.

“Good. Now get it done.”

She slammed the phone down so hard the temp assistant flinched.

Beth leveled her gaze at him, eyes bloodshot, nose running, a half-smoked cigarette dangling between her fingers. “Coffee,” she snapped. “Now.”

The temp hesitated. “Uh—”

“Do I look like I have the patience for uh ?” she snarled. “Get. Me. Coffee.”

The kid bolted.

Beth exhaled sharply, pressing a cold hand against her forehead. The room felt hot and claustrophobic, and she had the overwhelming urge to commit a crime.

Her stomach twisted.

She lunged for the wastebasket, barely making it before she heaved, her entire body shaking as she emptied whatever was left in her stomach.

The temp chose that exact moment to step back in.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, looking horrified.

Beth slowly lifted her head, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “If you breathe a single fucking word about this to anyone, I will fire you so fast you’ll wake up in another goddamn tax bracket.”

The temp, looking like he was reconsidering every life choice that had brought him here, simply nodded and backed out of the office.

Beth groaned, collapsing back into her chair. Her head throbbed, her throat burned, and she swore to herself right then and there:

If she survived this, Jason was dead.

But first, she had a war to win.

Wayne Tillman thought he had her cornered?

He had no idea who he was dealing with.

Chapter Text

By the time she pulled into the ranch, the evening had settled into a quiet lull, the soft glow of lights from the lodge casting long shadows across the dirt drive.

Her eyes flicked to the foreman’s cabin as she slowed, her grip tightening briefly on the steering wheel.

Rip.

She wanted to be there, wanted the warmth of his arms and the quiet steadiness he carried like armor. But she felt like hell , and the last thing she needed was to pass whatever this was onto him.

Sighing, she pressed her foot to the gas and continued up toward the lodge.

Inside, the house was still, the air thick with the familiar scent of woodsmoke and old bourbon. She didn’t bother stopping in the kitchen for a drink, didn’t even change out of her clothes—she just walked straight to her room, pulled back the covers, and all but collapsed onto the mattress.

Sleep took her before her head even hit the pillow.

…….

The morning light was already pushing through her bedroom curtains when she finally stirred. She groaned, blinking against the brightness, feeling groggy, heavy—like she’d slept straight through an entire damn day.

Reaching blindly for her phone on the nightstand, she squinted at the screen, her vision still adjusting.

A message from Rip.

She swiped it open, her heart skipping slightly at the sight of his name, even through the haze of exhaustion.

She exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over her face before reading his words.

Where the hell are you, darlin’?

Beth groaned as she tossed her phone onto the nightstand, not quite ready to deal with Rip yet. She wasn’t sure what to say—not when she didn’t have a damn clue what was wrong with her.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she forced herself upright, her movements slow and sluggish, like she was wading through molasses. Every inch of her ached, even her bones felt tired .

Dragging herself to the bathroom, she leaned over the sink, twisting the cold water on and splashing it over her face. The shock of it sent a shiver down her spine, but it did little to clear the thick fog pressing down on her.

She gripped the edges of the sink, taking a slow, steadying breath. Get it together, Beth.

But before she could collect herself, a sharp, rolling nausea curled deep in her stomach, twisting so violently that she barely had time to register what was happening before she was on the floor, dry heaving into the toilet.

Her body had nothing left to give.

She braced herself against the cold porcelain, her forehead damp with sweat, her breath coming in ragged pants. What the hell is this?

The pounding in her skull intensified, a dull, relentless throb behind her eyes. She wiped a trembling hand across her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut against the dizziness that made the whole damn room tilt.

When she was sure she wasn’t going to be sick again, she slowly pushed herself to her feet, gripping the counter for balance as she stumbled back toward the bedroom.

The cool sheets provided a temporary relief as she crawled beneath them, pulling the covers up over her head, cocooning herself in the only comfort she could find.

Sleep pulled her under once more, heavy and unrelenting.

…………

The world didn’t slow down for anyone—not for problems, not for exhaustion, not even for the weight of an unknown storm brewing just beyond the horizon. On the Yellowstone, the work didn’t wait.

John was up before the sun, standing on the front porch of the lodge with a steaming cup of coffee in hand, his sharp gaze sweeping over the land as the morning mist clung low to the pastures. The sound of hooves striking dirt echoed from the barns, the wranglers already moving with their usual efficiency.

Down at the bunkhouse, Rip had the wranglers gathered before the day even fully broke.

“Alright,” he said, arms crossed as he surveyed the group in front of him. “We got a long one ahead, so don’t waste my damn time.”

Lloyd, leaning against the fence with his usual casual ease, nodded. “Cows need movin’ down to the lower pasture before the storm rolls in tomorrow.”

Rip gave a short nod. “Colby, Ryan—you two handle that. Make sure the damn fences are holding, last thing we need is another breakout.”

Colby rolled his shoulders. “Long as Walker doesn’t let ‘em slip past him like last time.”

Walker, strumming lazily on his guitar just outside the bunkhouse door, barely looked up. “Wasn’t me that left the damn gate open, Colby.”

Rip shot them both a look, and just like that, the bickering died down. “You two arguein’ like an old married couple ain’t gonna get the job done. Just handle it.”

Ryan chuckled as he mounted his horse, glancing over at Teeter, who was adjusting her saddle. “You comin’ with us?”

Teeter, chewing on a piece of jerky, nodded. “Hell yeah. Ain’t got nothin’ better to do than push dumbass cows all day.”

Lloyd let out a dry chuckle. “That’s the spirit.”

As they rode off, Rip turned toward Kayce, who was adjusting the bridle on his horse.

“You comin’ out to the south pasture with me?” Rip asked.

Kayce nodded, tightening the strap. “Yeah. Need to check on that new bull, make sure he’s settlin’ in.”

John approached, his hands in his pockets as he took in the activity around the barn. “Everything movin’ along?”

Rip nodded. “Got the herd shiftin’, fencelines gettin’ checked. Should be good by sundown.”

John glanced toward the distant pastures, watching as Colby and the others rode off, the early sun catching the dust in the air. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

Kayce swung up onto his horse, adjusting his hat as he looked over at Rip. “You leadin’ or followin’?”

Rip smirked. “What the hell do you think?”

Kayce chuckled. “Figured you’d say that.”

They rode out together, the sound of hooves hitting dirt filling the silence between them as they made their way toward the herd.

………..

At the Yellowstone, the sun rose, the work continued, and the land—no matter what storms were brewing beyond it—remained exactly as it always had.

The foreman’s cabin had never felt lonely before.

Rip had spent years in this space, relishing the quiet, appreciating the solitude. He’d built his life in moments of silence, finding comfort in the predictability of his own company.

But ever since Beth started coming around, since she’d woven herself into his nights and his mornings, that quiet had started to feel empty .

Now, sitting at his table, staring at the empty plate in front of him, the loneliness pressed in a little tighter.

A half-drunk beer sat beside the plate, the remains of his steak long since finished. This was his life without her—steak and beer, a meal that used to satisfy him but now just felt like going through the motions.

He ran a hand over his beard, exhaling heavily.

He wanted to respect her space if that’s what she needed. Beth was wild; she didn’t take well to being chased. But this wasn’t like her. He just wanted to hear her voice, to make sure she was alright.

Before he could second-guess himself, he was already dialing her number.

Straight to voicemail.

Rip frowned, staring at the screen for a long moment.

Beth’s phone never went to voicemail. If she didn’t want to answer, she’d send a smartass text. If she was pissed, she’d let it ring just to let him know she was ignoring him. But voicemail?

Something wasn’t right.

His stomach tightened as he pushed back from the table, grabbing his hat and heading straight for the door.

The walk up to the lodge was short, but it felt longer than usual. His boots hit the gravel with purpose, his eyes scanning the drive the second it came into view.

Her car was there.

Rip let out a slow breath, his pace quickening as he approached the front steps. As he reached the porch, John was there, standing in the doorway, watching him.

“How can I help you, son?” John asked, his voice calm, unreadable.

Rip, barely stopping at the bottom of the steps, looked up. “You seen Beth?”

John frowned slightly, straightening. “I thought she was with you.”

Panic settled into Rip’s gut like a stone.

Without another word, he pushed past John, walking straight through the front door and calling out, “Beth?”

Silence.

His heart started pounding. He took two stairs at a time, his boots heavy against the wooden steps, his mind racing with every possibility.

John was quick behind him, his voice sharp. “Rip—”

But Rip wasn’t stopping.

When he reached her door, he pushed it open without hesitation.

She was there.

Beth was lying in bed, her body still beneath the covers, her blonde hair spread across the pillow. Relief hit him like a wave, his chest rising with a deep breath. But as he stepped closer, the feeling faded, replaced by something far heavier.

She wasn’t stirring.

“Beth?” Rip’s voice was softer now, almost hesitant. He reached out, his large, calloused hand brushing against her shoulder. No response.

His stomach twisted.

With more urgency, he pulled back the covers.

The sight that greeted him made his blood run cold.

Beth was naked beneath the sheets, her body so much smaller than it should’ve been. Her hip bones and ribs jutted out sharply, her skin paler than he had ever seen it. Dark circles framed her closed eyes, her breathing shallow, her body limp.

John, who had stepped into the room, turned his back the second Rip moved.

Rip barely noticed. His only focus was her .

Moving fast, he grabbed the closest thing—one of his white t-shirts lying at the foot of the bed—and pulled it over her limp frame, his hands working quickly, efficiently. Once she was covered, he scooped her up, cradling her effortlessly in his arms.

“Jesus,” John muttered, turning back just as Rip shifted Beth against his chest.

Rip barely heard him. He was already moving.

He carried her down the stairs, his grip firm but gentle, every part of his body tense with fear. John was right behind him, moving fast, grabbing his truck keys from the entryway.

The moment they reached the truck, Rip climbed into the backseat with her, settling her against him, his arms wrapping around her as John started the engine and peeled down the driveway.

The drive was a blur.

Rip kept his hand on the back of her head, his fingers lightly brushing through her hair, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

She was warm, but too still.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured against her hair, his voice rough. “You gotta wake up.”

John didn’t speak, his focus locked on the road, pushing the truck faster than it was ever meant to go.

When they pulled up to the hospital, the second John threw it into park, the doors were flung open.

A team of doctors and nurses rushed toward them, pulling Beth from Rip’s arms, whisking her inside before he could even process what was happening.

Then she was gone.

Just like that.

The double doors swung shut, leaving Rip standing in the emergency room entrance, his breath heavy, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

John was beside him, equally still, equally stunned.

No answers. No explanations.

Just the two of them, standing there in the waiting room, staring at the door that had just swallowed the only woman Rip had ever loved.

Chapter Text

The two men sat in silence. The weight of the waiting pressed heavy on their shoulders, each minute stretching endlessly as they stared at the walls, the floor, the clock—anything but each other. There were no words for this, no conversation that would make any of it easier.

John sat with his elbows resting on his knees, his hat dangling from his fingers. Rip, on the other hand, was perched on the edge of his seat, his foot bouncing, his hands clenched into fists against his thighs.

Neither of them were men who liked feeling helpless. And right now? That’s exactly what they were.

More than three hours passed before someone finally emerged.

A blond-haired, blue-eyed motherfucker in a crisp white coat strolled toward them, his presence somehow too put together for the mess of emotions sitting inside Rip’s chest.

"Mr. Dutton?" the doctor said, glancing between them, his professional tone grating. "I'm Dr. Richards—"

Rip immediately hated him. Dr. Dick.

Dr. Dick continued, launching into a string of medical jargon that meant exactly nothing to the two ranchers sitting in front of him. Something about metabolic imbalances, possible gastrointestinal distress, preliminary test results, IV fluids, blah, blah, fucking blah.

Rip clenched his fists, his jaw ticking as the words kept coming.

John, sitting next to him, finally exhaled through his nose. “Doc,” he interrupted, his tone firm. “Why don’t you try that again in plain goddamn English?”

Dr. Dick had the audacity to look slightly irritated, adjusting his stethoscope like he was burdened by their lack of medical knowledge. "We’re still running tests, but it appears she was severely dehydrated. She’s stable now, receiving fluids, and we’re monitoring her closely."

That should have been enough.

But then the doctor added, almost offhandedly, “She was extremely undernourished, which we suspect is part of the problem. Malnutrition at this level can lead to complications, including—”

Rip didn’t even realize he was standing until his chair scraped back violently against the tile floor.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Rip’s voice was low, dangerous, his body practically vibrating with barely restrained fury.

Dr. Dick straightened, blinking in mild surprise at the sudden aggression. “I simply mean—”

"You simply mean what?" Rip took a step forward, hands twitching like he was a second away from grabbing the doctor by the collar and shoving him into the nearest wall. "You think she’s doin’ this to herself?”

Dr. Dick paled slightly, glancing toward a nearby nurse for backup.

John, still seated, sighed and rubbed his temples. "Rip," he muttered in warning, though there wasn’t much conviction behind it.

But Rip wasn’t letting it go. "You ever stop to think maybe somethin’s wrong with her? That maybe instead of standin’ here talkin' outta your ass, you oughta be in there fixing it ?"

Dr. Dick took another step back. "Sir, I understand this is a stressful—"

Rip lunged , and John barely grabbed his arm in time.

The doctor took one look at Rip’s face and all but ran, muttering something about getting more results before practically disappearing down the hall.

The nurse who had been standing nearby stepped forward, her expression calm, understanding. "I was going to come talk to you anyway," she said, offering them both a small smile. "Beth’s stable. She was extremely dehydrated, yes, and her bloodwork will give us more answers, but she’s awake and alert now. A little… on edge."

John huffed out a dry chuckle. "Sounds about right."

Rip, still fuming, ran a hand over his face, exhaling through his nose. " Can we see her? "

The nurse hesitated, looking at her chart. "Immediate family only."

Before Rip could even process the rejection, John straightened, fixing the nurse with a look that had brokered deals and settled wars.

“That’s fine,” John said smoothly. “I’m her father, and this is her husband .”

Rip’s head snapped toward John, but John didn’t so much as blink.

The nurse smiled softly, nodding. “Right this way.”

Rip didn’t question it. He didn’t care about the implications, the legality, or the truth.  

All that mattered was Beth.

And he was getting to her .

The second John and Rip stepped into Beth’s hospital room, they were met with chaos.

Beth was pissed.

Her voice echoed off the sterile walls, sharp and demanding as she glared at a nurse standing helplessly near the bedside.

“I don’t give a shit what your policy is, get me my goddamn phone!” Beth snapped, shifting uncomfortably against the raised hospital bed, her wild ponytail barely holding together. “I’ve got a business to run, and a goddamn lawsuit to file against this place for holding me against my will!”

The nurse looked frazzled, gripping the clipboard against her chest like a shield.

John and Rip stopped in the doorway, taking in the scene.

Beth had wires sticking out of both arms, an IV taped to her skin, and her complexion was pale— too pale. The dark circles under her eyes only amplified the exhaustion written across her face, but despite all that, she was fighting.

And something about that?

That was Beth Dutton.

When she turned and saw them standing there, though, her entire body shifted.

The tension in her shoulders sagged, her breathing slowed, and for the first time since waking up in that sterile hellhole, she didn’t feel like she had to fight.

John exhaled, stepping forward first, his keen eyes sweeping over her. “Well,” he mused, pulling a chair up beside the bed. “You look like shit, honey.”

Beth let out a dry, exhausted chuckle, shaking her head. “Gee, thanks, Daddy.”

Rip still hadn’t moved.

His eyes were locked onto her, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths like he was still trying to process the fact that she was awake, breathing, alive.

Beth met his gaze, her voice softer now. “You, too, cowboy?”

That snapped Rip out of his trance. He stepped forward, his hands instinctively landing on the railing of her bed, his grip tight like he needed to physically ground himself. His jaw was clenched, his eyes dark and searching as they raked over her, taking in everything.

Beth sighed, shifting slightly, wincing at the wires sticking out of her arms. “Jesus,” she muttered, looking down at the IV. “How long have I been in here? Feels like they’re trying to reanimate me.”

John crossed his arms. “A couple hours. And you were damn close to needing it.”

Beth rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

Rip finally spoke, his voice rough. “Beth… what the hell happened?”

Beth let out a slow breath, glancing between them. “I don’t know. ” And that was the part that really pissed her off. “One minute I was at the office, the next I felt like hell , and then I woke up here with more wires in me than a goddamn Christmas tree.”

John sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You scared the hell out of us, Beth.”

Beth blinked at that, her expression shifting. She didn’t respond right away, didn’t crack a joke or deflect. Instead, she felt it.

For the first time since waking up, she realized just how close she must’ve been to the edge.

She looked at Rip again, at the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled around the bed railing like he was holding onto something solid for the first time in hours.

She exhaled slowly, lowering her voice. “I’m okay.”

Rip shook his head slightly, still staring at her like he wasn’t sure if he believed her.

Beth smirked, reaching out—her fingers barely brushing against his forearm. “Rip.”

That was all it took.

He let out a slow breath and finally let go of the railing, his hand covering hers, his grip firm and warm and steady .

“You’re gonna be,” he murmured. “Even if I have to tie you to this damn bed to make sure of it.”

Beth chuckled, squeezing his hand weakly. “Knew you had a kinky side.”

Rip huffed a laugh, but his eyes still held that quiet storm of fear, of relief .

John, watching the two of them, finally leaned back in his chair with a smirk. “Well,” he muttered. “Guess I’ll leave you two to it.”

Beth rolled her eyes, but there was warmth there.

John patted Rip on the shoulder as he stood, nodding toward his daughter. “Keep her in check.”

Rip nodded. “Yes, sir.”

And as John walked out, leaving them alone, Beth finally felt it—the weight of what had happened, of what could’ve happened, and of the one man who wasn’t going anywhere.

Rip sat beside Beth’s bed, his large, calloused hand wrapped around hers, his thumb running slow, soothing circles along her skin.

She let herself sink into the feeling, her body still heavy with exhaustion, her head still carrying a dull ache. But here, with Rip beside her, the weight of everything else didn’t seem so unbearable.

They sat in comfortable silence, the sound of the monitors beeping softly, the distant hum of hospital activity just beyond the door.

Then, the door creaked open, and in walked him.

Dr. Dick.

Rip immediately sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing as he stood, his presence alone enough to make the doctor hesitate.

“We’re gonna need a new doctor in here,” Rip said, his voice steady, firm, and not leaving room for argument. “Run along now.”

Beth, smirking, turned her head slightly on the pillow to watch.

Dr. Dick huffed, mumbling something under his breath before swiftly turning and disappearing back into the hallway.

Beth chuckled, looking up at Rip with amused eyes.

Rip shook his head, settling back down beside her, muttering, “Guy’s a damn idiot.”

Before Beth could comment further, another doctor walked in—a young brunette with sharp eyes and a professional but kind demeanor.

“Hi, Beth,” she greeted, offering a warm smile. “I’m Dr. Ellis. I just wanted to go over your test results with you.”

Beth sighed, already preparing herself for another lecture.

Dr. Ellis glanced at the chart in her hands. “So, we got your bloodwork back. As expected, you were severely dehydrated.” She hesitated before continuing. “Unfortunately, your labs also showed a very high blood alcohol content. Can I ask—do you drink often?”

Beth scoffed. “Define often. ”

The doctor gave her a patient look.

Beth smirked. “I drink coffee until noon, switch to vodka, and end the day with bourbon and a side of dinner.”

Rip let out a heavy sigh beside her, shaking his head.

Dr. Ellis didn’t even flinch. “And what do you eat for breakfast and lunch?”

Beth shrugged. “Cigarettes.”

Rip’s grip on her hand tightened slightly, but he didn’t say anything.

The doctor exhaled, flipping a page on her chart. “The vomiting, in conjunction with your current diet, led to severe dehydration. Moving forward, you really need to take better care of yourself—cut down on the smoking and absolutely no more alcohol.”

Beth scoffed. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Dr. Ellis looked at her, completely unfazed. “I don’t think you have a choice.”

Beth raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And why the hell is that?”

The doctor closed the file and met her eyes. “Because you’re pregnant.”

The room went completely still.

Beth blinked. Once. Twice. Then let out a dry, humorless laugh. “You’ve got the wrong room, sweetheart.”

Dr. Ellis remained calm. “I don’t.”

Beth let out a sharp exhale, shaking her head. “No, you do. I was sterilized involuntarily when I was sixteen.” Her tone was clipped, firm, matter-of-fact.

Dr. Ellis nodded slowly. “I saw that in your records, yes. You had a tubal ligation performed.”

Beth’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Then you know I can’t be pregnant.”

Dr. Ellis met her gaze steadily. “Beth, it’s rare , but about 1 in 200 women who receive a tubal ligation become pregnant.”

Beth stared at her, her chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths.

She could feel Rip’s gaze on her, but she couldn’t look at him. Not yet.

Dr. Ellis continued, her tone careful. “Have you ever had a follow-up confirming that your procedure was fully effective?”

Beth’s jaw tightened. “No. I didn’t need someone telling me something I already knew.”

The doctor nodded again. “I understand that. But in very rare cases, the body can repair itself—either by forming a small passage where the tubes were cut or by the procedure not being completed properly to begin with.”

Beth still wasn’t processing it.

She looked at Rip.

Rip looked at her.

The air between them was charged with something indescribable, something neither of them could name yet.

For the first time in her life, Beth Dutton was speechless.

Chapter Text

Dr. Ellis studied Beth carefully, her demeanor patient but unwavering. “Would you like to see your baby?” she asked gently.

Beth’s mind spun. The word baby echoed around in her head, rattling against every hard-won wall she’d ever built. She couldn’t get pregnant— that was the story she’d lived with, the reality she had adapted to. The idea that this was even possible felt like a cruel joke, a twist of fate she couldn’t comprehend.

Rip sat beside her, his hand still wrapped around hers, his thumb pausing its soothing circles. On the outside, he was calm, a steady presence in the storm, but inside, he was as lost as she was. The idea of being a father—something he had long since resigned himself to never experiencing, even before Beth—was suddenly, inexplicably real.

Dr. Ellis called her name again, softly, as if trying not to startle a wild animal. “Beth?”

Beth blinked, turning her eyes away from some distant point on the wall to meet the doctor’s gaze.

She couldn't find her voice. 

Rip spoke up, his tone a gentle command. “Let’s see it.”

The doctor offered a polite, understanding smile as she moved to wheel over the sonogram machine. The room filled with the quiet hum of the machine powering up, the sound both foreign and intimate in the sterile, quiet space.

Dr. Ellis guided Beth to lift her hospital gown just enough to expose her abdomen. Beth, still numb, complied without a word, her eyes glued to the ceiling. Rip squeezed her hand, his touch grounding her just enough to keep her from spiraling.

The cold gel on her skin snapped her back into the moment, and the soft whirring of the machine filled the silence as Dr. Ellis moved the wand over her stomach.

Then, amidst the mechanical hum and Beth’s shallow breaths, a new sound filled the room—fast, rhythmic, unmistakably alive.

The heartbeat.

Beth’s eyes snapped to the screen. There, nestled in the grainy black-and-white image, was a tiny form, curled up, flickering with life.

Dr. Ellis pointed at the screen, her voice soft but sure. “There’s your baby. Measuring about eleven weeks along.”

Beth couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—her entire world condensed into that small, pulsing image.

Rip leaned forward, his eyes locked onto the screen, his expression a mix of awe and disbelief. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until the sound of the heartbeat forced it out of him in a shaky exhale.

Dr. Ellis moved the wand slightly, capturing a few images, freezing them in time before handing the printed photos to Rip. He accepted them with a reverence usually reserved for sacred things, his fingers careful not to smudge the delicate paper.

The doctor glanced between them, her smile kind and knowing. “I’ll leave you two alone for a bit.” With that, she slipped quietly from the room, leaving them with nothing but the soft beeping of the monitors and the reality of what had just unfolded.

Rip sat there, the sonogram photos clutched tightly in his hands, his eyes never leaving the small, blurred outline of their child.

Beth, still staring at the ceiling, let out a shaky breath, her fingers trembling in Rip’s grasp.

For a woman who had always known exactly who she was, exactly what she could and couldn’t do—this was the first time in a long time that Beth Dutton was completely, utterly lost.

The silence in the room stretched, heavy and suffocating.

Beth lay still, eyes locked on the ceiling, her mind trying—and failing—to process what had just happened.

Pregnant.

The word felt foreign, impossible.

She’d spent years making peace with the fact that it could never happen. Told herself it was fine, that she wouldn’t have wanted kids anyway. That motherhood wasn’t something she was built for.

And now?

Now, fate had decided to slap her right across the face.

Her stomach turned, but for the first time, she wasn’t sure if it was nausea or panic.

Beside her, Rip hadn’t moved. He was staring down at the sonogram photos in his hands like they were the most fragile, precious thing in the world. His thumb traced the edges, his breath slow and measured, his entire body tense with the weight of what he was holding.

Neither of them spoke.

For the first time in their whole damn lives, neither of them knew what to say.

Finally, Beth swallowed hard, forcing herself to move. She turned her head slowly, finding Rip’s face still fixed on the little black-and-white images.

“You believe this?” her voice came out quieter than she intended, almost raw.

Rip exhaled sharply, finally tearing his gaze from the photos to look at her. His eyes were dark, searching, filled with something she couldn’t name.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, voice rough. “I’m tryin’ to.”

Beth let out a dry, humorless chuckle, though there was no fight in it. “Tell me about it.”

Another stretch of silence.

Then, Rip slowly turned the sonogram toward her, holding it up just slightly. “That’s ours ,” he murmured, like he was still trying to convince himself.

Beth’s breath hitched. She glanced at the image, at the small flicker of life that shouldn’t be possible, shouldn’t even exist— but it did.

Something inside her cracked wide open, something she didn’t know how to contain.

“Rip…” she started, but the words failed her.

Rip shook his head slightly, his expression unreadable. He shifted forward, setting the sonogram photos gently on the bedside table before leaning his elbows on his knees, running a hand over his beard.

“Darlin’, I never—” He stopped, exhaled sharply, and tried again. “I never let myself think about it. Kids. A family. Not with everything…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening before he looked at her again.

Beth felt her heart squeeze at the hesitation in his voice, at the unspoken years of pain and longing buried beneath his words.

Rip cleared his throat, his voice steadier this time. “But you gotta tell me where your head’s at.”

Beth blinked, looking back up at the ceiling, her throat feeling tight.

“My whole damn life,” she whispered, “I’ve known I couldn’t have kids. Jamie made damn sure of that.” The bitterness in her voice was sharp, cutting. “It was never a choice, Rip. It was taken from me. And I built myself around that fact.”

Rip listened, silent and patient, letting her work through it.

Beth’s fingers clenched the thin hospital blanket, her voice softer now. “And now, out of nowhere, someone tells me I’m pregnant like it’s just another meeting on my damn calendar?” She let out a slow, shaky breath. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do with that.”

Rip swallowed, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. He wasn’t a man who spoke unless he meant something, and right now, the weight of his words felt heavier than ever.

“You don’t have to know right now,” he said simply.

Beth turned to look at him, her eyes flashing. “What if I can’t do this?”

Rip didn’t hesitate. “Then we don’t.” His voice was even, unwavering.

Beth’s breath caught, emotion clawing its way up her throat. “And if I can?”

Rip exhaled, his gaze softening in a way she had only seen a handful of times. “Then we do.”

Beth felt something in her chest splinter at the steadiness of his voice, at the quiet certainty behind it.

It had always been that simple with him.

No pressure. No demands. Just love.

She blinked, turning away from him as her vision blurred, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

Rip reached out, his fingers brushing against hers, his touch grounding her in a way only he could.

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere, Beth,” he murmured. “No matter what.”

Beth squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing hard.

For the first time in her entire life, she wasn’t sure if she was strong enough for this.

But if there was one thing she did know, it was that Rip was telling the truth.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

And maybe… just maybe …

Neither was this baby.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts, the weight of the moment pressing into both of them.

Beth could still hear the steady beeping of the monitor beside her, the faint hum of the hospital outside her room. Everything around her felt distant—like she was sitting just outside of reality, watching her own life unfold in a way she never thought possible.

She turned her head slightly, watching Rip as he sat beside her, his fingers idly toying with the edge of the sonogram photo that now rested on the bedside table. His face was unreadable, but Beth knew him too well. He was thinking, processing, accepting —the way he always did.

She swallowed hard, her voice coming out quieter than usual. “We keep this quiet.”

Rip glanced up at her, his dark eyes searching hers.

Beth exhaled sharply, shifting against the stiff hospital mattress. “At least for now. I don’t want the whole goddamn world up my ass about this, not until I know what the hell I’m doing.”

Rip nodded once, his expression calm but unreadable. “Alright.”

Beth smirked, but there was no humor behind it. “What, no argument?”

Rip shook his head. “Ain’t my call to make, Beth. We do this how you wanna do it.”

Beth let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, the tension in her shoulders loosening slightly.

She ran a hand over her face, her fingers lingering at her temple where a dull ache still pulsed. “Jesus Christ.” She let out a tired chuckle. “I just got blindsided by the biggest fucking curveball of my life, and you’re just rolling with it?”

Rip leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady. “Ain’t my first time rollin’ with your curveballs, darlin’.”

Beth let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. “No, I guess it ain’t.”

They lapsed into another quiet moment, but this time, the silence wasn’t quite so suffocating.

Rip reached over, resting a hand on her thigh, his touch grounding her in a way only he could. “We tell ‘em when you’re ready.”

Beth nodded, swallowing past the lump in her throat.

This wasn’t something she was ready to say out loud—not to John, not to Kayce, sure as hell not to Jamie . Not yet.

She needed time to process. To wrap her head around the impossible reality that was now sitting inside her.

For now, it was just theirs .

Beth inhaled deeply, her throat tight with emotions she didn’t quite know how to process. She turned her head back to the ceiling, exhaling through her nose.

She had never been afraid of anything in her life. Not losing people, not business, not even death.

But this ?

This was something she didn’t know how to fight.

Rip watched her for a moment longer before standing. “You need anything before I step out?”

Beth shook her head. “Just some goddamn sleep.”

Rip smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He reached over, brushing his fingers lightly against her cheek. “Alright, darlin’.”

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to sink into the mattress.

Rip took a slow, steady breath as he tucked the sonogram photos carefully into his back pocket. His fingers lingered there for a moment, pressing the fragile images against his denim like he needed to feel their presence, to make sure this wasn’t all some fever dream.

He glanced back at Beth one more time before stepping away. She was laying back against the pillows, her eyes closed, her body still and small beneath the hospital sheets. She looked so frail —wires sticking out of her arms, her usually sharp features softened by exhaustion, her wild mess of blonde hair barely hanging onto the ponytail it had been wrangled into.

It wasn’t much different from the sight that had made his heart stop when he first walked into her room.

But now , as he looked at her, it wasn’t just Beth Dutton, the love of his life, the woman who had wrecked him and put him back together in equal measure.

It was Beth Dutton, the mother of his child .

Rip swallowed hard. The weight of it all hit him like a punch to the gut, a reality too big, too life-altering to fully wrap his head around just yet.

He needed air.

With one last glance at her, he turned and slipped quietly out of the room, his boots heavy against the hospital floor.

The second he stepped outside, the cool evening air hit him, filling his lungs, clearing his head. He braced his hands on his hips, inhaling deeply, trying to shake the feeling that his whole damn world had just tilted on its axis.

And that’s when he saw him.

John Dutton, walking up toward the entrance, his sharp blue eyes locked onto Rip the second he stepped outside.

John’s pace didn’t slow, didn’t hesitate. The way he was looking at Rip, he knew something was up.

Rip straightened, adjusting his hat as John reached him.

John stopped in front of him, his gaze unwavering. “How’s she doin’?”

Rip exhaled through his nose, his voice steady but guarded. “She’s awake. Doctors got her stable.”

John studied him for a beat longer, his eyes sharp, searching. “And you?”

Rip clenched his jaw, glancing away for a split second before looking back. “I just needed some air.”

John didn’t push—not yet. He just nodded once before stepping past Rip, making his way inside.

Rip stayed outside, the cool air grounding him in a way nothing else could. His hands rested on his hips, his fingers brushing the edges of the sonogram photos still tucked safely in his back pocket. He hadn’t even looked at them again, hadn’t dared to take them out and fully face them. Not yet.

His mind was a storm, thoughts crashing into each other with no clear direction.

He didn’t know how long he stood there before the sound of the hospital doors opening pulled him back to the present. He turned just as John stepped outside, his hands in his coat pockets, his expression unreadable.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then John sighed, stepping up beside Rip, both of them facing out toward the darkened parking lot. “She looks like hell.”

Rip huffed out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, well. She feels like it too.”

John nodded slowly, rocking on his heels. “Doctor say what’s wrong?”

Rip hesitated, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides. This was the moment. He could either keep the secret, let Beth decide when and how to tell her father… or he could prepare John for what was coming.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his beard. “Dehydration. She was real run down.”

John glanced at him. “And?”

Rip swallowed. The weight of the truth sat heavy in his chest. He turned slightly, meeting John’s gaze. “And that’s all we know for now.”

John studied him for a long moment, his sharp eyes narrowing just slightly. Rip had known the man long enough to recognize when he was being measured, weighed.

“You sure about that?” John finally asked.

Rip’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Yeah. I am.”

John didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press further. Not yet. Instead, he exhaled, glancing up at the sky. “Your whole life, you think you know what’s coming. You think you got it all figured out. Then one day, something happens, and everything changes.”

Rip stiffened, his stomach twisting at how close John was getting without even realizing it.

John looked back at him then, his gaze sharp. “Whatever’s goin’ on with her, you’re in the middle of it. I can see it plain as day.”

Rip didn’t move, didn’t even blink. “Always have been, sir.”

John nodded once, seemingly satisfied with that. “Then you make sure she’s alright. And when she’s ready to tell me what’s really goin’ on, I expect to hear it from her.”

Rip nodded. “Yes, sir.”

John gave him one last knowing look before clapping him on the shoulder, squeezing briefly before turning and heading toward his truck.

Rip watched him go, his heart still pounding against his ribs.

He had just dodged a bullet. But it wouldn’t be long before John figured it out.

Beth would have to tell him eventually.

And when she did?

Rip had no damn idea how the old man was going to take it.

But one thing was for sure—this secret wasn’t going to stay a secret forever.

Rip stood outside the hospital for a long moment after John drove off, letting the cold night air settle into his bones. He needed more time to breathe, to think —but thinking wasn’t doing him much good tonight.

Jesus Christ.

Taking a deep breath, he turned back toward the hospital, making his way inside. He needed to get her out of here, back home where she belonged.

When he stepped into Beth’s room, she was sitting up, her arms crossed, looking like she was ready to burn the whole damn place to the ground.

“Where the hell have you been?” she grumbled, though there was no real bite to it.

Rip smirked faintly. “You miss me already, darlin’?”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Hardly. But I’m ready to get the fuck outta here.”

Rip stepped closer, pulling the chair beside her bed and sinking into it. “Doc clear you to leave?”

Beth exhaled sharply, running a hand over her face. “Not yet. But I’m about five seconds from checking my own damn self out.”

Rip huffed a quiet laugh, but there was something in his eyes—something different.

Beth caught it immediately.

She tilted her head slightly, narrowing her gaze. “What?”

Rip hesitated.

Beth straightened, her tone sharper now. “Rip. What? ”

Rip exhaled through his nose, his fingers tightening slightly on the arm of the chair. “Ran into your dad.”

Beth blinked once, then twice. “And?”

Rip met her gaze. “He knows somethin’s up.”

Beth sucked in a slow breath, her eyes flashing. “Did you tell him?”

Rip shook his head. “No. Told him what the doc said. That you were run down, dehydrated.” He hesitated. “But he ain’t stupid, Beth.”

Beth groaned, leaning back against the pillow. “Jesus Christ.”

Rip watched her for a beat. “Ain’t gonna be long before he figures it out.”

Beth closed her eyes for a long moment, pressing her fingers to her temples.

She knew Rip was right.

John Dutton wasn’t the kind of man who let things lie. He’d already sensed something was off, already started putting the pieces together. It was only a matter of time before he came knocking.

Beth exhaled sharply, her voice quieter now. “We stick to the plan. We keep this quiet.”

Rip nodded. “Alright.”

A beat of silence.

Then, Rip stood, reaching for the blanket pooled around her waist, adjusting it over her legs without a word. Beth watched him, her chest tightening just slightly.

After everything they’d been through, he was still here.

He always would be.

Beth swallowed, then reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his.

Rip stilled, glancing down at their joined hands before looking back at her.

Beth squeezed gently. “Get me the fuck out of here, cowboy.”

Rip smirked, pressing a slow kiss to the back of her hand. “With pleasure, darlin’.”

It took some convincing, a few sharp words from Beth, and a signed waiver threatening to sue the hospital if they didn’t release her right now , but within the hour, she was discharged.

Rip walked beside her as she left, his hand resting lightly on her back—not guiding, not pushing, just there. It wasn’t often that Beth needed someone to lean on, but right now, she was unsteady, her body still recovering, her mind spinning. God forbid she use the damn wheelchair.

He opened the passenger door of his truck, waiting as she climbed in before shutting it behind her. Rounding the front, he slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, the familiar rumble filling the quiet cab.

Beth let out a slow breath, leaning her head against the window. “You bring me clothes?”

Rip smirked, reaching behind the seat and tossing her one of his flannels. “Thought you might need it.”

Beth pulled it on over her hospital gown, rolling her eyes. “Are you trying to claim me or something?”

Rip chuckled, putting the truck into gear. “Darlin’, that’s a fight I’d lose every damn time.”

The drive back to the ranch was quiet, the road dark and winding, the headlights cutting through the night. Beth didn’t speak much, and Rip didn’t push. She just sat there, curled up in his flannel, her legs tucked beneath her, staring out the window like she was trying to make sense of the whole world.

Rip stole a glance at her every now and then, his grip tightening on the wheel. She looked tired —more than tired. She looked small , and Beth Dutton was never small.

His fingers twitched toward his back pocket, where the sonogram photos were still tucked away.

His baby.

The thought settled deep in his chest, a weight he wasn’t sure how to carry yet.

But he would. For her .

As they pulled up to the Yellowstone, Rip slowed near the lodge. “You wanna—”

“No,” Beth cut in immediately. “Take me to the cabin.”

Rip didn’t argue.

He turned toward the foreman’s cabin, pulling up out front and shifting the truck into park.

Beth exhaled slowly, reaching for the door handle but hesitating.

Rip watched her. “You good?”

Beth didn’t look at him, just kept staring out the windshield. “I don’t know.”

Rip swallowed, then reached over, his large hand settling over hers. “You don’t gotta figure it all out tonight, Beth.”

Beth turned then, looking at him, searching his face for something.

Rip just squeezed her hand. “C’mon. Let’s get you inside.”

Beth nodded once, quietly.

Rip climbed out first, rounding the truck to open her door. She stepped down, letting him steady her, his hand firm against her lower back as they walked up the porch steps.

Inside, the cabin was dark, warm, familiar.

Beth toed off her shoes, making her way toward the couch, but Rip stopped her, shaking his head. “Bed.”

Beth arched a brow. “You ordering me around now?”

Rip smirked. “Damn right.”

Beth rolled her eyes, but she didn’t fight him.

She made her way to the bedroom, pulling off the flannel and gown, dropping them to the floor. Rip followed, tugging his jacket off as he watched her climb into bed.

For a moment, he just stood there, watching her settle beneath the blankets, her blonde hair a tangled mess against the pillow.

Beth blinked up at him. “You just gonna stand there?”

Rip shook his head, smirking as he kicked off his boots and climbed in beside her.

She rolled into him instinctively, her head against his chest, her fingers idly toying with the fabric of his shirt.

Rip wrapped an arm around her, pressing a slow, steady kiss to the top of her head.

“Get some sleep, baby,” he murmured.

Beth closed her eyes, exhaling against his chest.

And for the first time in a long time, sleep came easy.

Chapter Text

Rip woke up before the sun, just like he always did.

The room was still dark, the only sound Beth’s steady breathing against his chest. His arm was still wrapped around her, holding her close like his body had refused to let go of her during the night.

He didn’t move—not yet.

Beth never slept in, but this morning, she was still out cold, her body clearly making up for what she had lost. He knew she’d probably wake up pissed that she had let herself rest so much, but for once, he didn’t give a damn.

She needed this.

Rip stared up at the ceiling, his free hand idly resting against his stomach. His mind wasn’t racing—it was processing .

Last night had been a blur. The hospital, the drive home, the weight of what they were carrying now. He had barely had time to think.

But this morning, as Beth lay curled against him, her body still small and fragile from what she had been through.

Beth stirred slightly, shifting against him, letting out a small, groggy sound before her hand moved, sliding up over his chest, her fingers resting against his heart.

Rip smirked faintly, tipping his head down to look at her. “Mornin’, baby.”

Beth groaned into his chest. “Shut the fuck up.”

Rip chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She wasn’t ready to talk yet. He could feel it in the way she still clung to sleep, in the way she refused to acknowledge the thing hanging between them.

But she would .

And when she did, he’d be right here.

Beth slowly stretched, letting out a soft sigh before tilting her head up, her blue eyes groggy but sharp. “You watchin’ me sleep, baby?”

Rip smirked. “Maybe.”

Beth rolled her eyes, but there wasn’t any real fire behind it. “Creep.”

Rip chuckled, tightening his hold on her just slightly. “You hungry?”

Beth scoffed, shifting onto her back and throwing an arm over her eyes. “Jesus Christ, now you’re mothering me?”

Rip huffed a quiet laugh, but his voice was steady when he said, “You gotta take care of yourself, Beth.”

She didn’t respond right away.

Instead, she turned her head, looking at him fully now, her expression unreadable.

“Rip…” her voice was quiet.

Rip met her gaze, waiting.

Beth swallowed, exhaling slowly. “What the fuck are we gonna do?”

Rip didn’t hesitate. “Whatever you want, darlin’.”

Beth searched his face, looking for something—maybe an escape, maybe an answer. But all she found was him .

The man who had always just been there.

She rolled onto her side, curling into his chest again, her voice muffled. “God, I fucking hate you sometimes.”

Rip smirked, resting a hand against her back, rubbing slow, easy circles. “I know, sweetheart.”

They still had a lot to figure out.

But for now, this was enough.

Beth untangled herself from the bed, her movements slow but deliberate. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t give herself a second to think before making her way toward the bathroom. A hot shower —that’s what she needed. Something to wake her up, to pull her back into herself after the last twenty-four hours had knocked her flat.

Rip, still lying in bed, propped himself up on one elbow, watching her move. He wasn’t sure why , but he felt uneasy, like if he took his eyes off her for too long, she and this baby—their baby—would slip through his fingers like smoke.

Beth, stepping into the shower, noticed the damn hovering immediately.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” she called over the sound of the water. “Quit hovering.”

Rip smirked despite himself, shaking his head. He wanted to argue, to tell her he wasn’t hovering—but he’d be lying, and Beth could sniff out bullshit like a bloodhound.

Instead, he decided to make himself useful.

With one last glance toward the bathroom, he turned and headed downstairs, moving on autopilot.

It was something tangible, something useful —something he could actually do while the rest of his mind tried to catch up with the fact that his entire damn world had changed overnight.

He worked quickly, moving through the kitchen with purpose. Eggs, bacon, toast—the kind of breakfast a woman like Beth needed , whether she’d admit it or not.

By the time he was plating up the food, he heard the sound of heels on the stairs.

He turned just as Beth walked in, dressed and ready for work —as if the last twenty-four hours hadn’t completely flipped their world upside down.

Rip set the spatula down, crossing his arms as he watched her like she’d lost her damn mind .

“You can’t go to work.”

Beth didn’t even blink . “Yes, I can.”

Rip’s jaw tightened. “Beth—”

“I have to, Rip.” She shot him a sharp look, daring him to argue. “And don’t you fucking start treating me like I’m made of glass, because I’m not. I’m cast iron, baby.”

Rip exhaled heavily, knowing damn well there was no stopping her when she had made up her mind. He wasn’t happy about it—hell, he didn’t like the idea of her running herself into the ground after everything that had just happened—but he knew better than to push her too hard.

So, instead, he grabbed one of the plates and slid it across the counter toward her.

“This,” he said firmly, “is non-negotiable.”

Beth glanced down at the food, then back up at Rip, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You trying to fatten me up, baby?”

Rip smirked right back. “That’s the goal , darlin’.”

Beth rolled her eyes but took the plate anyway, grabbing a fork as she perched on a stool at the counter.

Rip leaned against it, watching her, arms still crossed.

This was new —all of it.

And they sure as hell didn’t have it figured out yet.

But for now?

He’d settle for making damn sure she didn’t skip breakfast.

One thing at a time.

Picking at the plate of food Rip had practically forced in front of her. She wasn’t hungry —at least, she didn’t feel hungry—but she knew better than to push him on this.

So, she ate.

Beth smirked between bites. “You gonna stare at me all morning?”

Rip shrugged. “Makin’ sure you don’t skip out on me.”

Beth rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. He was worried. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but she knew. 

She didn’t know what to do with that.

Didn’t know what to do with any of this.

But work? That she could do.

Beth pushed her plate away, standing up and dusting off her hands. “Alright, cowboy. I got a business to run.”

Rip’s jaw tightened. He exhaled slowly, then reached for his hat.

Beth narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing?”

Rip didn’t answer right away. He adjusted his hat, grabbed his jacket, and said simply, “Goin’ with you.”

Beth blinked. “The fuck you are.”

Rip gave her a look. “Beth—”

“Rip, I don’t need a goddamn babysitter.”

Rip took a step closer, his expression firm. “I ain’t babysittin’ you, Beth. I’m watchin’ your back.”

Beth scoffed, grabbing her own jacket off the chair. “I can handle Wayne Tillman and every other greedy corporate asshole sniffin’ around our land, just like I always have.”

Rip nodded. “I know you can. But you ain't doin’ it alone today.”

Beth opened her mouth, ready to fight him on it, but something about the way he was looking at her stopped her short.

Rip didn’t push. He didn’t make demands. But when he did put his foot down, it was for a damn good reason.

Beth exhaled through her nose, tilting her head slightly. “You’re really gonna follow me around all day?”

Rip smirked. “Reckon I am.”

Beth shook her head, grabbing her purse. “Fine. But if you so much as breathe a word to Jason about what’s going on, I’ll burn your cabin to the ground.”

Rip chuckled. “Wouldn’t expect anything less, darlin’.”

Beth sighed, heading for the door. “Let’s go, cowboy. I got empires to destroy.”

Rip followed her out, stepping into the outside air without another word.

If she was gonna take on the world today, then fine— but she wasn’t doing it without him.

Beth stepped out onto the porch, fully expecting Rip to give her a break, to grab his truck keys and head toward the barn. Instead, he was standing beside her car, arms crossed, clearly waiting for her to get in.

She blinked at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You actually think you’re driving me?”

Rip shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea.”

Beth scoffed, already rolling her eyes as she strutted past him, pulling open her driver’s side door. “This is getting ridiculous,” she muttered.

She slid into the seat, adjusting the mirrors unnecessarily just to make a point, then jutted her thumb behind her toward the barn. “You got a job to do, cowboy. And so do I.”

Rip exhaled sharply, stepping closer before she could shut the door. Leaning down, he caught her lips in a quick, firm kiss, his other hand braced against the top of the car.

“Drive safely,” he murmured against her mouth, pulling back just slightly, giving her that look—the one that was equal parts worry and warning.

Beth scoffed, clicking her seatbelt into place. “Rip, I’ve been getting myself from point A to point B for a long goddamn time without incident.”

Rip straightened, stepping back, still watching her. “We’ll see.”

Beth smirked, rolling her eyes one last time before slamming the door shut, starting the engine, and peeling out in an unnecessarily aggressive display of fuck you, I can take care of myself.

Rip just stood there, watching her go, shaking his head, a small, knowing smile playing at his lips.

This woman.

Jesus Christ.

He turned on his heel, heading toward the barn.

Beth could pretend nothing had changed all she wanted.

But they both knew the truth.

Everything had.

…………

John sat at the head of the long dining table, a glass of bourbon in front of him. The fireplace crackled in the background, casting flickering shadows across the room. Across from him sat Kayce, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. Off to the side, Jamie sat stiffly, flipping through a legal pad, jotting down notes when necessary but otherwise keeping his mouth shut—probably for his own good.

John sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Wayne Tillman doesn’t know when to quit.”

Kayce huffed. “Some people need a reminder.”

Jamie glanced up. “The problem is, he’s not just coming after the ranch anymore. He’s smart—he’s tying up land deals, backing politicians, pushing his way in through the back door. He’s making a play that isn’t just about land—it’s about power.”

John nodded, his fingers tapping against his glass. “So what’s the move?”

Jamie cleared his throat, sitting up straighter. “Legally? We have a case to block him on some of his acquisitions. We could tie him up in court, delay things—make it a war of attrition. Problem is, he’s got money to burn.”

John snorted. “He can burn all the money he wants, Jamie. That don’t mean we let him set foot on this land.”

Kayce leaned forward, his expression unreadable. “We sure we’re just keeping this legal?”

John met his son’s eyes.

“No,” he admitted.

Kayce nodded slowly. “So what’s the real plan?”

John exhaled, rolling his glass between his fingers. “You and your men keep an eye on his movements. I don’t want him sneezing in this valley without us knowing about it.”

Kayce nodded, already thinking through the logistics. “We’ll need to set up someone to sit outside his office in Bozeman, track who’s coming in and out.”

Jamie adjusted his tie. “I can get a name off the record from the governor’s office—someone who might be able to stall a few of his deals before they go public.”

John gave Jamie a sharp look. “And do they know that if they play both sides, it won’t end well for ‘em?”

Jamie hesitated before nodding. “I’ll make sure they understand.”

John shifted his gaze back to Kayce. “And if Tillman doesn’t take the hint?”

Kayce’s expression darkened. “Then I’ll make sure he does.”

John smirked slightly, taking a sip of his drink. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Jamie, now feeling braver, leaned forward. “So we’re agreed? Legal first, then pressure?”

John nodded. “For now.”

Jamie sighed, closing his notebook before standing. “Alright, I’ll get started.”

John waved him off, watching as Jamie exited through the front doors.

The moment he was gone, John let out a breath, leaning back. He studied Kayce for a long moment before finally speaking. “You talk to Monica?”

Kayce exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah.”

“And?”

Kayce shook his head. “It’s not just her, Dad. It’s Tate. It’s… a lot.”

John nodded, waiting.

Kayce leaned forward, bracing his forearms against the table. “She’s struggling with Beth’s mood swings and Jamie’s attitude. It’s hard on Tate.”

John smirked slightly, swirling his drink. “Beth’s all but moved into the foreman’s cabin.”

Kayce blinked, his brows raising slightly. “And you’re just… okay with that?”

John let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Son, I’ve spent my whole damn life trying to control that girl. Ain’t worked yet. If Rip’s got a way of keeping her sane and safe, who the hell am I to stop it?”

Kayce leaned back, crossing his arms. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

John smirked. “Me either.”

A pause.

Kayce’s expression sobered. “And Jamie?”

John’s smirk faded, replaced by something colder . “Jamie will toe the family line. If he so much as breathes wrong, he’s out.”

Kayce nodded slowly, studying his father.

John sipped his drink, tilting his head slightly. “You moving back in, son?”

Kayce exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Not yet.”

John nodded once. “Fair enough.”

Silence settled between them, but it wasn’t tense. Just understood .

Things were changing.

Some battles they could control.

Some, they couldn’t.

But one thing was for damn sure—Wayne Tillman?

His days were numbered.

…………..

Kayce walked down toward the barn, his boots kicking up dust as he moved with purpose. The smell of leather, hay, and sweat filled the air as he neared the arena, where Rip was astride his horse, working a roping run with Lloyd.

Rip tossed a lasso clean over a steer’s horns, tightening his grip as the horse leaned back, steadying the weight. Lloyd, working alongside him, nodded approvingly as they secured the calf before releasing it.

Kayce stopped at the edge of the arena, resting his arms against the top rail. “Rip!”

Rip reined in his horse, glancing over his shoulder. He pulled off his gloves, slapping them against his thigh before trotting toward Kayce, his expression unreadable. “What’s goin’ on?”

Kayce exhaled, watching Rip approach. “We got a problem.”

Rip’s grip on the reins tightened slightly. “What kind of problem?”

Kayce glanced around before answering. “The kind that don’t go away easy.”

Rip nodded, his jaw ticking. “What do you need from me?”

Kayce shook his head. “Nothin’ for now. Just be ready.”

Rip didn’t hesitate. “Always am.”

They shared a silent understanding—words didn’t need to be said when it came to this .

Kayce gave him a sharp nod before stepping back, heading toward the pastures where the hands were working.

Rip watched him go before turning back to his horse. He adjusted the reins, exhaling slowly.

Lloyd, who had been watching from the side, raised a brow. “What was that about?”

Rip settled his hat lower on his head. “Nothin’ for now.”

Lloyd huffed, shaking his head. “Ain’t never just ‘nothin’, Rip.”

Rip smirked faintly, nudging his horse forward. “No, it ain’t.”

And with that, he rode back into the arena, getting back to work—because until the moment came where Tillman needed handling , the ranch still had to run.

Rip pulled his horse up near the fence, watching as Lloyd finished up with the cattle. The job was nearly done, and he trusted Lloyd to handle the last of it.

“Go ahead and finish up,” Rip told him, pulling his phone from his pocket.

Lloyd raised a brow but didn’t ask questions. “You got it, boss.”

Rip stepped away from the arena, leaning against the rail as he fired off a quick text to Beth.

"It’s well past lunchtime, darlin’."

He didn’t expect an immediate response—Beth was usually too buried in work to pay attention to her damn phone. But he also knew she’d see it eventually.

Beth was hunched over her desk, her sharp blue eyes scanning over a contract, her fingers drumming absently against the paper.

A rare sight— water in hand, a half-eaten salad sitting off to the side, long forgotten.

Her entire day had been a whirlwind of deals, calls, and paperwork, and if she was being honest, she didn’t even know what time it was until her phone buzzed beside her.

She glanced at the screen.

Rip Wheeler: It’s well past lunchtime, darlin’.

Beth smirked, shaking her head.

“Jesus, Rip,” she muttered to herself.

With a sigh, she leaned back, stretching her arms over her head before grabbing her phone. Instead of arguing, she snapped a quick picture of the mostly-eaten salad and sent it to him with a simple caption.

"Yes, I’m trying."

A moment later, his response came through.

"Good girl."

Beth smirked as she read Rip’s "Good girl." message, shaking her head at his attempt to keep her in line. If he thought for one second she wasn’t going to flip this back on him, he was out of his damn mind.

She tapped out a response quickly, her smirk deepening as she hit send.

"Careful, cowboy. Call me that again and I might have to misbehave just so you can punish me later."

Beth tossed her phone back onto the desk, already imagining the way Rip would react—probably shaking his head, muttering "Jesus Christ, Beth," under his breath while trying to keep his cool in front of the wranglers.

Satisfied with herself, she picked up her pen, refocusing on the contract in front of her. Rip could mother her all he wanted, but at the end of the day, she was still Beth Dutton .

And this empire wasn’t going to run itself.

………………..

The evening sun cast a golden glow over the land as Kayce stood outside their trailer on the reservation, watching Tate work with the young horse they’d been breaking in together. The boy was getting better, his confidence growing every day. Kayce kept a close eye on him, offering soft words of encouragement when needed, but mostly letting his son find his own rhythm.

The sound of tires crunching on gravel pulled his attention away. He glanced up just as Monica’s car rolled to a stop near the trailer.

She climbed out, looking tired but content, her work bag slung over her shoulder. She brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she took in the scene before her.

“Hey, baby,” she greeted, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

Kayce returned the smile, walking toward her as Tate, hearing his mom’s voice, immediately dropped the reins and bolted toward her.

“Mom!” he called, running full speed before launching himself into her arms.

Monica let out a soft laugh, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “Hey, sweetheart. You have a good day?”

Tate pulled back, nodding enthusiastically. “Dad let me work the new horse today! He says I’m getting good.”

Monica glanced over at Kayce, who gave her a small smirk and a shrug.

“I bet you are,” Monica said, smoothing Tate’s hair before kissing the top of his head. “Go wash up, dinner’s soon.”

Tate nodded before sprinting off toward the trailer, already forgetting the horse in favor of whatever new adventure was waiting for him inside.

Kayce stepped closer to Monica, his hands settling lightly on her hips. “How was work?”

Monica sighed, tilting her head slightly. “Same as always. Kids that need more than I can give them, a school that doesn’t have enough resources, and a whole lot of fights to pick.”

Kayce pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You’ll win ‘em all, baby.”

She smiled at that before pulling back slightly, studying him. “You got that look.”

Kayce huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “What look?”

“The one that says you had a conversation with your dad.”

Kayce sighed, running a hand down his face. “Yeah.”

Monica folded her arms, waiting.

“He wants an answer,” Kayce admitted. “About movin’ back to the lodge.”

Monica inhaled slowly, her expression shifting as she looked past him, out at the land that had been their home for the last few years.

“You know how I feel about it, Kayce,” she said quietly.

Kayce nodded. “I do.”

She hesitated. “Tate’s been happy here. It’s been quiet .”

Kayce reached for her hands, threading their fingers together. “I know.”

Monica searched his face. “And you really think going back is the right move?”

Kayce exhaled, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. “I think it’s what we need to do, for now. I think it’s what my dad needs, too. And… Beth’s barely at the lodge anymore. You won’t have to deal with her much.”

Monica let out a slow breath, considering that. “And Jamie?”

Kayce’s jaw tightened slightly. “Dad said if he so much as breathes wrong, he’s out.”

Monica studied him for another moment, then exhaled sharply. “Okay.”

Kayce raised a brow. “Yeah?”

Monica nodded, squeezing his hands. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Kayce smiled, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to her lips before resting his forehead against hers. “Thank you.”

Monica smirked slightly. “You owe me, cowboy.”

Kayce chuckled. “I always do.”

Before he could say anything else, Tate came bounding back toward them, his face scrunched in confusion. “Why is Mom looking at me like she’s about to drop bad news?”

Monica laughed, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “It’s not bad news, sweetheart.”

Tate crossed his arms. “Debatable.”

Kayce grinned. “We’re moving back to the lodge.”

Tate blinked, processing that for a second before his face lit up . “Wait—so I get to stay with Grandpa all the time?”

Monica smiled. “That’s right.”

Tate’s grin widened. “ Hell yeah! ”

Monica shot Kayce a look.

Kayce raised his hands in surrender. “He gets it from you.”

Monica rolled her eyes but smiled anyway before turning back to Tate. “Go inside and start packing up your things.”

Tate didn’t need to be told twice. He bolted toward the trailer, already shouting about which of his stuff he had to bring.

Monica turned back to Kayce, shaking her head. “Well, at least someone’s excited.”

Kayce wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in close. “We’ll make it work, baby. Like we always do.”

Monica sighed against his chest, letting herself believe it.

Because for better or worse, they were going home.

Chapter Text

Beth shut her laptop with a sharp click , exhaling as she leaned back in her chair. Another day, another battle won. Jason hovered near the door, waiting for her usual sarcastic send-off.

"Don't look so eager, Jason," she muttered, standing and grabbing her coat. "You're free to go."

Jason let out a relieved breath. "See you tomorrow, Beth."

She gave a clipped nod, barely sparing him a glance as she walked past.

Beth strode through the front glass doors of Schwartz & Meyer , her heels clicking against the pavement as she descended the stairs. The fresh evening air hit her, crisp and cool against her skin, washing away the stale weight of the office.

She reached her car, slipping inside and shutting the door before letting out a slow breath. She took a moment, just sitting there, staring out at the city lights before grabbing her phone.

Beth: On my way home, baby.

She sent the message and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat before pulling out of the parking lot, leaving the chaos of work behind her for the night.

…………

Rip stood near the barn,  the wranglers wrapping up for the evening. The day's work was done, and the last light of the sun setting over the mountains.

As he pulled his phone from his pocket, he saw Beth’s message.

He didn’t smile outwardly—Rip wasn’t the kind of man to go soft in front of the others—but internally? It was there, that small flicker of warmth.

He slid his phone back into his pocket and gave Lloyd a nod. “See you in the morning.”

Lloyd tipped his hat, and Rip turned on his heel, heading toward the foreman’s cabin.

Inside, the cabin was quiet, just how he liked it—except it wouldn’t be quiet for long. Beth was on her way.

He set his hat on the hook, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work in the kitchen.

Tonight, he was making penne alla vodka .

Beth would probably give him shit for trying to feed her again. But he didn’t care.

She was going to eat, and she was going to like it.

…………………..

The bunkhouse was alive with its usual evening energy—men unwinding from a long day’s work, kicking back in the only place on the ranch where John Dutton’s rules didn’t always apply.

The air was thick with the smell of Colby’s stew as he stood near the stove, ladling out steaming bowls and passing them around like some makeshift ranch cook.

“Come on now, boys,” Colby said, raising a brow as he handed a bowl to Ryan. “Show some damn appreciation. This is prime beef, slow-simmered with love.”

Ryan snorted, taking the bowl and sniffing it dramatically. “Love, huh? Smells more like desperation and whatever you scraped off the bottom of the freezer.”

Lloyd, already settled in his chair, let out a dry chuckle. “Hell, at least it ain’t Walker’s cookin’. Man damn near poisoned us last time he tried.”

From the back room, Walker’s voice drifted out lazily. “I heard that, old man.”

Colby smirked. “Ain’t wrong , though.”

Walker, stretched out in his bunk with Laramie, who had returned, beside him, continued strumming his guitar, the twangy notes floating through the bunkhouse.

Laramie, lying on her stomach with her feet kicked up behind her, smirked. “Y’all just jealous ‘cause Walker can play and y’all can’t.”

Ryan scoffed, setting his bowl down on the poker table as he shuffled the deck. “Playin’ the guitar don’t make up for damn near burnin’ eggs.”

Teeter, stretched out on the couch beside Jake, nodded in agreement. “I seen that man cook once. Thought I was gonna die .”

Jake chuckled, tipping his beer toward her. “Hell, at least you survived. We lost Jimmy to that shit.”

Colby laughed, grabbing a beer from the fridge. “Poor bastard ran off to Texas just to avoid another one of Walker’s meals.”

Walker just shook his head, not even looking up from his guitar. “Y’all got a lot to say for some men who’ve never had a woman in their bed.”

The room erupted .

Lloyd nearly choked on his beer, Ryan doubled over in laughter, and Colby smacked the table, shaking his head.

Ryan, still laughing, pointed at Walker. “Damn, man, you really just say that out loud?”

Walker finally looked up, flashing a lazy smirk. “Ain’t my fault y’all got nothin’ goin’ for you but cheap beer and poker.”

Laramie grinned, nudging him. “Damn right, baby.”

Teeter shook her head. “Boy got a point. Some of y’all couldn’t charm a damn rock.”

Jake raised a brow. “And you could ?”

Teeter smirked. “Boy, I ain’t the one who sleeps alone every night.”

Colby let out a whistle. “Damn, Jake. You gonna take that?”

Jake just grinned, tipping his hat back. “Long as she keeps talkin’ about me, I must be doin’ somethin’ right.”

Teeter rolled her eyes, snatching his beer and taking a sip. “Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

Ryan finished shuffling the cards, smirking as he dealt the first round. “Alright, ladies, enough bickering. Time to see which one of y’all is losing their paycheck tonight.”

Lloyd chuckled, pulling a cigar from his pocket. “Ain’t gonna be me.”

Walker, finally setting his guitar aside, walked over, pulling up a chair. “Y’all talk a big game, but I know half of you can’t bluff for shit.”

Colby grinned, leaning forward. “Yeah? Then why don’t we up the stakes?”

Ryan’s brow lifted. “What you thinkin’?”

Colby smirked. “Loser cleans out the barn in the morning. Solo .”

The table exploded with groans and laughter.

Walker smirked, cracking his knuckles. “Y’all are about to regret this.”

Teeter stretched her arms behind her head, grinning. “This ‘bout to be the easiest night of my life.”

As the game kicked off, the bunkhouse filled with laughter, insults, and the clatter of poker chips.

A normal night at the Yellowstone.

……………..

John Dutton sat behind his heavy wooden desk, his elbows resting on the surface, fingers loosely clasped together. The fire crackled softly in the corner, casting a warm glow across the study. Across from him, Jamie sat stiffly, flipping through a legal pad, while Governor Perry reclined in one of the leather chairs, a glass of bourbon in hand, listening carefully.

“The problem with Tillman,” John started, voice slow and measured, “is that he’s not just playing the game—he’s trying to rewrite the damn rulebook.”

Lynelle tilted her head, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. “He’s well-funded, well-connected, and dangerously ambitious. That’s a bad mix.”

Jamie, still scribbling notes, glanced up. “Legally, we can tie up his land acquisitions, slow him down in the courts, but that won’t stop him from finding other ways in. He’s got the capital to wait us out.”

John sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “And we don’t.”

Lynelle smirked. “Since when do you rely on the legal system to solve your problems, John?”

John let out a dry chuckle. “Since the alternative means gettin’ boots messy.”

Lynelle took a slow sip of her bourbon, watching him over the rim of her glass. “And you’re looking for what, exactly? A favor?”

John met her gaze steadily. “More of an intervention .”

Lynelle leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow on the arm of the chair. “You want me to start applying pressure?”

Jamie cleared his throat. “If the governor’s office starts making noise, making it clear that certain land purchases and deals aren’t going to pass without serious scrutiny, we might be able to stall him. At the very least, make him reconsider his next moves.”

Lynelle tapped a manicured nail against the side of her glass. “I can have some conversations, remind certain people where their loyalties lie.”

John nodded. “That’s all I need.”

Lynelle smirked. “You need a lot of things, John.”

Jamie, sensing that the conversation was shifting into something else entirely, cleared his throat. “I’ll draft a preliminary report outlining potential legal obstacles to Tillman’s expansion. We can use it as leverage.”

John waved him off. “Fine.”

Jamie stood, gathering his things. “Governor, always a pleasure.”

Lynelle gave him a polite nod. “Jamie.”

As Jamie exited the room, shutting the door behind him, Lynelle shifted, settling deeper into the chair, her posture relaxing now that the business portion of the evening was over.

She took another sip of bourbon before setting the glass down on the desk. “You know, you could’ve just taken me to dinner if you wanted to spend time with me.”

John smirked, leaning back in his chair. “You know damn well I don’t waste a meal on business.”

Lynelle raised a brow. “Then what are you wasting this drink on?”

John’s gaze flickered toward her glass, then back to her. “Haven’t decided yet.”

Lynelle chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

John stood, walking around the desk, his hands slipping into his pockets as he stopped in front of her. “You say that like it’s news.”

Lynelle looked up at him, amusement dancing in her eyes. “It’s a reminder.”

John tilted his head slightly. “You staying?”

Lynelle arched a brow. “You inviting me?”

John smirked. “Thought I already did.”

Lynelle studied him for a moment before standing, closing the distance between them. “You’re lucky you’re charming.”

John took her glass from her hand, setting it back on the desk. “I don’t rely on luck, Lynelle.”

Lynelle let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head before resting a hand against his chest. “One of these days, you’re going to have to start wining and dining me like a proper gentleman.”

John leaned in slightly, his voice low. “If I recall, last time I tried that, we never made it to dinner.”

Lynelle smirked, stepping back just slightly. “Then I suppose I’ll have to stay the night, won’t I?”

John, always the cowboy, simply tipped his head in agreement.

As Lynelle reached for his hand, leading him out of the study, John decided that—for tonight, at least—Wayne Tillman could wait.

………….

Jamie sat on the porch, the weight of the day's events pressing heavily on his shoulders. The conversation with his father and Governor Perry had been straightforward, but Jamie's mind was anything but settled. He knew that the family's legal strategies might not be enough to counter Wayne Tillman's aggressive maneuvers.

As the clock ticked past midnight, Jamie reached for his phone, his fingers hovering over the screen before dialing a number he'd memorized but rarely used. The line rang twice before a gruff voice answered.

"This is Jamie Dutton.

"I need to speak with Mr. Tillman.

"Yes, I'll hold.

"Wayne, it's Jamie.

"I believe we have some mutual interests to discuss.

"No, not over the phone.

"There's a bar off Highway 89, The Silver Spur.

"An hour.

"I'll be there.

"I look forward to it.

"Goodbye.

He ended the call, his reflection staring back at him from the darkened window. The path he was treading was perilous, but in Jamie's mind, the ends often justified the means. And if aligning with Wayne Tillman could secure his own position and perhaps even the future he envisioned for himself—separate from the overbearing shadow of his father—it was a risk he was willing to take.

Jamie grabbed his coat, the resolve hardening in his chest. As he stepped into the cold Montana night, he couldn't shake the feeling that this decision would irrevocably alter the course of his life—and the lives of those he called family.

Chapter Text

The chill of early morning air sneaking into bedroom of the foreman’s cabin, a soft glow from the moon creeping across the room. The ranch, quiet, the only sound the distant calls of cattle and the slow, rhythmic breathing of the two people tangled beneath the sheets.

Beth lay half on top of Rip, her head resting against his chest, her bare leg draped over his. His arm was wrapped around her, his fingers absentmindedly tracing slow circles against her back.

Neither of them were in a hurry to get up.

Beth stirred slightly, stretching just enough to press herself closer against him, exhaling a soft sigh.

Rip smirked, his deep morning voice rumbling against her hair. “You actually sleeping in? Hell might be freezing over, darlin’.”

Beth let out a sleepy scoff, her fingers idly tracing patterns across his chest. “Don’t get used to it, cowboy.”

Rip chuckled, shifting just enough to kiss the top of her head. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Beth let her eyes flutter open, but she didn’t move, didn’t pull away from the warmth of him. “What time is it?”

Rip glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “Early enough you can close those pretty blue eyes and go back to sleep.”

Beth huffed. “You sayin’ I look like shit?”

Rip smirked. “I’m sayin’ I like you right where you are.”

Rip reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You feel alright?”

Beth studied him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah.”

Rip arched a brow.

Beth rolled her eyes. “I do .”

Rip gave a slow nod, accepting that answer for now. “Good.”

Beth smirked. “Now stop mother-henning me and tell me what’s for breakfast.”

Rip chuckled, pulling her closer. “You mean what you’re cooking?”

Beth scoffed. “Not a chance, baby.”

Rip sighed dramatically. “That’s what I thought.”

Beth tilted her head up, brushing a kiss against his jaw before murmuring against his skin, “You spoil me.”

Rip smirked.

They laid there a moment longer, the morning sun creeping higher, reality slowly pulling them back into the day ahead.

But for now—for just a little while longer—Beth let herself stay right where she was.

…………….

The sky was still dark, but the faintest hint of light threatened to crest over the mountains, washing the land in a muted blue haze.

Ryan moved through the barn, alone, the soft shuffle of boots against dirt and the rhythmic sound of horses shifting in their stalls the only noises cutting through the stillness of the morning.

His plan had been foolproof—or so he thought. A carefully calculated poker strategy, one that should have secured him a little extra sleep this morning.

Instead, he had lost terribly in what, for them, had been a high-stakes hand.

Now, instead of rolling out of bed at a decent hour like the rest of the wranglers, he was out here, tending to morning chores solo while the others were still warm in their bunks.

“Goddamn cheaters,” Ryan muttered under his breath, pitching a forkful of hay into one of the stalls.

Of course, the entire bunkhouse had gotten a kick out of his misfortune.

The day was already starting on a shit note.

………..

Rip sat in the kitchen, a hot cup of coffee in one hand, a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him.

The house was quiet, peaceful—the kind of stillness he used to enjoy before Beth came barreling back into his world full force.

Now?

Now, he was getting used to something different. Something better.

The creak of the stairs caught his attention, and when he looked up, there she was.

Beth.

Elegant as ever, moving like she owned every damn room she walked into—because she did .

Rip didn’t think he’d ever tire of seeing her in his space.

Hell, he’d take her any way he could get her—

Curled up against him in one of his shirts , her small frame swallowed in the fabric.

Dressed to kill in one of those sharp suits , ready to tear powerful men apart without breaking a sweat.

Cross-legged on his couch, hair a mess, glasses low on her nose , an oversized sweater hanging off one shoulder as she concentrated on a book or her work.

Breezing through the ranch in a floral dress and boots , looking like she belonged to the land itself.

Hell, she could be standing in front of him wearing a paper bag , tearing into him with that sharp tongue of hers, and he’d still be loving her all the same.

Beth caught him watching her as she hit the last step, her lips twitching as she padded into the kitchen. “You staring at me, cowboy?”

Rip smirked, setting his coffee down. “Maybe.”

Beth hummed, stealing a piece of bacon from his plate and popping it into her mouth. “Careful. Keep lookin’ at me like that and you might get ideas.”

Rip let out a low chuckle. “Darlin’, I wake up with ideas.”

Beth smirked, grabbing herself a coffee and settling onto a stool across from him. “Yeah? And which one’s at the top of your list today?”

Rip leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Makin’ sure you eat before you go runnin’ off to take over the world.”

Beth rolled her eyes but took another piece of bacon anyway. “You’re mothering me again.”

Rip just smirked, watching her. “Something like that.”

She took a slow sip of coffee, studying him over the rim of her mug.

This man.

This damn man .

Rip sat back in his chair, coffee in hand, watching as Beth moved through the kitchen with her usual restless energy. She wasn’t sitting still for long—grabbing her purse, shuffling through papers, snagging another bite of bacon from his plate like it was hers to begin with.

He didn’t stop her.

Didn’t call her out on it.

Hell, he didn’t care —he’d give her every damn thing he had if she wanted it.

But more than that, he knew what she was doing .

Beth needed movement, needed a distraction, needed to keep herself busy while her mind worked through something she wasn’t ready to say out loud yet.

And Rip?

He was willing to wait.

They hadn’t talked about the baby—not really. Not beyond the initial shock, beyond the doctor’s words that had knocked the breath from them both.

He knew it was sitting heavy in her mind, lingering , just like it was in his.

But Beth wasn’t the type to rush into words when she wasn’t ready.

She liked to contemplate things quietly.

She’d come to him when she was ready.

And until then?

He’d be steady .

As she grabbed one last bite from his plate, she circled the kitchen island, coming up beside him and pressing a quick peck to his lips, her fingers brushing through the soft scruff of his beard.

It was brief , like she was already halfway out the door before the kiss even landed.

But Rip wasn’t ready to let her slip away just yet.

Before she could turn, he reached out, catching her wrist and pulling her back toward him.

Beth let out a surprised breath as he stood, his grip gentle but firm, his other hand coming up to cradle the back of her neck, keeping her close.

This time, when he kissed her, it was unhurried . Steady. Like a reminder.

When he pulled back, Beth smirked, breathless but amused. “I gotta go, baby.”

Rip searched her face for a moment before nodding. “I know.”

She ran her hand down his chest once, then turned, striding toward the door.

And just like that, she was gone .

Rip stood there for a second, listening to the distant sound of her car pulling away before exhaling, finishing off his coffee, and pushing himself into motion.

He quickly cleaned up the dishes, wiping down the counters with an efficiency born from years of habit. Once everything was in order, he grabbed his hat, settling it onto his head before stepping outside.

The morning air hit him, the scent of hay and leather filling his lungs as the sounds of the ranch waking up surrounded him.

………….

John Dutton sat propped up against the headboard of his bed, one arm resting lazily across his chest, a steaming cup of coffee in his other hand. The morning sun filtered through the large windows of his bedroom, casting soft golden light across the space.

Across the room, Lynelle moved about with the ease of someone who had been in this position more times than she could count. She was dressed now, her hair neatly in place as she smoothed out her blouse in the mirror.

“You know,” she mused, fastening the delicate clasp of her necklace, “at some point, people are going to start talking.”

John smirked over the rim of his coffee cup. “Let ‘em talk. Ain’t none of their damn business anyway.”

Lynelle chuckled, turning toward him, one brow arched. “You do realize we’re two of the most powerful people in this state, right? The governor and the king of Montana? That kind of business always makes its way into the rumor mill.”

John shrugged. “Hell, woman, we’ve been doin’ this dance since my wife passed and your husband left this world. Ain’t nobody said a damn thing yet.”

Lynelle walked over to the edge of the bed, smirking as she placed a hand on his knee. “Maybe because we never give them anything to talk about.”

John huffed. “Maybe because everyone knows I’d shut ‘em up if they tried.”

Lynelle shook her head, amused. “Typical response, John.”

John tilted his head. “That supposed to be an insult?”

Lynelle leaned in slightly. “Just an observation.”

John set his coffee down on the nightstand, watching her for a beat before shifting, pulling back the covers and reaching for his jeans.

Lynelle raised a brow as he stood, tugging them up over his legs. “Where are you going?”

John smirked, buttoning them. “I’ll walk you out.”

Lynelle tilted her head, amused. “That’s new.”

John shrugged. “Maybe I’m feelin’ sentimental.”

Lynelle scoffed. “John Dutton? Sentimental? Now that’s something worth starting rumors over.”

John just smirked, reaching for his shirt and tossing it over his shoulder. “Come on, Governor. Let’s get you out of here before you’re late to run the damn state.”

Lynelle let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she reached for her coat.

This arrangement—this thing between them—had never needed defining. It was easy, effortless. And no matter how many times they did this, how many mornings she left his bed to go back to running Montana, it never felt like a goodbye .

……………..

The morning light had fully stretched across the ranch, golden hues bathing the barn as the wranglers milled about, the usual morning chores underway.

Except this morning, there was a little extra energy—most of the bunkhouse crew was well-rested and thoroughly enjoying watching Ryan suffer through his solo barn duties.

“Damn, Ryan,” Colby called from where he leaned against a stall, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. “You look like hell, man.”

Ryan, already covered in dust and sweat, shot him a glare as he shoveled hay. “Yeah? Maybe ‘cause I’ve been up since before dawn, cleanin’ up after all you cheatin’ bastards .”

Lloyd chuckled, standing nearby with his own coffee. “Ain’t nobody cheated , kid. You just got played.”

Walker, ever the instigator, smirked as he strolled past. “Sounds like a man who don’t know how to handle his losses.”

Teeter, perched up on the fence, grinned. “Hell, he lost so bad, I almost felt bad for him. Almost .”

Jake laughed, shaking his head. “Man thought he had a system. Turns out, his system was just giving us all his money .”

The barn erupted in laughter, all at Ryan’s expense.

Ryan scowled, jabbing his pitchfork into the hay. “Y’all are real assholes , you know that?”

Before anyone could reply, Rip’s voice cut through the chatter.

“What the hell’s so funny?”

The wranglers immediately straightened , their playful jeering dying down as Rip strode into the barn, his heavy boots kicking up dust.

Ryan let out a relieved breath, stepping back from his work for just a second. “Just the peanut gallery remindin’ me how bad I got my ass kicked last night.”

Rip gave him a long look, then turned his gaze to the rest of the wranglers, who were still smirking but standing a little stiffer now.

“That right?” Rip asked, voice slow and steady.

Colby, sensing the shift, tried to play it off. “All in good fun, boss.”

Rip narrowed his eyes. “Fun, huh?” He took a step forward, his gaze sweeping over them. “’Cause from where I’m standin’, looks like one man’s doin’ all the damn work while the rest of you are sittin’ around on your asses.”

A beat of silence.

Then, Rip’s voice hardened .

“I don’t give a damn who lost a poker game. Everybody pulls their weight. ”

Walker, always the first to toe the line, cleared his throat, adjusting his guitar strap. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a little friendly competition, Rip.”

Rip’s eyes snapped to him. “Ain’t nothin’ friendly about makin’ one man clean up after all of you jagoffs.”

Lloyd, sensing things were about to escalate, nodded. “He’s right, boys. Y’all had your fun, now grab a damn shovel.”

Rip didn’t move, didn’t break eye contact with the group.

Jake sighed, tipping his hat back. “Guess it was fun while it lasted.”

Teeter hopped off the fence, cracking her knuckles. “Shit. I hate chores.”

Ryan smirked, wiping sweat from his brow. “Good. Then this’ll be real fun for you.”

Rip gave a satisfied nod as the wranglers, one by one, got to work .

He didn’t have time for bullshit games.

The ranch needed to run.

And under his watch, it would.

……………..

John stepped out onto the front porch of the lodge, the early morning chill still lingering in the air as he took in the sight of Jamie waiting for him, arms crossed and his usual tight expression fixed in place.

Jamie exhaled, straightening slightly as his father approached. “We need to take a trip to Helena.”

John raised a brow, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “That right?”

Jamie nodded. “Business with Wayne. Things need handling.”

John studied him for a moment, reading between the lines. He didn’t ask for specifics—not yet. If Jamie wanted to talk , he would’ve already done it. Instead, he gave a slow nod and gestured toward the black SUV parked out front.

“Let’s go then.”

They climbed in, Jamie behind the wheel, John settling into the passenger seat. Without another word, Jamie pulled away from the lodge, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as they headed down the long driveway.

As Jamie drove toward the barn, the wranglers were already saddling up for the morning’s work. Horses shifted beneath them, ready to ride out into the pastures, the usual rhythm of the ranch continuing without pause.

Rip stood by the fence, arms crossed, watching as the men mounted up.

Jamie pulled the SUV to a stop, and John rolled down the window, his sharp gaze landing on Rip.

“Won’t be back till late,” John said simply. “Don’t anticipate an early return.”

Rip met his gaze, nodding once. No words were needed—he understood what John was really saying.

He was on Beth duty.

Rip gave a slight tilt of his hat in silent acknowledgment.

Jamie put the car in drive, pulling away from the barn and down the main road, disappearing into the dust.

Rip exhaled through his nose, shifting his attention back to the ranch.

He had work to do.

And so did Beth.

Which meant keeping an eye on her—and making damn sure she wasn’t running herself into the ground.

Lloyd rode up alongside Rip, adjusting the reins in his hands. “They off to handle somethin’ or start somethin’?”

Rip smirked slightly. “Bit of both.”

Colby trotted past, shaking his head. “Hell, it’s always both .”

Ryan let out a dry chuckle, glancing toward Rip. “And you? You got a full day ahead of keepin’ Beth from murderin’ a CEO?”

Rip snorted, stepping toward his horse. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Walker, already settled in his saddle, smirked. “Damn sure won’t be the last.”

Rip swung up onto his horse, adjusting his hat as he surveyed the land.

No matter what was going down in Helena, things still needed to run here.

And as far as Rip was concerned, nothing —not Wayne Tillman, not Jamie’s bullshit, not even Beth’s dangerous charm—was going to stop him from doing his damn job.

………………….

Beth strode into Schwartz & Meyer , the sharp clack of her heels against the marble floor announcing her return from lunch. Her mind was already moving a mile a minute—replaying conversations, weighing opportunities, strategizing her next move.

She barely acknowledged Jason as she approached her office, but before she could push the door open, he stood abruptly , eyes wide with unease.

“Beth,” Jason said quickly, voice low. “You have a—”

Beth shot him a look, one brow arched. “Jesus, Jason. Did you finally grow a pair or just forget how to use your words?”

Jason’s jaw tensed, his eyes flickering toward the office.

Beth’s smirk faded as she turned her head, her gaze landing on the reason for Jason’s nervous energy.

Sitting in her chair, behind her desk, was Wayne Tillman .

Slimy motherfucker .

Beth didn’t break stride, stepping fully into her office and shutting the door behind her.

“Wayne,” she drawled, tossing her bag onto the couch. “What a fucking surprise.”

Wayne leaned back in her chair, hands folded over his stomach, a smug little smile creeping onto his lips. “Beth Dutton. Even more impressive here than I imagined.”

Beth scoffed, moving around the desk and standing directly in front of him, her hands bracing against the edge. “Now, see, that’s the thing about you, Wayne. You imagine way too much.”

Wayne chuckled, shaking his head as he sat forward, planting his elbows on the desk. “I hear you’ve been running Daddy’s business dealings.”

Beth smirked, tilting her head. “Oh, Wayne. That would imply you actually hear anything worth knowing.”

Wayne’s grin widened, his eyes trailing over her in a way that made Jason visibly cringe from outside the glass. “You know, I was thinking… Maybe we’re on opposite sides of this whole thing for no reason. We could work something out, you and me.”

Beth blinked once, then twice, before letting out a sharp, wicked laugh .

“Oh, buddy,” she said, leaning in just slightly. “You wouldn’t survive five minutes with me.”

Wayne’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it grew. “Now that sounds like a challenge.”

Beth straightened, rolling her lips together as if actually entertaining the thought. Then, she clicked her tongue and shook her head.

“No,” she said casually, stepping around her desk and motioning toward the door. “I’d rather fuck a goat .”

Wayne exhaled sharply through his nose, amusement flickering across his face, but there was something else behind it—something darker.

He stood, smoothing out his expensive suit jacket.

“Don’t get too comfortable, Beth,” he said smoothly, adjusting his cufflinks. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other real soon.”

Beth crossed her arms, a smirk playing at her lips. “God, I hope not.”

Wayne grinned, unfazed, before turning on his heel and strolling out the door.

Jason let out a breath he had clearly been holding for way too long , looking at Beth wide-eyed.

Beth just smiled. “Goat, Jason. A fucking goat .”

And with that, she turned back to her desk, already putting Wayne out of her mind.

…………..

John Dutton and Jamie stepped out of the black SUV onto the busy streets of downtown Helena. The state capital always had a different feel—politicians, lawyers, developers—it was a different kind of wilderness. One that John never had much patience for.

Jamie, however, moved through it like he belonged. Adjusting his suit, he fell into step beside his father, leading him toward the towering office building where their meeting was set.

“This shouldn’t take long,” Jamie said, glancing sideways at John. “Just some strategic positioning. Making sure certain deals don’t go through, applying a little pressure where needed.”

John gave him a dry look. “Son, you do realize I don’t speak lawyer?”

Jamie exhaled sharply. “It means we’re cutting off Wayne Tillman’s avenues—politically and financially. We have leverage with the governor’s office. The right signatures in the right places, and he’ll find himself tangled in so much red tape he won’t know which way’s up.”

John nodded as they entered the lobby, heading toward the elevator. “So why do I need to be here?”

Jamie pressed the button for the top floor. “Because when people see you in the room, they know this isn’t just legal maneuvering. They know it’s personal.”

John smirked slightly. “Damn right it is.”

Inside the sleek, modern conference room, they were met by a handful of state officials, land commissioners, and lobbyists—all the people who, on paper, controlled the fate of Montana’s land.

Jamie took the lead, laying out exactly why certain deals needed to be delayed, why certain permits needed extra scrutiny , and why anyone in this room who wanted to stay in the governor’s good graces would make sure Wayne Tillman’s name was tied to a mountain of bureaucratic obstacles.

John sat back in his chair, watching the room carefully, letting Jamie do what he was good at. But when one of the officials, a slick-looking man in a navy suit, started pushing back, questioning whether they had the political clout to make this happen, John spoke up .

“I don’t give a damn about your politics,” John said coolly, leaning forward. “Wayne Tillman is trying to carve up this state, and I won’t stand for it. You will find a way to slow him down, or you’ll be the next problem I handle.”

The room went silent.

The man in the navy suit swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

Jamie cleared his throat, smoothing over the tension. “I think what my father is saying is, Montana is better off without Wayne Tillman’s influence. We just need to make sure everyone here understands that.”

There were nods around the table. Begrudging, but nods nonetheless .

John leaned back, satisfied.

As they exited the building, Jamie checked his watch. “That went well.”

John snorted. “Depends on your definition of ‘well.’”

Jamie sighed. “It’s politics, Dad. Nobody moves fast, but we planted the right seeds today.”

John nodded. “Good. Now let’s get the hell outta this place.”

Jamie pulled out his keys, unlocking the SUV. As they climbed in, John glanced at his phone. No messages. No updates.

Which meant, at least for now, things back at the ranch were still under control.

But something in his gut told him that wouldn’t last long .

…………………..

Beth walked through the front doors of the lodge, exhaling slowly as she took in the quiet stillness of the house.

For the first time in a long time, she felt it —fatigue settling deep in her bones, her body screaming for her to slow down.

Beth Dutton had never been one to listen to anything—especially her own body. But now?

Now, it wasn’t giving her a damn choice.

She wasn’t letting her mind wander too much into thinking about the baby. The first time this happened, it wasn’t something she welcomed, and now… now she was struggling with the idea that this could be a good thing.

She had spent years convincing herself that she didn’t want this. That it was off the table for her, so there was no point in wishing for something she could never have.

And yet, here she was.

For a moment, her hands drifted to her stomach.

She wasn’t showing yet.

Nothing had changed —not in any way someone else could see.

But as she pressed her palm a little lower, she noticed something she hadn’t before.

Her abdomen felt… different . A little firmer than usual.

Her breath hitched.

For a split second, it felt foreign —almost alien .

Before she could dwell on it, Beth pulled her hands away, shaking off whatever the hell that was.

She turned on her heel, heading upstairs. She swapped out her business attire for something comfortable —a pair of jeans, a soft t-shirt, her hair finally freed from its tight bun.

And then, without another thought, she was out the door.

She needed Rip.

…………….

The sounds of laughter and music reached Beth before she even saw the warm glow of the bunkhouse lights.

Instead of heading straight for the foreman’s cabin, she turned toward the commotion, pushing the door open and stepping inside without hesitation.

The second she entered, the wranglers froze —the usual banter coming to a screeching halt.

Beth was often seen lingering around the ranch, but the bunkhouse? That was their space. And though no one had ever been dumb enough to tell her she wasn’t welcome, most of them made a point to keep their heads down and their hands busy when she was around.

Lloyd, however, didn’t even blink .

He’d known Beth since she was a little girl clinging to her daddy’s leg, had watched her grow —wild, untamable, but damn if she wasn’t one of the smartest, strongest women he’d ever met.

So, instead of looking at her like a goddamn ghost like the others were, he simply nodded .

“How can I help ya, Beth?”

She let her eyes sweep the room , her posture relaxed but eyes sharp . Then, with a small shrug, she said simply, “Lookin’ for Rip.”

The energy in the room shifted .

Everyone kind of made side-eyes at each other, watching the scene unfold.

It wasn’t exactly a secret that Beth and Rip had something —had always had something —but it was never acknowledged , never discussed out loud .

It was just one of those things that existed.

Lloyd, the only one unaffected by the weight of the moment, took his seat, shuffling a deck of cards like nothing was out of the ordinary.

“Think he’s headin’ back soon,” he said, flicking a glance at her. “There was a problem out in one of the pastures that needed handlin’.”

Beth nodded once , absorbing the information.

Lloyd didn’t push , didn’t pry. Instead, he gestured toward the open seat at the table.

“Can I deal ya in?”

Beth hesitated for only a second before dropping into the seat, grabbing the deck from his hands and flipping through the cards.

It was a silent thank you —one Lloyd didn’t need her to say out loud.

Slowly, the room relaxed , the bunkhouse returning to its usual rhythm.

Conversation picked back up , the tension dissipating, and just like that, Beth was part of it—laughing, throwing out insults, and for once , not running from the moment.

……………

The drive back to the ranch was quiet , the sun dipping low behind the mountains as John stared out the window, his mind already moving to the next thing.

Jamie, however, had unfinished business .

After a long stretch of silence, he finally spoke.

“You never answered me before,” Jamie said, his hands gripping the steering wheel. “About Beth and Rip.”

John sighed , shaking his head as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ, Jamie. Let it go.”

Jamie gritted his teeth , clearly frustrated. “You’re really just okay with it?”

John turned his head, his cold, calculating gaze landing on Jamie like a goddamn sledgehammer.

“I don’t have to be okay with it, Jamie,” he said evenly. “She’s gonna do what she wants, and Rip’s the only man I trust to keep her safe . End of discussion.”

Jamie pressed his lips into a thin line, clearly fighting back whatever argument he had left.

John sighed, adjusting his hat. “Kayce and Monica are movin’ back to the ranch.”

Jamie glanced over in surprise . “Since when?”

“Since today.”

Jamie exhaled sharply, gripping the wheel a little tighter. “So what? I just need to fall in line , be on my best behavior?”

John’s smirk was slow , deliberate.

“That’s right, Jamie.”

Jamie clenched his jaw but didn’t say anything.

Because what the hell else was he supposed to say?

………………

Rip stepped through the bunkhouse doors, stripping off his gloves and tucking them into his back pocket.

He had come to check on the wranglers —make sure things weren’t getting too rowdy before heading back up to the foreman’s cabin.

These boys had a habit of forgetting that four-thirty came early , and Rip sure as hell wasn’t about to let anyone drag ass tomorrow because they had too much fun tonight.

But when he took in the scene before him, he stopped cold .

The bunkhouse was in full swing , cards flying, drinks poured, laughter filling the space.

And there, right in the center of it all , was Beth.

Cards in hand.

Head thrown back, laughing harder than he had ever seen before .

Rip’s chest tightened , something deep and unspoken settling in his gut.

He never thought he’d see her like this— relaxed, easy, just… happy .

And goddamn it if that wasn’t the best thing he’d seen all damn day.

Rip didn’t move at first, just stood there , taking it all in.

Beth— his Beth—sitting in the middle of the damn bunkhouse, playing poker with the wranglers, looking so damn at ease, it nearly threw him off balance.

She had a pile of chips in front of her, one hand curled around a whiskey glass, the other holding her cards close to her chest.

Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief as she smirked across the table at Colby. “You sure you wanna go all in, cowboy? Might be the dumbest thing you’ve done all day.”

Colby hesitated , eyeing her like she was a damn rattlesnake ready to strike.

Lloyd, sitting back with his own drink, smirked. “Don’t let her get in your head, kid. She’ll skin ya alive before you know what happened.”

Beth laughed , tipping her head back, and Rip swore he felt it in his chest .

Jesus Christ.

He forced himself to snap out of it , shaking his head before stepping forward.

“All right,” Rip called out, his voice cutting through the noise. “Who the hell let her in here?”

The room quieted just slightly, but Beth?

Beth just grinned . “You jealous, baby?”

Rip narrowed his eyes. “Nah, just wonderin’ how long it’s gonna take before you rob every man in this room blind.”

The wranglers chuckled, knowing damn well Beth was already winning .

She tilted her head, smirking. “I ain’t robbing ‘em, Rip. I’m just takin’ what they’re dumb enough to give me.”

Walker let out a low whistle. “Damn, Wheeler, she’s ruthless.”

Rip sighed, dragging a hand down his face before cutting a sharp look toward the wranglers. “Y’all best remember that before you bet your next paycheck.”

Ryan scoffed. “Hell, Rip, we already lost our damn paychecks.”

Beth smirked . “Wasn’t even hard.”

Rip shook his head, stepping closer, resting his hands on the back of her chair. “You done playin’ yet?”

Beth glanced up at him , her smirk shifting into something softer. “You tryin’ to take me home?”

Rip exhaled slowly, his thumb absently brushing against the back of her chair. “Yeah, Beth. I am.”

She studied him for a moment, reading something in his expression before nodding slightly.

Then, in one swift movement, pushed her chips toward Lloyd, and stood up .

“Guess I’m cashing out,” she announced, brushing past Rip and heading toward the door.

Rip sighed, looking at the pile of money and poker chips she left behind.

Lloyd smirked. “You wanna play her hand?”

Rip huffed out a dry chuckle , shaking his head. “Hell no.”

Beth was already halfway out the door before she turned back, giving Rip a look. “You coming or what?”

Rip tipped his hat to the wranglers before following her out, the warmth of the bunkhouse fading as they stepped into the cool Montana night .

Beth didn’t say anything at first, just walked beside him , her boots crunching against the dirt.

Rip kept pace, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “What was that about?”

Beth shrugged. “Had a long day.”

Rip nodded, understanding.

Beth didn’t run from problems—not anymore.

But sometimes? Sometimes she just needed a little space to breathe.

And if that meant sitting in the bunkhouse, talking shit and taking every last dollar off the wranglers , then so be it.

They reached the foreman’s cabin, Rip pulling open the door, letting her walk in first.

Beth paused , looking at him over her shoulder. “You mad at me, baby?”

Rip shook his head, stepping inside and kicking the door shut behind him .

“Nah, Beth,” he murmured, reaching for her waist, pulling her close. “I just like you in my bed more than I like you in the bunkhouse.”

Beth smirked, tilting her head up. “That right?”

Rip leaned down, brushing his lips against hers, soft but firm . “Damn right.”

Beth hummed against his mouth, melting into him for just a second before pulling back.

“Guess I’ll just have to stay, then.”

Rip smirked , his hands settling on her hips.

“Guess you will.”

Chapter Text

The door clicked shut behind them, the warmth of the cabin settling around them like a quiet understanding.

Rip didn’t let go of her.

Not yet.

His hands stayed firm on her hips, his thumbs grazing over the fabric of her shirt in slow, steady circles. Beth stood close, her breath still slightly uneven, her eyes locked on his like she was waiting for something.

She tilted her head slightly, reading him.

“You gonna hover over me all night, cowboy?” she murmured, her voice laced with something teasing, but not unkind.

Rip exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Nope. Just makin’ sure you’re really stayin’.”

Beth smirked, stepping out of his grasp, kicking off her boots near the door. “I already told you I am.”

Rip watched as she pulled off her jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch like she’d done it a hundred times before. She padded toward the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water—not bourbon, not vodka, just water.

He followed her movements silently, filing them away in his mind.

She was trying.

And hell, if that wasn’t the most Beth Dutton way to do things—stubborn, quiet, and on her own damn terms.

Rip walked over to the fridge, pulling out what was left of dinner from earlier. “You hungry?”

Beth glanced over her shoulder, sipping her water. “You still tryin’ to fatten me up?”

Rip smirked. “Ain’t tryin’. I am .”

Beth sighed dramatically but didn’t argue when he set a plate down in front of her.

He didn’t make a big deal out of it. Didn’t hover.

He just leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching as she picked at the food, taking slow bites in between sips of her drink.

Beth caught his gaze after a few moments, rolling her eyes. “You just gonna stand there and stare at me like a proud mother hen?”

Rip chuckled. “Nope. Just enjoyin’ the view.”

Beth smirked but kept eating.

They fell into an easy quiet, the sounds of the ranch drifting in from the open window. The soft rustling of trees, the distant murmur of horses shifting in the barn, the faint hum of crickets settling in for the night.

It was comfortable.

And Rip didn’t need more than that.

After she finished eating, Beth set her plate aside, stretching her arms above her head with a soft groan. “I’m exhausted, baby.”

Rip stepped forward, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Then go to bed, Beth.”

Beth studied him for a beat before she nodded, turning toward the stairs.

She paused at the first step, looking back at him over her shoulder. “You comin’?”

Rip smirked. “Be up in a minute.”

Beth hummed, disappearing up the stairs.

Rip sighed, running a hand down his face before quickly cleaning up the kitchen. He shut off the lights, locking the front door before heading up after her.

By the time Rip entered the bedroom, Beth was already curled up under the blankets, her back to his side of the bed.

He toed off his boots, stripped down to his boxers, and slid in behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist.

Beth sighed softly, sinking into him.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, quietly, Beth murmured, “You ever think about what comes next?”

Rip stilled for a second before tightening his hold. “All the time, darlin’.”

Beth swallowed, her fingers idly tracing along his forearm. “I don’t know how to do this, Rip.”

Rip turned her gently, tilting her chin so she’d look at him. “You don’t have to know, Beth. We’ll figure it out.”

Beth searched his face, finding no hesitation, no fear—just certainty.

Rip pressed a slow kiss to her forehead, and Beth drifted off.

The night was still, the land stretching out around them, untouched and timeless.

The ranch carried on, the world continued turning.

And in the quiet warmth of the foreman’s cabin, Beth Dutton—the woman who never stayed still, never let herself need anything—had finally started allowing herself to rest.

……………….

Wayne Tillman sat in the dimly lit back room of an exclusive Helena steakhouse, his drink sweating against the polished mahogany table. He was a man used to getting what he wanted, used to playing the long game, but today?

Today, he was pissed.

John Dutton had stuck his nose in his business—again.

And this time, he’d done more than just slow things down. He’d put up roadblocks. Tied up land deals in red tape, whispered into the right ears, and now his expansion plans were grinding to a halt.

Wayne swirled his glass of bourbon, exhaling sharply. “You ever played chess, Cooper?”

Across from him sat his right-hand man, Daniel Cooper—a former oil exec turned fixer, the kind of man who didn’t mind getting his hands dirty. He leaned back in his chair, watching Wayne with calculating eyes.

“I have,” Cooper replied smoothly.

Wayne smirked, setting his glass down. “Dutton’s playin’ like he’s the damn king, but he’s forgettin’ something.”

Cooper lifted a brow. “What’s that?”

Wayne leaned forward slightly, his smirk darkening.

“The king ain’t the most dangerous piece on the board.”

Cooper nodded, understanding. “You going after his queen?”

Wayne exhaled, tapping a finger against the table. “Beth Dutton. Smart. Dangerous in her own right. But John’s weak spot. She’s not just his daughter, she’s the one running all his big deals. His enforcer.”

Cooper took a slow sip of his drink. “She’s also untouchable.”

Wayne chuckled, shaking his head. “Nobody’s untouchable, Cooper.”

Cooper’s lips curled slightly. “So what’s the move?”

Wayne sat back, considering. “We hit her where it hurts most.”

Cooper arched a brow. “Financially?”

Wayne smirked. “Oh, I’ll bury her in lawsuits, tie up Schwartz & Meyer in so much litigation she won’t know which way’s up.”

He paused, fingers tapping against his glass.

“But that ain’t enough.”

Cooper leaned in slightly. “Then what is?”

Wayne’s smirk disappeared, his expression hardening.

“We shake her foundation. We make her feel unsafe.”

Cooper exhaled slowly. “That’s risky.”

Wayne’s eyes gleamed. “So’s crossing me. John’s too protected, too calculated. But Beth? She’s got a temper, she makes emotional decisions. Push her hard enough, and she’ll break herself.”

Cooper nodded once. “And how exactly do you plan on pushing?”

Wayne grinned, slow and deliberate.

“We start small. A message. A little reminder that she’s not as untouchable as she thinks.”

Cooper tilted his head. “And if that doesn’t work?”

Wayne downed the rest of his bourbon, setting the glass down with a sharp clink .

“Then we take her off the board completely.”

…………….

The morning Kayce and Monica moved back into the lodge, John stood on the porch, watching as a truck loaded with their belongings pulled up the drive.

Tate was the first one out, jumping from the passenger seat and racing toward John with a grin. “Grandpa! We’re here!”

John smirked, ruffling the kid’s hair as Monica climbed out, stretching after the long drive.

“Welcome home,” John said simply, nodding toward her.

Monica offered a polite smile. “Let’s see if it still feels like home.”

Kayce stepped around the back, pulling bags from the truck. “It’ll feel like home soon enough.”

John helped Monica with a few things while Kayce handled the heavier lifting. It was an adjustment for all of them—living under the same roof again—but Tate was thrilled, running around the house, claiming a room, and already talking about which horse in the barn was going to be his full-time responsibility.

Kayce caught John watching him as he carried the last of their things inside.

“You sure about this, Dad?” Kayce asked, tilting his head.

John gave a small chuckle. “Doesn’t matter if I am. It’s happening.”

Kayce smirked. “Yeah, it is.”

Tate had taken to the barn like a fish to water.

Every morning, before anyone had to wake him, he was already down there, boots covered in dust, eager to work.

Lloyd took the kid under his wing, teaching him the ropes—how to properly brush down a horse, how to clean a stall without making more of a mess, how to hold the reins without making the horse nervous.

Rip, at first, pretended not to care, keeping his distance while the wranglers handled things.

But then one afternoon, he spotted Tate struggling to saddle up Lucky, the horse John had given him.

Rip sighed, setting his gloves aside and walking over.

Tate huffed, wiping his forehead. “Lucky’s too big.”

Rip smirked, adjusting the saddle. “Nah, you’re just too small.”

Tate narrowed his eyes. “Not for long.”

Rip chuckled. “Then you better get real good at this, ‘cause that horse is gonna be waitin’ on you to catch up.”

From then on, Tate kept near Rip whenever he was in the barn—watching, learning, listening.

And Rip?

Well, he didn’t mind as much as he thought he would.

……………….

For the first time in a long time, the ranch felt… calm.

John was still keeping an ear out—he wasn’t dumb enough to think Wayne Tillman had actually moved on—but weeks had passed with nothing.

No sudden legal battles, no new land grabs, no unwanted visits from slimy businessmen in pressed suits.

It almost felt too quiet, but John wasn’t about to complain.

Instead, he took the time to be more present on the ranch, riding the pastures with Kayce, checking in with Rip about cattle numbers, making sure the bunkhouse wasn’t getting too comfortable with the peace.

One afternoon, he found himself standing by the corral, watching Rip rope a steer, his movements methodical, practiced.

Lloyd rode up beside him, resting an arm on his saddle horn. “Ranch ain’t seen this much peace in years.”

John huffed, nodding. “Makes me nervous.”

Lloyd smirked. “Just means we’re doin’ somethin’ right.”

John watched as Rip and the wranglers worked—focused, efficient. The best hands he’d ever had.

And in that moment, he let himself believe it—that maybe, just maybe, things were finally settling down.

………………….

While the ranch had found a temporary peace, Beth’s office life had been anything but quiet.

Between closing deals, putting out fires, and making sure the company didn’t burn to the ground under the weight of incompetent men, Beth barely had time to breathe.

Jason, her assistant, was hanging on by a thread, but he was learning not to question her methods.

“Beth,” he started one afternoon, peeking his head into her office. “You’ve got a call with the San Francisco investors in ten, and Schwartz wants a meeting after.”

Beth didn’t look up, flipping through documents. “Tell Schwartz if he wants a meeting, he can book an appointment like the rest of the world.”

Jason swallowed. “I don’t think that’s how it—”

Beth leveled him with a look.

Jason sighed, nodding. “I’ll tell him.”

Despite the chaos, Beth was handling it, keeping her head above water, keeping busy.

Because keeping busy meant not thinking too much.

…………………….

Weeks had passed since she found out she was pregnant.

Weeks of ignoring it, pushing it to the back of her mind, pretending nothing had changed.

Until tonight.

Beth lay in bed, curled into Rip’s side, his hand lazily stroking circles against her hip, the room quiet except for the occasional creak of the cabin settling in the Montana wind.

Rip had just started drifting off when Beth broke the silence.

“I have a doctor’s appointment in the morning.”

Rip’s eyes opened, his hand stilling for just a second before he exhaled.

He didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything.

Beth, for once, didn’t seem to need him to react.

She swallowed, keeping her voice steady. “Figured it was time I actually checked in.”

Rip nodded slowly, his fingers resuming their lazy movements on her skin.

Then, after a beat, she asked, softly, “You wanna come with me?”

Rip’s chest tightened.

Not from fear. Not from doubt.

But because for the first time since all this started, Beth was finally letting him in.

He shifted, pressing a slow kiss to the top of her head. “Yeah, Beth. I do.”

Beth relaxed against him, letting him hold her, letting herself rest.

And Rip?

Rip just held on.

………………….

The early morning light was just starting to creep through the curtains when Rip woke early, his internal clock never failing him.

Beth was still asleep, her breathing soft and even, curled on her side in the space beside him. He didn’t want to wake her.

With careful movements, he slipped out of bed, pulled on his jeans, and tucked in his shirt. The house was quiet, still wrapped in the kind of peace he wasn’t used to.

Padding down the stairs, Rip made his way into the kitchen, starting coffee while he pulled out his phone. He hesitated for a second before dialing.

John answered after the second ring, his voice already sharp and awake. “Yeah?”

Rip exhaled. “Mornin’, sir.”

John took a sip of something—probably his own coffee—before responding. “What’s goin’ on?”

Rip ran a hand over his jaw. “I got somethin’ I need to do with Beth this morning. I won’t be down at the barn until later.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end.

John’s voice lowered, careful now. “Should I be concerned?”

Rip didn’t miss the change in his tone.

John wasn’t stupid.

Rip shook his head, even though John couldn’t see it. “Nothin’ to worry about.”

Another pause. Then, John sighed. “I’ll send Kayce down to handle things.”

Rip nodded, relieved. “Appreciate it.”

But before Rip could hang up, John’s voice hardened slightly. “This conversation ain’t over, son.”

Rip exhaled through his nose, expecting that. “I know.”

John didn’t say anything else—just hung up, leaving Rip standing there, phone still in his hand, the smell of coffee filling the cabin.

He tucked his phone away, grabbing a mug and filling it before leaning back against the counter, his eyes flicking toward the stairs.

Beth was still asleep, but it wouldn’t be long now before she was up.

Before they had to face this thing together.

…………………

Rip held the door open as Beth stepped inside the only OB-GYN office in town, his large palm resting lightly against the small of her back as they entered.

It was a small, quiet waiting room, the kind of place that had seen generations of women in this town pass through its doors. The walls were painted a muted beige, decorated with framed photos of smiling babies and faded medical posters about prenatal care.

Beth walked up to the small glass window to sign in, not saying much as she scrawled her name on the clipboard.

Rip took a seat, his fingers drumming absently against his knee as she turned and settled beside him.

The room was mostly empty, save for two other women. One sat with her hands cradling a very round belly, shifting uncomfortably in the hard chair. The other had a small newborn, fast asleep in a carrier at her feet.

Beth’s eyes lingered on the baby.

Rip noticed.

Without a word, he reached over, taking her hand, giving it a small but firm squeeze.

Beth let him.

They sat in silence, waiting, until a nurse appeared at the door, flipping through a chart.

“Bethany Dutton?”

Beth sighed sharply, standing. “It’s Beth.”

Rip followed, his presence solid beside her as the nurse led them back through the hallway.

The process was exactly as tedious as Beth expected.

First, the nurse handed her a plastic cup and pointed toward a small bathroom.

Beth shot Rip a look as she grabbed it. “I swear to God, I’d rather be in a boardroom full of hedge-fund jackasses than doing this.”

Rip smirked. “Ain’t much different. Still a bunch of piss tests.”

Beth snorted, disappearing into the bathroom while Rip leaned against the wall outside.

When she returned, the nurse went through the next round of formalities—checking her weight, blood pressure, medical history, marking everything down in the chart before finally leading them into a small exam room.

“Go ahead and strip from the waist down,” the nurse instructed, setting a folded paper sheet on the exam table. “Doctor will be in shortly.”

Rip moved to the small chair in the corner, arms crossed as Beth huffed, rolling her eyes as she started unbuttoning her jeans.

“You know, if you ever want to see me naked, baby, this ain’t the way to go about it.”

Rip smirked but said nothing, his eyes following her movements.

Beth did as instructed, draping the thin, crinkly sheet over her lap before sitting back on the exam table.

For a long moment, the room was silent—Beth looking at the ceiling, Rip looking at her.

Then, a soft knock at the door.

A woman in her late forties entered, tall and well-put together, her dark hair pulled into a low bun, sharp brown eyes calculating but kind.

She wore a white coat over her blouse and slacks, a subtle authority to the way she moved.

“Beth, nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Harper.”

Beth lifted a brow, unimpressed. “Lucky you.”

The doctor smirked, not missing a beat. “And you must be Rip.”

Rip gave a short nod, watching as she flipped through Beth’s chart.

“Well, first things first,” Dr. Harper began, scanning the file. “I see you had a hospital stay not too long ago.”

Beth stiffened slightly. “If you’re about to tell me I need to take it easy, you can save your breath.”

Dr. Harper smiled, not rattled in the slightest. “I take it that means you haven’t been keeping your stress down?”

Beth just stared at her, the answer obvious.

Rip leaned back in his chair. “Not for lack of tryin’.”

The doctor nodded, making a note. “And the smoking? Alcohol?”

Beth tilted her head, eyes sharp. “What do you think?”

Dr. Harper studied her for a second before responding. “I think you don’t like being told what to do.”

Beth smirked. “Then we’re off to a great start.”

Rip watched the exchange, amused, but mostly relieved that the doctor wasn’t backing down.

Dr. Harper just chuckled, setting the chart down. “All right. Let’s check on this baby.”

The pelvic exam was quick, the doctor nodding approvingly. “Everything looks good.”

Beth sighed dramatically, muttering, “Well, that’s a relief. Was really hoping my uterus wasn’t about to fall out.”

Rip shook his head, while Dr. Harper smirked.

Then, she rolled over the sonogram machine, squeezing cold gel onto Beth’s stomach.

Beth shivered. “Jesus Christ, that’s awful.”

“Good news is, you’ll get used to it,” Dr. Harper mused, pressing the wand against her skin.

The screen lit up, and there—clearer than last time—was a baby.

Not the little bean they had seen before.

An actual baby.

Tiny arms and legs, a fully formed head, a small fluttering heartbeat in the center of its chest.

Beth and Rip both stared.

The doctor pointed to the screen. “Head. Arms. Legs. Heart. Lungs. Everything looks great.”

She moved the wand slightly, revealing a small movement—the baby’s tiny hand pressing against its face, the thumb slipping between small lips.

Rip’s grip on Beth’s hand tightened.

Beth didn’t move, didn’t blink—just stared as the baby suckled on its thumb.

It was so… real.

She hadn’t let herself think about it, hadn’t let herself feel it—but now, looking at the screen, it was right there.

Their baby.

After a few more scans, Dr. Harper glanced at them. “Would you like to know what you’re having?”

Beth and Rip exchanged a look—a silent conversation.

They hadn’t talked about this.

Hadn’t talked about any of it.

But Rip, steady as ever, finally spoke.

“Well,” he exhaled, “Let’s have it then.”

The doctor moved the wand slightly, searching, before nodding.

“All right, Mom and Dad,” she said.

Beth’s breath caught in her throat.

Mom and Dad.

The words hit her like a punch to the chest.

She hadn’t thought about it like that.

Not until now.

Dr. Harper glanced between them before finally revealing—

“It looks like you’re having a healthy little girl.”

Silence.

Rip swallowed hard. Beth didn’t move.

A daughter.

Beth blinked. Looked at the screen. Looked at Rip.

And for the first time, she let herself feel it—

The smallest flicker of something real.

Beth’s chest felt tight, her fingers gripping Rip’s hand like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.

A girl.

A daughter.

The weight of those words settled over her like a blanket she hadn’t asked for but couldn’t shake off.

She didn’t look at Rip right away. She just stared at the screen, watching the tiny movements, the little flickers of life that had been growing inside of her all this time while she had been pretending not to notice.

Rip, however, was already looking at her.

Beth felt his gaze before she turned her head. When she finally met his eyes, he wasn’t smiling, wasn’t beaming like a man who’d just heard the news of his first child.

No, Rip was just watching her—steady, patient, waiting to see if she was going to bolt or fight or crumble.

Because this?

This wasn’t just news for Beth.

This was Beth coming face-to-face with something she’d spent her whole life believing she could never have.

Dr. Harper, sensing the moment, kept her voice gentle. “Everything looks perfect. She’s growing exactly as she should.”

Beth nodded slowly, still trying to find words that weren’t laced with fear or uncertainty.

Instead, she settled on sarcasm, her voice a little rough. “Well, if she’s already stubborn enough to make it this far, guess she’s mine after all.”

Dr. Harper chuckled, wiping the gel from Beth’s stomach before standing. “She’s strong, no doubt about that.”

Beth’s throat felt tight, but she forced out, “Strong enough to survive me?”

Rip’s hand tightened just slightly around hers, but Dr. Harper’s expression didn’t falter.

“I’d say you’re giving her a head start,” the doctor replied easily, making a few notes in Beth’s file.

Beth swallowed, feeling the weight of Rip’s fingers against hers.

A head start.

That’s all this was, right?

Dr. Harper turned toward them, her voice shifting back to business. “You’re seventeen weeks, which means we’ll start keeping an even closer eye on things. I want you on a prenatal vitamin—real ones, not whatever you tell yourself counts.”

Beth just huffed, but Rip cut in before she could bite back. “She’s takin’ ‘em.”

Beth narrowed her eyes at him. “Am I?”

Rip shot her a look, one that said yes, Beth, you are, and we’re not arguing about it.

Dr. Harper hid her smirk, flipping the chart closed. “Cutting out stress would be ideal, but seeing as that might be harder for you than quitting smoking, I’ll settle for you keeping the drinking and cigarettes to zero.”

Beth rolled her lips together, trying not to look too guilty.

Rip raised a brow. “Beth.”

She sighed, dramatic as ever. “Jesus Christ, you quit drinkin’ for a few weeks and suddenly everyone’s on your ass.”

Dr. Harper ignored the theatrics, handing Rip a small folder. “Inside, you’ll find details on what to expect in the next few months, appointment schedules, and some reading if you’re interested.”

Rip took it, nodding. “Appreciate it.”

Beth scoffed. “Yeah, you would.”

Dr. Harper smiled but didn’t engage. Instead, she just nodded at Beth. “We’ll see you back in four weeks, unless anything changes before then.”

Beth just nodded, still feeling off balance.

With that, the doctor left, leaving the two of them alone in the small, sterile room, the quiet pressing in like a weight.

Beth was the first to move, pushing herself up off the exam table. She tugged on her jeans quickly, hands just a little shaky as she buttoned them back up.

Rip was still sitting in the chair, watching her, the folder resting in his lap.

“You good?” he finally asked, voice low.

Beth snorted, pulling on her boots. “Define ‘good,’ baby.”

Rip leaned forward, elbows on his knees, tilting his head. “You don’t gotta have it all figured out today.”

Beth sighed, hands on her hips. “Yeah? Well, I think I just saw the actual child we made sucking its thumb, so maybe I don’t have as much time as I thought.”

Rip smirked slightly. “Kinda cute, huh?”

As they walked back through the waiting room, Beth’s eyes landed on the newborn again—still sleeping peacefully in the carrier beside its mother’s feet.

She didn’t say anything.

………………..

The ranch was already in full swing by the time the sun had fully crested over the mountains. The air was cool but crisp, carrying the scent of hay, horses, and earth as the wranglers moved about, each man falling into the familiar rhythm of the morning.

John stood near the corral, his sharp gaze sweeping over the land as Kayce rode up, adjusting the reins in his hands.

“How’s it lookin’?” John asked, not needing to clarify what he meant.

Kayce exhaled, glancing toward the horizon where a few scattered groups of cattle grazed. “Pastures are fine. Checked the fences on the north side—everything’s holdin’ up.”

John nodded. “And the herd?”

Kayce pulled his hat lower. “Healthy. Got a few younger ones pushin’ boundaries, but nothin’ we can’t handle.”

John hummed, his expression unreadable. “Wayne still quiet?”

Kayce paused, exchanging a glance with his father.

“Far as we know,” Kayce said carefully. “But that don’t mean much.”

John didn’t respond right away, just looked out over the land, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

“We’ll keep our ears open,” Kayce added.

John nodded once. “Yeah. We will.”

Down near the barn, Lloyd and the wranglers were knee-deep in their usual morning chaos.

Ryan had one boot up on the fence, watching as Colby wrestled with a stubborn colt that wasn’t interested in being saddled.

“This is gettin’ embarrassing,” Ryan called out.

Colby shot him a glare as the horse jerked to the side, nearly throwing him off balance. “Why don’t you come over here and do it then, jackass?”

Ryan smirked, shaking his head. “Nah, you’re doin’ great.”

Walker, sitting on a bale of hay. “Colby, man, I think that horse likes you.”

Colby gritted his teeth. “I’d like him a whole lot more if he’d stop tryin’ to throw me into the goddamn dirt.”

Lloyd chuckled from where he stood by the tack room, arms crossed. “That’s ‘cause you ain’t showin’ him you’re in charge.”

Teeter, watching from her perch on the fence, grinned. “Don’t worry, Colby. If he bucks you off, I’ll give you mouth-to-mouth.”

Colby shot her a look. “Not helpin’, Teeter.”

Rip strode up at that moment, eyes scanning the group.

“You girls done gossipin’ or do I need to put you back to work?”

The wranglers straightened up slightly, smirks fading just enough to let Rip know they weren’t about to push their luck.

“We’re workin’,” Ryan said.

Rip gave him a pointed look before turning to Lloyd. “How’s it goin’?”

Lloyd shrugged. “Same shit, different day.”

Rip smirked slightly, adjusting his hat. “Good.”

For a few beats, things settled—the sounds of the ranch filling the space around them. Horses shifting, leather creaking, the distant hum of a cattle truck pulling out onto the main road.

Then, John and Kayce rode up, their presence shifting the atmosphere.

Rip nodded toward them. “Mornin’, boss.”

John dismounted easily, tossing the reins over a post. “What’s the plan today?”

Rip exhaled, glancing at Lloyd.

“Check the southern fence line, move some of the yearlings to the east pasture,” Rip said. “Couple of the colts need work.”

John gave a small nod of approval. “Sounds like a full day.”

Rip smirked. “Ain’t they all?”

Kayce, adjusting in his saddle, looked at Rip. “You check in with Beth?”

Rip’s smirk faded just slightly, his jaw tightening. “Yeah.”

Kayce watched him for a second before nodding, not pressing further.

John didn’t ask either, though his eyes said enough—this conversation wasn’t over.

But for now?

For now, there was work to be done.

And in typical Dutton fashion, that was always the priority.

……………….

Beth sat in Rip’s cabin, the place she had come to love without meaning to.

Her laptop was open on her lap, work emails half-read, her glasses low on her nose, and a goddamn glass of water on the table beside her.

Not bourbon. Not vodka. Not her usual vices.

Just water.

Rip had offered to drop her at the office this morning, but she had declined. Told him she didn’t want him to have to make the trip back later to pick her up.

That was partially true.

Really, she just wanted a little time alone.

A moment to breathe.

She set her work aside, slipping her glasses onto the table before pushing herself off the couch.

The cabin was quiet, the way she liked it when Rip wasn’t hovering, when she could just exist in the space without expectation.

Wandering out onto the back deck, Beth leaned against the railing, breathing in the crisp Montana air, her eyes sweeping over the land.

It was so… calm.

The kind of calm that made her itchy, like she needed to pick a fight just to make sure she could still feel something.

Her hands moved on their own, drifting down to her stomach, fingers spreading lightly over the small, barely-there bump beneath her shirt.

She hadn’t touched it like this before. Hadn’t let herself.

And yet, standing here, with the world still and quiet, she murmured, just above a whisper,

"I’m not going to be able to hide you much longer, little one.”

Beth stilled, testing the words in the open air.

The weight of them settled around her, unfamiliar but undeniable.

She wasn’t just talking to herself.

She was talking to someone else.

Someone real.

Someone who, despite everything—despite the past, despite her fears—was still here.

Still growing.

Beth stood there, hands resting over her stomach, the weight of her words still hanging in the air.

She expected to feel exposed, maybe even weak, saying it out loud for the first time.

Instead, she felt… steady.

Not peaceful—Beth didn’t do peaceful—but grounded.

The land stretched out before her, the soft rustling of trees, the distant sound of cattle lowing in the pastures. This place, this ranch—it had always been home.

Now, for the first time, it wasn’t just her home.

It was theirs.

She let her fingers drift lightly over the fabric of her shirt, tracing circles absently.

“What the hell are we gonna do, huh?” she murmured, her lips twitching at the ridiculousness of it all.

Talking to a damn baby.

Not just a baby—her baby.

Her throat tightened at the thought, and she swallowed hard, shaking her head at the sheer impossibility of it.

“You’re gonna be somethin’ else, I’ll tell you that much,” she continued, voice a little rougher now. “God help anyone that tries to tell you what to do.”

She huffed out a small, almost-laugh, the kind that held just as much fear as amusement.

Beth wasn’t good at this.

At soft things. At being needed.

She had spent her whole damn life knowing this wasn’t something she could ever have. And now?

Now, it was right here, growing inside of her, like some cruel twist of fate—or maybe, for the first time, a gift she didn’t think she deserved.

Beth didn’t do faith, didn’t do hope, but for some reason, standing there on that porch, she felt something close to both.

She wasn’t sure what that meant.

The sound of heavy boots on the wooden steps behind her broke the moment.

She didn’t turn immediately.

She knew who it was.

Rip had that way about him, the kind of presence you felt before you saw.

He came up behind her, close but not too close, the warmth of him settling around her like something solid.

She let out a slow breath, finally turning her head slightly, just enough to meet his eyes.

Rip looked at her, his gaze searching, like he knew he’d just walked in on something important but didn’t want to spook her by asking.

He didn’t push. Didn’t press.

He just looked at her, at the way her arms had naturally stayed wrapped around herself, and instead of words, he reached out.

Gently, hesitantly, he placed his steady hand over hers, covering the small swell of her stomach beneath her shirt.

Beth let him.

Didn’t flinch, didn’t move away.

For a long, quiet moment, they just stood there.

The Montana sky stretching wide above them.

The land quiet beneath their feet.

Their whole damn future right between them.

Rip exhaled, his voice low and even when he finally spoke.

“John knows somethin’s up.”

Beth didn’t move, just sighed through her nose, her fingers tightening slightly under his.

“Of course he does,” she murmured, eyes still on the horizon.

Rip huffed out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, well… we’re gonna have to tell him. Sooner than later.”

Beth’s jaw tensed.

She knew it.

Knew there was no keeping this secret forever—hell, she wasn’t even trying to.

Didn’t mean she wanted to sit across from her father and have this conversation, to watch his reaction, to feel the weight of what this meant to him when she was still figuring out what it meant to her.

She turned then, finally looking up at Rip.

“You think he’s gonna be happy?”

Rip searched her face, his own expression unreadable for a second before he sighed, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand.

“I think he loves you,” Rip said simply. “And I think he knows what this means to you—even if you don’t yet.”

Beth swallowed, hating how well he could see through her.

She pulled her hand away, dragging it through her hair before letting out a sharp exhale.

“He’s gonna be a pain in the ass about it.”

Rip smirked. “Oh, no doubt.”

Beth smirked back, just a little. “Guess we should just let him suffer for a little while then.”

Rip shook his head, chuckling, but his eyes softened. “We can’t put it off forever, Beth.”

Beth sighed, rolling her lips together. “No. But we sure as hell can try.”

Rip didn’t argue.

“You ready to head inside?”

Beth smirked, shaking her head. “Jesus, Rip. You sound like a damn husband.”

Rip’s expression didn’t change. Didn’t falter.

He just looked at her with that same unwavering steadiness.

“One day,” he said quietly.

Beth’s breath hitched—just for a second.

She swallowed, looking away, shaking her head like he had just said something completely ridiculous.

But she didn’t argue.

Didn’t fight him on it.

Because some things didn’t need to be said aloud.

Some things?

Just were.

And this?

This had always been one of them.

Chapter Text

Rip and Beth walked into the dining room, the familiar scent of Gator’s cooking filling the space.

John, Kayce, Monica, and Tate were already seated, easy conversation flowing between them.

Beth scoffed internally—her family didn’t do easy , not really. But for now, they were playing at it, and she wasn’t about to be the one to ruin the illusion.

Rip pulled out her chair, waiting until she sat before pushing it in, settling beside her like it was second nature.

Just as Gator started bringing out plates of food, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall.

Jamie.

Beth didn’t even have to look up before she rolled her eyes, muttering just loud enough for the table to hear, “Well, there goes the damn meal.”

Jamie hesitated for just a second before continuing forward, his jaw tight as he took his usual seat.

Rip, without a word, placed a steady hand on Beth’s leg.

A silent reminder.

A subtle ask to let it go.

For once, she did.

And for once, Jamie kept his head down, biting his tongue instead of firing back.

The meal passed in relative peace—or at least, the closest thing to peace that room had ever witnessed.

Kayce and Monica talked about being back at the ranch, John filled them in on some minor ranch business, and Rip—being Rip—mostly listened, his presence a quiet anchor beside Beth.

Everything was going fine until John looked across the table at Beth, lifting a brow.

“You want a glass of wine, honey?”

The question wasn’t odd—John had spent years watching Beth refill her glass like it was a damn lifeline.

Beth didn’t hesitate, just waved him off.

“Back on the wagon, Daddy.”

John studied her for a second before nodding approvingly.

“Good for you, sweetheart.”

If anyone at the table noticed Rip’s hand tense slightly where it rested on his fork, they didn’t say anything.

And if John thought Beth’s sudden sobriety was unusual, he didn’t push it.

After dinner, Monica excused herself, leading Tate upstairs to get ready for bed.

Beth, taking her cue, headed up to her childhood bedroom, grabbing another small load of clothes to bring over to the foreman’s cabin.

It wasn’t something she had planned—but slowly, bit by bit, her personal things were making their way out of this house and into the foreman’s cabin.

Not that she’d say it out loud, but the reality of it was settling in piece by piece, just like the damn pregnancy.

She ran a hand over the soft material of a sweater, shoving it into her bag.

Downstairs, John was pouring drinks, signaling for Kayce, Jamie, and Rip to join him in the living room.

Each man took their seat—John in his usual chair, Kayce on the couch, Jamie stiffly in another chair, and Rip settling in with his own glass, always on the outside, always watching.

John swirled his amber-colored drink, looking at each of them before speaking.

“Wayne’s been quiet.”

Kayce leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Too quiet?”

John nodded. “Maybe. Or maybe he’s smart enough to know we’re in his way.”

Jamie cleared his throat, sitting straighter. “We’ve tied up his permits. We’ve blocked his funding sources through the state. Legally speaking, he’s stuck.”

Rip didn’t trust it.

Men like Wayne Tillman didn’t just roll over.

Kayce exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “Even if we’ve slowed him down, that doesn’t mean he won’t try something else.”

John took a sip of his drink, looking over at Rip. “You agree?”

Rip nodded, unfolding his arms. “I do.”

Jamie sighed, rubbing his temple. “So what’s the plan, then? We can’t just wait for him to make the next move.”

John smirked slightly. “That’s exactly what we do.”

Jamie frowned. “That’s not a plan.”

John tilted his head. “It is when you know your enemy.”

Kayce looked at Rip. “You up for keeping a closer eye on things?”

Rip didn’t hesitate.

“Always.”

John nodded, satisfied.

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling over them.

Jamie still looked agitated, Kayce thoughtful, John calculating.

Rip?

Rip just waited.

Because whatever was coming next—whether it was Wayne Tillman or something else entirely—he knew one thing for damn sure.

He would take care of it.

The fire crackled low in the living room, casting long shadows across the walls. The weight of the conversation hung in the air as the men nursed their drinks, each lost in their own thoughts.

John leaned back in his chair, his gaze sharp as he studied the room, studied them.

"Wayne ain't the type to stay quiet forever," he finally muttered. "He's either regrouping or planning something we won't like."

Kayce swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his jaw tight. “He’s not gonna take the loss lying down.”

Jamie exhaled sharply, rubbing at his temple. “Legally speaking, we’ve tied his hands. He has no moves left that won’t get him buried in court.”

Rip huffed, shaking his head. “Men like him don’t give a damn about court, Jamie.”

Jamie looked at him then, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Then what do you suggest? We start a war?”

Rip didn’t blink. “If it comes to that.”

Jamie scoffed, leaning back, but he didn’t argue further.

John took a slow sip of his whiskey before looking at Rip. “How’s Beth?”

Rip knew exactly what John was asking.

Not just how she was, but if she was slipping into a self-destructive spiral. If he needed to step in, if he should be worried.

Rip’s grip on his glass tightened just slightly.

“She’s good,” he said simply. “Better than I expected.”

John studied him for a long moment before giving a small, approving nod.

“Good.”

Upstairs, Beth zipped her bag closed, looking around her childhood bedroom for what felt like the hundredth time.

She had spent years in this house, in this room, but more and more, it didn’t feel like hers anymore.

It wasn’t a sudden shift. It was gradual, like how the seasons changed—one morning you wake up, and the air feels different.

That’s what this was.

Beth didn’t do sentimental.

Didn’t do long-winded goodbyes.

But standing here, bag slung over her shoulder, she let herself have one quiet moment before heading down the stairs.

She didn’t say a word as she passed the living room, just glanced toward Rip, their eyes meeting for half a second.

He saw the bag.

She saw the flicker of understanding in his gaze.

She didn’t need to say it out loud.

He already knew.

This house wasn’t where she belonged anymore.

………………

The Dutton Ranch was asleep.

Outside, the land stretched silent and vast, the early morning sky still shrouded in darkness. A few barn lights flickered in the distance, barely illuminating the crisp Montana air.

Inside the lodge, Kayce and Monica lay tangled together, the warmth of the blankets wrapped around them as Kayce stroked her hair, his hand drifting lazily along her bare back.

They whispered quietly, murmuring about nothing and everything—Monica asking how the herd was looking, Kayce asking how she liked being back at the lodge.

“I like it,” Monica admitted softly. “Tate loves it.”

Kayce smirked. “Kid was born for this place.”

Monica hummed, pressing her face against his chest. “You think we did the right thing coming back?”

Kayce kissed the top of her head, his voice low, reassuring. “I know we did.”

Monica let out a soft sigh, her fingers tracing along his chest. “You always this confident?”

Kayce chuckled. “Only when I’m naked.”

Monica smacked his arm, and Kayce pulled her closer, letting her settle against him.

Soon enough, they both drifted off, tangled in sheets and warmth, the outside world forgotten for now.

…………………

The lodge was still quiet when Tate’s eyes shot open.

His little body was wired and ready, excitement buzzing in his chest.

Today, he was going to spend the whole day in the barn—feeding the horses, helping the wranglers, maybe even getting to ride Lucky if his dad let him.

He leapt from his bed, pulling on his cowboy boots over his pajama pants, already halfway down the hall before his brain could fully wake up.

He needed to find his dad before he went down to the barn without him.

With no hesitation, Tate threw open his parents’ door, his voice loud and full of energy—

“Dad! Can I come—”

And then.

He saw it.

His parents, his grown-up, responsible parents, laying in bed together…

NAKED.

Tate’s eyes went wide, his whole face scrunching up in absolute horror as he pointed at them like he had just caught criminals in the act.

“Oh my god! WHERE ARE YOUR CLOTHES?!”

Kayce jolted awake immediately, Monica letting out a small gasp, grabbing the blanket and yanking it up to her chin.

“Tate!” Kayce barked, trying to process what the hell was happening. “Knock first, son!”

Tate refused to lower his hand, his voice still full of accusation.

“What happened? Did Lucky eat them?! WHERE DID THEY GO?”

Kayce scrubbed a hand down his face, sighing, while Monica, still half-hidden under the blanket, tried to hold back laughter.

“Tate, buddy, get out of here,” Kayce groaned, his voice still rough from sleep. “Go wait downstairs.”

Tate, now dramatically covering his eyes, stumbled backward out of the room like he had witnessed a crime scene, mumbling to himself.

“The suns not even up yet, and I already have to solve a mystery.”

Downstairs, Tate paced back and forth, arms crossed, deep in thought.

By the time Monica and Kayce came downstairs fully clothed, Tate was already on a mission.

“I figured it out,” Tate declared, looking dead serious as he pointed at his parents. “You’re not gonna believe this, but I think Lucky stole your clothes.”

Kayce pinched the bridge of his nose, already regretting waking up.

Monica, biting her lip to keep from laughing, raised a brow. “Lucky stole our clothes?”

Tate nodded firmly. “Yeah. I read about it one time. Horses can steal things.”

Kayce gave him a look. “Where the hell did you read that?”

Tate crossed his arms again. “The internet.”

Kayce sighed. “You don’t even have a phone.”

Tate ignored that, clearly on a different level of focus.

“So,” Tate continued, looking between them. “Were your clothes there before you went to sleep?”

Monica pressed a hand to her mouth, trying so hard not to break.

Kayce just rubbed his face, exhaling slowly. “Tate, I’m not answering that.”

Tate threw his hands up. “Okay, well, were they gone when you woke up?”

Monica finally lost it, letting out a small laugh, but Tate was not amused.

“This is serious, Mom.”

Kayce bent slightly, resting his hands on his knees. “Tate, buddy, listen to me—our clothes didn’t go anywhere, okay?”

Tate narrowed his eyes. “So you’re telling me they just… disappeared?”

Kayce’s face twisted slightly, trying to find the best way to navigate this conversation.

Monica, clearly enjoying this way too much, leaned against the counter. “Tate, maybe some things are just not a mystery worth solving.”

Tate scowled.

“This is exactly what someone would say if they were covering for the horse.”

Kayce sighed, placing both hands on his hips, muttering to himself, “Jesus Christ.”

Tate looked him dead in the eye.

“This isn’t over.”

And with that, he stormed out of the kitchen, heading toward the barn to continue his investigation.

Kayce let his head fall back against the cabinet, groaning.

Monica, laughing quietly, leaned into him, pressing a small kiss to his cheek.

“At least he doesn’t know the truth.”

Kayce huffed. “Give it an hour.”

…………………..

Rip leaned over Beth’s sleeping form, his lips pressing softly to her hairline, breathing her in before murmuring against her skin.

"It’s gonna be a long day, darlin’… I’ll be home late."

Beth stirred, her eyes fluttering open, still heavy with sleep.

She blinked slowly, the warm glow of morning light spilling into the room, painting everything in soft gold.

Rip stayed close, his hands resting lightly on the bed beside her as he watched her stretch like a damn cat, her back arching, her body moving languidly, waking up in slow, deliberate movements.

He knew what she was doing.

Beth never did anything without intent.

She reached up then, hooking her arms around his neck, pulling him back down to her, lips finding his in a kiss that was long, slow, unhurried—a silent challenge to the day that threatened to pull them apart too soon.

She arched against him, pressing herself into him, her fingers drifting to the back of his head, her nails scraping lightly along his scalp, pulling a low, deep chuckle from his chest.

Rip smirked against her lips.

“Okay, baby,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to see her smirk right back at him.

And then, just like that, Beth rose from the bed, peeling his shirt from her body as she walked toward the bathroom, letting it drop to the floor without so much as a glance.

Rip’s eyes followed her, taking his damn time watching the way she moved—confident, unapologetic, completely his.

He exhaled, shaking his head as he pushed up from the bed, making his way down the hall after her, unbuttoning his own shirt, shedding his clothes piece by piece until he reached the bathroom door.

Inside, the sound of water cascading against tile filled the small space, steam already curling into the air.

Beth didn’t turn when she heard him step inside.

Didn’t have to.

Rip climbed in behind her, letting the heat wash over them both, his hands already reaching, already pulling her close.

And then?

The cabin was filled with giggled whispers that quickly turned to moans, the morning slipping away in the way it always did when they were together—fierce, urgent, and completely wrapped up in each other.

…………………

The Montana sky was still painted in muted shades of purple and gray, the first hints of morning light creeping over the horizon as John, Kayce, and Tate rode out into the open pasture.

The air was crisp, the smell of damp earth and horses thick as their mounts moved at a steady pace, their breaths coming out in visible puffs against the early morning chill.

Tate, riding his horse, Lucky, was wide-eyed and grinning, his excitement uncontainable as he adjusted in the saddle.

“This is the best way to wake up ever!” he declared, gripping the reins a little tighter.

Kayce chuckled, his gaze flicking toward John. “Kid’s got the rancher bug already.”

John, ever the stoic observer, simply nodded, his own horse moving at a lazy walk beside them. “Not a bad thing,” he mused. “Good to see someone still respects the land.”

Tate straightened his small shoulders, clearly taking the words as a badge of honor. “I’ll take care of it, Grandpa,” he said, determined.

Kayce smirked. “Yeah? What’s your first order of business, then?”

Tate thought about it very seriously for a moment before answering.

“I’m still trying to solve The Great Clothes Mystery.”

Kayce groaned loudly, his head tilting back. “Jesus, Tate, let it go.”

John raised an eyebrow, looking between them. “Do I want to know?”

Tate nodded furiously. “You absolutely do.”

Kayce, already regretting everything, cut him off. “No, he doesn’t.”

But Tate was undeterred, sitting up straighter in his saddle. “Lucky stole their clothes last night!”

John looked genuinely amused, pulling on his reins slightly to give Tate a look. “Your horse stole their clothes?”

Tate nodded matter-of-factly. “Uh-huh. And no one will admit it.”

John huffed out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Son, that’s called bein’ married.”

Kayce nearly choked on air, glaring at his father. “Jesus, Dad!”

Tate looked confused, his brows furrowing. “So Lucky didn’t do it?”

John smirked, adjusting his grip on the reins. “Well, if he did, he’s got a better poker face than half the damn wranglers in that bunkhouse.”

Tate sighed dramatically, clearly still unconvinced, but for now, he let it go, turning his focus back to the ride.

As they rode on, the sun finally crested over the mountains, spilling golden light across the land, illuminating the rolling pastures and cattle dotting the fields.

John breathed it in, his gaze sweeping across his legacy, a flicker of pride and peace settling in his chest.

For a brief, fleeting moment, everything felt right.

Chapter Text

Beth strode into Schwartz & Meyer, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor, her presence immediately shifting the energy of the office.

Jason froze the second he saw her, his fingers tightening around his coffee cup as he sat up straighter, bracing himself.

Beth had played hooky yesterday, working from home—a rarity for her. And now?

Now she was back, and she was itching for control.

Her movements were sharp, calculated, her whole body radiating a big fat ‘don’t fuck with me’ aura.

She needed this. She needed normalcy.

She needed to be back in the driver’s seat of something, because the one thing she couldn’t control was the one thing growing inside her.

Beth wasn’t built for uncertainty.

So today? Today she would work, she would conquer, and she would remind the world who the fuck she was.

Jason lasted until noon before the cracks began to show.

Beth was moving at lightning speed, blazing through work at a pace that even she usually didn’t attempt.

By 10 AM, she had taken six back-to-back calls, shot off more emails than Jason thought humanly possible, and had brought two high-ranking executives to their knees with just her words.

By noon, Jason was visibly sweating, trying to keep up.

By 2 PM, his hands were shaking.

By 4 PM, he broke down in tears.

Beth stared at him, unimpressed.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” she muttered, tossing her pen onto the desk. “I don’t have time for this shit!”

Jason hiccupped through a sob, looking at her like she had personally burned down his childhood home.

Beth sighed, rubbing her temples. “Go home. Collect yourself. And you better be ready to man up when you come back tomorrow, or I swear to God, I’ll make sure the only job you’ll ever land after this is bagging groceries in fucking Billings.”

Jason nodded rapidly, scrambling to his feet and all but sprinting out of her office.

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Beth in blessed silence.

She exhaled, shaking her head. “Jesus, men are weak.”

The day passed in a blur, Beth crushing every problem in her path, barely stopping to breathe.

It wasn’t until she finally checked the clock that she realized it was 8:30 and the office had all cleared out.

She hadn’t eaten.

Beth frowned, internally chastising herself.

Her phone was face-down on the desk, no messages from Rip.

He’d been busy this morning—something weighing on him, but he hadn’t said what. She let it go.

Beth closed her laptop, stretching as she glanced toward the pack of cigarettes that had been mocking her for weeks, sitting on the corner of her desk.

She reached over, plucked one out, twirling it absently between her fingers before bringing it up to her nose, inhaling the familiar scent of nicotine and control.

The urge itched.

For one second, she almost lit the damn thing.

Then she sighed, slid it back into the pack, and dropped the whole thing into the trash.

Her fingers drifted down, pressing against her still-flat stomach, muttering,

"You better be worth it, baby girl."

………………

Outside the foreman’s cabin, Rip pulled up, shifting his truck into park.

It was dark, the cabin windows empty, and Beth’s car was nowhere to be seen.

Rip’s stomach tightened.

Without thinking, he dialed her number, pressing the phone to his ear.

She answered on the first ring.

And he could hear her smirking through the phone.

“What, miss me already?”

Rip exhaled, running a hand over his beard. “Where are you?”

“Walking to my car,” she drawled.

Rip opened his mouth to respond—

And then.

It happened.

A scuffle. A sharp gasp.

Beth’s phone clattered to the pavement.

The sound of footsteps—heavy, fast, violent.

Rip’s whole body locked up.

“Beth?” His voice was sharp, panicked.

A grunt. A muffled, “Get your fucking hands off me!”

And then?

A thud—a sickening, stomach-dropping sound.

The line went dead.

Beth had been caught off guard.

Two masked men.

Fast. Calculated.

The first grabbed her from behind, an arm wrapping tight around her throat before she could react.

Beth’s instincts kicked in, her elbow slamming back, making solid contact with his ribs.

But the second was already there, a hard, brutal fist landing square in her stomach.

Beth choked on a scream, the pain exploding through her gut, white-hot and blinding.

She stumbled, but they didn’t let her fall—not yet.

A hand tangled in her hair, jerking her head back. A voice—low, dangerous—hissed against her ear.

"Stay out of it, Ms. Dutton. Or next time, we won’t be so gentle."

Beth had enough breath left to laugh bitterly.

“This is gentle?” she spat, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth.

A final, vicious kick to her ribs, and Beth hit the pavement hard, the last thing she saw before her vision blurred was the dark boots disappearing into the night.

……………

Rip was already in his truck, flooring it down the road, his heart slamming against his ribs as he redialed Beth’s number.

Voicemail.

“Fuck!”

He hit redial. Again. Again.

Nothing.

His hands clenched the wheel so tight his knuckles went white.

He hit the next number on his phone.

John answered on the first ring.

"Rip?"

“She’s hurt,” Rip ground out, his voice raw. “Something happened. I was on the phone with her, and then—I don’t know. She’s not answering. I’m on my way to her office now.”

John was already moving, his voice tight. “I’ll grab Kayce. We’ll meet you there.”

Rip didn’t respond.

Didn’t have time.

Because all he could see was Beth in his head.

And all he knew?

Someone was going to fucking die for this.

Rip’s truck screeched to a halt in front of Beth’s office, gravel skidding under the tires.

He didn’t wait for the engine to stop—he was already out, running toward the dark figure crumpled on the pavement.

As he got closer, his chest locked up, breath shallow and sharp.

Beth.

She was lying on her side, her body curled in on itself, her hands gripping her stomach like she was trying to hold something together.

There was blood.

A lot of it.

Rip’s mind raced, panic clawing at his throat because he couldn’t tell where it was coming from.

His boots scraped against the pavement as he fell to his knees beside her, his hands reaching—hesitating—because the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her more.

“Beth.” His voice was hoarse, wrecked, like it was being dragged over barbed wire.

Beth let out a weak groan, her head barely shifting toward him.

Rip swallowed thickly, relief hitting him like a freight train at the sound.

She was alive.

With shaking hands, he slid his arms beneath her, lifting her as carefully as he could, but still, she let out a sharp, strangled noise of pain.

Rip’s anger burned hotter, the fire inside of him raging, but he shoved it down because now wasn’t the time.

Now was about getting her help.

He carried her to the truck, blood staining his arms, his shirt—his whole fucking world painted red.

Laying her as gently as he could in the passenger seat, Rip jumped in, slamming the truck into gear and flooring it toward the hospital.

The whole time, his jaw clenched, his hand reaching over to touch her, to keep her here with him.

“Beth, baby, stay with me.” His voice wavered, but he didn’t give a damn. “I need you to stay with me, okay?”

Beth let out another pained sound, her breathing shallow, uneven.

Rip kept talking, kept soothing, kept desperately holding onto her with the only thing he had—his voice.

“You’re okay, baby, I got you, I got you…”

Then, for the first time, he saw it.

The blood.

Dripping down her legs.

His hands clenched the wheel so tight he thought he might break it.

His throat felt like it was closing, like he couldn’t breathe, like the world was collapsing around him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, the word punched out of him, his vision blurring with rage, with fear.

He looked over at her, his Beth—his strong, unbreakable Beth—and for the first time in his life, he felt completely, utterly powerless.

And Rip Wheeler did not handle powerlessness well.

Not when it came to her.

Not when it came to the tiny life she carried inside her.

The hospital lights were in sight now, and all Rip could do was floor it harder, his pulse hammering in his ears.

Because if something happened to Beth—if something happened to that baby…

Rip’s tires screeched against the pavement as he came to a sudden stop outside the emergency room entrance.

Before the truck was even in park, he was out, rounding the hood and pulling Beth into his arms.

She let out a weak sound.

“Hold on, baby,” he muttered, his voice strained, his whole body shaking with adrenaline, fear, and pure, unfiltered rage.

He kicked open the ER doors, his voice booming through the sterile hallway.

“I need a fucking doctor!”

Immediately, nurses and doctors rushed toward them, their faces shifting from confusion to concern the second they saw Beth in his arms.

One of the nurses, a woman in light blue scrubs, reached out, touching Rip’s arm gently but firmly.

“Sir, let us take her.”

Rip hesitated—his grip on Beth tightening, because the second he let her go, he wouldn’t be able to protect her.

He wouldn’t be able to fix this.

“Sir,” the nurse said again, softer this time, “we need to help her.”

Beth let out a low, pained groan, and Rip knew—knew—he had no choice.

He carefully laid her onto the gurney they had wheeled out, his hands reluctant to let go.

The moment she was down, the medical team sprang into action, checking her vitals, asking questions, but Beth was barely responsive.

Rip took a step back, his hands covered in her blood, his heart pounding in his chest so hard it hurt.

“She’s pregnant,” he forced out, his voice rough, uneven. “Eighteen weeks.”

That changed things.

The energy in the room shifted, the urgency doubling as a nurse immediately shouted for an OB consult.

They wheeled Beth away, their voices a flurry of medical terms Rip didn’t understand, but none of them were telling him she was okay.

And then?

She was gone.

Disappearing behind swinging doors, leaving Rip alone in the hallway, hands clenched, breath ragged, his whole world hanging by a thread.

……………….

Rip stood there for a second, completely still, his fists tight at his sides, trying to collect himself.

He felt like he was fucking shaking from the inside out.

Everything in him wanted to punch something, to break something, to hunt down the motherfcukers responsible for this and rip them apart.

But right now?

Right now, that wouldn’t help Beth.

Wouldn’t help their baby.

He sucked in a sharp breath, forcing his shaking hands to reach for his phone, his blood-covered fingers fumbling as he dialed John’s number.

The phone barely rang once before John answered.

“Rip?”

Rip exhaled harshly, running a hand over his face, trying to steady his voice, but he knew John would hear the edge of panic beneath it anyway.

“We’re at the hospital,” Rip said, voice gritted, raw. “It’s bad, John.”

Silence.

Then—John’s voice, low and lethal.

“I’m on my way.”

The call ended.

Rip didn’t move.

Didn’t sit.

Didn’t breathe.

He just stared at the doors Beth disappeared behind, and for the first time in his life, he felt something he hadn’t in a long, long time.

Helpless.

………………………..

Rip stood rigid in the hospital waiting room, his arms crossed tight across his chest, his hands still stained with Beth’s blood.

Every muscle in his body was tensed, his mind racing with a storm of rage, fear, and helplessness—a combination that was eating him alive.

Then, the front doors swung open.

John walked in, his expression unreadable, but his eyes?

His eyes were locked on Rip, sharp and demanding answers.

Kayce was right behind him, moving with that silent predator’s energy, the kind he got when he was preparing for war.

John barely stopped moving before his voice cut through the air like a blade.

“What happened?”

Rip exhaled sharply, his voice gritted, raw. “Two men jumped her when she was leavin’ her office. I was on the phone with her when it happened. Heard it happen. Got there as fast as I could, she was already unconscious. Covered in blood.”

John’s face barely changed, but something in his eyes darkened, sharpened.

Kayce, standing just to the side, his hands on his hips, let out a slow, deliberate breath before tilting his head.

“They didn’t kill her,” Kayce muttered, thinking out loud. “Didn’t take anything.”

Rip clenched his jaw, already knowing where this was going.

“This wasn’t a fucking mugging,” Kayce continued, his voice tight. “This was a message.”

Silence hung heavy in the air.

Rip already knew it.

John already knew it.

But hearing it out loud solidified the truth neither of them wanted to say.

John exhaled slowly through his nose before turning to Kayce, his voice low, dangerous.

“Go.”

Kayce nodded, understanding without needing to ask for details.

“Round up the men,” John continued, his gaze steely, unwavering. “Find out what you can. I want every fucking name tied to Wayne Tillman and I want them all in a row.”

Kayce gave Rip a look—a promise, a silent vow—before he turned and strode out the doors.

Now, it was just John and Rip.

John didn’t say anything at first.

Didn’t push.

Just studied him.

And Rip?

Rip felt it coming.

That thing between them, that unspoken expectation, the weight of John’s approval and disappointment hanging in the air like a knife ready to drop.

Finally, John exhaled, his voice quiet, unreadable.

“She okay?”

Rip’s throat tightened, his hands flexing at his sides.

“I don’t know.”

John nodded once. “But she’s alive.”

Rip swallowed hard, forcing himself to nod. “I don’t know.”

Silence stretched between them for another long beat, then John muttered,

“She’ll fight her way out of it. She’s Beth.”

Rip let out a breath through his nose, shaking his head. “Yeah, well…” He hesitated, then ran a hand through his hair, forcing the words out.

“She ain’t just Beth anymore.”

John’s gaze snapped back to him, sharp as a blade.

Rip held it, his heart pounding. “She’s pregnant.”

The words hung there, thick and suffocating.

For a second, John didn’t react.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t even blink.

Then, after a long pause, he shook his head, exhaling sharply. “That’s not possible.”

Rip clenched his jaw, his whole damn body aching with the weight of everything he was about to say.

“She had a tubal when she was sixteen. We thought—she thought—it meant she couldn’t have kids.” He swallowed, his throat feeling like sandpaper. “Turns out, it don’t always work. Things happen, doc said.”

John’s lips pressed together, his mind clearly turning over the information, searching for something to latch onto.

Rip wasn’t finished.

“She’s eighteen weeks, John,” Rip continued, voice thick with something he wasn’t used to feeling—pure, raw vulnerability. “We just found out a few weeks ago.”

John exhaled, his posture barely shifting, but Rip could see the weight settling in.

A baby.

Beth’s baby.

His grandchild.

And now?

Now they weren’t just fighting for Beth’s life.

They were fighting for two.

John inhaled deeply, his eyes colder than they’d been in a long time.

“Why didn't she tell me?”

Rip shook his head. “She would’ve had to, eventually.”

John’s jaw tensed, his hands clenching into fists at his sides before he let out a slow, deliberate breath.

Then, he looked Rip dead in the eye.

“We end this,” John said, voice lethal in its steadiness. “For good.”

Rip nodded, his anger boiling into something more dangerous than rage—

Purpose.

This wasn’t just business anymore.

This was war.

And this time, Wayne Tillman wasn’t walking away.

Chapter Text

The waiting room was too quiet, too sterile, the kind of silence that made Rip feel like he was trapped in a cage.

John stood beside him, his expression unreadable, his mind clearly running a hundred miles ahead, already strategizing, already plotting retribution.

Rip was tense, every muscle in his body wound so tight it hurt.

His hands were still stained with Beth’s blood.

His chest still ached from the sight of her crumpled on the pavement.

And his heart—his goddamn heart—felt like it was caught between fury and terror, waiting for someone to walk through those doors and tell him whether the only two people who mattered in this world were still breathing.

John exhaled through his nose, a slow, controlled release of rage.

“No warnings,” he said, voice low, lethal.

Rip didn’t hesitate.

“Wasn’t plannin’ on givin’ one.”

John nodded once, his jaw flexing. “Kayce’ll do his part, but this—this is personal.”

Rip’s stomach churned, but he nodded. It was personal.

Wayne Tillman had just signed his own death sentence.

John’s voice dipped even lower, his eyes steely, unshaken.

“I need you clear-headed for this, son.”

Rip clenched his jaw. “I’m clear.”

John’s gaze didn’t waver. “Good. Then we’re gonna do what we do best.”

Rip took a slow, deliberate breath.

“Bury people.”

John nodded once, his approval silent but absolute

Neither of them were the kind of men who could sit while their entire world hung in the balance.

Instead, they stood side by side, arms crossed, eyes locked on the double doors Beth had been wheeled through, waiting for someone—anyone—to come tell them what the fuck was going on.

Rip felt like time was stretching, every second dragging, his fists clenching and unclenching as he played out every scenario in his head.

She was strong..

But even Beth wasn’t invincible.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the doors swung open.

A doctor in scrubs stepped out, flipping through a chart before looking up.

“Who’s here for Bethany Dutton?”

Rip was in front of him in two strides, his voice gritted, raw.

“I am.”

John was right beside him, his stance rigid, commanding. “So am I.”

The doctor nodded once.

“She suffered significant bruising and a few cracked ribs,” the doctor started, his tone calm, professional, but carrying the weight of something heavier. “And a hard blow to the abdomen, which caused some bleeding.”

Rip’s breath hitched, his hands clenching at his sides.

The baby.

“The bleeding has slowed,” the doctor continued, looking between the two men, “but she’ll need to be closely monitored for the next twenty-four hours. Right now, we’re doing everything we can to make sure the pregnancy remains stable.”

Rip’s heart dropped into his stomach, his voice tight. “What does that mean?”

The doctor hesitated. “It means she’s at risk. Right now, the baby’s heartbeat is strong, but we’re not out of the woods yet. The next few hours are critical.”

John exhaled slowly, his jaw tight. “What’s the plan?”

The doctor flipped a page in the chart. “We’re keeping her under observation. If there’s no more bleeding and the baby remains stable, she’ll be able to go home with strict instructions to rest and reduce stress.” He glanced at Rip then, as if understanding the impossibility of that request.

Rip swallowed hard, forcing himself to breathe through the storm inside him.

“She’s awake?” he asked, voice low, borderline desperate.

The doctor nodded. “Barely. We gave her something for the pain, but she’s aware of what happened.”

Rip exhaled, his shoulders slumping just slightly, the relief tangling with the fear still clinging to him.

“She’s asking for you,” the doctor added.

Rip didn’t wait for permission.

He was already moving, pushing through the doors, the weight of everything crashing down on him as he walked toward the only thing that mattered.

Beth was lying in the hospital bed, wires attached to her arms, an IV dripping into her veins.

She looked frail, her wild hair a tangled mess, her lips slightly cracked, and her arms bruised from the struggle.

Her eyes cracked open as he stepped into the room, and the second she saw him, a weak smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“Jesus, baby,” she rasped, her voice hoarse, exhausted. “You look like hell.”

Rip let out a breath, a small, barely-there chuckle, before he moved to her bedside, sitting down carefully, his hand finding hers.

She squeezed his fingers, lightly but intentionally.

Her thumb traced along his knuckles, noticing the blood still there.

“Did you kill ‘em

Beth’s voice was weak, hoarse, but that sharp edge was still there.

She traced her thumb over Rip’s knuckles, feeling the dried blood still there, and muttered,

“Did you kill ‘em?”

Rip let out a breath, shaking his head.

“Not yet.”

Beth gave a small, exhausted huff of a laugh, her lips quirking up before she winced, shifting slightly in the bed.

Rip’s grip on her hand tightened, his voice low, raw.

“Don’t move, baby.”

Beth sighed, letting her body relax back into the bed, her eyes half-lidded, the medication clearly pulling at her.

Rip studied her for a long moment, the bruises on her face and arms, the way her usually unbreakable body looked small against the stark white sheets.

His chest ached, his mind still whirling, still caught between rage and fear.

“You scared the hell outta me, Beth,” he admitted, voice gravelly, strained.

Beth blinked up at him, silent for a beat, then muttered,

“Scared the hell outta myself, baby.”

Rip swallowed hard, his free hand brushing against her cheek, his thumb barely grazing the edge of a cut near her temple.

Beth turned her head just slightly, pressing into his touch.

“I lost her for a minute,” Beth whispered, her other hand moving down to her stomach.

Rip’s throat tightened, his grip firm on her hand, holding her like he could anchor her here, keep her from slipping away again.

“But you didn’t,” he said, voice rough. “She’s still here.”

Beth exhaled slowly, her fingers curling against the hospital blanket, her body tense from the weight of it all.

Then, after a long beat, her eyes met his.

“No more bullshit, Rip,” she muttered.

Rip nodded, his voice steady.

“No more bullshit.”

Beth let out a slow, tired breath, her fight fading just a little, her body relaxing under his touch.

………………

John stood outside the hospital room, his arms crossed, his mind already turning to war.

He heard everything—Rip’s confession about the pregnancy, Beth’s weakened voice confirming it.

John Dutton wasn’t a man who got caught off guard often, but this?

This had hit him like a fucking train.

His daughter was pregnant.

And someone had just tried to take that away from her.

From him.

John inhaled deeply, his rage controlled, simmering, lethal.

He turned to the doctor, his voice calm but carrying an edge of absolute authority.

“What does she need?”

The doctor hesitated. “Rest. Reduced stress. No heavy activity.”

John’s jaw ticked.

“Anything else?”

The doctor shook his head. “As long as the bleeding stays under control, and she follows instructions, she and the baby should be okay.”

John nodded once, then turned sharply on his heel, pulling out his phone.

The Duttons didn’t sit and wait.

They struck first.

As he stepped out of the hospital doors, his voice was low, cold, absolute.

“Kayce. Round ‘em up. It’s time to end this.”

…………………….

The hospital room was too damn quiet when John Dutton stepped inside.

His boots barely made a sound against the linoleum, but his presence was heavy, his eyes sweeping over his daughter with the kind of scrutiny only a father who’s seen too much loss could have.

Beth smirked under his unwavering stare, even though she was exhausted, bruised, barely holding it together.

“Hi, Daddy.”

Her voice was rough, hoarse from pain and exhaustion, but still carried that signature bite.

John didn’t answer right away.

He just stood there, taking in the sight of his wild, untouchable daughter laid out in a hospital bed, fragile in a way he was getting tired of looking at.

Finally, he let out a long, measured breath, moving to the chair beside her bed.

Lowering himself down, he grabbed her hand, firm but not tight, his calloused fingers wrapping around hers, grounding them both.

Beth looked at him, waiting.

Waiting for him to say something, to break the silence that suddenly felt too damn heavy.

And then—

“Jesus Christ, Beth.”

John’s voice was low, rough, the weight of it pressing against the walls of the room.

“A baby?”

Beth swallowed, her throat tight, her exhaustion settling deeper in her bones.

She didn’t know what to say.

Didn’t know how to explain why she hadn’t told him, why she hadn’t even let herself say the words out loud until now.

John searched her face, his grip still steady on hers.

“How could this even happen?”

Beth let out a small, breathless chuckle, because it was so goddamn absurd that this was the conversation they were having.

“Well, Daddy,” she muttered, that familiar mischief slipping through, “when two people love each other…”

She trailed off, smirking just a little, even though it hurt to smile.

John exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face, shaking his head.

And then it happened.

Beth stilled.