#anon message

“Are you gonna tell me what I did wrong, or are you itching for a fight?”

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Yeah, well, I did.” He removes the saddle and walks it over to the rack, settling it into place. When he turns back, the annoyance on his face has softened into amusement. “Listen, sweetheart, I can’t talk about it if you don’t tell me what I did wrong. And you know I love to talk.”

“John Dutton, did you just use sarcasm on me?”

“So you did notice.”

You cross your arms. “I thought we were going to spend some time together today, and yet I find you here after another fence check that could’ve been done by any of the ranch hands on your payroll.”

“That’s why you’re picking a fight?”

“I’m not.”

“Oh no, that part’s not up for discussion. You’re mad at me. You are picking a fight. I’m just trying to figure out why you’re doing it like this.” He gestures once, impatient, like he’s motioning at the whole situation. 

“You chose this.” You mirror the motion right back at him.

He chuckles. “Don’t remind me.”

“John!”

He says your name the same way, low and steady.

“Since when are you the funny one?”

“Since you decided I was the villain for doing my job.”

You echo him, sharp. “So you did notice.”

He steps closer, crowding you without touching, the way he does when he wants your attention and nothing else.

“You really think I don’t want to be with you?”

You don’t answer. The quiet says enough.

“Honey,” he says, softer now, “this ranch doesn’t stop. It never has. It never will.”

“I know.”

He closes the space, hands settling at your waist, like he’s anchoring you in place. It’s instinctive, protective. 

“You don’t sound like it.”

“I just wish—”

He lifts one hand, rough thumb brushing your cheek, tilting your face toward his. “Then say it.”

“It’s going to sound stupid.”

“Try me.”

You hesitate. “I want to learn how to ride. Properly. So I can help you out here.”

He blinks, caught off guard. “That’s it?”

“Yes.”

He lets out a breath, shaking his head. “Jesus. All that over a horse.”

You lift your chin. “Where’s the fun in asking nicely?”

A corner of his mouth twitches. He pulls you in just a little closer. “You’re gonna run me into the ground one of these days.”

You don’t pull away. Neither does he.

The kiss that follows is deep from the second his mouth meets yours. There’s nothing tentative about it. He backs you up against the stall door, one solid hand at your waist, the wood cool through your shirt.

‘’You drive me crazy,’’ he says, punctuating every word with another kiss.

You gently bite his lower lip. ‘’Right back at ya.’’

‘’Barn.’’

‘’I know,’’ you say, ‘’You started this.’’

That earns a quiet huff of a laugh. His thumb brushes along your jaw, not gentle, not rough. Familiar. Possessive.

“You always say that,” he murmurs, then kisses you again, slower this time. Like he’s proving a point.

Your hands fist in his jacket. He crowds your space without fully pinning you, leaving just enough room to remind you that he could if he wanted to. The stall door creaks softly behind you.

Somewhere nearby, a horse snorts.

John stills instantly, breath steadying. He doesn’t move away, just eases back an inch, eyes dark.

“Later,” he says quietly, brushing one last kiss to your mouth.

You nod, pulse still racing.

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“You sure about this?” he asks, taking another sip of his coffee.

You nod, lifting your own cup. John has reminded you more than once that what you drink barely qualifies as coffee, but your past as a non-cowgirl ruined you on that front, and therefore he’s learned to live with it.

“Alright then. Let’s go.”

He dumps the rest of his coffee over the porch rail and motions for you to follow.

By the time you reach the barn, doubt starts creeping in. John notices immediately but doesn’t call it out.

“I wish I’d learned this earlier in life.”

“Come here.”

You do. He wraps his arms around you without hesitation. You tuck your face into his neck, tension bleeding out of you all at once. John presses a kiss into your hair before letting you go again.

“There’s no use in wishing,” he says quietly. “You gotta live in the now. Otherwise none of it makes sense.”

Feeling steadier, you step back and watch as John saddles one of the older horses, his hands sure. 

It’s mesmerizing to watch.

It isn’t until a few minutes later that you’re on the horse. Oh, crap. 

The horse shifts beneath you like it knows you’re nervous.

“Easy,” John says, one hand on the reins, the other braced at your thigh. “He feels it when you tense up.”

“I’m not tense.”

He hums, unimpressed. “You’re gripping him like he owes you money.”

You exhale, loosening your legs just a little. The saddle creaks.

“That better?” you ask.

“Marginally.” He adjusts the stirrup, gives it a firm tug, then looks up at you. “You trust me?”

You don’t answer. You just nod.

“That’s your first mistake,” he says, stepping closer. There’s a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “You should always think twice before trusting me.”

“Coming from the man who married me?”

“That’s your mistake.”

You snort despite yourself.

The horse starts moving and John clocks you tensing up.

He comes back to your side, places his hand flat against your lower back. “Relax here.”

You shift, instinctively following the pressure of his palm.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “You listen better than you think.”

You glance down at him. “You enjoying this?”

‘’Immensely.’’ A pause. “I enjoy anything where I get to tell you what you’re doing wrong.”

You laughed wholeheartedly. He instantly looks eyes with you, softening his look. 

‘’Ready?’’ He asks. You nod. 

He moved the horse out of the barn, escorting it to the grass. 

“Alright,” John says. “We’re moving.”

The horse steps forward before you’re ready. Not fast. Just enough to remind you you’re not in control.

Your breath catches.

“John—”

“Sit,” he says, firm. “Don’t lean. You lean, he feels it.”

You straighten, heart thudding. The reins feel heavier in your hands now.

“Look where you’re going,” he adds. “Not at the ground. Horses don’t care about the ground.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I know.” He walks at your shoulder, close enough that you can feel his presence without seeing him. “That’s why I’m here.”

The horse shifts again, testing you.

Your grip tightens.

“Easy,” John says. “You fight him, he’ll fight back. You want control, you earn it.”

“How?”

“You breathe. You sit deep. You decide.” He glances up at you. “Same way you’ve done everything else in your life.”

The comparison lands harder than you expect.

The horse settles, the pace evening out.

“There,” John murmurs. “That’s better.”

A few more steps. Then another.

You start to relax. Just a little.

John notices.

“Don’t get comfortable,” he warns. “Comfort makes people sloppy.”

“You always this encouraging?”

“When it matters.”

The horse picks up speed. Not a trot, but close.

You stiffen.

John’s hand comes up, steady at your calf. Not holding. Just there.

“I’ve got you,” he says. “But I won’t ride for you.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know.” His voice lowers. “That’s why I’m pushing.”

The barn feels farther away now. Open land ahead. Nowhere to hide.

“Reins,” he says. “Shorten them. Don’t ask. Tell him.”

You do. The horse responds.

Your eyes widen.

John nods once. Approval, earned. “Good.”

The horse tosses its head, testing again.

Your balance wavers.

John’s hand closes briefly at your thigh, grounding you. “Stay with him.”

“I am.”

“Stay with yourself first.”

The words cut sharp and true.

The horse slows.

You swallow. “You always teach like this?”

“Only when I care whether you learn.”

Silence stretches between steps.

Then, quieter: “You fall, I’ll be there.”

You glance down at him.

“But don’t expect me to catch you every time,” he adds. “You’re stronger than that.”

The tension doesn’t ease.

It settles.

And you ride on.

He stays with you, getting you comfortable. You can hear a couple of ranch hands laughing in the background, but you ignore the prickle of suspicion that it might be about you. 

For a while the three of you walk around. Nothing serious. Just slow and steady. 

You raise your hand to shield your eyes from the sun. 

‘’You’re going to regret that.’’

‘’What?’’

‘’Not seeing where you’re going.’’ 

You want to be a wiseass and tell him off, but he’s right. 

John stops the horse and removes his hat. The air hits his hair, silver at the temples. 

He studies you for a second, then settles the hat onto your head instead.

It’s too big.

He smiles, full, and for a second you forget that is a rare thing. Then, it shifts into something smug.

‘’You know what this means, right?’’

‘’That I’ll finally let you buy me a real cowboy hat, as you call it?’’

He chuckles, but then his eyes darken. ‘’No. It means you’re mine.’’

You laugh. “‘I think we already established that fact.’’

He lowers his voice. ‘’I think you might need a reminder.’’

You swallow. His hand is still on your thigh, and it’s starting to burn. He knows. You can see it in his smile. This man knows exactly what he’s doing.

‘’Let’s call this a day.’’

He nods and squeezes your thigh once before letting go. ‘’Read my mind.’’

‘’Now what?’’

‘’Now you ride back to the barn.’’ 

‘’Without my training wheels?’’

‘’What did you just call me?’’

‘’Nothing.’’ you say quietly, focusing on getting back to the barn instead.

He can’t quite hide the beginning of a smile.

You make it back successfully, dismounting a little less smoothly than you’d hoped. Thankfully, John is right there, steadying you. The look he gives you is reason enough to marry him again.

The walk back to the house is quiet. 

You learned early on that quiet didn’t mean he didn’t care. 

Quiet is a gift.

Something that you both enjoy.

Everyone needs someone we can be quiet with. No expectations. 

He opens the door for you, his hand settling at your lower back, guiding you smoothly toward the couch. You flop down, exhausted from the tension that’s been living in your body all day.

John stands near the fireplace, one arm resting against the mantle.

‘’You sore?’’

You raise your brow at him. ‘’Yeah.’’

He huffs. ‘’It’s gonna be worse tomorrow.’’ 

‘’I look forward to it.’’

He lets out a short laugh, then comes over and sits beside you. His elbow rests along the back cushion, his broad shoulder solid at your side.

You shift, just slightly.

He notices.

“Don’t start something you don’t plan on finishing,” he says, voice low.

You glance at him. “Wasn’t planning anything.”

“Bullshit.” A corner of his mouth curves. “You always plan.” 

You lean back, the brim of his hat dipping low over your eyes. 

‘’What if I am?’’ you tease. 

Suddenly his hand is on you. Firm. He pulls you straight into his lap like it’s been on his mind the whole damn time.

You gasp softly as you settle there, instinctively rolling your hips once before you even think about it.

John’s breath leaves him slow and sharp. “Fuck.”

His hands clamp at your hips, holding you still. Not stopping you. Just controlling the pace.

“Easy,” he warns. “You keep moving like that, I’m not responsible.”

You lean in, mouth brushing his ear. “You ever been?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, dark and rough. “Married you, didn’t I?”

You shift again, subtle but intentional. His head tips back against the couch for a heartbeat, jaw tight, eyes dark.

Your fingers reach for the brim of the hat.

His hand snaps up, catching your wrist.

“No,” he says.

You pause. “No?”

He adjusts the hat himself, tugging it down just right, thumb lifting your chin so you’re looking at him.