Chapter Text
The Governor’s Mansion in Helena carried a stillness at night, the kind that came after a long day of politics and compromise. John Dutton sat in his study with Beth perched on the edge of his desk, a glass of bourbon in her hand as she rattled off ideas and concerns for projects that could safeguard the Yellowstone. He listened, weathered face thoughtful, nodding at her sharp instincts.
The sound of boots in the hallway broke the rhythm. Beth glanced toward the door, frowning. Not many people just walked into the Governor’s private study unannounced.
The door opened, and her husband filled the frame, hat in hand.
Beth’s mouth parted in surprise. “Hey, baby… what are you doing here?”
Rip gave her a small nod, his expression unreadable. “Need to talk to your father.” His voice was steady, almost too steady.
Beth’s brow furrowed. “Right now?”
“Right now,” Rip repeated, eyes flicking toward John, then back to her.
Beth studied him for a beat, searching his face for clues, but Rip wasn’t giving anything away. She finally slid off the desk, crossing toward the door. “Alright. Your mystery, cowboy. Don’t keep me in the dark too long.” She kissed his cheek lightly as she passed, her heels clicking against the hardwood as she left them alone.
The silence that followed was heavy. Rip stepped further into the study, closing the door behind him. For a moment, he just stood there, hat twisting in his hands.
John leaned back, his weathered eyes softening.
No more words passed between them. Rip just gave a single nod, the kind that said everything without saying a damn thing. John understood. He always had.
He picked up the phone. “Clara,” he said, his voice steady. “Bring my son in law's file.”
Minutes later, Clara stepped inside, laying the thick folder on the desk. The weight of it seemed to echo in the quiet room, birth certificate, driver’s license, even a passport, all stamped and official. She gave Rip a polite nod before leaving them alone again.
John slid the file across the desk. “It’s yours now, son. Every damn page of it.”
Rip’s hand hovered for a second before he laid his palm flat on the folder. He didn’t open it, didn’t need to. His jaw clenched, his chest rising slow, steady. That was all.
John studied him for a long moment, then gave a small, almost fatherly smile. “You’re real in every way that counts. Always have been. Now the world knows it, too.”
Rip finally lifted his eyes, the faintest flicker of gratitude there, unspoken, but loud as thunder.
The silence stretched, comfortable now, until Rip finally cleared his throat. He set his hat back on his knee, staring at the brim a moment before speaking.
“There’s one more thing,” he said, voice low but steady.
John arched a brow. “Go on.”
Rip shifted, lifting his gaze at last. “I never asked you proper, back then. When Beth and I got married… it was beautiful, but it was rushed. We didn’t have the time, the papers, hell, not even the chance to breathe. And I never” He paused, jaw working. “I never asked for your blessing. Not the way a man should.”
John sat back in his chair, the weight of Rip’s words settling over him.
Rip went on, every word deliberate. “Beth’s my life. You know that. But she’s also your daughter, your only girl. And before we do this again, before we make it right… I need to look you in the eye and ask.”
He stood then, hat in hand, shoulders squared like he was facing down a herd of wild cattle. His voice softened, but it carried: “Governor or not, John… will you give me her hand? Will you let me marry your daughter again, the way it should’ve been from the start?”
The old man’s eyes didn’t waver, though his throat tightened just a bit. For all of John’s power, all of his titles, in this moment he was just a father looking at the man who loved his daughter enough to stand bare before him.
For a long beat, John just studied him. Rip’s shoulders were squared, his stance steady, but his knuckles were white on that hat brim, betraying nerves he couldn’t quite hide. It was almost funny, this man who had stared down death a hundred times on his ranch, standing like a boy asking permission for something he already had.
John’s weathered face softened. His reply came without hesitation, his voice gravelly but warm.
“Son… you already got her hand. Always did. But if you’re asking me for a blessing, hell, you got that too. I’d walk her down that path again tomorrow if it meant seeing her smile like she did that day.”
Rip blinked, a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding easing out of his chest.
John leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “That first wedding, it was beautiful, but it was rushed. She thought she was losing everything, and you made sure she didn’t. You gave her a life. My only regret is I didn’t get to give her what I promised her: a wedding she deserved. Now maybe we can fix that. Together.”
Rip’s jaw tightened, emotion flickering in his eyes, but he gave a single, firm nod.
John pushed back in his chair, lips twitching into the faintest smile. “And wipe that nervous look off your face, Son. You already proved yourself a long time ago. Asking me’s just icing on the cake.”
For the first time since walking in, Rip chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “Yes, sir.”
John leaned back again, folding his hands over his desk. “So, Rip… you got yourself papers now. You got my blessing. One thing left.”
Rip tilted his head, wary. “What’s that?”
A spark of dry humor lit John’s eyes. “You got a plan on how you’re gonna propose to her? Properly, this time?”
For the first time all morning, Rip looked almost caught off guard. He opened his mouth, shut it again, then gave a small, helpless shake of his head.
John chuckled, low and rough. “Thought so. You best start thinkin’, son. Beth Dutton’s not a woman you shortchange twice.”
Rip huffed out a laugh despite himself, shifting his hat in his hands. “Yes, sir.”
The governor’s office went quiet for a beat, heavy with understanding but lightened by that shared grin. For once, Rip wasn’t a ranch hand, wasn’t just the man who did the hard jobs. He was a son-in-law being trusted with something precious.
And John Dutton, gruff as ever, was damn glad of it.
Rip closed the heavy study door behind him, the echo of John’s words still humming in his chest. Gratitude sat thick on his tongue, but he’d already said what mattered. Now his mind was on one thing finding her.
He didn’t need to ask where Beth was. After all these trips to Helena, he had her rhythms memorized, the rooms she favored, the places she escaped to when politics got too loud. And sure enough, he found her in the garden, sprawled in a wrought-iron chair like she owned every inch of it, a steaming cup of coffee balanced in one hand, cigarette curling smoke in the other.
Beth’s sharp eyes flicked up the moment he stepped outside. “What’s that about?” she asked, head tilted, voice cutting with curiosity.
Rip didn’t answer with words at first. He only smiled, broad, easy, brighter than she’d seen in weeks. A smile that told on him, betraying just how much he’d missed her.
Beth narrowed her eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. “You’ve got secrets, cowboy. You know how I feel about secrets.”
Rip leaned against the railing, watching her with the patience of a man who knew exactly how far he could push her teasing. “If it’s worth tellin’, you’ll know,” he said simply, voice low and steady.
Beth studied him, inhaled her cigarette, then let it out slow. The fire in her gaze softened just enough for the longing underneath to show. “God, I missed you,” she muttered, almost against her will.
Rip crossed the space in three strides and bent to kiss her, hard and hungry, like the distance between Helena and the ranch had been a canyon he’d been aching to cross. She let him, pulling at his collar with her free hand, her coffee forgotten on the table.
When he pulled back, she smirked, breathless. “Stay the night.”
Rip shook his head, though it near killed him. “Can’t. Ranch needs me back.”
Beth rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair, covering the sting with bravado. “Course it does. Always the ranch.”
He reached down, tipping her chin with his rough hand until her eyes met his. “And always you,” he said simply.
Beth didn’t argue with that. Instead, she kissed him again, softer this time, and murmured against his lips, “Wednesday then. I’ll fly home. answer my calls, so I don’t lose my mind missing you.”
Rip smiled again, the kind of smile he reserved only for her. “I’ll be waitin’, baby.”
Beth wasn’t done yet. As Rip pulled back from their kiss, she grabbed his shirtfront, eyes flashing like she could command the stars to stop moving if she wanted to.
“One night,” she pressed, her voice dropping low, equal parts plea and dare. “One damn night, Rip. You think the ranch will fall apart if you stay here?”
Rip chuckled softly, brushing a thumb over her cheekbone. “Darlin’, you know how much I want to. But if I stay tonight, I’ll stay tomorrow, and the day after… and then nothin’ gets done.”
Beth huffed, exhaling smoke through a sharp laugh, like she hated how much sense he made. “You’re infuriating.”
“And you love me for it,” he said, kissing her again, slower this time, like he was memorizing her taste before the road pulled him away. When he finally stood, she didn’t stop him. Just sat back, watching him with those eyes that could tear him apart and put him back together in a single look.
“Wednesday,” she said again, like a command.
Rip tipped his hat, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Wednesday.”
He turned and walked across the quiet garden, boots crunching on the gravel until he reached his truck. Sliding behind the wheel, he sat for a moment in the silence, her kiss still burning on his mouth. Then he pulled out his phone.
“Lloyd,” he said when the old cowboy answered. His voice was steady, but there was a hitch of nerves buried underneath. “Gonna need your help with somethin’. Nothin’ to do with cattle.”
A pause, then Lloyd’s rough laugh barked through the line. “Hell, son, you sound more nervous than the first time I saw you ride a bull. What’s goin’ on?”
Rip scratched at his jaw, staring at the governor’s mansion glowing faint behind him. “Don’t know a damn thing about proposals. Figure Beth deserves better than me just handin’ her a ring over breakfast.”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, son, Better call Travis” Lloyd said with amusement. “That man’s got more flair than a Vegas card dealer.”
Rip sighed, but there was a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Yeah. Maybe I will.”
He hung up, then immediately dialed Travis. When the horse trader picked up with his usual drawl, Rip leaned his head back against the seat.
“Travis,” Rip said, steady but nervous. “I need a favor. Big one. Gotta ask my wife to marry me… the right way this time.”
And for the first time in a long while, Rip Wheeler felt the weight of nerves settle in heavier than any fight he’d ever stood through.
Beth didn’t bother knocking. The door to John’s office swung wide, smacking against the frame with enough force that Clara startled in the outer room. John, of course, didn’t even flinch. He just kept leafing through the stack of papers on his desk like a man who’d seen worse storms than his daughter’s temper.
Beth stalked in, cigarette burning between her fingers, eyes sharp as knives.
“Why the hell was my husband here today, Daddy?”
John glanced up, slow and steady, one brow quirking. “Maybe he just missed you.”
“Don’t,” Beth snapped, dropping into the chair opposite him, legs crossed, smoke curling around her face. “I know Rip. He doesn’t leave the ranch in the middle of the day for a joyride. He walked outta here lookin’ like you’d just handed him the keys to heaven. What did you say to him?”
For a beat, John only leaned back in his chair, hands folded over his chest. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, soft, infuriatingly calm.
Beth narrowed her eyes. “Oh, you think this is funny?”
“Little bit,” John admitted, his laugh rumbling low in his chest.
Beth stared hard at him, trying to read the lines in his face. But he didn’t give her an inch. His eyes softened, though, the kind of look he reserved only for her, pride wrapped up in love.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” he added with a sly grin, reaching again for the papers on his desk like the matter was settled.
Beth blew out a sharp exhale, rising from the chair in one fluid motion. “You’re impossible, Daddy.”
“And you’re nosy,” John called after her as she paced toward the door.
Just then, Clara slipped into the room with her ever practical tone. “Governor, you’ve got a meeting in thirty minutes. If we’re going to make it across town, you’ll need to head out soon.”
John sighed, pushing up from his chair. He walked around the desk, the lines of his face easing as he stopped in front of Beth. For a moment, the governor disappeared and it was just her father standing there. He bent, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and said quietly, “You know I love you, right?”
Beth stilled, cigarette halfway to her lips. The sharpness in her eyes softened, just a flicker, but it was there.
“I know,” she whispered back, before straightening her shoulders again, that steel sliding back into place.
John gave her a small smile, then turned to follow Clara out, leaving Beth standing in his office with more questions than answers.
As John heads out with Clara, Beth absently touches her forehead where he kissed her. Her eyes narrow, suspicion written all over her face.
“…What the hell are you up to, Daddy?”