sunrise to sunset (ryan yellowstone).

what do you think?

'The lodge' was something that had to see to believe. It stood tall and proud before her with thick beams supporting the corners and polished rocks holding up its sides. It was large, probably larger than anyone would ever need with its looming windows and towering chimneys.

It looked like it could stand the test of time but Laurel knew all things would fall eventually. It was just in their ashes that we would need to make the decision to rebuild.

John who finally introduced himself to Laurel as Mr. Dutton told her how it had been in his family for generations and she didn't doubt that one bit as the house seemed to greet him like an old friend. 

He lead her around back and took a series of stone stairs up and through an open wooden door. She followed as fast as she could but the bruise on her hip was screaming at her with each step she took after the man.

When she reached the top, she stood in the open doorway and watched him. She wasn't stupid enough to wonder into the back of house with a man she didn't know, not without some precautions. 

Her hand slid into her jacket pocket where her hand wrapped around the handle of her new knife. If he tried anything she'd be ready.

John flipped the overhead lights on and Laurel covered her eyes. They were too bright as they cast down on her and they were not at all like the slow fade to brightness happening outside.

She vowed to never have them turned on again.

He muttered under his breath, not liking the overheads either and flipped them back off, much to her relief.

"Well, this is the kitchen," he nodded as he removed the hat from his head and hung it next to the door.

It was large. Cozy with the feel of being inside a rustic lodge but modern enough to know it was built to whip together meals for a family and the hands that made sure the ranch ran smoothly.

"Last cook had to leave for family and we haven't had anyone in since."

Laurel could definitely see that. The space needed a full wipe down and probably a stock run. Judging by the boxes of biscuit mix and cereal on the counter, they'd been at least eating something.

John leaned against the counter and watched her take in the space. She hadn't left the door way and he had a feeling she didn't go into confined spaces often.

"You can prop the door open," he answered gruffly. "Room needs airing."

Laurel did just that and let the small ball of anxiety she felt growing, bounce away. If the door stayed open, she would have a way to get out.

Taking a step  forward she couldn't help but wrinkle her nose. The smell of burnt and acidic coffee was absolutely stomach turning. Without thinking much of it she marched over to the large coffee pot set against the wall and flipped it off.

John watched her with a raised eyebrow but didn't say anything. 

He knew the coffee was shit. The wranglers knew the coffee was shit. Hell, his daughter who survived on the stuff knew it was shit. And apparently this one knew it was shit before even tasting it.

That said a lot about this one's common sense.

Laurel turned and walked over to the sink where she pulled the sleeves of her jacket up to her forearms and started washing her hands. John noticed she was meticulous as she scrubbed at her nails, ensuring the flecks of grime and possibly dried blood across her knuckles were no more. 

He also realized she hadn't put her bag down.

Once her hands were clean, she turned to the monstrosity of a coffee pot, grabbed the carafe and dumped the contents into the sink. The sour smelling liquid poured down the drain in a brown sludge that didn't make her gag but she sure didn't want to drink it.