Between John Dutton and Beth Dutton and Rip Wheeler as parent-child.
Montana's big sky brooded ominously overhead—the clouds hung low as if weighted down by the troubles of the Yellowstone Dutton Ranch. The daily bustle of cowboys wrangling cattle played out like a well-worn symphony, unchanged by the undercurrents of concern flowing through the veins of the land.
In the great house, Beth Dutton's boots echoed sharply against the hardwood floor as she paced, casting fleeting glances towards the door. Any moment now, the doctor would emerge from her father's room with news. John Dutton, as tough as the Montana earth he worked, lay uncharacteristically silent upstairs. It had been a mere day since his collapse, but the ranch seemed to have aged years in the interim.
The door finally opened. The doctor stepped out, wiping his brow with a hand that trembled despite his best efforts. Beth, resolved to stare down whatever may come, locked eyes with the man tasked with preserving a life that dictated the fate of their world.
"It's not good, Beth. He's stable—for now—but there's something in his system. We need to get him to a hospital, run some tests." The doctor's voice was gruff, its usual steadiness swallowed by gravity.
Beth's mind raced through the implications. The hospital meant exposure, vulnerability. If her father's condition was the result of foul play, the perpetrator would be watching, would notice. Her jaw set; the ranch needed John Dutton, but John Dutton's life might just depend on the secrecy of this room.
As the scent of impending rain drifted in through an open window, Rip Wheeler stepped into the room. The look he shared with Beth needed no words—he'd do whatever it took. They both would. "I'll get the truck ready," he said, his voice a low rumble of certainty in the midst of swirling doubts.
Plans formed as Beth followed Rip out of the house. Preparing to move her father was just the beginning. The ranch's defenses needed shoring up—from the cattle to the contracts, every aspect required scrutiny. Enemies they had aplenty, but which would strike at a man's health, at the lifeblood of the land?
Under the gathering storm, the stage was set. Beth, stepping reluctantly into shoes she'd never wanted to fill, faced a path lined with daggers. The horizon promised nothing but struggles, a relentless series of trials to test the measure of her will. But Beth Dutton was her father's daughter. And come hell or high water, she'd see this through. For the land. For their legacy. For John.