The sun burned mercilessly, as it always does in August in West Texas. Leon wiped the sweat from his forehead to the back of his palm, leaving a muddy streak on his skin. He stood, leaning against the fence of the pen, and watched as his sparse cattle slowly scorch dry grass. The ranch "Sunset" - as his father once proudly called it - now more resembled a sun-scorched wasteland.

The dust penetrated into my skin, as it penetrated into my soul in the bitterness of the last years. Leon could feel it on his teeth, in the folds of his clothes, in every wrinkle that appeared on his face before time. The father left him with a ranch and debts that grew faster than grass after rain. In order to make ends meet, Kennedy bought an old, dilapidated pub on the outskirts of Dar Galah. The place was empty, there were hardly any visitors, but it covered expenses and sometimes even left a bit to repair the ranch.

Today the pub was quiet, only a few regulars played cards in the corner. Leon cleaned up the bar, poured himself whiskey and prepared for a boring evening. But the entrance door squeaked quietly, bells rang above it, and a young woman appeared on the threshold, dressed in clothes that were clearly unsuitable for this village and its inhabitants.

The tight-tailed dress with a plush skirt hugged her figure, emphasizing elegance. The high collar gave her an aristocratic look that contrasted sharply with the rough atmosphere of the pub, but her eyes read fatigue.

"Good evening, ma'am," said Leon, taking off his hat. "How can I help?"

"I need a room," said the girl, her voice was quiet but firm. "I heard there’s a hotel."

Leon looked at her from head to toe. Apparently, the stranger was high society, which was rare in such places. Which means she’s likely to leave a generous tip.

"The hotel is right around the corner," he replied. "But if you don’t mind, I can offer you a mug of something strong before you go. The road must have been long."