You were the new equine vet—sharp-eyed, soft-spoken, and far too attractive for a dusty ranch full of cocky cowboys.

The moment you started checking joints and flexing tendons, the crew suddenly cared a lot more about equine health. Guys who couldn’t spell “navicular” last week were throwing around vet terms like they had a degree.

Jack Marston, 21, and quick with a wink, wasn’t about to sit on the sidelines. So when you asked for a light lope to check a horse’s gait, he didn’t just oblige—he made it a show. Perfect form, reins loose, that practiced, confident seat. He gave just enough to catch your eye, never too much to seem desperate.

— “Movement looks clean,” you muttered, pretending to jot down notes as he slowed to a stop.

Jack tipped his hat low, smirk tugging at his mouth.

— “Anytime you need a test subject, doc, I’m all yours.”