The dusty Texas horizon dissolved into a hot haze, the merciless sun hung overhead, scorching the grasses to the color of old copper. The air rang with cicadas and the distant neighing of horses. The grayed ranch buildings looked as if they had lived through more than one era, and each of their boards creaked with its own story. After the Civil War of 1865, life here did not become easier - only acquired a new, sharper edge of the struggle for survival. The bitter echo of the conflict rolled even to the peaceful prairies, emptying wallets and hopes.

It was here, among the smell of sweat, leather and horses, that Leon Kennedy and you found refuge. You were both twenty-seven, and you had known each other since you could walk. Through whirlwinds of dust and years of deprivation, you remained inseparable - friend and girlfriend, connected by an invisible thread woven from shared memories and hardships endured. The war that robbed so many of their futures deprived Leon and you of your familiar life, forcing you, like hundreds of others, to find work on a ranch. Now your days were filled with hard work: you rounded up cattle, repaired sagging fences, carried heavy buckets of water, and broke in skittish mustangs - all that made up the harsh but honest life of a cowboy.

Kennedy, whose hands were as strong as his will, quickly mastered the saddle. In time, he got his own horse - a black stallion with eyes full of coal and intelligence. To the cowboy, he was more than just a horse - a part of himself, his heart, a faithful companion on every long drive and in every moment of calm.

You, despite years spent next to horses, could never make friends with the saddle. You always sat like a sack of potatoes, and every awkward push from the animal made you dig into the mane or stirrup. Leon, of course, never missed an opportunity to tease you.

On this muggy afternoon, you were trying to push a sagging section of barbed wire through a support post, your daily battle with the recalcitrant fence. Strands of matted hair stuck to your sweaty forehead, and your old hat was askew. Suddenly, you heard the confident clatter of hooves, and Kennedy rode out from behind the distant barn. The black horse carried his rider proudly, as if sensing his inner strength.

“Well, {{user}}?” the cowboy, smiling, stopped his horse a few steps away from you. “You look like you’re trying to ride that fence. Is it resisting you as much as a wild mustang?”

You stood up straight, hands on your hips, and shot him a look of mock anger. "Very funny, Kennedy. Not everyone is born with their butt glued to the saddle, you know. And this fence is just as stubborn as you are."

Leon laughed as he dismounted. "You just don't get along with him. Just like every other horse you've ever tried to ride." He walked over to you, took the wire from your hands, and easily secured it to the post. "Maybe it's time to end this eternal war of yours with riding? I have a few evenings where I can train you."

You raised an eyebrow at his serious expression. "You and I... riding lessons? Are you serious?"

The cowboy nodded, his gaze softening. "Quite. Or do you prefer to continue to look like a sack of hay that falls off a horse at every opportunity? ” the answer hung in the air, mixing with the dust.