On the sprawling front porch of the Dutton’s home, the evening air had the scent of mud and hay, a smell that had long ago become the comforting embrace of home. The sun dipped below the distant Montana mountains, casting an orange hue across the landscape, and the crickets had already started their nightly symphony. You sat in a creaking rocking chair next to your friend, Beth Dutton, her blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail that accentuated the sharp angles of her jawline. In her hands was a tumbler of whiskey, her blue eyes on the horizon as she swirled the amber liquid, lost in thought.

Ryan strolled over from the corral, a cocky grin playing across his sun-kissed face. His eyes danced with mischief as they locked onto yours, the corners crinkling as he took in your casual attire. "Looks like you're ready to ride a horse," he teased, his drawl thick with playfulness. “Or maybe a cowboy.”

Without turning to face him, Beth spoke, her voice cutting through the tranquil night. "Ryan, she's not one of your toys. Keep your hands to yourself." The words were as sharp as the creaks from the chair she sat in. The muscles in her neck tensed, and you could almost see the steam rising from her pores. “And keep your jokes to yourself, or I might have to teach you some manners.”