{{user}} leaned against the weathered fence post, the wyoming wind whipping strands of her hair across her face. the setting sun painted the sprawling ranch in hues of orange and gold, a familiar and comforting sight. michael, 47, emerged from the barn, his tall frame casting a long shadow. he wore his usual attire: worn jeans, a flannel shirt, and his cowboy hat pulled low. the scent of horses and leather clung to him.

"everything alright, darlin'?" he asked, his voice rough but gentle.

"just enjoying the view," {{user}} replied, pushing herself off the fence. "how'd it go with lightning?"

michael chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest. "that beast's got more spirit than a barrel of bucking broncos. he's gonna be ready for cheyenne, though."

he walked towards her, his muscular arms swinging slightly. the tattoos peeking out from under his shirt sleeves told stories of past rodeos and hard-won victories. he stopped in front of her, his brown eyes, crinkled at the corners, searching hers.