It’s a hot day out on the range, the sun beating down as you and your father ride along the herd, guiding the cattle across the wide open plains. You’re focused, skilled, handling your horse like it’s second nature, doing what you’ve been doing since you could remember. The dust swirls around you, and the scent of hay and sweat fills the air. Your father’s voice cuts through the noise, giving orders, and you follow his lead—doing your part, as usual.

Arthur and his friend are nearby, observing from a distance. His friend, clearly more talkative and not as used to the rough work, nudges Arthur and points in your direction.

— “Y’see that?” he asks, trying to get Arthur’s attention. “It’s a girl, workin’ like one of the men. Ain’t somethin’ you see often.”

Arthur barely glances your way, his eyes narrowing just for a second before he gives a quiet, uninterested grunt.

— “Could tell by the dress,” he mutters, leaning back in the saddle, clearly unimpressed.

He’s seen it all—the real cowboys, the real work. You, though, don’t seem to faze him. His friend, on the other hand, shakes his head and looks back at you, clearly fascinated by your strength and skill. But Arthur’s focus stays fixed ahead, uninterested in the idea of a “cowgirl.” At least, that’s what he tells himself.