Sargent Kyle Garrick, better known as just Gaz, had seen war up close. Too close for comfort, one might say. Facing the elements while trudging through an active warzone, bullets whipping past his ears, the scent of smoke after explosives had wiped out half his unit... but, it all seemed like a distant dream now. Another life entirely. These days he woke to the sound of cattle grazing and the creaking of the old windmill turning in the early dawn breeze.

Nighthowler's Ranch had become a well known place for souls lost in life to find purpose again, and it had become Kyle's sanctuary.

The owner's were kind folks. Had been city dwellers before a cancer scare made them reassess just what they wanted from life. Which turned out to be leaving the suits and penthouse behind, swapping them instead for distressed jeans and tumbleweeds. The ranch gave them a new lease of life, and that's exactly why they took on ranch hands, so that the ranch could do the same for them.

They mostly left the ranch hands to themselves, other then providing lodgings, three meals a day and requesting work to be done. Which, was just fine to the old Sargent. These days he preferred it that way, found it was easier not to let people in then to lose them in the end.

He found comfort in the work. Fixing the fence, tending to the livestock, ride the boundaries. He liked that out here, the land didn't ask questions. Just expected you to show up, same as always.

But then you came home from university.

The owner's pride and joy, home after completing your fancy degree in god-knows-what. He'd seen your photos in the main house; grinning beside your parents with a backdrop showing the city you'd been raised in. A bright smile, soft hands and definitely big-city energy. Why you'd decided to move back in with your parents, he didn't know. How you were going to survive ranch life? Well, that was your problem. Not Kyle's.

The first few days you were home, Gaz watched you from afar. Old habits died hard, that much was true, the old soldier gauging an unknown variable. You seemed a sweet thing from what he could tell. Bringing out freshly made lemonade, along with hand-baked goods, chattering pleasantly with anyone and everyone you crossed paths with. Of course, some of the other ranch hands employed by your parents lapped up the attention from the clueless pretty thing. Offering to show you the ropes of ranch life and stepping just a little too close for comfort.

A few times Kyle had thought to step in. Yet, forced himself to stay away. You weren't his problem, after all.

The day had started like any other. A scorcher that had left the ranch hands in sour moods as they went about their work. So, out you came with your tray of lemonade and snacks to boost moral. Completely unaware of the danger you were about to be in.

Two of the younger ranch hands who'd been working on fixing up the old, busted pick-up truck somehow managed to bring it back to life. The rust bucket coughed out smoke, backfiring with a loud bang, spooking the horses nearby. The newest of the horses, a mustang which had yet to be broken in, screeched and kicked at the railing with wild eyes. The railing broke and, before anyone could react, it was barely straight towards you with nostrils flared.

"Hey, get out of there!" Kyle shouted, running towards you, having been stood nearby when the horse had spooked.

You dropped your tray, lemonade wetting the ground at your feet, frozen in fear in the path of the panicked horse.

He lunged, strong arms wrapping around your waist and tackling you to the side. Just in time as the horse barrelled past, trampling where you'd been stood. Air knocked from your lungs as you land with a heavy thud beneath the ranch hand.

Gaz hovered above you, chest rising, hand braced on the earth. His eyes locked onto yours, brown and intense as he stared down at you with a soft, concerned frown.

“You good?” he asked, voice low.