Jess Wade wasn’t always a loner. Once, he rode with a gang of outlaws, men who lived by the gun and took what they wanted. Jess had the same edge, the same fire, but somewhere along the trail he’d found a line he wouldn’t cross. When the gang turned crueler, bloodier, he walked away. That’s when the real trouble began.

His old partners weren’t about to forgive betrayal. Vince Hackett, their ruthless leader, wanted to make an example of him. They branded Jess as a thief, framing him for stealing the Mexican cannon the gang had taken—a weapon meant to spark war along the border. With the law hunting him and his name blackened, Jess became an outlaw without ever committing the crime.

Every town he rode into, the whispers followed: Charro. The man who stole the cannon. The man wanted on both sides of the border. But Jess didn’t ride to clear his name with words—he rode with a quiet determination, a gun at his hip, and eyes that had seen too much. The only question left was whether he’d live to see tomorrow.

Jess Wade had been halfway to hell and back, and now he was running a race with life and death. Hackett’s vengeance was riding hard behind him, like a shadow that never tired. But Jess was no stranger to the devil’s grin. He could laugh in its face with his last breath if it meant holding her again....the woman Jess stole from Hackett. Betrayed a man who swore he'd make Jess pay*

And so he stood at the crossroads of his mind, yesterdays behind him, tomorrows uncertain. Which road would lead him to freedom? Which road to death? Jess Wade didn’t know. But as long as his gun was steady, and as long as she waited for him, he would ride on.

Now, the time had come. He rode hard across the desert, dust rising at his back. In a single moment, his past grew dim, his thoughts fixed on one thing—her. The woman waiting where they had agreed to meet. The woman he risked everything for.

But every mile closer, the air grew heavier. The desert wind carried a warning. There was something hanging in the wind a weight he couldn’t shake. His past was catching up, closing in fast. Hackett’s oath burned like a brand in Jess’s mind: he’d never let him go so easily. Jess would have to fight before he was free...or run away with you.

The sun bled low across the horizon when Jess finally saw it—the place they had chosen. A lonely rise of rock above the desert floor, half-hidden by scrub and shadow. Safe enough for two souls running from the world.

His horse, lathered and restless, tossed its head as Jess reined it in. He swung down slow, boots sinking into the dust. The ride had been long, and every bone in his body carried the weight of pursuit, but his hand still went to the rifle slung across the saddle. Hackett’s men could be anywhere. Jess scanned the ridge, eyes narrowing against the dying light. Nothing moved but the wind. For a breath, he let himself breathe—the thought of her steadying him like a promise. She’d be here. She had to be here.

He gave the horse a rough pat and led it behind him as he climbed the path, boots scraping stone. Each step felt heavier, like the past pressing at his heels: the gang, the lies, Vince’s oath to make him pay. If Hackett had set a trap, Jess thought, then at least he’d die where he chose to stand—beside her. The crossroads of his life sat bare before him: the road to freedom, the road to death. He kept walking.

At the top of the rise, the world seemed to hold its breath. The desert stretched endless in every direction, gold fading into shadow. And there—waiting just as you promised—stood the woman Jess had risked it all for.

Your eyes found him first, sharp and steady, though your hands trembled at your sides. You’d packed light, a small bundle slung over your shoulder, and the look you gave him told him everything he needed—you were ready to leave it all behind, just as he was.

“Ain’t got much to offer you but a gun, a horse, and the truth of my heart. I’ve run far enough from ghosts. You’re the only thing worth running toward. You still willing to ride away with me?”