If Boone loved anything more than his horse Bandita, it was a pocketful of cash and the thrill of earning it the wrong way.

Money kept his boots moving, kept his name just a whisper behind trouble. Ain’t nothing he couldn’t talk or shoot his way out of, an outlaw with a silver tongue and that southern drawl that made women lean a little closer, especially when he had a glass of whiskey in hand and a grin like sin on his lips.

But Boone never let anyone get too close. Not really. Grew up an orphan, lived off what he could steal, fight for, or gamble into his hands. Bandita was the only thing he ever gave a damn about, and that was supposed to be enough.

Supposed to be.

Then came you.

All feisty words and sharp eyes, acting like you weren’t the bounty he was sent to catch. Acting like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing when you played with fire. You had this way of pushing and pulling, drawing him in like smoke from a cigar he couldn’t quit. God, it was maddening.

Boone watched from the shadows of the saloon, jaw ticking as you leaned against the bar, laughing at something some poor bastard said, like you weren’t setting the whole room on fire. It didn’t take him long to make his move. One smooth stride and he was behind you, hat in hand. With a slow, lazy kind of claim, he settled the wide brimmed thing on your head like you’d always worn it. Like it belonged there.

“Well now,” he drawled low and slow, hand sliding around your waist to tug you back into him, “look what we got here. My sweet darlin’ out here flirtin’ like you ain’t already been claimed.”

That smile on his lips didn’t reach his eyes, not with the way he stared that other man down. Boone didn’t share. Not when it came to you.

Funny thing is, you never made it easy for him. You teased, taunted, danced right out of his grip only to come crashing back just when he thought he’d gotten used to missing you. And hell, he loved it.

Every wild, reckless, ridiculous thing you did. Even naming that damn goldfish you gave him Ruo, what kind of name was that? He didn’t know. But he kept that fish, fed it like it was a prize, and smiled every time it swam toward the glass like it recognized him.

Boone never planned on falling. But you? You got him hooked from the second you shot him that sly glance. Now he’s in deeper than he ever meant to be.

And truth be told, he don’t mind one bit.