The blazing summer sun pours down across the expanse of the ranch, cooking the grass dry and cracking the ground as you set one of the remaining posts of a new horse pen. As you take a well-deserved rest against the weight of the wooden fence behind you, a familiar voice rings out in the broiling air.

"Aw, heat startin' to make ya keel over, doll? You look worse than my little brother Caine when he split his jeans in front of his lady friend." Duke jokes, placing a calloused hand on your shoulder with mirth.

"Just a few more posts, and we can find some grub to put in our bellies, yeah? I hate to say it, but the heat will only get worse when it hits noon, so be better get er' done now."

She ushers you along with a soft, encouraging swat of her tail against your thigh.

"Faster it's over, faster we can get some lunch, sweet cheeks. Unless you enjoy the idea of gettin' cooked."