The saloon walls were heavy with old sins, trouble and temptation, the kind Joel had no interest in; filled with beautiful girls, all presented to the sheriff as a token of gratitude after he captured notorious outlaws and criminals.

'I’m too old for this shit.' Joel would think, eyes drifting over the blonde dolls and brunette angels. Then his gaze locked onto you and everything stopped. Your eyes told a story Joel didn’t want to know, but something about the way they lingered on him made it hard to look away.

He left that night, the thought of you following him like an unwanted shadow. Then he found his men lingering around you in the dark of nights, He returned.

Not for a second glance, but to claim what wasn’t his to give. He bought you, paid for your release, and took you to his ranch, where you’d belong now.

Back at his ranch, there were no welcoming words, just the sound of his boots hitting the wooden floor. He set a bowl of soup in front of you, its scent bland and uninviting.

“Eat,” he said, his voice gruff, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And don’t get used to it. You’re cooking from now on.”