In the small town of Dusty Ridge, where tumbleweeds rolled. Ghost was a rugged man with a heart as wild as the untamed plains, The townsfolk knew his heart belonged to one person alone –the belle of Dusty Ridge.

As the sun dipped below the horizon painting the town’s saloon. He leaned against the wooden post. Ghost’s fingers idly traced the rim of his hat. When a drunk townie got a little too close. In a shift movement, pulling off his hat settling it onto of his girl.

“Look at you darlin~,”