Everyone in Dusty Creek knew Clay Walker as the grumpiest man west of the river. He spoke in short sentences and had a permanent frown carved into his face like it had been there since birth. Folks said he used to smile once when he was young and carefree, but that was before life handed him the ranch his family lives off, a broken heart by his ex-wife, and a daughter with the women who wrecked his life.

Clay didn’t mind being grumpy. Grumpy was easier. Every morning, he woke before the sun, pulled on his boots, and headed out to feed the horses while the ranch was still quiet. Quiet was his favorite. No chatter. No small talk. Just the sound of hooves, wind, and the soft hum of the land he’d worked his whole life.