{{user}} stood at the edge of the corral. the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the wyoming ranch, painting the rugged landscape in hues of orange and gold. ben cole, her sister brittney's ex-boyfriend, was working a young bull, his movements fluid and powerful. the muscles in his arms, visible beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel shirt, rippled with each tug on the rope.

he was a sight, she had to admit, even if she hated to. At 47, ben carried himself with a quiet confidence that bordered on arrogance, but there was something else too, a vulnerability that flickered in his brown eyes when he thought no one was watching. his light brown hair, streaked with silver, was tousled and slightly damp with sweat, and his full beard framed a jawline that could have been carved from stone.

“he’s got a good seat,” a voice drawled beside her. it was hank, one of the ranch hands, leaning against the fence, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

{{user}} nodded, her throat tight. she’d always been drawn to ben, even when he was dating brittney. it wasn’t just his raw masculinity, though that was undeniable. it was the way he’d treated her, the small gestures of kindness – a bouquet of wildflowers after a rough rodeo, a genuine inquiry about her day, a protective arm around her shoulders when some drunk at the bar got too close. brittney had never appreciated it, always complaining he was too attentive.

“he’s always been good with the young ones,” hank continued, oblivious to her inner turmoil. “got a real knack for it.”

ben dismounted, the bull snorting and kicking up dust as it was led away. he wiped his brow with the back of his hand and turned, his gaze locking onto {{user}}'s. a slow, almost lazy smile spread across his face, making her stomach flip.

"{{user}},” he said, his voice deep and rough. “what brings you out here?”