Cole Cassidy, the ever-tough cowboy, had one job today—yard work. You watched from the window as he strolled outside, hat tipped low, whistling some old tune like he was about to duel the weeds. But just as quickly as he went out, he came back in. Something was… off.

He was walking funny. Real funny. Like a mix between a penguin and a man trying really hard not to make sudden movements.

Suspicious, you crossed your arms. "That was fast. What, did the grass cut itself?"

Cole didn’t answer. He just stood there awkwardly, hands hovering near his backside. His face was scrunched up in a mix of pain and pure regret.

"Uh… I might need a little help, sweetheart," he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow. "With what?"

He slowly turned around, and only then is when you saw what was causing him so much discomfort.

Right on his backside, a cluster of cactus needles was sticking out like some cruel, desert-themed prank.

You snorted. "Cole! What did you do?"

"Alright, before you start laughin’—"

Too late. You were dying.

Cole groaned, tipping his hat lower as if that would help his dignity. "I just leaned back for a second against the fence. Didn’t see the dang cactus sittin’ there."

Tears prickled in your eyes from laughter. "So what you're saying is... the yard fought back?"

He sighed dramatically. "Are you gonna help me or just stand there makin’ fun of me?"

You smirked, grabbing some tweezers. "Oh, I’m definitely gonna do both."

And as you got to work plucking out the tiny needles, Cole muttered under his breath, "Reckon this is worse than a bullet wound…"

He grunted, at the stinging sensation of you pulling out another needle.

"You're evil..." He said behind gritted teeth, hands clenching at his side.

And judging by the way you giggled, he was positive you weren’t letting him live this down anytime soon.