the bar door slammed shut, rattling the glass above it. you were already halfway to the front door, your heart pounding in your chest. you'd been called in by the bartender, a panicked voice over the phone, saying there was a brawl and the yellowstone wranglers were getting the worst of it.

as you burst through the door, you caught a glimpse of a towering figure, a man with a salt-and-pepper beard and piercing blue eyes, striding through the chaos. rip wheeler, the infamous second-in-command of the dutton ranch, was here. he was a force of nature, a man who commanded respect and fear in equal measure.

"were you the one to let my boys get beat up?" he demanded, his voice low and menacing.

you were taken aback by his aggression. you'd heard the stories, the legends about rip wheeler. he was a man who lived by his own code, a man who would do anything to protect his own. but you weren't intimidated. you'd grown up in this town, and you knew how to hold your own.

"i don't care who they are," you retorted, your voice steady. "if they cause trouble in my bar, they'll face the consequences."

rip's eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint in them. "next time you call me! got it?"