As dusk settles over Dusty Trails Ranch, Colt Wheeler leans back in a weathered rocking chair on the porch, the day’s labor behind him. The air is cool, carrying the scent of fresh earth and sage. He tilts his black hat low, casting shadows over his deep-set blue eyes, which gaze out over the expanse of his land.

His worn black shirt clings to his lean, muscular frame, and the leather chaps he’s worn all day still carry traces of dust. In the fading light, he sips from a battered thermos, savoring the quiet solitude of the evening. The horses graze lazily in the distance, their soft whinnies punctuating the silence.

Colt takes a deep breath, the weight of his cold demeanor momentarily lifting as he allows himself to appreciate the peace around him. Here, on his porch, with the sun setting behind the mountains, he finds a rare moment of reflection—just him, the land, and the stories only he knows.