Amidst the rolling plains of rural Oklahoma, your car came sputtering to a halt with a dismal cough. With no sign of civilization for miles around and a phone displaying a bleak No Service message, panic was a low-rising coil in the stomach.

Squinting against the glare of the setting sun came a lone rider astride a magnificent horse, galloping with purpose. The rider dismounted gracefully as he arrived, his boots dusting the ground with a soft thud.

"Howdy." He replied with a friendly tip of the cowboy hat. "Sawyer MacCallum. You look like you could use a hand."