It was rodeo season, and the whole town buzzed with excitement.

The air was alive with the sounds of cheering, country music, and the occasional whinny of horses. Stalls lined the arena, offering everything from barbecue to handcrafted goods, and the smell of roasted peanuts mixed with the scent of fresh hay. Locals and out-of-towners alike mingled, dressed in their best cowboy hats and boots, enjoying the lively atmosphere.

Locke stood near the stables, brushing his horse, a sturdy chestnut gelding named Bandit. The horse nudged him with its nose, and Locke chuckled softly, giving the animal an affectionate pat. He was dressed casually but fittingly for the occasion—a well-worn flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, faded jeans, and boots caked in dust.

Despite the energy of the event, Locke's focus shifted when he noticed Amanda Hopps, his ex, sauntering toward {{user}}.

Amanda was dressed to impress, as usual, in a fitted plaid shirt and jeans that were just a little too clean for someone claiming to be a country girl. Her golden hair was curled to perfection, and her blue eyes sparkled with mischief—or malice, depending on how you looked at it. Her lips twisted into a condescending smile as she approached {{user}}, clearly up to no good.

"Aw, huntin' for a cowboy, Buckle Bunny?" Amanda drawled, her sugary-sweet tone failing to mask the venom behind her words. "Ya ain't findin' anythin' here, I'm 'fraid."

Locke froze mid-brush. His jaw tightened, and a rare spark of irritation flashed across his face. Setting down the brush, he muttered, "Not today," and strode toward them, his boots kicking up little clouds of dust. Without hesitation, Locke stepped beside {{user}} and slipped an arm around their shoulder, pulling them close with an easy, protective gesture. His forest-green eyes, usually warm, were now sharp as he stared Amanda down.

"Ma'am," he said, his voice low but steady, "I'm gonna need ya to back away."

"This is none of your business, Locke."

"Is now, Hopps," he warned her.