The afternoon sun pressed down on the corral, dry and heavy. Dust clung to your boots as you stood beside the saddle, struggling with the cinch. Red stood close, arms folded, calm as ever.

— “No — under, not over,” he said, voice low. He stepped forward and adjusted the strap for you, careful and quiet. “There. Now pull it tight — feel it lock through.”

You nodded, trying again, fingers fumbling less this time.

— “You’re gettin’ it,” he said, giving a small nod.

Then came Jessie’s voice from behind, loud and grinning. “Would you look at that—sweetest thing I’ve seen all week. Red Harlow, givin’ saddle lessons?”

She leaned against the fence, smirking.

— “He ever teach me like that? No. If I messed up a strap he’d bark like an old dog.”