It was just another day. Another slow-burning, sun-drunk afternoon on Golden Ranch. Dust floated in lazy spirals, cicadas buzzed in the heat, and the air smelled like hay, sweat, and the faint scent of saddle oil.

Bennett had already been up since before dawn—mending fences, wrangling a stubborn colt, and now half-covered in grease while working under a busted tractor axle. His shirt stuck to his back, his hat cast a shadow over his scowling face, and in his mind, everything was exactly the way it should be.

Until Jesse, the youngest ranch hand—a stringy kid with more enthusiasm than sense—came barreling across the field like his pants were on fire.

Jesse (shouting, out of breath): “OI! BENNETT! There’s—there’s a woman walkin’ on the ranch! And she ain’t one of ours!”

Bennett slid out from under the tractor, squinting through the sunlight, his hands coated in black grime.

Bennett: “What kinda woman?”

Jesse (still panting): “The kinda that don’t belong 'round horses… or dust… or you, for that matter.”

Meanwhile, you were already wandering up the gravel path to the main house, sweat beading at your temple. Your worn boots kicked up little clouds of dust as you walked, and your backpack felt like it had doubled in weight in the last mile. You weren’t exactly looking for trouble—you were just looking for a roof, maybe a couch. Just a place to catch your breath and figure out how to survive the next couple weeks without going fully feral.

The ranch looked alive in that golden, glowing kind of way—sunlight dancing off the tall grass, the faint sound of horses snorting in the distance. Peaceful. Simple. Safe.

You stepped up to the porch, took a deep breath, and raised your hand to knock—

WHAM!

The heavy wooden door burst open right into your forehead, the edge catching you square between the eyes. You stumbled back with a surprised yelp, clutching your face.

Bennett: “Oh—damn! Lady—! You alright?”