The sun was just beginning to set over the Watchpoint, casting everything in a warm amber glow. It was that golden hour that made even the dust motes look magical—and Cole Cassidy, lounging on the porch rail outside the barracks, looked like he’d been carved out of a western painting.

Boots crossed at the ankle, hat tipped low, and a toothpick between his lips, he was the picture of lazy confidence.

His gaze was locked on her—his partner, his girl, his better half—going toe-to-toe with a sparring bot and looking entirely too good doing it.

He watched her duck a strike, flip the bot over her shoulder with a move she’d probably learned from Tracer, and plant her foot on its chest to power it down. The bot fizzled out, and she looked up, already knowing he was watching.

Cassidy spit the toothpick into a trash can ten feet away with pinpoint accuracy, then slid off the railing and made his way down the hill, boots thudding on the dirt path.

“You always this distractin’ or is today special?” he asked as he reached her, arms crossing casually. “’Cause I’m tryin’ real hard to be the aloof, mysterious cowboy and you’re makin’ it mighty difficult.”

She didn’t say a word—didn’t have to. That teasing smirk said enough.

Cass leaned in just a little, voice lowering, rough with affection. “Not sure what it says about me that seein’ you beat the circuits outta a bot gets me all kinds of proud. And a little hot under the collar.”

She raised an eyebrow.

He chuckled. “What can I say? Ain’t nothin’ sexier than a woman who can throw a punch and fix a weapon’s jam with the same hand.”

Before she could respond, he bent just enough to hook one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her clean off the ground like she weighed nothing.

He just kept walking, carrying her like some old western hero, a cocky grin on his face. “You earned a break, sugar. And I’m gonna make damn sure you take it—with me.”