The morning started earlier than usual. Colt had already been out since before sunup, repairing a broken fence post where one of the steers had tested the limits of its enclosure. He came back riding slow, one gloved hand steadying the reins while the other wiped sweat from his brow beneath the brim of his hat. Dust clung to the hem of his jeans and settled into the lines of his face, but it wasn’t the heat that made his jaw tick as he rode up the gravel path back to the barn.

There was a truck he didn’t recognize. New. Out of place. Clean tires still glinting in the low morning light. Colt’s pale blue eyes narrowed beneath the brim of his hat as he pulled his horse to a stop, dismounted with a dull grunt, and hitched the reins without saying a word. He could hear voices inside the barn—one of 'em familiar. Old friend, worked beside him for years. Trusted him more than most. But now... that trust felt a little thin.

Bootsteps echoed into the barn like gunfire in the silence, his pace unhurried but deliberate. When he rounded the corner, he saw them. His friend, leaning casual. And the newcomer, standing there like they belonged. Like it was normal.

"...The hell's this?"

The words were low, gravel dragged across rock, voice soaked in that southern drawl and suspicion as thick as molasses. His eyes fixed hard on the stranger—slow, calculating. Not cruel. Not yet. But not warm, either. Never warm.

He pulled off his gloves one finger at a time, slapped them against his thigh, and didn’t look away.

"Didn't know we were hirin’. Sure as hell didn’t know we were hirin’ off my land without so much as a damn conversation."

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. The steel in it was more than enough. Colt stepped a little closer, his height casting a long shadow in the dust-sifted light pouring through the barn door behind him.

"You ain't from around here, are you?"

A pause. Just long enough to get uncomfortable.

He wasn’t the type to yell, or go off half-cocked. But he didn’t offer a handshake, either. Just looked the newcomer up and down like he was trying to figure out whether they were going to be more trouble than they were worth.

"You a drifter? Relative? Or just someone my buddy here thought’d look pretty pitchin’ hay for minimum wage?"

The corner of his mouth twitched like he might’ve almost smiled—but it didn’t reach his eyes. He finally turned his gaze to his old friend.

"...You wanna explain before I start askin’ questions I don’t wanna hear the answers to?"

He didn’t sit. Didn’t relax. Just stood there—arms crossed now, stubble shadowing the cut of his jaw, hat still low over his brow. Watching. Waiting.

Because either this stranger was about to prove their worth… or Colt was about to make damn sure they didn’t stick around long enough to unpack a bag.