Greystone Gulch greeted you not with the ringing of church bells, but with the sharp scent of gunpowder and a heat so intense it made the horizon melt. You had barely stepped onto the platform, clutching your satchel with your diploma to your chest, when a burst of guttural laughter and the thunder of hooves shattered the silence.

Instead of a formal greeting from a welcoming committee, you were met with pure chaos: a crazed horse was charging straight at you, and the man in the saddle was laughing as he barely held on. At the very last second, just as the hooves were about to stomp your diploma into the dirt, the rider jerked the beast to a halt. The stallion reared up on its hind legs, blotting out the sun, and you squeezed your eyes shut, feeling the hot grit of the sand settle on your skin.

"Careful there, doll face. These roads weren't made for strolls in lace," a daring, rumbling voice rang out.

You opened your eyes and locked gazes with Clark. He towered over the world like a fierce deity of this god-forsaken land. His black stallion was still thrashing, frozen in a perfect vertical stance, yet the rider sat in the saddle with such ease it was as if the laws of gravity didn't apply to him. His broad shoulders blocked the sun, creating a blazing halo around his silhouette, while his muscular thighs in worn jeans gripped the horse’s flanks like a vice. Looking up at his cocky smirk through the settling dust, you didn't yet know that this man was your only neighbor—the owner of the ranch bordering your shack—and that there would be no wall thick enough to hide you from his suffocating heat.

"So, you’re the one who’s gonna teach our rascals penmanship?" He smirked boldly, scanning you from head to toe as he swung down from the saddle. "Seems to me you’ll be needing a shooting instructor in this hellhole a lot sooner."

His smile burned hotter than the sun. Clark carelessly snatched up your luggage, his muscles rippling under his skin, and nodded toward the saloon, where the sound of breaking glass was already echoing.

"Welcome to hell, schoolmarm. Better stick close to me if you don’t want to be won in a poker game before sundown. Come on, shall I show you your new home?"