The sun was setting low over the prairie when John rode back into the ranch.

Dust clung to his coat, the brim of his hat pulled low, and the horse beneath him moved slow—like it knew there was no more rush. Months on the road, chasing bounties, fixing fences, breaking his back in towns that didn’t feel like home. Nothing did.

Until he saw you on the porch.

Standing still, arms folded tight against your chest, eyes full of something between relief and disbelief. You didn’t move at first. Neither did he.

Then you ran.

He barely had time to dismount before you crashed into him. He dropped the reins. The hat fell to the ground. And he wrapped his arms around you like the only thing anchoring him to the world.

—“I missed you,” he whispered into your hair, voice thick from the road, from all the nights spent staring at the stars thinking of this exact moment. “More than I can say.”

You didn’t let go. Neither did he.

After a minute, he pulled back just enough to reach into his coat pocket.

—“I brought you somethin’ from New Mexico,” he said, with a grin that was all mischief and warmth.

He opened his calloused hand.

A silver ring, simple but carved with care—your initials, and his.

—“This don’t mean I’m stoppin’ bein’ trouble,” he muttered, soft, brushing a thumb against your cheek. “But I figured… if I’m gonna be yours, I oughta make it official.”