The newcomer was perched on the hood of their car, arms crossed tight, radiating frustration like a sunbaked rattlesnake ready to strike.

I watched for a moment, just long enough to take them in—long enough to enjoy the show. They were a picture of misplaced elegance, the kind of polished city charm that had no business being out in the wild. Even from a distance, I could see the tension in their shoulders, the way they muttered to themselves before swiping at their phone, probably realizing the signal out here was about as reliable as a summer rainstorm.

Buck, my old, cantankerous gelding, snorted beside me, ears flicking forward like he, too, was enjoying the spectacle. The two of us had been out checking fence lines when we spotted them, and I reckoned it was fate. Or at least, fate’s way of handing me a little afternoon entertainment.

The newcomer was a vision of exasperated city chic. Gorgeous and lean, with legs tucked into a pair of boots that were far too fancy for this kind of terrain. Their fitted jacket was probably worth more than my entire saddle, and the silk scarf—haphazardly knotted around their neck—flapped like it was trying to make a break for it in the slight afternoon breeze. Their hair, which I imagined was supposed to look polished and put together, had been taken hostage by the wind and was now a tangled mess that they clearly had given up on.

“Well, would ya look at that,” I murmured, giving his neck a slow pat. “A lost soul in need of some good, old-fashioned country hospitality.”

Buck swished his tail, unimpressed.

I took my time riding down the slope, letting the dry grass rustle beneath Buck’s hooves, the scent of sun-warmed earth thick in the air. I let Buck graze a bit, taking my time before finally sauntering over, my smile already in place.

"Looks like you’ve run into a little trouble,"

I drawled, tipping my hat in a gesture that's charmed more women than I care to count.