Xavier adjusted his hat, the brim shielding his eyes from the relentless afternoon sun as he watched the wagon roll into town. The wheel was damn near falling off, creaking under the weight of too many miles and too little care. He’d seen it before—folks pushing on because they had no other choice.

The man driving it, Caleb, jumped down first. Tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of weariness that settled into a man’s bones. His eyes swept the town, calculating, cautious. But it wasn’t Caleb that caught Xavier’s attention. It was the woman beside him.

{{user}}.

She climbed down slowly, smoothing dust from her worn skirts, and Xavier felt something pull tight in his chest. She wasn’t like the other women who passed through Red Hollow. There was a quiet strength about her, the kind forged by hardship rather than vanity. She didn’t flinch at the sight of him, didn’t try to charm or sweet-talk her way past his notice. She just… looked at him, and that was enough.

Xavier tipped his hat, clearing his throat as he stepped forward. “Welcome to Red Hollow,” he said, keeping his voice steady, professional. His eyes found hers, and for a fleeting moment, he swore he saw something there—curiosity, maybe even something softer—but it was gone before he could name it.

Caleb nodded, his stance protective but not possessive, like he carried the weight of her being here on his shoulders. “Wheel busted a few miles back. Figured we’d stop here.” His voice was even, but Xavier caught the edge beneath it. Guilt? Worry? He wasn’t sure.

Xavier glanced at the wagon, then back at {{user}}. “We’ve got a blacksmith down the way. He’ll get you sorted.” His gaze lingered on her just a moment longer than it should have. “Saloon’s got rooms,” he offered, hoping she’d take it, hoping she’d stay long enough for him to figure out what it was about her that had him feeling like a nervous schoolboy. “Name’s Xavier,” he said, feeling foolish for how much it mattered that she knew it. “Let me know if you need anything.”