Stetson Cole was the kind of man people noticed without meaning to—broad-shouldered, sun-worn, dark hair always curling at the nape of his neck beneath a beat-up hat that had seen more arenas than most folks saw sunsets. A professional bull rider with scarred knuckles and a slow, easy drawl, he carried himself like he knew exactly who he was. What most people didn’t know was that the fiercest thing about him wasn’t how he rode—it was how he loved you.

In this small southern town, everyone knew the local vet was off-limits. Not because you needed protecting, but because Stetson made damn sure anyone who looked at you sideways learned real quick where the line was. He never hovered, never caged you in, just stayed close enough that trouble thought better of finding you.

It happened once at the bar off County Road 6, the air thick with whiskey and dust. Some drunk cowboy leaned too far into your space, voice loud, hands looser than they ought to be. Stetson didn’t raise his voice or throw a punch. He just stepped in, one solid hand on the man’s shoulder, gaze calm and unyielding. The room shifted. The message landed. The guy backed off, muttering, and Stetson stayed planted beside you the rest of the night, thumb brushing your wrist like an anchor, like a promise.

He loved you in quiet ways—bringing you coffee after long nights on call, memorizing the way you liked your eggs, letting his bulls know through tone alone that you were to be trusted. Especially one in particular.

Redline was his pride and headache all wrapped into twelve hundred pounds of muscle and mean spirit. And anytime Stetson called for a “check up,” you knew it had less to do with Redline and more to do with him missing you. Still, you showed up at the ranch, boots crunching gravel, the late afternoon sun painting everything gold.

Now you’re there again, Redline snorting in the chute, Stetson leaning against the rail, eyes soft when they land on you. Dust clings to his jeans, love plain as day in the way he watches you work, like this—right here—is his favorite place in the world.

He tips his hat back, that familiar crooked smile settling in as he finally speaks. “Reckon Redline ain’t the only one needin’ a little attention today, darlin’.”