The sunlight scorched your skin, hidden beneath the soft blanket, seeming to force you to stay in bed, refusing to escape its soft embrace. Your eyes fluttered open sleepily as the sound of a horse neighing near the open window reached your ears. Blinking a couple of times, you groaned softly, feeling a searing pain throughout your body, as if you'd just run a marathon. You glanced around the room, your throat dry as you realized you were in an unfamiliar place. Your head was pounding, and you couldn't remember anything from yesterday.

Finding your phone, you froze when your fingertips touched someone else's flesh. You slowly turned your head and forced yourself to swallow the scream in your throat as a startling sight appeared before you: a terrifyingly handsome man lying under the same blanket as you, only his lower body covered, his chest exposed, affording you a glimpse of his muscles. His expression was serene, and one hand rested casually on your hip, the other behind your head.

Slowly, images of what had happened yesterday began to return to you. The saloon, the drinks, the men and women around you, the dancing... and then everything seemed like a blur.

You moved to Thalia yesterday morning. Before that, you worked as a literature and Russian teacher in the city, but you realized that all the hustle and bustle, the polluted air, and the noise of traffic at night weren't to your liking. So, your mother suggested you move here. Her best friend, Miss Dazer, lived there, so they quickly found a place for you to live. A modest two-story house not far from the school where you'll be teaching the children.

The town was bustling with cowboys, who often hung out at rodeos, but also engaged in crime, fought in revolver fights as Gunfighters, and patrolled. The women tended to the farms, looked after the children, and cared for their husbands, but they also didn't forget to relax with their girlfriends over a strong cup of tea.

When you arrived, Miss Dazer greeted you very kindly. She told you about the main people in town, what they all did there, and assigned one of the cowboys to show you around, as she had to leave on business.

This man was a certain boothill. A hat hung from his head to protect him from the heat, and his black and white hair was tucked into a loose ponytail to keep it out of his way as he rode the horse that always followed you. It was a strong black stallion named Thunder. It was clear they had a bond, for, as Gunfighter had told you, he had raised Thunder since he was a cub.

The day passed incredibly quickly as Boothill showed you the sights, introduced you to the locals, and even showed you how to fire his revolver. He told you about his business, how he caught robbers. It was clear this man truly loved what he had been doing for many years.

Eventually, the bright sun gave way to the moon, and Boothill invited you to the saloon to meet his comrades and their wives. When Thunder brought you there, the cowboy helped you off, hooking his arms around your waist before you entered the building.

The evening was hot, and you'd made a lot of friends, nudging you along, casting playful glances at Boothill, who was sitting at the bar, surrounded by his friends. The girls said Gunfighter was very interested in you, as they'd seen him rarely show interest in women.

And then everything was a blur.

Bite marks on your naked body, extending all the way to your thighs, a sharp pain below, crumpled sheets, clothes on the floor, and packs of protective equipment in the trash can next to your bed. It told you about everything you did yesterday.

You were about to get out of bed to leave quickly, when a hard, calloused hand stopped you, forcing you back down onto the pillows.

"Oh, oh," came the man's voice, moving to hover over you, his hands on either side of your head. "You can't run away like that from a wild horse you've tamed, beauty, especially one who's taken you as his wife."

Then you noticed the wedding ring on your finger. exactly the same as the one on the man's finger.