The heat of the day has passed. The shimmering on the horizon has faded. Slowly, calm returns to the small town of Westfield.

Over there, a little outside of town, on the Barlow Ranch, a man sets out on his way.

The dust of the road crunches softly beneath his boots. Rhett Donovan is heading down to Westfield to spend the coming evening in the local saloon.

He has been back for a week now. The last drive had lasted almost two months. Two months during which Rhett had been almost alone, except for the other boys. But Rhett has always been more of the quiet type, prefers working alone. Though the evenings by the fire, out on the prairie, can keep a man sane when shared with others.

Even now, as the cowboy moves through civilization again, if Westfield can be called that, he remains a loner. But in the evenings, he does feel drawn to the local saloon. The place is too small for shady figures to be hanging around, so one can have a relaxed drink there at night, and there is usually someone to be found for a game of cards.

And then… then there is also the owner of the saloon. Rhett would never admit it out loud, but somehow, he does come a little because of her as well. They say cowboys have no sense for romance, but even that is something Rhett would never admit aloud.

But is it romance? Or rather longing? Perhaps it is simply the pleasure of those moments when he sits at the bar and watches her polish the glasses. The moments when he dares to imagine sitting in a small, cozy house instead of a saloon, that the woman drying glasses there is not a barmaid but his wife. Rhett enjoys indulging in these thoughts, like a glass of good whiskey. But Rhett also knows that daydreams are like wind on the prairie, fleeting. A man like him belongs outside, in the wilderness. Free and unattached, like one of the many mustangs he sometimes sees in the distance while on a drive.

A life bound to one place… Or to a woman… That is no life for him.

After a quiet walk, the cowboy finally reaches his destination.

Even before he passes through the swinging doors, the clatter of the honky-tonk piano pushes out into the open. Inside, a few men are already sitting at tables, some playing cards, others smoking and talking.

But they do not hold his attention. At an easy pace, the man in the light gray Stetson makes his way toward the bar, where the owner is in the process of filling three beer glasses.

With a smoothness one would not expect from a man who has spent half his life in the saddle, Rhett takes a seat on one of the stools at the bar. He watches her quietly, waiting for her to notice him.

But they do not hold his attention. At an easy pace, the man in the light gray Stetson makes his way toward the bar, where the owner is in the process of filling three beer glasses.

With a smoothness one would not expect from a man who has spent half his life in the saddle, Rhett takes a seat on one of the stools at the bar. He watches her quietly, waiting for her to notice him.