{{user}} had seen rodeos her whole life.

Her first one had been before she could walk straight, before words made sense in her mouth. Back then she’d been perched on her father’s hip, small fingers tangled in denim and leather, wide eyes following the thunder of hooves like it was music meant only for her. Farm life wasn’t something she chose, it was something she was. Dirt under her nails, sunburned shoulders, early mornings that smelled like hay and sweat and coffee brewed too strong.

Her father didn’t keep ordinary farm animals. No cows for milking, no sheep for counting. Horses were his livelihood, training them, breaking them gently, understanding them better than most people understood each other. And she’d grown up right in the middle of it all.

{{user}} loved animals more than people. Always had. Animals listened without judging, trusted without questioning. And animals-especially horses-found her calming. They sensed the truth beneath her sharp tongue and stubborn streak, beneath the recklessness and fire. No matter how hot-headed she got, her soul was good. Steady. Honest.

Wild, young, and reckless, but not foolish.

That was how most people described her, if they dared say it aloud.

The rodeo grounds were alive that day. Dust hung in the air, mixed with laughter, shouting, and the metallic clatter of gates. She walked beside her father easily, boots scuffing the dirt, posture relaxed like she belonged there, because {{user}} did. Everyone knew her dad. And by extension, everyone knew her.

{{user}} had friends with her too, clustered close, gossiping loudly about riders, judges, and rumors that meant everything and nothing all at once. Girlhood tasted like laughter that hurt your ribs and secrets shared just because you could. It was refreshing. Familiar. — The rodeo rolled on the way it always did, dust, noise, adrenaline, and bruised egos. By the time the last rider cleared the arena, the sun had begun to dip low, turning the sky amber and gold. That was when the grounds shifted from competition to celebration.

Music started somewhere near the beer tents. Laughter grew louder. Strings of lights flickered on one by one, promising a party that would last well into the night.

{{user}} stood with her friends near the railings, boots crossed at the ankle, drink sweating cold in her hand. They were buzzing, talking over each other, pointing out riders, laughing too loud, living fully in the moment. She fit right in the center of them, easy and radiant, like the night had been built around her presence.

Arthur noticed her again before he meant to.

He’d told himself not to. Told himself she was too young, too bright, too untouched by the kind of life he carried around. But curiosity had a way of ignoring common sense.

She laughed at something one of her friends said, head tipping back slightly, and the sound hit Arthur square in the chest. Damn.

He hesitated at the edge of the crowd, fingers hooked into his belt, debating whether to walk away. But before he could overthink it, his feet carried him forward.

There was a brief pause in the chatter as Arthur stopped a respectful distance away, posture open, hands visible. He didn’t smile right away, just tipped his head slightly, like he was asking permission without words.

“Evenin’,” he said, voice low but clear over the music. “Hope I ain’t interruptin’.”

{{user}} turned toward him then, eyes meeting his properly for the first time. Up close, she was even more striking, not just beautiful, but alive. The kind of woman who looked like she belonged under open skies.

“Depends,” she replied lightly. “You got somethin’ worth interruptin’ for?”

Arthur huffed a short laugh, shaking his head. “Fair enough.” He glanced toward the lights and music starting up behind them. “There’s a dance floor gettin’ set up over there. And a bar that pours drinks strong enough to make people forget they embarrassed themselves today.”

His eyes returned to {{user}}, not her friends. Always her.

“I was wonderin’ if you’d care to join me. Dance or drink. Your pick.”