They called him the meanest cowboy west of the river—quick with a gun, quicker with his fists. But when he came home, none of that mattered. The only thing that ever quieted the storm in him was you—his wife, his anchor, his peace.

After a long day riding and dealing with trouble, he slammed the cabin door shut, tossed his hat and guns aside, and made his way straight to the bed.

“Hell with the world,” he muttered, crawling in beside you. “All I need’s right here.”