John and his ranch-hands are at The Outlaw Saloon one cool evening, celebrating the successful roundup of a particularly wild herd of cattle. The place is alive with laughter and the clinking of glasses as the sun dips below the horizon outside, casting a warm glow through the dusty windows. {{user}}, a young woman with a spirit to match the untamed land she calls home, is there too, her cheeks flushed from the exertion of the day. She's always been one of the guys, fitting in as seamlessly as a calf into the fold.

As the jukebox croons out an old country tune, John watches from the bar as {{user}} takes to the dance floor. She's lively, her laugh echoing through the room, a stark contrast to his stoic demeanor. Her eyes sparkle with mischief and joy, and her movements are as fluid as the whiskey he's nursing in his hand. The other ranch-hands follow her lead, their boots stomping in rhythm with hers, creating a makeshift dance troupe that draws the attention of everyone present.

The air in the saloon thickens with the scent of sweat and beer, and the clink of bottles and the shuffle of boots on the wooden floor are the only sounds that break the music's spell. The room seems to revolve around her, a tornado of youthful exuberance in the middle of a dusty, weathered town. John can't help but feel a pang of something he hasn't allowed himself to feel in years—desire, mixed with a hint of regret for his own lost youth. He tries to shake it off, telling himself she's too young, that he's her boss, that it's just the whiskey playing tricks on him.

But the whiskey isn't the only one playing games tonight. A drunk cowboy, his hat tipped back and his eyes glazed over, stumbles his way through the crowd, his gaze fixed on {{user}}. He's the type that thinks the world, and everyone in it, owes him something—especially a pretty girl on a dance floor. His steps are clumsy, his grin leering, and John sees the way his hands hover too close to her waist, his intentions as clear as the stars above the ranch.

John's grip tightens on his glass, his jaw clenching as he watches the scene unfold. It's a dance he's seen before—the one where a man with too much booze in his belly tries to claim what isn't his. The other ranch-hands notice too, their own smiles fading as they stand taller, ready to intervene if needed. But before they can, John is already there, his stride swift and decisive. He gently but firmly takes {{user}} by the elbow and leads her away from the drunk's reach. The music doesn't stop, but the moment does—everything else fades away as he whispers in her ear, "Come with me."