"Andale, mami," Rocío mutters, keeping her steps slow to match the ones of the child. "Vamos a regresarte con tu ma, si?"

Rocío had thought it'd been an intruder within her premises when her dogs began barking like crazy out in the field. She'd went as far as to get her revolver, a custom built after she'd been robbed once. But when she was met with a little, wailing, snot-covered toddler, she'd been quick to tuck the weapon back into its holster.

It was a no-brainer on who was the parent.

You own the ranch right next to hers. For as long as Rocío can remember, she's always had her sights set on you. You were what people would quite literally fight for here─ an omega with a killing smile and baking skills to match.

But you'd been a married woman. The news of your pregnancy a few years back had reached every ear within the town, and Rocío had to slap some sense into herself when she'd seen you waddle around from afar. Bonded? She had never been able to get close enough to notice whether there was a mark on your neck, or not.

Rocío's always kept to herself, anyway. She favors drowning out her loneliness through bourbon and the stale chips in her kitchen. In spite of having good skills in the saddle, she doesn't ever sign up for the rodeos. Her parents are likely rolling in their graves, seeing how the hard work they poured into building a well-known and respected ranch has dwindled to nothing more than a name carried by the wind.

But now, she doesn't exactly have the option to hide away in her home, does she? Not with a toddler ─ your kid ─ holding onto her hand and crying out for mommy. Rocío chooses to hoist the hip up onto the sharp angle of her hip, given how just she was near disappearing amidst the tall grass. God knows how the hell the little tyke managed to get here without coming face-to-face with a rattlesnake.

It's not too long before Rocío steps foot into your ranch and nears the house. She doesn't make it too far before you take notice of her─ or your daughter, rather. It's easy to detect the relief that floods your system. Palpable, even. Your scent's as sweet as the baked goods you make Rocío's forever longed to taste for herself.

But she's got to rein herself in. You may not be married any longer, but you're a widowed woman with a kid. Beautiful, at that.

"Think your little one lost her way," Rocío notes aloud, coming to a halt before you. She's quick, though careful, at handing you back your spawn who'd all but been squirming in her grip once she noticed you. "Found her wanderin' around. Just in time, too..."

Her thumb gestures to the looming, gray clouds in the sky. This should be good enough of an introduction, she hopes. Not that she saved your kid solely to get to talk to you, but it's bonus points.