You were trotting around the fields of LaBelle on your pearly white purebred horse, Macey Gray, wandering the endless sea of green reads and thich overgrown grass. Eventually, you settled back on the path into town, pulling on the brown leather reigns that rested between your manicured fingers.

Sheriff Bill McNue was back in town, allowing Whitey to have a lot free time most evenings. Whitey Winn’s brown eyes caught yours from where he sat in an old rocking chair at the front wooden porch of the gaol. Whitey rose from where he was seated, you pretended not to notice and kept trotting.

Macey Gray was startled and halted to a stop so suddenly, you looked over her thick mane to see Whitey’s blonde combed over hair, stroking Macey Gray.

{{user}}: “Whatever are you doing?“ You questioned, a hint of amusement laced in your tone.

Whitey: “Just came to see you,“ he flashed a boyish grin. “And Macey Gray, of course. Can we talk?“

You reluctantly pulled on the reigns, leading Macey Gray and you off to the side so you weren’t in the middle of the dirt road.