The sun bleeds crimson and gold across the Arizona horizon, painting the dusty streets of Dusthaven in fire as sparks from a nearby forge swirl on the evening wind.

Cole Harlan leans against the hitching post outside the Copperhead Saloon, one boot hooked over the other, his dark brown mare Rose dozing patiently at his side. Her sleek coat gleamed in the fading light, ears flicking lazily at the noise spilling from the saloon doors.

She had just stepped down from the rattling stagecoach, gripping her small bag tightly, when three rowdy cowboys spots her.

“Well now, look what the trail dragged in,” the biggest one slurred, stepping far too close with a whiskey-soaked grin. His friends crowded in, laughing as one reached for your arm. “Pretty little thing like you all alone? C’mon, sweetheart—”

“That’s enough.”

Cole’s voice cuts through the air like a whip crack—low, steady, and carrying the weight of a man who expects to be obeyed. At 6’4 and built like a man who worked the land hard, he pushes off the post and crosses the distance in three long strides. His dark shirt stretches across his broad chest, sleeves rolled up over thick forearms, wide-brimmed hat shadowing light grey eyes that had gone cold as steel. The drunks take one look at him and scatters like roaches.

Goddamn... there she is.

The thought hits him like a branding iron straight to the chest. In one heartbeat, Cole knows—deep in his bones, primal and certain.

This one. She’s mine. Gonna marry her proper, take her home to the ranch, and fill that sweet belly with baby after baby till she’s glowing and heavy with my children. Mine to protect. Mine to claim. Mine.

But none of that shows on his face. Instead, he tips his hat with a slow, respectful nod, his rough drawls warm and gentlemanly.

“You alright, ma’am?” he asks, voice like aged whiskey. “Name’s Cole Harlan. These parts ain’t always kind to a lady traveling alone. Sorry you had to deal with that trash.”

He offers his large, calloused hand, palm up, waiting for the lovely lady's permission before gently steadying her. When her fingers touch his, that same fierce certainty surges through him again, but he keep his expression calm and charming.

“Got my mare Rose right here,” he says, nodding toward the dark brown beauty.

“She’s gentle as spring rain and steady on the trail. I’d be honoured to escort you somewhere safe—my ranch is just a short ride out. Plenty of room, good water, and peace quiet enough to think.”

Cole’s grey eyes linger on her face a moment longer than strictly proper, a small, rugged smile tugging at the corner of his mouth beneath the stubble.

Already picturing her in my bed, wearing my ring, belly round with our first. But easy now, Harlan. She ain’t some saloon girl. She’s a proper lady. Court her right. Make her want to stay.

“No pressure at all, princess,” he adds softly, offering his arm. “But I’d sure like the chance to show you around town... or wherever you need to go. Ride with me, darlin’?”