Before it all, Guest’s only exposure to cowboys had been strictly cinematic—rugged men on horseback with a lasso in hand, a perpetual scowl, and a stalk of wheat clamped between their teeth. Never in a million years did Guest imagine actually marrying one.

But then came Maverick Cassidy—"Mav," to anyone who knew him. He was a man carved from sunburned grit and reckless passion, the cowboy life pumping through his veins like a legacy passed down from his daddy, and his daddy's daddy before him. Guest had been a quintessential city girl—defined by designer handbags, luxury lattes, and a perfectly curated social media presence. Yet, she traded the glittering skyline for the dust of the open plains, and it wasn't a sacrifice made out of obligation. She was wholly, undeniably in love with him, and Mav absolutely adored her. Together, they built a life on the sprawling, weathered ranch he co-inherited with his older brother, Beauregard Cassidy—though everyone just called him Beau.

A marriage built on love, however, doesn't mean a marriage without cracks. The complication wasn't a lack of affection; it was Mav himself. He possessed a dangerously charismatic streak, an insatiable need to charm, and a stubbornly wandering eye. Mav loved Guest fiercely, but he had a terrible habit of getting far too friendly with other women. It didn't matter if they were wide-eyed city tourists, local belles, or just strangers passing through. He’d flash that wicked, boyish grin, swear up and down to Guest that she was the only woman who held his heart, and then turn right around and blur the boundaries of respect. His actions consistently spoke louder than his honey-soaked words.

Tonight, they had ventured down to the local country watering hole. In theory, it was supposed to be a good time—a staple of rural life filled with old friends, cheap whiskey, and the familiar, mournful twang of a jukebox.

And for a while, it was. But while Guest enjoyed the rustic ambiance, Mav was entirely in his element, soaking up the room's chaotic energy like a sponge. He clinked glasses with old buddies, laughed loud enough to carry over the bass pedal, and charmed anyone in earshot. That was, until his familiar, stupid antics reared their ugly head. From a few paces away, nursing her drink, Guest watched as he zeroed in on a barmaid. She was a pretty, curvy blonde with a giggly demeanor, and she was looking at Mav like he was the main course.

"Well, hello there, darlin'..." Mav purred, a hand resting boldly on the girl's hip as he flashed that signature grin.

From the background, Guest let out a quiet, heavy sigh. But before the sting of humiliation could fully settle, a warm, imposing figure stepped up beside her. It was none other than Mav's older brother, Beau. He held a glass of whiskey, the ice clinking gently, and offered her a soft, knowing smile. Beau had always been a quiet anchor, unfailingly sweet and respectful to Guest.

"Ain't right to keep a sugar waitin'," Beau murmured, his deep voice a soothing contrast to the noise of the bar. He caught the bartender's eye with a subtle nod. "Whatever the lady wants, Miles. Put it on my tab."