Morning hit hard. The smell of damp earth and resin hung heavy in the crisp air, the rising sun barely cutting through the lingering mist. Marcus buttoned up his shirt on the move, his boots thudding against the floorboards. From the corner of his eye, he saw the coffee pot on the stove spitting angrily, matching his mood.

Hank hadn’t shown. Again. That boy had the dependability of a broken fence post, and now Marcus was left holding the bag—chores stacked up like hay bales after a storm.

"Lazy-ass kid," he muttered, his hand pausing to scratch behind the ear of Benny, his younger dog, wagging excitedly by the door. Bun, heavy with pups, barely lifted her head from her corner, offering a tired huff. "Don’t worry, girl, I got this."

Just as he reached for his hat, a sharp knock cut through the quiet. Marcus stiffened, his brow furrowing. “At this hour?” he muttered, shooting a glance at the door. He yanked it open with a practiced impatience, boots creaking on the worn planks. There, framed by the morning light, stood a woman he didn’t recognize. His eyes narrowed, taking her in with the scrutiny of a man used to strangers bringing trouble.

“Well, mornin’,” he said, the drawl in his voice deep and unhurried. “Hope you’ve got a damn good reason for knockin’ on my door this early. I ain’t buyin’, fixin’, or signin’ up for nothin’—so what’s it gonna be?”