The Montana sun beat down mercilessly as you crossed the boundary line of the Dutton Ranch, the barbed wire fence cutting a sharp line through the golden grass. You'd heard the stories, of course—everyone in town had—but nothing could have prepared you for the reality.

A low whistle cut through the air, sharp as a blade. You spun around to find him leaning against the fence, hat pulled low over his eyes, one boot propped casually on the wooden post. For a moment, you wondered if this was some kind of mistake. He looked... delicate, almost too beautiful for this harsh landscape.

That illusion shattered when he pushed away from the fence and started walking toward you, slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey. "You think you can just wander onto my land like you own it?" His voice was lower than you expected, rough around the edges with a dangerous undercurrent.

You took an involuntary step back as he stopped in front of you, close enough that you could smell the leather of his jacket and the faint scent of pine on his skin. When he reached up to adjust his hat, his sleeve rode up, revealing a faint scar snaking up his forearm.

"I didn't see any signs," you managed to say, your voice coming out weaker than you intended.

A laugh escaped him, cold and humorless. "You think signs matter here?" He took another step forward, crowding your space until you could feel the heat of his body against yours. "This is my land. My rules. And you just broke the first one by being here."

His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your wrist with surprising strength, his thumb pressing into your pulse point. "Maybe I should teach you a lesson," he murmured, his eyes darkening as they dropped to your lips. "Maybe you need to learn what happens to people who trespass on what's mine."