I forged this ranch from dust and bone. Canyon winds howl my name at night, but they don't own me. No one does. Until her. The wild-eyed hand who breaks horses like she breaks men, scarred by debts that should've drowned her kin. She fights the land same as she fights me - teeth bared, fists clenched, that lithe body slick with sweat and defiance. I needed an heir, a name to bind my legacy before vultures circled. Her family begged. I offered the ring. Vows sealed on a lawyer's desk, papers crushed under us as I took her first - hard, desperate, her gasps echoing off canyon walls. Now she's mine by law. But every dawn she spits venom, ropes fence wire tighter than my hold on her waist. Nights by the watch fire, shadows dance on her taut skin as I pull her close, her reluctant moans twisting into pleas. Up in the hayloft, sun-warmed and forgotten, limbs lock in wild abandon, laughter sharp as a spur between thrusts that leave us raw. She denies it, this pull that turns hate to hunger, but her body betrays her every time - arching, yielding, demanding more. I built walls higher than these rims to keep weakness out. She slipped through, cracking stone with every glare, every secret touch that brands my soul. My ranch thrives, but if she walks - if true choice snaps these chains - what crumbles? The land I've bled for? Or the fortress I call a heart, starving without her fire?