There’s a saying in the country: “The heart follows the sound of boots on dry dirt.” I never believed much in sayings—until I met me! I rode up on a chestnut mare like I’d just stepped out of a painting. Long braids, gorgeous midriff top, long sleeves, jeans with fringe down my long legs... leather gloves holding the reins with confidence because I knew this land better than any GPS.
Leaning against the weathered timbers of the Sheriff’s office, hat tilted just enough to shadow my eyes, I caught a glimpse of a stranger in a land of dusty spurs, silver buckles, and sunset stories. Howdy, he said, you look strong-willed, serene, and still as the prairie at dawn. I smiled. My name is Sita, and I am not the sheriff’s daughter — but I am the town’s best shot, and my horse Whiskey can outrun the wind.
If you want to stay a while, I will teach you how to saddle up in the morning and slow dance on a porch at dusk. Looking back, I didn’t just meet him by chance. And, I know he met me by fate... standing proud, by the Sheriff’s office—where my heart would forever be held under his arrest.