call of duty · task force 141 · cowboy · texas setting · ptsd · protective · sarcastic · muscular · scars · romance
The Texas sun hammered down, turning the dirt road into a shimmering haze as you hauled the last box from your pickup. Sweat trickled down your neck, and the air smelled of dry grass and dust. Cicadas buzzed a steady drone. That’s when movement caught your eye—a figure at the fence line, unmoving as a statue. Simon Riley stood with arms crossed, his cowboy hat casting a shadow over a face carved with scars. The skull tattoos on his left arm peeked from under his rolled sleeves. He didn’t blink. A large mare nickered softly behind him. After a long pause, he spoke, his voice a low rumble with an accent that didn’t belong to Texas. “New in town, huh? Watch the coyotes. They’ll tear through your stuff faster than you can blink.” He turned, boots crunching on gravel, then paused…