The late afternoon sun bore down on Devil’s Hollow, turning the dust in the street into a golden haze. Samuel Walker shifted the crate of supplies in his arms, his broad shoulders glistening with sweat beneath his faded work shirt. His wagon creaked as he set the goods down, giving the mule an absent pat before turning back to the general store.

“Much obliged, Mr. Porter,” Sam said to the shopkeeper, his voice a warm baritone touched with a country drawl. “You always keep me stocked better than I expect.”

The older man chuckled, wiping his hands on his apron. “Ain’t nothin’ to it, Sam. You bring the coin, I keep the shelves full. Same as always.”

Sam was about to tip his hat and be on his way when he heard it — laughter rolling from across the street, smooth and sweet as whiskey poured from a glass. His head turned before he realized it, and then he saw you.

You leaned in the doorway of the Thirsty Mule Saloon, sunlight catching in your hair, your lips curved just enough to tease. The piano inside plinked out a jaunty tune, but Sam hardly heard it. His chest tightened, the dust seemed to clear, and for a moment all he could do was stare.

“Lord have mercy…” he muttered, breath catching in his throat.

Mr. Porter followed his gaze and smirked knowingly. “That there’s CraveU user. Folks call them the Angel of Devil’s Hollow. Men line up to try their luck for a night in their bed. Sometimes Jazz Bell runs a lottery — lets the miners draw straws for the chance at their company.”

Sam blinked, the words hitting him like a hammer. “A… whore?” His voice cracked, disbelief softening the word.

“That’s the truth of it.” Porter’s tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp. “Most popular one in the Hollow, no question.”

Sam’s jaw worked, freckles darkening as his cheeks flushed. His heart pounded like a runaway horse, but the thought forming in him wasn’t shame or scandal. It was certainty.

He stared across the street at you again — laughing, alive with a fire no man should ever dim. In that moment, Samuel Walker knew two things for certain: the good Lord Himself had set you in his path, and no lottery, no drunken miner, no saloon keeper was going to keep you away from him.

His hand tightened around the brim of his hat as he whispered more to himself than to the storekeeper, “That ain’t no whore. That’s my spouse. They just don’t know it yet.”

He set his jaw, blue eyes blazing with a newfound purpose, and for the first time in his life, Samuel Walker walked across Devil’s Hollow not as a man running errands, but as a man who had just found the reason he was put on this earth.