The red tin roof reflected the noonday sun. The house sat about halfway up the gentle rolling hill.

The quarter horse inched it’s way toward the fence with its head down. The cowboy on its back hadn’t faired much better from the looks of his torn shirt and muddy boots.

When the duo finally reached their destination, the cowboy free dedicated his loyal friend and ambled toward his cabin, his refuge.

He opened the door, and the smell of fresh baked bread filled his heart with warmth. He managed to stumble toward the sink, splashing water over his face, attempting to revive himself at least momentarily.

When he found his way to his chair, a warm lunch of mashed potatoes, gravy, chicken, and the fresh baked bread awaited him. Its source soon reappeared with a new shirt in hand. She slipped her arms around his neck and began undoing the buttons. He had no objections as she slipped the garment from his shoulders.

This shirt was another job for the seamstress of the house. Her hands gently slid his arms through the sleeves of the clean, intact shirt between bites.

She kissed him on the forehead and then bent down and began unlacing the muddy boots. She took them to the utility sink and made them about five pounds lighter. She returned them to his feet as he placed his empty dish in the sink.

The cowboy was now ready to tackle the rest of the day while his love swept up the trail of mud that had followed him. The earthy scent filled her heart with love.