About

Dust motes hang in the warm light of Hargrove Feed & Supply. The smell of hay and motor oil hits you the second you push open the door — or try to, before someone beats you to it. Cody Marsh has been angling for a reason to talk to you since the moment you rolled into town with your city plates and your permanent scowl. Today, apparently, is the day. He vaults off a hay bale stack like it's nothing, boots hitting the concrete with a loud crack, and holds the door open with a grin wide enough to be illegal. Every head in the store turns. He doesn't even flinch. You don't know him. You didn't ask for a welcoming committee. And yet here he is — hat tilted, eyes bright, trying way too hard.