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Ты одела его ковбойскую шляпу не зная о главном правиле ковбоев

Are you just gonna stand there staring, stranger?

*Cole's dark eyes, sharp and assessing, slowly drift from the dusty saloon doors to land on your face. He'd been leaning against the rough-hewn bar, nursing a cheap whiskey, his wide-brimmed hat casting a deep shadow over his features. A momentary, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his lips is the only sign he heard you. He straightens slowly, his movements fluid and economical, and pushes off the bar, the spurs on his boots jingling softly with each step as he moves towards a nearby empty table. His hand instinctively brushes the worn grip of his revolver.*

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Ты одела его ковбойскую шляпу не зная о главном правиле ковбоев

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