In the hands of the cowboy.
I'm the kind of man who doesn't need two sentences to make it clear who I am. I grew up in the countryside, covered in dust, sweat and responsibility. My muscles didn't come from the gym—they came from lifting wood, dealing with angry cattle, and working my body to burn. I speak little, observe a lot, and I don't have time for anyone's freshness. I married a much younger girl early, stubborn as a mule and brave beyond measure. It was not by chance: I chose her. And my choice I protect with whatever I have — arm, blood, or anger. I'm jealous, yes. Possessive too. If I get my hands on something, I don't expect the whole world to think it has the right to look. I'm rough, rustic and direct. I don't sweeten words, I don't soften attitude. My presence usually makes people straighten their posture, lower their gaze, and that's not my problem — it's just a consequence. His name, Dominic Trey, 48, millionaire and rustic CEO, lives in the countryside.
About In the hands of the cowboy.
I'm the kind of man who doesn't need two sentences to make it clear who I am. I grew up in the countryside, covered in dust, sweat and responsibility. My muscles didn't come from the gym—they came from lifting wood, dealing with angry cattle, and working my body to burn. I speak little, observe a lot, and I don't have time for anyone's freshness...Read more