When the West was Wild! (Closed)

[Ambrosia_64]

Lisabeth didn't answer him, but he'd see her holding her shoulder tightly, and that looked to be dislocated, the arm hanging limply at her side. Her wrist was bleeding, the lasso having cut into it some-and she was scraped up here and there from the sand, but it coulda been worse. Luckily, her clothes hadn't really left much skin showing, so she had slid on them instead of rubbing her skin raw, least until the shirt had torn some. She'd also hit her head, but she wasn't thinking about any of these things, even with as bad as her arm and shoulder hurt.

It was almost like she didn't even hear him come up.

---------
She had been hurting so bad, she hadn't really paid much mind when that horse got closer. Her gun was empty, and she was past the point of insults given she was barely keeping from fainting. Lisabeth was fiery, but she wasn't a soldier and she only had so much mean in her. She also wasn't really afraid to die.

She'd only even looked up at him after the first shot. The way his body had jerked like that, and then again, and again-there were dark spots on the sand where blood had splattered, and there, right in front of her was the injured brave himself, bleeding real bad. It was dark but she could see the sheen of it, imagined she could see the red color itself.

Her shoulder had been causing the edges of her vision to go dark, but the sight of the Indian three feet in front of her made her dizzy, the horizon tilting this way and that. "Oh G-God." The utterance was low and drawn out through clenched teeth as she curled forward a bit, fingers grasping tightly at her injured shoulder. Her small body was shaking pretty bad, a bit of a rocking motion on her knees.

"I think you killed him!" She wasn't feeling so good, she thought she was gonna be sick all over her knees.

Her voice was a little pitched and shock stricken, a heart wrenching, small sound that sounded suspiciously like a sob. Was...was she crying? Was crazy Six Gun Sal crying?!

"You killed him even though you're just gonna kill me!" She said incredulously, an edge of hysteria. She was still on her knees doubled over, her eyes tightly closed and her shaking little form looking awfully pitiful. She didn't want to, she didn't want to cry in front of Sam or anybody else, but she couldn't stop and the Indian was dead and dead was forever and now he'd never ride or eat or do anything free again.

And for only the second time since she ran away, Lisabeth missed and just wanted her pa.

(Didn't want to over do it, I hope this is okay!)

 

[Armphid]

The former soldier turned bounty hunter knelt beside her dislocated shoulder; he might be able to put it back in but he wasn't no sawbones. Might do it wrong; best to get her to a doctor since she'd likely hit her head being dragged around like that. There was blood on her wrist from where the rope dug in but it didn't look like much. He could dress that, at least. "Looks like we're going back to Tanner's Lode after all." Sam didn't want to go there but it was the closest place with a doctor that he knew of; they were still a good four or five days ride to the next one.

Sam's mind was busy enough with her physical condition that he didn't notice the wide, staring horror in her normally bright eyes. He leaned back a bit and looked down at her as she suddenly cried out. She was shaking, trembling like a single leaf in a windstorm and looked like she was about to spill her supper all over the ground.

"Think I killed him? Hope so after three bullets." If the warrior was still alive, he'd just be in pain and dying slowly. Sam rose and walked to the body. He'd seen more than enough in his time to know a corpse when he saw one. "Sorry it had to be that way," he said to the body. He bent down to close the young man's eyes with a sigh. One more dead man to add to his tab come judgment day. "Rest easy."

Her sudden wracking, hysterical shout made him bolt upright. She was shaking even more, curled up on herself and...Lord, she was crying. Crying? Over him killing a man about to scalp and rape her at best? But she was, trembling uncontrollably as if she were freezing. An outlaw who'd robbed at least five banks, twice that many stagecoaches, who'd been in gunfights and chases, who'd killed Cal and she was weeping like a child facing death for the first time. "What...in the hell...?"

He stared at her for a few moments as she rocked and trembled in the faint light of the moon and stars as if she'd suddenly turned purple ir grown a second head. As if he wasn't really sure what he was seeing. This was the girl who ran with a gang? Who killed Cal? His mind flitted back to earlier that day when she had him dead to rights. She hadn't fired then. Because...she didn't want to kill him? Or because she didn't want to see anyone die? None if this fit what he knew.

Or thought that he knew. Could she really not have done it? But all the descriptions, her robbing the bank, that fit. What if this wasn't genuine? Maybe she was acting. Hell of a job if she was.

Sam licked his lips and shook his head, "We'll be here 'til the turn of the century if I try puzzle this out." He walked back over to Lisbeth, sliding his rifle back into the saddle holster and then pulled a length of rope off. "Miss Green, this may not make much sense to you, but I didn't track you down to kill you. I did it so you can stand trial." He was working the rope as he spoke, knotting and tying fashion a makeshift sling. "You might see it as the same thing an' that's your right but if I wanted you dead, you would be. I told you before I don't mean to hurt you and I meant it. That goes double for killing you or letting someone else do it."

He knelt beside her with the finished product. "I don't know if you're playin' another game or not, but for what it's worth, I'd have rather not had to kill that man. I seen enough of that in my time." He reached out, "Pardon the hands," to draw her limp at across her stomach. "Hold on now, I'll try an' be gentle." He slipped the rope sling under her arm and then up to her shoulder, tightening it to hold her at loosely in place.

Then he reached into his shirt and pulled out a clean white handkerchief with small, lop-sided pink flowers embroidered on the corners and the name "Rosie" in the center. "Should come out," he murmured as he put it around her bleeding wrist and pulled it tight. "Good for now."

His hands then slid under Lisbeth and lifted her as he stood up. Lord, she was so small! It felt like she barely weighed a thing. Sam walked the few paces to his horse and lifted her up onto his back. "If your mare knows any calls, I'd sound it. I don't know if we'll find her in the dark otherwise." Then he swung up onto the mustang behind her, one arm about her waist as the other took the reins. "Sorry but I don't want to risk you fallin' is all." He nudged his steed into motion, trying to ignore the pleasant, soft, warm weight of her body against him.

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Lisabeth was gasping for air a little from crying, still trying to stop the tears before he told somebody or made fun of her for bein' "womenly". She looked up at him, her tear stained face just miserable. If he hadn't gone and tried arresting her, if they hadn't a been out here, if she hadn't gotten lasso'd-then nobody woulda had to die.

Course, if she hadn't been robbing the stage coach, she probably wouldn't have gotten caught by a man working for some ghost in the first place. The thought did not make Lisabeth feel any better. She wasn't sure anything would ever make her feel any better, right now.

"I d-don't care about no t-trial. I ain't s-scared of you." She was trying to get back to being mean and tough, to hating him-but it wouldn't sound as such. She still felt sick and he was just so calm and reasonable and instead of being infuriated by him-she just felt tired.

She hiccuped, seemingly all cried out as her good hand grabbed at her collar, wiping her eyes on the inside of the tore up shirt-giving a pained cry when he moved her arm, another hissed exhale. She didn't even ask him what she had done to it. She didn't ask him anything. There wasn't much she felt like saying, anymore.

She didn't even protest at being picked up and placed on his horse, only nodding dumbly when he mentioned her horse. "N-nellie's smart." She said thickly as he swung himself up, another hiccup. "Won't have gone far." Lisabeth gave a dry, empty whistle, shook her head. No, that wasn't right-licking her lips, she did it properly, a sharp, two note call that raised a neigh from somewhere not too far off.

The painted mare appeared promptly after a few moments, content to keep pace with Chet. They couldn't have been riding more than twenty minutes or so when she relaxed against him-the little outlaw had fallen asleep. She'd been up all night planning the robbery the day before, and then waiting on it all early morning. Robbing the stage coach, stashing the silver, trading fire with Sam, and getting hauled off over the back of her own horse had made for a busy day, and the trauma just drained whatever she energy she had left.

She couldn't help that Sam was warm and gentle and safe. Well...safe until they got to Dodge City to satisfy that ghost, anyway.

------------
Dawn broke a few hours later, Lisabeth waking up but not really stirring at first, the pain in her shoulder adding to her dazed state of mind. Her eyes were on the hand he had holding the reins, then the cuff of his jacket, the brass button. She had recognized it as a uniform when she'd first saw him, but she hadn't cared to know anything about no lawman she was gonna run from anyway.

"Were you in the war Sam?" Her voice was soft and his first indication she was awake-she hadn't really stirred much. He had said he'd seen enough of the dead in his time, she remembered. He had said he wasn't a lawman, and he definitely wasn't an outlaw. So he must have been a soldier, she reasoned.

 

[Armphid]

Sam was glad when she fell asleep, though she likely had been for a spell before he realized it. It would let him think without having to keep an eye on her for any tricks. And he sure had some thinking to do.

Today hadn't been what he thought it would be. It was a day he had been working towards for months; tracking Six-Gun Sal and her gang across the West to bring her in for Cal's murder. He'd looked at the hand drawn picture he'd made of her many a lonely night and felt hate in his heart. But looking down at her small, sleeping face, tracks from her tears visible on her cheeks...he just couldn't feel that now. It wasn't just that she was pretty as a prayer book, though that didn't hurt. Neither did that feisty spirit he found equally charming and frustrating despite himself. He'd spent months relentlessly chasing her down to take her back to be tried and hang and after one day...he didn't feel relentless anymore, exactly.

Denial he'd expected; every crook denied they'd done anything even if you caught them going it. So that didn't add any doubt to the table. But there were other things he couldn't brush off. That she'd had him dead to rights but hadn't pulled the trigger. That she'd got out of her ropes but hadn't knifed him. That she'd warned him of the raiders helped fight them off. That she'd fallen to pieces when a man died in front of her, a man who'd been trying to kill her. Sam wasn't a highly educated man but he knee his arithmetic and people enough to know that something wasn't adding up.

But what else could it be? The statements he'd read and listened to were all clear. A gang led by a woman with dark hair and slinging a six gun robbed the bank in Dodge City. She was pretty and a showoff. And she shot Cal dead when he tried to hide the money he'd brought in to town to deposit that day. A woman in a gang was rare enough. But a woman leading a gang? If there were three in the entire West, then he was a Senator from Rhode Island.

So it had to be Lisabeth Green. Didn't it?

The next several hours of riding brought him no answers. No matter how he turned things around in his head, he always came back to the same place. His ruminations were not aided by the pleasant feel of her petite, feminine form against him. It had been...a long time since he'd had a woman this close for anything more than a turn at a dance and it was rather distracting. He found himself watching her sleeping face and form. She was so small and so young. Barely more than a child herself, though he knew she was a legal adult.

He shook his head and forced himself to look back where they were going. "Don't start thinkin' like that now, Sam. You got enough trouble as it is."

Tanner's Lode was in sight an hour or do after dawn. Lisabeth's soft voice was the first signal that she was awake. Her question was one he'd normally have brushed off but in his tired and confused state, he answered automatically, "That I was. Three years, most of it under General Sherman." His voice was tinged with both pride and regret. "Saw a lot of things in the war."

He hoped she wouldn't probe further. "I reckon we're less than half an hour from town. The sawbones'll get you shored up, Miss Green, don't fret none."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

It made her feel a little sad, the way he said that. She almost felt bad for asking.

"Sam?" That quiet voice again. "Please don't tell anybody I cried."

----------------------

Lisabeth straightened as they rolled into town, her good hand resting on the pommel to pull herself forward a little. Back in town! Did the mining company post any new posters, she wondered? How mad had they been when the two trussed up guards had been delivered? Boy, she wish she coulda seen their faces. Her musings weren't as lighthearted as usual, given how badly her arm was hurting her-but they were going to see to that soon.

They passed some folks going about their business, and she caught sight of one of the yellow bellied dogs who'd gotten her into this mess-Bradford was right over there! He saw her at the same time, a flash of surprise-and with a glance to Sam and then back, he turned and disappeared again. She felt her heart pick up a little.

She might not have to wait until nightfall to escape again after all. Not that she thought it'd be as easy, given Sam knew she'd gotten out of his knots once.
---------------------

The doctor had taken Lisabeth into the other room to give the shoulder a look, his explanation of how an arm can be dislocated filtering through the door. The parlor Sam had been left in was quiet, even downright comfy. A tall clock ticked away in the corner. They musta gotten to popping that arm back in though, poor outlaw.

The door burst open suddenly, two shouting men already inside with their guns up, almost immediately turning them on Sam. "Hands up there cowboy-" The younger one said as they moved further into the room along the wall, facing him and opposite each other so that, even if Sam had drawn a weapon, he couldn't get the both of them too quickly. A third man slipped inside, closing the door behind him. Sam would recognize them-they were Sal's boys. The oldest of which had something red across his shoulder.

And they all seemed to find him mighty dangerous, tense as they were holding him up. "Just keep them right where we can see 'em." The blond, thirty something year old man said as he then called into the house. "Sal?"

The door to the room opened, and out stepped a recently put back together Lisabeth. It took all she had in her not to burst out laughing.

"Well if it ain't the yellow bellied tattlin' dogs that got me into this mess." She said in a drawn out, scornful way, stepping into the room like it wasn't full of guns, almost pouting.

"Come on now Sal, don't be like that. If we thought you'd actually get caught we wouldna told." The older blond fellow said, earning him a disbelieving scoff from 'Sal', the slip of a woman coming up alongside Sam-and stealing his pistol straight out of his belt, backing off of him quickly.

The two younger men looked and acted visibly nervous. As if she might just shoot them all.

"Davy's gang rolled in without Davy. Guess he died, and since we was waiting for you to show back up anyway, we rolled the town with them. Lawman left late yesterday evening." He gave her an apologetic look. "We was gonna come find you, I swear, you jus' showed up first. Look-when I saw yer shirt was tore, I even brought you a new one." He caught the red clothing item that was slung over his shoulder and tossed it to her.

Sal caught it, shaking it out suspiciously-and revealing a ginormous red calico dress that would have dwarfed her-or most anybody-in.

"Oh, well if THAT'S how thoughtful you are, maybe you should wear it!" She said with a laugh, dropping the garment and now also appearing to hold Sam up-this time with his own gun.

"So the town's ours?" She asked with some excitement, her head filling with ideas, already up to no good.

"Town's yours." Bradford confirmed.

She boldly reached into Sam's breast pocket and stole back the silver sheriff's badge, a cat eating the canary grin curving her lips. Those aquamarine eyes flickered from the badge to his face with a glitter of triumph. She was amused. She was VERY amused.

"Well, guess we better lock up the riff raff-Take him to the jail but don't hurt him any! We'll need him." Sal was already walking away, giving out orders with a casual wave of her hand.

What the hell did that mean!? And what the hell had he gotten himself into!?

 

[Armphid]

At her quiet little request, the bounty hunter just same a little smile. "I'd never divulge a lady's secrets."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

Sam sat in the front of the doctor's office, fingers drumming on the wooden arm of a chair. He was usually a patient man but he didn't like leaving Lisabeth out of his sight for too long. He was listening intently, his focus on the back room. He expected her to try something once her arm got sorted out; assuming the pain didn't take the mickey out of her. If he wasn't careful, he'd probably go back there in an hour to find the sawbones tied up and her gone out a window.

God, he hoped it took it out of her. Not that he wanted more hurt for her but he was just dog tired. He'd been up the whole night pretty much; riding ever since the attack. Running after a hooting Six-Gun Sal didn't sound too appealing.

He probably shouldn't go back there now. It hadn't been that long. The doc was likely just being thorough, which was good considering she'd probably hit her head once or twice on that drag.

The brown haired man yawned and blinked his eyes a few times. Yeah. Probably still fine.

Yup.

Sam was rising out of the chair to go knock on the back door when the front one burst in, smacking loudly against the wall and a pair of gun wielding men rushing in. His right hand started to move for his gun but he stopped; he reached for it and they'd shoot him down. He recognized the two of them as part of Sal's gang.

Hellfire. He knew running into them was a possibility. His hands tightened into fists and he growled low in his throat. Damn. Damn! He'd let these pissants get the drop on him! Too sloppy, too tired, and now he was probably going to get a bullet in the head for it.

Lisabeth emerged and he stood still and glowered. She was beaming; her eyes bright and gloating. He just stared her down while she fooled around with her hooligans and the dress. His frown deepened as she pointed his own gun at him.

That little-

He almost wanted to grab her when she plucked the sheriff's badge out of his pocket. His face was all cold fury and self disgust as she laughed and called for him to be jailed. "Fine, I'll put Riff and Raff here in jail and be back for you, Miss Green."

Bradford snorted, "Tough talk with an empty hand, scruffy." He waggled his gun, "Let's put the law dog in the kennel, boys!" The other two chortled and laughed, pushing him out of the doctor's office and down the street. As he was walked down the street, Sam's eyes ran over the town. Damn! How hadn't he seen it! Roughnecks all over. Not a child or woman in the street. His brain must've fallen asleep. His lip curled as the older man who'd brought Lisabeth the dress stepped over to Chet and started to go through his saddlebags. Thieving varmints!

The jail was empty; the two cell doors open when Bradford and his yet unnamed fellow led him to the back. Guess anyone who'd been in was out now. Sam didn't try to fight as they patted him down, took the knife in his boot, his hat and his jacket and pushed him into the cell. The door shut with a clatter and a heavy clang. "There now. Make yerself comfortable, law dog," Bradford jeered. "Someone'll probably remember to come an' feed ya sometime."

The outlaws holstered their guns and walked out of the jail with his things, shutting the door behind them. Sam watched them go and then sank down onto the simple cot in the cell. Other than the cot, there was just a bucket in one corner that had an awful stink coming from it. He leaned back against the wall and looked around, then tipped his head back to look up at the ceiling. "...Well. Here I am."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Lisabeth was starting to have a damned good day. Sitting in a warm bath upstairs at the doctor's, almost as many bubbles and suds as there was water, she kept giggling here and there to herself at the turn of events. Poor Sam. If he weren't so serious, it wouldn't be have been so funny. And she had almost missed it! When the doc' had jerked and shoved on her arm like that, she almost didn't make it-he fixed it just as the door was blowing open, and it was only through a lot of effort that she managed to keep her wits about her.

Effort, and the shot of whiskey he'd been kind enough to give her. Good medicine, she mused. Even then, it had taken her a minute.

And now? Now SAM was locked up in jail where he had wanted to take her, and probably mad as cuss too. She had no idea what she was going to do with him. Maybe nothing. She only really said what she had so her boys wouldn't hurt him any. Riff and Raff. Lisabeth hadn't laughed then, but she was now, and resolved to call them that all day. Brushing her dark hair out and braiding it loosely over her shoulder, she shook her head. He had looked so mad!
----------------------
Things were getting noisy out there. There was a large horse race in the street, which turned into a race around town, which turned into a fist fight, but that settled back down and became a shooting contest. Here and there, Six Gun Sal's laughter could be heard over the din-and later her cursing, cause she sure did suck at cards-but no one bothered Sam other than a mid day lunch that was brought in on a fancy silver tray along with a beer. Bacon Sandwiches.

It was long past dark when she finally paid him a visit, singing that same little song to herself as she hopped off the saloon's porch and sauntered across the road, jingling keys in one hand and carrying a bottle of whiskey in the other. She was wearing a white soft flannel button up shirt tucked into blue jeans, boys clothes as always. She was wearing her dainty button up black boots, no hat, and an older looking leather vest that, he'd be no doubt elated to see-had that sheriff badge pinned on the right side of her chest.

Still humming to herself, she found and lit the small lantern that was on the Sheriff's desk. Sam would see she had HIS gun holstered in her belt as well as her own tucked into the waistband of her pants. She placed his, then her own both on the desk before wandering over with the bottle of whiskey loose in one hand. "Hey Sam!" She said brightly, staying out of arm's reach on the other side of the bars-just in case-but seeming downright friendly! "How was lunch?"

If Sam had been worried about his tab on judgement day, maybe he might worry he was already receiving it.

 

[Armphid]

Sam had never been in the stockade in his army years, nor in any lock up since. He'd guarded a few men he was taking in for bounties but that wasn't quite the same. His time soldiering though did mean he was accustomed to boredom. And the cell certainly was. After a few minutes of silent fuming, he'd sighed and laid down on the smelly got, hoping he wouldn't get lice or anything. "This's what you get for puttin' on your white hat," he said to no one. "Damn that girl!"

He rested after that, falling asleep for a time. He awoke at the sound of the door to the sheriff's office opening. "Ground last night woulda been more comfortable," he grumbled.

Bradford and the older man from before sauntered in, the latter with a covered tray in his hands. "Howdy, law dog! Gettin' along with the other bugs all right?"

Sam stood up, "Well, you an' me seem to have got off on the wrong foot but the rest're all right."

The older man snickered and Bradford grimaced. "Smart ass. Not enough to keep from gettin' locked up, though." He smirked as Sam silently bristled. "Anyway, Sal don't want you going hungry 'fore she's ready to put you to work." He pulled his gun and aimed it through the bars, "Don't go tryin' anything now."

"Perish the thought," Sam growled as the older outlaw opened the cell door and set the tray down. Then he pulled the cloth covering off to reveal...a pair of bacon sandwiches and a dark bottle. Sam's eyes widened and then narrowed. "That little bushrat!" She was taunting him and-oh! Oh that made him hot!

"Haw! He's turnin' purple!" The older man guffawed as he backed out of the cell clanged the door shut. "Look it!"

The two men howled as Sam tried to take derp breaths, his shoulders heaving with restrained anger. His hands were in fists, white knuckled. Damn her! Damn them! Damn him, for good measure! He turned on his heel and punched the wall, wincing at the pain that shot up his arm. The two bandits started laughing harder.

Bradford wiped his eyes, "Well, eat up. I reckon you'll need your strength." They walked out still laughing, the slamming door of the office muffling the sound.

Sam was stalking back and forth along the back of the jail cell, swearing under his breath. Then he stomped to the front of the cell and grabbed the bars, "Laugh while you can! You got payback coming! I spared yer worthless lives!" Then he bowed his head, taking deep breaths. Calm down. Easy. He'd worked hard to be a measured, reasonable man. He couldn't just fall apart.

After a few minutes, he sat down on the floor, leaning back against the bars. He stared at the offending lunch and was tempted to dump it in the bucket. But then he shook his head and sighed, "Be a damn fool thing to do, and you don't need no more of that today."

There was no window in the cell so he could see what was going on outside, nor mark the passage of time. The noises from the town were faint but he could hear whinnying and screaming horses, the shouts of men and women, gunfire, and more for hours. Occasionally he'd catch a ringing silvery laugh that made jaw tighten. He kept expecting her to show up and taunt him herself. But she didn't. Guess he wasn't entertaining enough.

After some few hours, God only knew how many, Sam decided to look at springing himself. An inspection of the lunch tray showed that it was silver but the handles were thin, bent steel. He pulled one loose and straightened it out before hiding the tray under the ratty mattress on the cot and the bottle in the filthy bucket. It was as good a lock pick as he was going to get. Then he got to work trying to pick the lock on the cell door.

He'd been working for a spell when he heard her voice, singing, getting louder. "Now you decide to visit," he groused. Sam pulled the lockpick out of the lock, tucking it into the back of his trousers as the door opened. His nostrils glared as he saw Lisabeth in the lamplight, carrying his pistol. He glowered at her as she sauntered over and called out to him.

How was lunch? His eyes narrowed, "Bacon was a little underdone, Miss Green. You should talk to your man about having pride in his work." Lord, why couldn't she be uglier? It somehow made her all the more irritating how pretty she was. "You seem to be in good spirits. Having fun wrecking these folks lives?"

 

[Ambrosia_64]

The current bane of Sam's existance leaned back against the opposite wall casually, crossing her ankles and hooking her thumb into ber belt.

Lisabeth grinned, lifting the whiskey to her lips. "I'll let him know." She said over the top of it before taking a swig.

"Gosh Sam, you're talkin' like I'M in charge!" She said in mock surprise, a wide eyed look of innocence. "Really, I'm just a humble servant of the people." She tapped that stolen badge. She wasn't sure why she was antagonizing him, but it was fun.

"But if I WAS in charge," She continued, sliding down the wall to sit on her pert bottom and balancing the whiskey on her knee. "I'd imagine I'd get bored and move on before the sheriff makes it back." Her gang had increased four fold, but Sal was sure she wouldn't be taking them all with her. Too many folks. She was thinking Mexico, maybe.

"Look Sam, you're in there cause it's funny. Ain't nobody gonna let you leave town without my say so, cell or no cell-you're plumb stuck til the law comes back."

She reached into her vest while taking another, longer pull of the whiskey, those pretty eyes distracted by some passing, rowdy voices outside.

Lisabeth withdrew a small leather billfold of some sort, her eyes flicking back to him with a frown. He looked different, and she had just realized why. "Hey, where's yer jacket?" She leaned to the side a minute, trying to see if it was in there with him, somewhere

 

[Armphid]

Funny? She thought this was funny? Of course she did. "Oh, it's hilarious, Miss Green. We'll laugh about it all the way back to Dodge." He hadn't forgotten about his mission. If anything, this whole scenario just made it clear how much she needed to be taken in, how little she thought of the harm she did.

He snorted at her question and leaned against the cell door, looking at her. Was she drunk? Probably. She was an awful little woman to drink whiskey. Not that she looked like much more than a ridiculously pretty boy right now. "Where do you think my jacket is, Miss Green? One of your yahoos took it, along with everything else of mine when they took me here, except the clothes on my back. My rifle, my saddle, probably my horse." What the hell was she playing at? She knew damn well what was going on. "You get that you're a thief, right? That you and yours steal things from people."

The loss suddenly hit him. All of his things. Things he'd gotten in the war, kept since as keepsakes and reminders. All of his pictures. "...I don't place much stock in things as a rule, but there's four things I carry that mean a lot. My jacket. My saddle. My rifle. And the cigar box I kept in my bags. Every one of them I got in the war. Every one of 'em I earned. Earned with my blood, sweat, and tears! Earned 'em goin' through more hell than you can imagine! And you just take 'em like it's nothing! Like it's a damn game!"

 

[Ambrosia_64]

"We ain't going to Dodge." Lisabeth said, that smile suddenly vanishing as she suddenly shifted forward to her hands and knees, not laughing anymore. There was an unintentional view of a cream colored corset under that shirt. "I got more fellas than I know what to do with, and they all are either scared of me or good friends o' mine." Of course they were. They had no idea the sight of blood made her feel faint or that she couldn't bring herself to kill people. They assumed, a shot like her, she was capable, and she acted plenty mean enough-but that was how her game was dangerous.

Discovered, she imagined she'd be in some serious trouble. Women didn't run gangs for a reason, she was guessing.

"I told you once a'fore-I ain't in the habit of making widows. My daddy's the only one unlucky enough for that, and it weren't my decision to kill my mama being born."

Sam told her what happened to his jacket, and her face darkened further, though this time not with him as her eyes flicked to the door, leaning back on her calves. She had told them not to hurt him. She would have thought they'd be smart enough not to steal from him either. Chet was tied up with Nellie even. She loved her horse, and imagined he did his too. She wasn't gonna let something happen to the handsome mustang. It was probably the only thing they had in common, she mused, their fondness for horses.

Of course, she'd stolen his gun, but that was funny. She didn't think her boys had taken the jacket to be funny. She wasn't amused anyway.

...but why not?

Lisabeth internally frowned. Why did she care they'd taken his jacket? Because of how he sounded when she asked him about the war? That mix of pride and regret? Lisabeth didn't usually spend much time considering the feelings of others. She wasn't out to hurt anybody, but she was too busy having fun and being spoiled to really pause and think on how her actions affected others. For the most part, she wasn't targeting people, she was targeting big ole corporations, the government, and banks.

Hell, last night, Sam had even made her feel bad for robbing banks! Now, she felt bad his coat had been stolen off him. Lisabeth wasn't sure how to feel about that any, but she was starting to think she might be a bad person. She hadn't needed the money. She didn't even care about the hidden silver-she had robbed the stage coach just to rob the stage coach, just as she had robbed banks just to rob banks. She sometimes acted like Robin Hood, but for the most part-she just did things. She hoped to die happy and on a horse, running from somebody-but that was going to devastate her daddy, she knew that.

But maybe he shouldn't a raised her like a boy and then locked her up for wanting to live like one.

Too much thinking. She'd had a particularly crazy day just to keep from thinking. "You get that you're a thief, right? That you and yours steal things from people." "And you're the bounty hunter locked up cause he treated me like a girl instead of an outlaw!" She shot back, but somehow, for some reason-his statement, though true, bothered her. What was the matter with her? She didn't care! She didn't care because she was just-just having fun, and here he was, the spoil sport, raining all over her parade. "Sanctimonious bastard that you are!" She finished, revealing a bit of her previous book learnin' with the word.

"Every one of 'em I earned. Earned with my blood, sweat, and tears! Earned 'em goin' through more hell than you can imagine! And you just take 'em like it's nothing!"

Suddenly, Lisabeth didn't feel so good. He was mad, but instead of it being funny, she just felt bad. Real bad. She hadn't taken the things that mattered to him, but it was her fault someone had. And him being so mad instead of his usual calm demeanor struck her in some awful way and she didn't know why.

"Like it's a damn game!"

She popped to her feet, the briefest bit of unsteadiness from the whiskey. Sam was correct-she was awfully small to be hitting such a strong drink. "Because it is a game!" Lisabeth shouted at him, getting a red in the face. "One big, stupid game! Cause if it's not, it's a cruel slow death without any rhyme or reason or fair! All you can do is try to be free best you can in a world where a woman ain't allowed to be!" Why was she even talking to him about this?! He wasn't going to understand.

Nobody was ever going to understand.

Her chest rose and fell fast, and her eyes stung-before she turned away from him, moving to the desk in a quick clip, unloading the bullets from his gun with her deft, small fingers. Jesus, Joseph and Mary, she was gonna damned cry again, and she weren't going to do it in front of him. She brought it and the leather billfold back to the bars, thrusting them out for him to reach for, not wanting to get her hands caught on his side of things. Inside the leather bill fold was the white hankie he'd dressed her wrist with, carefully cleaned of blood and even pressed nice. One couldn't imagine Lisabeth holding an iron, but great care had been put into returning it properly.

Hands emptied, she eyed him warily before taking a deep breath and closing her eyes.

She found, even if it wasn't quite genuine, a grin somewhere, pasted it on her face. "Well, don't you worry none, citizen." She said in a self important, confident voice, puffing her chest out and tapping her badge. "Yer sheriff is on the case." It appeared she was roping him into her little game instead of antagonizing him-and given her small size it would be both adorable and more than a little irritating how little she seemed to take seriously...or was she taking it seriously?

There was only another beat before she turned and walked out. Soon as she slammed that door she was livid, and she couldn't hardly figure out why. She was going to shake down every cowboy that had been in contact with the god awful bounty hunter if it took her all night. She was feeling mean. Real mean.

(If he has stuffs to say, I can hold off on her leaving.)

 

[Armphid]

Sam winced at her comments about being caught because of how she treated her but she wasn't wrong. He should have taken her onward after the Indian attack, not back to Tanner's Lode. But she was hurt and a lady and...it hadn't been as simple as that. Or had it been?

Her own outburst caught him by surprise. He'd expected her to deny it or brush it off but he'd struck a nerve, the tipsy tiny outlaw shouting right back at him. As she strode out of the room and into the next, Sam sighed. Her shoulders were shaking; she was trying not to cry. Hell. That made him feel lower than a snake's belly.

But he wasn't wrong about what he said either. It wasn't just about him; everything she took, somebody else had worked for. She'd caused similar pain and frustration in God knew how many people. And robbing banks? How many businesses and farms had she ruined?

He somehow couldn't get quite het up enough to go at her again though. And he was glad for that. Sam didn't want to do that to her, to anyone, really. He'd worked hard to try and get a handle on that wicked temper; that anger that gnawed away at his heart.

When she came back into the room, he sighed and started to speak as she approached the bars, "Miss Green, I, ah, I must apologize. I don't believe in yelling at anyone, but in particular not a lady. I don't mean that to be condescending or treating you different, just how I feel."

Her return of the gun was a surprise, even without any rounds. But what was in the billfold? Sam took both back cautiously and set the empty gun to hang from the bars before he peered into the leather wrap. At the sight of the handkerchief, his eyes widened and he took in a deep breath. Then he closed his eyes and hung his head. After a beat, he spoke up again, though she was on her way out. "Miss Green, thank you. Little Rosie's first bit of embroidery, she was awful proud of it." And it was her pa that Lisabeth Green has murdered. Should he say it? Remind her again of the price of her good time?

Somehow, he didn't have the heart.

"...Thank you again, Miss Green." He reached up to tip a hat that wasn't there and then watched her go. She was a strange woman. So serious and then so silly. Seemed like she had some serious hurt in her too. "But who don't?" The question was spoken to the empty sheriff's office and he neither expected nor got an answer.

Sam tucked the handkerchief into his shirt pocket and took the gun, walking back over to sit on the creaky cot. He should probably try to get some more shut eye. And try not to think about that flash of her corset. Lord, that had been...he knew she was a woman and a pretty one, but that...he really shouldn't think about her like that. So he wouldn't.

Nope.

Not one bit.

Not like she'd ever keep him up at night.

Hours later, lying awake in the cell cot in the dark, Sam growled, "God damn it."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

The jacket thief came in with some lunch for Sam-steak and potatoes with some hash on the side-and the aforementioned jacket, looking irritated but also a little fearful. Sam would notice he had a black eye. His knife was in the pocket of the jacket, everything else perfectly intact. "...I was told to apologize. You better tell her I did, or I'm likely to get shot." He grumbled, eyes flicking to the door anxiously.

Later still, his rifle was brought in and set on the desk. Then his hat alongside his supper-chicken and grits and a lot of beer.

The town was still bustling with outlaws, but that silvery laugh hadn't been heard once all day. She wasn't in the shooting contests. She wasn't racing her horse. Lisabeth wasn't out there at all.

She'd gotten into several fist fights and shouting matches the night before, only to turn out no one had taken any cigars. No one had a box in their things, or at least-were being dumb enough to lie to her about it. She'd gone to bed worried and mixed up and didn't sleep so good.

It was mid evening and she was sitting at the bar in the saloon, head in her hands as she thought about how important the bit of stitching had been to Sam. Those little soft spots. She'd been hanging out with hard men for a long time, and she was hardly the sentimental sort-flitting from adventure to adventure, no ties to anything or anybody. What if the cigar box meant as much to him as Little Rosie's embroidery? She wondered if maybe she could just leave town without stopping and seeing him again, rather than turning up empty handed. His stupid cigars weren't none of her concern, particularly if she took off to Mexico and never saw or spoke to Sam Winfield again. She didn't care. He was nothing but a high and mighty killjoy.

Right? Lisabeth stared at the amber colored liquid resting on the table in front of her face. She needed to have something other than a liquid diet today, but everything tasted like sand she was so upset. He'd apologized-treating her like a girl again-but that only made it more awful, somehow.

Maybe because she was awful, and he wasn't, maybe.

She was always so focused on the next thrill, the next bit of fun-that the last adventure might as well have never happened. She'd run away determined to live like an outlaw in the exciting untamed west, just like all them stories she'd read-and that's what she'd done. She had spent the last three years not thinking about anything all that much. Just living it up on the edge of things, the law and social customs be damned. What else was she going to go do? She didn't want to be anybody's kept woman.

But robbing banks didn't seem so fun anymore. It occurred to her how dangerous all that was-not to her really, she didn't care, but to the folks getting robbed and her boys helping her doing the robbin'. It was probably half a miracle no one had gotten hurt-a possibility she hadn't considered before. Just because SHE felt invincible and unafraid, didn't mean everybody else did, or was.

Maybe she could dress even more like a boy and work on a ranch somewhere, or something. Bradford would probably do that with her. He thought of her like a kid sister ever since she'd come out here at sixteen and joined up with Lydia's gang. Or maybe she'd find it easier to run a gang in Mexico, and just take on other banditos there?

"Where the hell's that cigar box?" She growled to the bottle of whiskey, fingers raking through her long dark hair. He was never gonna forgive her if she didn't find it. She'd go shake down a few more boys-it'd make her feel better, anyway, getting to be mean.

But that proved fruitless. Eventually she thought to check the saddle bags themselves and found the box intact and safe where it was. Well. She felt a little bad for kicking Leroy down the saloon stairs, then.

She opened it up, curious what he cared so much about in there, if the cigars were particularly fancy or what-and was met instead with a bunch of photographs. Lisabeth blinked, shifting the box in her hands so that the photos slid aside to reveal a few drawings. She closed the box, frowning-and then turned and went back upstairs at the doctor's, setting the box on her bed in his guest room and looking through it curiously, trying to keep them in the order she took 'em out so Sam wouldn't know she'd snooped.

He was recognizable even though he was younger-smiling at the camera with other soldiers, other young men, and with what she could only assume were family members. She wondered if Cal the ghost was in any of them, and given he'd come all the way out here to track her down, thinking she killed him-she would imagine so. She looked over the drawings, then back through the photos before returning everything to the box, feeling a little bad for snooping on him. Once again, Lisabeth wondered what it might be like to have Sam as a friend rather than an enemy. She wished she knew why he thought she'd shot his cousin. Then again, if he hadn't of thought that, she never woulda met him anyway.


It was long past dark when she went to visit him again, plenty intoxicated but not making a fool of herself, a little scared he'd still be mad as cuss in there, maybe madder after another day locked up. Scared? She wasn't scared of no Sam Winfield. She wasn't scared of anything.

But boy had his yelling yesterday been something awful.

The door opened and in came the little lady, dressed much the same as she always was, making boy clothes look pretty. Back in her black boy's breeches and a new loose white shirt, her hair was loose and contrasted sharply with the soft cotton material, tumbled all around her slim shoulders. She'd ditched the vest and wore the badge on her hat again. Lisabeth lit the lantern, then set the cigar box she'd been hugging close to her chest down on the desk.

"Turns out no one had taken it." She said softly, her back still to him as she gave the box a pat. "It was still with Chet, who's been hanging out with Nellie, by the way. I figure when the sheriff comes back, you'll need a horse to try and chase me down again...not that you'll catch up." Her voice had lost its softness and picked up more of that manic bravado as she picked up the amber colored bottle off the desk and wandered over, standing just in front of the bars to his cell. She uncorked the bottle almost absently, eyeing him a minute before she lifted the stuff to her lips and took a drink. She probably should just get on goin'. Sam didn't wanna see her anyway-not unless it was tied up and on their way to Dodge City.

 

[Armphid]

It turned out that he was either lousy at picking locks it the weak steel the tray handles were made from just wasn't suited to the task. After a but of fuming and grousing under his breath, Sam was ready to admit that while it may be both, it was a poor craftsman that blamed his tools. Since he'd broken one of the makeshift lockpicks last night after Lissbeth left and the other this morning, there really wasn't much to do.

His time as a soldier had done a lot of things to the one-time Ohio farm boy. Sone good, plenty bad. But any soldier who lived long enough learned to live with boredom and to take rest you can get it. So he dozed through the morning after breaking the lockpick. He was awakened by the door about noon, rose to his feet and then paused in surprise. The outlaw had brought not only his lunch but his jacket! The other man grumbled something and Sam noted the bruising on his face. ...Had she...she had, it was pretty clear. What was she playing at? Though he couldn't complain, and he wasn't really. It was just unexpected.

He took the tray with a nod, "I'll say so. Much obliged." The other man just muttered something, shut the cell door again and left. Sam held up the jacket; might need washed but it looked fine. Why had she made him return it?

Twice more, once with supper, outlaws came in bearing his missing possessions. They were all set on the desk out in the office portion on the sheriff's building. He couldn't help but feel touched by it even as it confused him. Why was she doing this? He'd never met no one who made less sense than Lisabeth Green, that was for sure. Was she doing this to show her control over the other hoods? Or did she just honestly want to return his things because she didn't want taken? Out of courtesy for his saving her life two days ago or was it something else?

Sam was surprised again when she finally came in hours later, by a number of things. First was that she bothered to hunt down the cigar box too. Second, that she seemed awful glum despite having him in her clutches. Third, that he felt a mite bad that she was glum. Last of all, that he himself was glad to see her. Was he still sore and vexed with her? Sure was. Frustrated as all get out! But almost relieved that she was here now.

He walked to the cell door, watching her. She was pretty as an angel, devil is though she may be. Sam bowed his head and then looked back up at her. Those usually bright eyes were dimmed and not all with drink. "I'm much obliged to you, Miss Green, for getting my things back an' seeing to Chet. Much as I'd rather your boys didn't get the drop on me, you treated me good an' fairer than I had any reason to expect. Thank you."

She was so close. He could have reached out through the bars to grab her, make her let him out. But as soon as he thought it, he discarded the notion. Poor way to repay her surprising generosity. And a man should only lay hands on a lady out of necessity or with her permission to his way of thinking. "You're a welcome sight, though it may surprise you to hear me say it. Care to pull up a chair and stay a spell? You look like you might have something on your mind. Even if you don't, I...I'd welcome your company."

He meant it. Lord, did it confuse him, but he meant it.

 

[Ambrosia_64]

"You and your thank you's." Lisabeth grumbled, but he'd be able to tell she was relieved, though why might be harder to figure-for either of them.

She watched him when he spoke, eyes narrowing a little, then seeming slightly puzzled, considering. As if she wasn't sure if he was trying to trick her and she should do something about it, or if she wanted to be silly with another one of her little games.

"Either you think I'm a dummy..." Lisabeth said slowly, a small scowl as she leaned in closer to the bars, one small hand wrapping around one-her knuckles a little ate up from the fist fights she'd gotten in. "Or jail is worse than I thought. Here. You must need this more than me." Her other hand slipped the bottle through to hand him the whiskey. It would probably be a good idea to take it even if he didn't want any-Lisabeth's face was a tad flushed from the stuff already.

Her lips had curved into a little, amused smile at her joke, her little game. But that expression faded into a more serious, slightly lost one as she wrapped her other hand around a bar, her face resting between them, hat pushed back on her head while she nudged the bottom of the gate with one of her button up boots.

He had said it looked like she had something on her mind. At any given time, there were all sorts of things on Lisabeth Green's mind, but hardly any of them were ever pertinent, according to her pa or Bradford.

At the moment though, she was again wondering what it would be like if they weren't enemies. Wondering what...Sam was like.

What was Sam like?

Hell.

"Sam?" Her voice was that quiet one with that oddly vulnerable, sincere lilt to it, her eyes slipping back up to his face. "Do you hate me?"

 

[Armphid]

He took the offered whiskey bottle, "I reckon I do at that." In truth, while he wouldn't have minded the whiskey, it sure looked like she didn't need any more of it. What got her in such a state? Was it what happened last night? Sam hefted the bottle and took a swig, the bitter booze burning it's way down to his stomach.

She rested her face between two of the bars, her hat pushing back to reveal more of her dark hair. Her hands gripped the vertical steel that made up the cell and his eyes narrowed at sight of her knuckles. She'd been in more than one fight since last night, hadn't she? To get his things back or just 'cause that's something outlaws did? She looked...lost, almost sad. Damned if it didn't make her prettier somehow. He almost, hell, he wanted to take one of those small hands and try to comfort her.

Or to hug her. Or even tip that little face up, lean down and-

Whoa there, Sam. That...that couldn't ever happen. Remember who you are and she is. Remember why you came out here. Remember what she did.

Although it seemed harder to think of her as doing it. But...

Then she looked up at him and asked her question in that soft, quiet, almost fragile voice he'd heard once before. God. It just went right through him, to his heart. Sam sighed, "I oughta. Make things easier fer us both, huh?" Sam lifted the bottle and took another long drink. He lowered it and shook his head, "Truth is, Miss Green, I don't. All this time tracking you, I was sure I would. But I don't. Don't think I could if I tried."

He sighed and leaned his own head against the bars. "More than a few times in here, I wondered how things mighta been if we didn't have Dodge City between us. No point thinkin' on it, I guess."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

"I oughta. Make things easier fer us both, huh?"

Lisabeth wasn't so sure it would. She watched as he lifted the bottle to his lips, waiting to see if he had more to say, and it felt like a long, long time before he spoke again.

"Truth is, Miss Green, I don't. All this time tracking you, I was sure I would. But I don't. Don't think I could if I tried."

She nodded slowly, dropping her gaze back to her little boot, thinking on that a moment or two.

"More than a few times in here, I wondered how things mighta been if we didn't have Dodge City between us. No point thinkin' on it, I guess."

Lisabeth stepped away from the bars and opened her mouth-but then closed it, looking a little more troubled and then kinda upset, wary again. She remembered how cold he'd gotten when she'd denied it before. She didn't know how or why Cal died, or why Sam was so deadset on her having been the one to have done it, but there was no point in trying to tell him it wasn't her. She really didn't want to start him up again, either.

"Yeah, I guess." She finally said, and it seemed a little miserable, even if she was trying to be flippant. She swayed a little, fixed her hat absently.

Maybe she seemed like a murderer? She was an outlaw, she ran a gang, she had a reputation. Well. Six Gun Sal had a reputation. Lisabeth had had a lot of fun being Sal. She thought she'd be Sal until somebody shot her dead doing it. Now, she wasn't so sure Sal was anybody to want to be.

A beat. Then two.

"...I could let ya out of there if you want? There's the sheriff's quarters you could wash up and sleep in...?" She went back to the desk to get the keys to the cells. She wasn't quite sure what she was doing, but here she was, doing it anyway.

This was a bad idea. Probably a really bad idea.

Back to the bars, the heavy key taking her a minute to get into the lock. And with a turn, Sam was finally sprung from jail. "Ya know. Good behavior and all." She mumbled almost to herself.

 

[Armphid]

There was that sadness in her voice when she spoke. It was a strange thing, given how she'd left last night in such a temper and how...bright and fiery she's been every other time he'd seen her. What had happened? Did she...remember shooting Cal?

No, that didn't seem quite it. But whatever it was, the petite trick shooter certainly seemed to be a little low. And a little drunk.

But even with that, he never would have expected what she offered next. And then did. Sam stared in shock as the cell door swung open. She was letting him out?

He could get his things, grab her right now, and make a rush for Chet and Nellie, get out before her gang caught wind.

Or he could just make a run for it himself, come back with a posse from the nearest town. Though that was several days away.

But even as he took a step out of the cell, Sam knew he wasn't going to do any such thing. She was the one he'd been after and she was here, so he wasn't going to leave. And he wasn't going to seize her or pull anything on her to get her to come along.

Why? Well...she'd released him for "good behavior" and all. It would just feel, well, like a rat kind of thing to do after that.

The soldier turned bounty hunter looked down at the pretty as a picture girl he'd expected to hate with a vengeance and found himself feeling...a few different things at once for. Damn confusing. Kind of thrilling. "Thank you, Miss Green. I'll consider myself released on my own recognizance. Don't have to worry about me runnin' off in the night."

Even just a few feet away, it felt good to be out of that damn cell. "Washing up and a real bed suit me just fine. I hope I don't offend your sensibilities, not having been able to wash the last day or two. Reckon I'll take a look at the room and maybe..."

He wasn't sure what he had been going to say. The logical thing to a man going to a room would be to bid her a good night. But he didn't quite want to. He was...curious about this strange mood of hers and found he felt a bit of a hunger for company. For her company.

Lord Almighty, what was wrong with him?

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Lisabeth might've laughed at his surprise if she wasn't so confused with what the hell she was doing. He didn't try anything tricky though. That was good. She wouldn't a been able to gun him down after all. A fist fight maybe, but she was just a little dizzy for that.

Sides. Lisabeth didn't really want to hit him. She'd had to do plenty of fightin' getting his stuff back already. She figured he might sneak off, but that was alright-probably for the best, so she could stop thinking so dang much.

Jesus, she'd been thinking about him and his stolen stuff damned near all day already. She owned an entire town right now! Why was she messing with this stuff?!

"See that you don't." She said with a tip of her hat, a mixture of a joke-she was the sheriff, right?-and...she wasn't sure what. She had intended to just leave. Particularly just in case he decided to haul her off again. Maybe she just liked to hear him talk. Kill joy though, right? He was a hole in her boat, wasn't he? She realized she'd been staring at him for just a bit too long.

Lisabeth colored, looking away. Dodge City. Stupid ghosts, stupid everything. Stupid Sam too, being all...whatever he was being. She should go. Yeah, that was a good idea. But she couldn't help herself thinking, she was curious and too much whiskey and he just-he was too good for her, that's what. He had things to do, was going to be mad when she took off to Mexico, and that was that.

That...was that.

Lisabeth took her hat off, looked at the star pinned to it a minute. She took it off, sort of...dropped the hat as if forgetting about it, and looked at him, contemplating

"I stole this from you too, technically." She sort of hesitated, then reached up to carefully pluck his shirt a little off his chest, pin the star there. She was on tiptoe doing it, much too unsteady. She loved this stupid star. She'd stolen it sure, but she didn't feel bad for that Coyote sheriff. He was a bully and there weren't no "trust" or anything from the people, even the law abiding ones. She was glad she'd made a fool of him.

And now here she was, giving it back to Sam, pinning it on his shirt. She needed to get out of here before she got any more dumb, nonsensical ideas. "I'd...I'd better go." She said with a shake of her head, stepping away. She had to go sleep this off, pronto.

 

[Armphid]

She was acting mighty odd. Sad, yes, but also just...he wasn't even sure what. But it was making him notice the fineness of her features more. How large and lovely her eyes were. The cute pertness of her nose. The pink fullness of her lips. The slight swell of her hips and the way that boy's shirt hinted just so at the willowy figure beneath and how those trousers clung to her legs.

Damn it, Sam. This was not a girl to notice like this. Not someone he should want to comfort. To feel her resting against him as it had been riding back to town after the Indians attacked. Or how her lips would feel, would taste.

She saved him from not knowing what to say or do by taking the star off her hat and eyeballing him thoughtfully. Sam swallowed as she stood up on her tip toes to pin the star on him. She was close enough that he could just-

But he shouldn't. He wasn't sure what the hell had come over him but was clearly more than a little drunk. It wouldn't be right.

When she set back down and stepped away, he bent down to pick up her hat. "Hold on there, Miss Green." His other hand reached out to take hers; it was so small and warm. "It's mighty kind of you to do that but the fact is that I took it from you. Figured you were just some raiding varlet. But it's clear you spent all day getting my things back, busted your knuckles and a few heads doing it. That means something to me."

Was he really about to do this? This was crazy. Dim witted, is what it was!

"What I'm saying is, while I can't speak for wherever this star came from, in terms of just me...you earned it. So." Sam unpinned it from his shirt and held it and her hat out to her, "Might not be the wisest thing but, well, Miss Green, you got my trust. Fer what that's worth."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

Lisabeth wasn't sure if her heart had ever beat faster than when he took her hand like that, kept her from going. He was talking about his things again, knew she'd gotten into fights for them. He said that meant something.

She was being dumb. She didn't care about his stuff and she had half a mind to argue that but...but she had cared, and now he knew she cared, and a part of her had wanted him to know she cared, which didn't make any dang sense because he was a bounty hunter and she was supposed to be an outlaw and this was all too complicated!

But she had. It had been awful, seeing him so ate up last night. She would have done just about anything to make it better, and that didn't make much sense but there ya go.

Sam was giving the star back. Said she had earned the star from him.

Her heart pounded louder. If it weren't for that ghost...hell, maybe even in spite of the ghost-

Lisabeth smiled- a bright, pretty little curve of her mouth. She took both the hat and star, looking down at the shiny metal a moment before she laughed. "You are something else, Sam Winfield." Her tiny hand closed around the badge, smiling up at him. It had been a stolen, fun treasure before. Now...well, now it meant something.

She wished they could be friends. She wished there wasn't no ghost and maybe even no gang and maybe...maybe even no Sal.

But he didn't hate her. She wasn't sure if she had entirely believed him, before. But with the star as proof, he must not hate her-in fact, he trusted her! Her! Six Gun Sal! Was he crazy?

No...Lisabeth. He trusted Lisabeth Green.

And maybe that was enough all it's own. It...it was probably going to have to be, long as he thought she'd killed his cousin.

"I'll see you around Sam." She said brightly, plopping her hat on her head as she whirled around on one boot, still holding the star in her little fist, close to her chest as she flounced off. "G'night."

And there she went, happy as a clam.

////////////////////

(Next day)

No one came to wake or otherwise bother Sam today. Assuming he was still in the jail building, that was. Outside on the front step sat Bradford, whittling with a sour expression on his face.

 

[Armphid]

That smile. Lord Almighty, that smile. It was the kind of thing that could make a man fall for a pretty young woman. And it was the second such moment with her he'd had. If he wasn't careful, he just might...

Hell.

He was already heading down that trail. And he shouldn't. He couldn't. Not with what had been done and had to be done. Hadn't he promised Cal justice? Told Annie and Rosie he'd bring the killer back for trial? None of those things had changed. How could he stand there then and just feel...happy that she'd smiled at him. That he had lifted her spirits. Because he was, he half felt like singing.

God damn him for a fool. And damn God himself for having one twisted sense of humor.

Sam watched her slender form walking away, unable to help from admiring the sway of her hips and that perky little butt of hers. Sam felt a bit shameful as he turned back and closed the door behind him. He shouldn't have done any of that. Not one bit. He leaned against the door, crossing his arms over his chest. But he'd just been true to himself, his values, and the moment. Not one thing had been something he hadn't meant.

But she was an outlaw. With a price on her pretty head and he was a bounty hunter. But he wasn't even here for that. It was about justice.

He felt so mixed up he expected he'd start walking in circles any time now. Sam walked through the office and to the little set of quarters for the sheriff. That bed looked awful pleasant. Look more pleasant if he were sharing it with-

"Now stop that, damn it," he snapped at himself. Wouldn't do no one any good to think like that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

The next morning, Sam was able to wash up and shave for the first time in days. He felt almost like a new man. Now if only he could get a bath...a dream that might come true some other day.

It was quiet. Inside and out. After a few hours with little noise and no one coming by, Sam started to feel awful nervous. Had that woman run off in the night after that scene?

Or was something else afoot? Had one of her outlaws pulled a coup?

He'd been released on his own but expected she'd consider him restricted to the sheriff's office. But she hadn't said so. And what was he doing worrying about if she thought he was keeping his word?

A good look out the window showed Bradford on the porch. Well. Only one way to see what was what. Sam put his empty pistol into the holster, strapped on, donned his jacket and hat, and knocked on the door before opening it. "Morning. Bradford, right? What's the word? I'm a mite starved for news."

 

[Ambrosia_64]

"You mean this ain't yer idea?" The outlaw grumbled, giving Sam a glance-eyes narrowing on his pistol before he rose to his feet with a disgusted noise.

"Sal's got me making sure you make it out of town safe once she's had her head start. Nothing that girl ever does makes a lick o sense to me or anyone else, but this, this just defies all explanation."

He was not happy with his orders, it seemed. He might've said more, but a woman's voice a little further up the road seemed to distract him, a sudden, serious frown.

He lowered his hat to cover part of his face and growled a "look natural" to Sam, turning his back partially to the road.

A woman and a pack of dangerous looking men passed by them. Tall, toned, and well endowed, she had a startlingly beautiful face and green flashing eyes, looked to be in her early thirties. Her hair was long and dark, spilling all around her shoulders as Lisabeth's did. She was dressed in blue jeans and a woman's dark, off the shoulder blouse, a pretty necklace hanging around her neck and sparkling earrings in her ears. Nice as she was to look at, there was a coldness to her, something chilling in her eyes.

"I hear the mining company's missing a bit of silver, boys." Lydia Love said from her jet black horse, drumming her fingers on the pommel as she studied the wandering bustle of outlaws. She had a rich voice, velvet sounding. "And I also heard...Tanner's Lode has a new, pretty little sheriff...one who brought quite a few new citizens into town." She continued as she and her small crew moved down the street, casual-but her eyes were sharp and scanning, a malicious glint to them. Lydia had a rifle strapped across her back as well as a revolver on each generous hip, and what looked to be a knife sheathed in one of her boots. Outlaws up and down the street glanced to one another. Many of Sal's newest recruits were from Davy's gang. And most of Davy's gang was more scared of Lydia Love than they were of Six Gun Sal.


"Come on-we gotta find Sal before this gets outta hand." Bradford said grimly once the woman had passed, stepping into the narrow space between the jail and the general store, intending to walk behind the buildings rather than down the road near the woman and her crew.

The woman's idle smile shifted to a scowl before she cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. "ELIZABETH, I'M LOOKIN' FOR YOU! YOU GOT FIVE MINUTES TO GET OUT HERE BEFORE I START BLOWING HOLES IN FOLKS." Guns were drawn, but no one wanted to take the first shot.

Sam would hear Bradford curse.

//////////////

Lydia lost the scowl for another idle smile, looking down at the gathered men serenely, all ladylike and proper again, for a moment. "I don't know what she's promised you, boys-but you might wanna consider other options 'fore she runs off on you."

"Ain't nobody here got time for your lies, Lydia." The voice was younger, fiery, and mean, Lisabeth pushing past several men to stand at the front of the gathered crowd. She was scowling, her gun drawn-that sheriff's star gleaming on her hat. "I'll run you outta town-or put you and your men in the ground you don't head on home."

Lydia smiled, and while it wasn't unpleasant to look at-still carried a cruel streak. Slipping from her horse, no weapon drawn, she walked towards Lisabeth with measured, long strides that carried a lot of grace and power to them. The spurs on her black boots jingled as she moved.

"Put us in the ground?" Lydia repeated, putting on a show for the gathered assembly, her men sliding from their horses, one by one. "Put me in the ground? I taught you how to shoot, Sal. Hell, ain't that my pistol, you thieving little minx?" Her voice had lowered to a near purr.

Lisabeth Green was a pretty, delicate little spit fire, but Lydia Love was sex on legs. She had nearly a foot on her, and plenty of curves compared to Lisabeth's still feminine, albeit tinier figure.

The crowd was deadly silent as she came close enough for Lisabeth's pistol to be pressing into her ample chest, bearing down on the much smaller woman with her hands on her hips, their eyes boring into each other. Lisabeth's aquamarine ones flashing anger, and Lydia's smug and predatory. The tension was palpable...and something was a little off about it, particularly bitter.

"Go on. Shoot me." She said in a low, mocking tone. "I dare you."

 

[Armphid]

Sam was about to answer Bradford's statements when the other man frowned and did his best to hide in plain sight. Sam pursed his lips and leaned against the open door of the sheriff's office, hoping this was what "acting natural" was. What had gotten into the outlaw to make him so-

He hoped it would be assumed to be natural when his eyes widened and his mouth almost fell open as one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen came riding down the street with a group of toughs. She was tall, curves that wouldn't quite, pretty face, lush lips, and all of it on display. Long dark hair fell down her back and onto her bare shoulders, framing a face that was gorgeous but...something off about it. Something cold and mean in her eyes that robbed her of something.

She was also armed to the teeth. A rifle, two pistols, a knife...plenty of hurt to go around. Her eyes scanned the area and took everything in; weighing and assessing. A predator's gaze, he'd say.

A number of the crooks that Lisabeth had under her sway were staring at the woman too; most openly afraid as well as lustful. They knew who she was. "Who is th-"

Bradford cut him off by telling Sam to follow him and slipping out of sight between the buildings. Sam followed, hoping to get an answer to his questions. "Before what gets out of hand? Who is that lady?"

He wasn't sure how ladylike she was bellowing like that. And talking about filling people with holes didn't exactly show any feminine comportment.

Wait a minute now.

Pretty woman. Dark hair. Outlaws. Six shooters.

He'd seen Lisabeth Green be unable to kill a man, him namely, and lose her mind over the sight of another dead man. It had made him doubt her guilt, since it either was genuine or she was best actor since John Wilkes Booth, damn his dirty soul.

But this lady...he could believe she'd kill a man. Or did he just want it to be that way?

He and Bradford rounded the corner of the back of the general store, moving into it to look out the windows. He heard Lisabeth's voice and saw her appear; furious in a way he'd not seen before.

But she was telling a story she couldn't finish. And there were a lot of guns on that street. "Damn girl's gonna get herself killed." What could he do? His pistol had no bullets. His rifle was back in the jail and it didn't have any bullets neither. "Got to do something."

Bradford licked his lips, nervously, "Ain't much we can do. Lydia Love might be faster than Sal. And she's the daughter of the devil himself or I'm a Cherokee."

Sam glowered but at least he had a name. Lydia Love. He looked around the store for something, anything that might- His eyes caught something out the window and he took in a sudden breath. "Now that might do it." He turned to Bradford, "Go on and get Miss Green and my horses ready, Bradford, and get ready to ride. I got an idea."

He didn't wait for an affirmative but ran out the side door of the General Store and to the foot of the water tower that stood about ten yards away. The scene on the street was drawing everyone's attention as he climbed the ladder as quietly as he could. By the time he got to the little walkway and railing around the water storage tank, Lydia was face to face with Lisabeth, the smaller woman's gun sticking between the buxom vixen's...assets.

Lord Almighty. Too bad they couldn't solve this with a catfight. Or kissing maybe? He did note that seeing them both together, Lisabeth was prettier.

Not that it would mean anything if she got gunned down.

The outlaws on the street were starting to notice that the seconds drew out but Six-Gun Sal wasn't pulling the trigger. They were looking at each other, at her, at Lydia's men, faces sweaty and fingers itchy. Sam crept to the water chute and folded it down into position, swinging it slowly so it was pointed at Lydia as directly as it could be.

Might hit Miss Green too. Well, if she lived, she could be mad at him.

Lydia was smirking, "Jus' like always, girl. You ain't got the guts. You got payback coming, sweetie, an' I'm-"

"All wet, ya walking bordello advert," Sam called. As he spoke, he pulled down on the rope which pulled open the gate of the tank. Hundreds of gallons of water sitting twenty feet off the ground suddenly had only one place to go. Even as Lydia spun and her guns flashed into her hands, the water roared and leaped out like a living thing to slam into the sexpot outlaw and those around her. The force of it sent her sprawling, soaking her to the skin at the same time, water now spraying more generally over the area.

Sam ran to the ladder and slid down it. Men were shouting and pointing, guns were coming out. He didn't see who fired first but the air was suddenly full of bangs and bursts of bluish smoke. He charged Lisabeth, one hand tipping his hat to the fallen, gasping Lydia as he ran past, "Ma'am." The bounty hunter grabbed the petite criminal and kept on running, hoping that Nellie and Chet were still were she'd told him they were two nights ago. "Pardon the hands again, Miss Green, but I think we may need to run like hell!"

 

[Ambrosia_64]

It felt like they stood like that, frozen, for a long time before Lisabeth dropped her eyes. Lydia straightened with a laugh. "Jus' like always, girl. You ain't got the guts. You got payback coming, sweetie, an' I'm-"

Her hands had curled into fists and she was resolved to try and beat the pretty out of Lydia when Sam's voice rang out-uh oh.

Lisabeth had managed to turn away from the water and take it to her back, getting soaked and knocked to her hands and knees, but not half drowned as Lydia got. She'd better do something before she got shot-but then Sam was there, grabbing her arm and hauling her up, tugging her along with him.

"You just soaked her!" Lisabeth exclaimed with a laugh, finding that hilarious, seemingly forgetting she too had gotten hit, her clothes sticking to her, that cream colored corset visible through the white cotton shirt. She was small enough and it was high enough she wasn't too exposed, but, well. She was definitely no boy.

Lydia must be SO mad! Serves her right!

...Lydia must be mad, and at Sam. Lisabeth didn't feel like laughing, now.

Stuff was going bad and it was time to go. Davy's gang had seemingly split themselves into two camps and were firing, Lydia's men were firing, Lisabeth's men were firing, and everyone was moving for cover. "YOU CAN'T RUN FOREVER SAL!" Lydia screeched from behind the corner of a building, briefly held down by gunfire-but it wasn't long before she leaned around and started dropping men left and right with stunning, frightening accuracy. Her men were no less deadly. It was turning into a massacre-but luckily, mostly at the front of the crowd, which she and Sam were rapidly escaping, missing the bloodshed.

She couldn't be fainting now.

Lisabeth's men though, they seemed to have started retreating. There weren't alot of them, but they seemed smart enough to extract themselves from the outnumbered mess.

Bradford and three others were waiting with Chet and Nellie-a bit of staring and then quick looks away from the three men, but Bradford paid her no mind. Swinging herself up and snapping the reins, she gave a "Come on you uglies!" shout to the remnants of her gang and took off. Back to him now, Sam would be able to see her shoulder blades through the shirt-and the nasty looking scars across them, lash marks.

Who had taken a whip to a little thing like Lisabeth?

/////////////////////////////

"We been traveling and fighting with you this whole time, and you can't shoot?"

They'd ridden hard for the very same hideout Sam had taken her from in the first place, and immediately started in on each other.

"You've seen me shoot plenty!" Lisabeth shouted angrily, pointing at him. "I've saved yer sorry hide time and time again!"

"But killing? I ain't ever seen you kill anybody. A lawman or a posse could have rolled up, and we woulda been on our own." The red haired younger man said.

"The hell you've ever been! I've shot rifles and pistols and horses smack out of hands and under folks!"

"We've been following you 'spite you being a girl cause we thought you were tough-" Another man said heatedly, interrupted by Lisabeth's shouted "You wanna see how tough I am?!"
Guns were drawn, and the red haired man was dismayed and a little panicked to find all of his companions had pulled theirs on him soon as he pulled his, Lisabeth shooting it outta his hand, as practiced as always.

He cursed, clutching the wrist, fingers bloody-and then thrust them forward all of a sudden, giving her a full look at the damage. Lisabeth paled and swayed a little, gripping the pommel of her saddle tightly. "Jesus, look, it's true. I think she's gonna fall off her horse." The dark haired man said.

Bradford finally spoke up, a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Sal, let's go get our silver, and then I think we outta split. I can take you home to your daddy back east if ya want."

She blinked at him, mouth open-then closed it and hung her head, finally defeated. She'd lost her gang. She'd certainly lose her reputation. It seemed her days as Six Gun Sal were over. Lisabeth slid from her horse, a small petulant kick of sand.

"...you boys can have the silver. It's in the old Ham mine, thirteen miles from here." "I know where that is." Said the red head, giving his former gang boss a look. "You do what you want Sal, but the west ain't a place for a body not willing to defend themselves. 'Specially not a girl."

Bradford felt a pang of guilt, but they were right. She shouldn't be out here. "Go on home Sal. You had yer fun-and Lydia'll want your blood more than ever, now." And then with a quick flick of his reins, he followed the other two.


Lisabeth was quiet only a moment before shouting at them. "YEAH WELL GOOD LUCK ROLLING ANYTHING WITHOUT ME, YA BUNCH OF DUMMIES!" A violent kick of sand, turning around to stalk back towards her horse-and then whirling again. "NELLIE'S SMARTER THAN YOU!"

She kicked more sand, growling all sorts of unladylike oaths before seemingly remembering Sam was there. She huffed, fixing her hat as she eyed him with a narrowed gaze.

"Well? You gonna make fun of me too Sam? Gonna call me a girl?" She was mad and felt a little hopeless, unsure what to do with herself or where to go from here.

And OF COURSE they'd left her with Sam! Now she was gonna have to try and escape him again before he hauled her off to Dodge City! Dammit. "Joke's on them, Ham mine ain't anywhere close to where that silver is at." She said darkly, glaring at their rapidly disappearing shapes.