“Apparently they were just pulling in to town when a horse came tearing up the road. Said they thought it was hell on wheels.” Grant’s companion relayed flatly. The man had dark hair slicked back flat to his skull with enough pomade to smother a cow. The greasy slick shone like a mirror in the blazing light as the sun finally relinquished its grip on the sky and slipped below the desert horizon. It kinda hurt Grant’s eyes to look at him for too awful long.

“Next thing they knew, some guy’s hopping in their coach and sticking a barrel in the husband’s face.” The guy scrunched his nose up when he told the tale. It only made a nasty scar slashed across the bridge his nose all the more prominent, a jagged, rough thing that looked more like it’d been dealt by a whisky bottle or a high heel than any knife. A matching knick cut through the tip of his right eyebrow, leaving a patch missing from the thick, dark hair. The fact that his brows were as heavy as a damn shelf only made the tiny cut all the more obvious.

“Well, Deputy, was anyone hurt?” Grant asked as he followed the man through town. The scene of the crime was at the far end of the little cluster of shops and houses they called home, out near the bank. The sheriff could only be glad the bastard didn’t decide to stick up that instead.

“Not a scratch on ‘em. A little shaken up is all.” Deputy Reid answered with a shake of his head. A red bandana that hung loosely around his neck shifted with the action and fell messily over his plain blue button up. The man’s clothes were about as plain as they come. A pair of well worn jeans were tucked neatly into beige riding boots. The knee was torn out of the left pant leg and more than one well washed stain clung to the denim. A beige ridgetop hat sat straight atop his oiled hair.

Quite fitting, considering Gavin Reid was ‘bout the plainest man Grant had ever met.

They were just passing the general store when the crowds started to thicken. Grant duly noted that he should probably tell Lennie to fix his sign up sometime soon. The white paint streaked across the huge letters reading “Store” across the front of the building was beginning to chip.

An older man with a bit of pudge to him peaked out from the front door of the shop and the sheriff glanced away; but he could still feel the guy’s eyes trail the pair of lawmen as they passed.

They turned a final corner and finally came upon the scene. A small crowd was gathered around a rich looking stagecoach parked just at end of the lane. The thing was painted an affluent shade of ruby and shone like the morning sun in the dull tones of the advancing evening. Gold trimmings decorated the side of thing in elegant curls that twirled beautifully around the open door and stretched out to the riders seat. There was no question, the owners were wealthy.

“Guess it’s no wonder these poor folk got the worst kind of welcome.” Gavin commented pityingly and Grant nodded. Anyone riding around flaunting their riches like that was bound to get a gun in their face sooner or later.

The sheriff pushed his way slowly through the crowd. The entire town seemed to have poured out like the theater had come to the street. The lawman brushed by a woman but she turned her nose up and away with an indignant “hmpth!” before he even had a chance to apologize. Not a minute later, he tripped over some kid trying to peak round his father’s leg and nearly ate dust.

“Watch it, mister!” The little brat barked but his father smacked the top of his oversized hat down with a sharp scold. The man cast the sheriff an apologetic smile as his child pulled the hat back up from over his eyes with a huffy pout and muttered sniff. Grant offered a polite nod in return before finally maneuvering around the last few townsfolk and breaking free of the throng of people.

A young woman in an elegant dress sat inside the coach, perched delicately atop a sleek, padded bench. Her bodice was tight and dipped low to display pale skin and pronounced collar bones. The shoulders were ruffled and a draped bustle swathed from the waist of the garment to hang over a long skirt. Long, blonde sausage curls were done high up on her head and fell over her exposed shoulders in rich bunches.

Despite her elegant attire, dark streaks smudged rudely under the girls eyes and ran over her flushed cheeks in rivers.

“Ma’am.” Grant greeted with a dip of his hat. The girl snapped her gaze toward him with a scowl so ferocious one might have thought he’d slapped her across the face. Thin eyebrows came together and painted lips twisted into a snarl that reminded the man more of a coyote than a distressed woman.

However, the expression melted from her face the moment her eyes fell on the man. “Sorry, sir. I thought you were my husband.” The girl apologise hastily, her voice soft and pleasant in a way, like the chord of song just beginning to play. A bashful smile crept across her face that seemed a near impossibility after the ferocity Grant had just witnessed.

“Well, in that case, I’m certainly glad I ain’t.” Grant chuckled. A disgruntled huff drew his attention behind him and he glanced over his shoulder to see Gavin shoulder his way into the open. The man rolled his shoulder a few times once he was free of the crowd before joining the sheriff.

“Do you think you could tell us what happened ma’am?” The deputy asked, voice stoic and curt. Always to the point, that one. Made him a hell of a good deputy, but maybe not the best riding partner Grant had ever had.

“I sure can, mister.” The girl snapped sharply, taking Grant a bit by surprise. She drew herself up some and her face contorted into that same ferocious scowl once more. “I will tell you exactly what happened! My idiot husband-” The woman began but made it no farther than that.

“Oh, so now it’s my fault we got robbed!” A man abruptly interjected. He appeared out of nowhere, ducking out from behind the carriage like a snake striking at its foe. He wore a dapper suit, complete with a tall top hat and fancy cravat. A dark mustache bristled out above his upper lip and twisted with his offensive frown.

“We weren't even robbed!” His wife spat back venomously. All soft sweetness that had honeyed her voice before was suddenly absent and her tones were rough and course. Grant couldn’t fathom how the same girl could make such a horrible noise.

“You weren't?” There sheriff interjected hastily. He had to get as much information as he could before these two spiraled off into a war.

The woman broke off her vicious scowl for a moment to turn back towards the lawman. “Unless you count the theft of my dignity, no.” She answered in a pout.

“Unfortunately, ma’am, dignity thievery is not a crime punishable by law.” Grant deadpanned. “Can someone please explain to me what actually happened here?” He pressed, throw an exasperated look with as much irritation as he could pack into it to one person then the other.

“That ruffian burst into my coach-” The man began. A sharp “Your coach?” cut through his explanation but he rolled his eyes and continued on. “Demanding the name of some saloon over in some place.” The guy gestured vaguely as he spoke. Despite his hopes, however, his hand gestures failed to clue Grant in to the name of said place.

“A saloon?” Grant repeated. What kind of idiot stuck up a stagecoach to ask the best place to get a drop?

“A saloon where?” Gavin insisted. Right to the point.

”Shady something or other? Or maybe dusty? No, shady. Shady someplace.” The man offered unhelpfully.

“Shady Belle, idiot!” The woman snapped with a sneer and shook her head with an annoyed roll of her bright blue eyes. “I’m sure if he’d asked you about the whore house there you’d remembered.” The girl added under her breath.

Gavin shifted a bit at Grant’s side. Just a twitch, a scuff of his boot against the ground. No one else would’ve noticed but Grant had been riding with the kid for a little under two years. He’d come to know the man’s tells and ticks well.

“Well, we know where he’s heading now.” The deputy affirmed. The man then shifted a bit and took a small step back, preparing to leave, but Grant found himself lingering.

“What in the hell did he wanna know about some saloon in Shady Belle for?” The sheriff asked the stranger and crossed his arms thoughtfully over his broad chest.

“Well, I’m not so sure, sir.” The man answered uncertainty. “But I think he might’ve-”

“He didn’t even wanna talk to you!” The girl who’d been sitting quiet for a few minutes butted in again. She crossed her legs and turned her nose away from her husband; but she had Grant’s attention now.

“He wanted to talk to you?” The sheriff asked. None of this made a lick of sense and these two arguing through whole damn thing sure as shit wasn’t helping.

“As a matter of fact, he did.” The girl informed indignantly. She offered nothing else though and instead merely sat with her nose turned away and her arms crossed defiantly over her chest.

“Well, what did he want?” Grant pressed. He was trying his damndest to keep the irritation from his voice but his frustration was only mounting by the minute and a guy could only do so much.

“Does it matter?” Gavin piped up at his side, a keen note of disinterest woven through his voice. There was no malice behind the kid’s words. And really, he wasn’t wrong. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter.

The woman paused for a moment and when she answered her voice was quited, almost sad in a way. “He was askin’ ‘bout an old friend of mine.”