Honestly, Grant wasn’t even surprised when he woke up the next morning tied to a tree.

Still half within the realm of dreams, the man shrugged himself into motion and willed his arms to move only to find them bound tight to his sides. The coarse fabric of the fraying rope dug into his flesh and pulled cruelly against his straining form when he pressed his muscles against its unrelenting hold, doing naught but leaving harsh red lines in his own skin and failing to budge the twisting strands in the slightest.

“Fucking bastard.” The sheriff sighed as he begrudgingly went limp, letting his head fall back only to have it thunk heavily into the thick trunk of a tree with a dull noise, leaving a heavy throb pounding behind his eyes.

“Wassat?” Gavin’s familiar voice slurred from nearby, rough and unrefined with sleep.

Some painful shifting later, Grant caught a glimpse of the pale brim of the deputy’s crooked hat just in the corner of his vision… So they were both tied to a tree. Peachy.

“He tied us to a goddamn tree.” Grant informed curtly, a growl rumbling through his voice as he twisted a bit only to fall still again with a heavy groan a moment later, chest heaving with the effort and nothing to show for it but angry red lines ribbing across his shoulder. The camp was empty, no sign of the outlaw nor his prissy horse left in the scratched up dirt to suggest there had ever been anyone but Gavin and himself there last night. The cool river babbled merrily on through the thin grass and a small bird with brilliant black feathers hopped about, giving a shrill chirp every few seconds before a spat curse from Gavin sent it fluttering to the sky with a startled song; but no other sound existed in the silent woods.

“I’ll fucking kill him” Gavin mumbled in a snarl, apparently having woken up right quick after learning of their predicament. The man squirmed a bit, straining fruitlessly against the cords and only succeeding in pulling them tighter against Grant in the process, dragging the ropes into the sheriff with every twitch.

“If you don’t stop fucking moving I’ll kill you before you get the chance!” Grant barked sharply, his words thankfully stilling the deputy who laid back with a crude grumble about “pig fucker.” Grant really wasn’t sure if the guy was talking about him or the Kid.

“Ya’ boys seem’ be in a might bit of a bind.” A new voice interfejected, drawing Grant’s gaze to the far side of camp where a skimpy twig of a tree was being pushed aside and a small herd of guys approached. Flannels and jeans as far as the eye could see, the group were simple townsfolk by the look of it, probably come from Shady Belle.

“Howdee.” Grant greeted in an awkward chuckle, dipping his hat politely as best he could. First impression for the record books.

The group had been quick working boys and Grant soon found himself standing back in the middle of the small, rundown town with absolutely no leads to speak for. He’d asked every one of the men who’d rescued them if they’d seen someone matching the Kid’s description and had received the same answer every time - No, sir. Ain’t never seen the fella in my life.

“I’m gonna keep asking around town. He can’t have just disappeared.” The sheriff sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut against an oncoming headache, the thing rolling toward him like a freight train gone off rails and over a damn cliff.

“You wanna talk to every lad and lass in this shithole, that’s fine with me.” Gavin snorted tastelessly, already popping open a new can of pomade and beginning to comb the shit through his hair where it miraculously stuck up against gravity’s hold. Tree bark was apparently no better a pillow for the hair than it was the back - Grant’s ruined muscles shrieked in testimony to that.

“But I’m gonna be findin’ us an actual room to lay our heads down in tonight. I ain’t sleeping in another woods if it kills me.” The Deputy spat, already stalking away before Grant could even respond and mumbling muttered curses all the way.

“Prissy as that fucking crazy horse.” Grant chuckled to himself and set to work. The man spent hours asking every person on the street if they’d ever seen a brown eyed man with freckle stained skin but he had little luck. It was already dusk by the time he started going in shops asking around and night had claimed the sky when he finally closed the last door and heaved a tired sigh. The purple gray of the evening crept through the town on a quiet breeze and the dark of dusk left him as answerless as the bright dawn.

The phantom of the wind seemed to have simply swept away with the mist. No one had seen the Kid.

There was only one place left in the whole goddamn city Grant hadn’t gone into. The building set just a little out of town so that you could still see it from the street but far enough away that it didn’t press in close to the others. Almost as if it were uninvited to the rest of the town - Shunned away and disgraced yet lingering nevertheless.

The sheriff made his away across the modest stretch of desert and came to stand just in front of the two story building where he let his eyes flick across the wide sign nailed to its staggered rooftop. “The Wild Stallion Brothel” was scrawled in huge, curled letters spanning the length of wood, gleaming a haughty red in the burning candles hung around the building to light the whole place in a welcoming glow, like a fiery beacon of life in the dark night.

“And stay out you no good rotter!” A woman’s harsh voice bellowed through the night and the front doors of the place swung open to throw a man out of their bowels. The guy went face first to the ground, his hat falling over his face and his ass left up in the air as the woman who’d tossed him out stood out on the small porch to glare down out him.

The girl was heavy set, voluptuous and full. A decorated corset stretched tight over her filled out chest and a bustling skirt fell over her wide hips in lushious folds that shimmered a rich satin in the lamp light. She snarled as fierce as any coyote, pushing a feather from her elaborate updo out of her eyes as her gaze drew up off the fallen man to fall on Grant, who had failed to do much more than gawk at the scene from where he stood.

“Well, are you just gonna stand there like a horse’s ass all night?” The lady called, turning on a heel and stalking back into the brothel, the heels of her boods clacking angrily against the wood as she went.

Grant blinked himself out of his stupor and made after the woman, carefully stepping around the man who groaned into the dirt and failed to do so much as pull himself off the ground. The sheriff stepped up onto the small wooden porch and pushed open the scarlet painted doors, chasing away the dark of night to be brought into the warm glow of candlelight basking the building in its warm touch of life.

Ladies milled around the open area just inside, leaning over men who had more money than Grant and sitting pretty around a small bar that was set up by the wall. Scarlet lipstick and high laced up boots seemed to be a popular choice and luscious dresses of every color danced around the room, flowing in the warm light and shining with the rich desires of the lonely world.

Behind the bar, a man stood rubbing the inside of a tall glass with a pale rag, his handlebar mustache twisted as his face set in a perpetual frown. Ashen skin stretched over heavy jaws and greasy hair hung limply down into haunted eyes that rose to bore into Grant as the sheriff let the doors swing closed behind him.

“You can call me Ruby Grace and this here is my place.” The woman Grant had followed inside began speaking, drawing the lawman’s attention away from the bartender. “Behave yourself and don’t do nothing my girls tell you not to or you’ll end up on your ass like bozo out there.” Ruby warned, emerald eyes flashing and painted lips twisting into a snarl that meant business.

“I’m actually just hear to ask you something ma’am.” Grant corrected hastily, shaking his head as if to shoo away any other suggestions as to why he might be here.

“What? No! I just-” Hank sputtered then gave up with a groan. “I'm looking for a man,” The sheriff tried to start over but got cut off with by an amused chuckle.

“Sorry, sugar, I don't employ any men here.” The woman apologized earnestly, painted lips curling into a sorry smile, and Hank swore he went into cardiac arrest on the spot.

“No! I’m looking for a different kind of man!” Hank corrected hastily, eager to erase any notion that he looking for what Ruby seemed to believe he was, then instantly wished he hadn’t.

“Aren’t we all, Hun.” Ruby agreed with a wide grin and knowing eyes gleaming mischievously, as if they could see past Grant’s eyes to read every secret like a book.

“I,” The sheriff tried than realized how fruitless trying to correct the woman would be and gave up with a sigh. “Have you seen a man with brown hair. Kinda soft face, pale skin, little on the smaller side. Delicate like?” Grant asked exhaustedly, tired of giving this same speech and receiving the same answer time and again. He had already steeled himself for the same, abysmal answer when the woman opened her mouth.

“Pretty little thing? Sweet eyes?” Ruby asked, nearly sending Grant into shock.

“That’d be him.” The sheriff agreed instantly. Then tried to pretend he had to think about it for a minute for his own sake.

“Well, sure!” The woman cried and Grant nearly sobbed with joy. “He came in here earlier saying he saw a couple sorry idiots tied to a tree so I sent a few boys out.” Ruby explained pleasantly, smiling broadly at said sorry idiot.

“Of course he did.” Grant groaned, dragging a hand down his face to pull at the aging skin there and tug at his beard. “I need a drink.” The man sighed, turning towards the bar and ignoring the absolutely confused look the brothel owner cast his way.

Grant stalked across the room and slumped onto a bar stool, waving the bartender over with a tired hand. His eyes wandered behind the bar as he waited, drifting over fancy bottles gleaming in the low light until it fell on a framed oil painting hung in the very center of the wall. Nothing about it seemed all that noteworthy, just a painted picture of Ruby Grace and her girls from a few years ago from what Grant could tell, considering the woman that headed the herd looked at least twenty years younger than the one the sheriff had just spoken too.

However, something about it kept his gaze even as the bartender slid him a glass and he brought the thing to his lips, the amber liquid tasting warm and thick on his lips. There was something almost familiar about one of the girls near the end whose long brown hair fell over her shoulder in luscious waves and whose caramel eyes gleamed with flirty mischief; but for the life of him, Grant just couldn’t put a finger on it.

“I ain’t never seen you around here before, mister.” A soft voice whispered in his ear, honey sweet like a song on the wind. Delicate fingers brushed against his shoulder, pressing into the tense muscles there and wiping Grant’s mind clean, leaving a dull, warm haze in wake of where he’d once had coherent thoughts.

“Well, I ain’t from around here.” Grant managed to reply after an embarrassingly long moment, doing his best not to let a shiver roll over his body as the newcomer leaned in close.

A breathy giggle blew into the sheriff’s ear, summer warm and feather soft, making his mission not to shiver an impossibility. Careful fingers danced over his shoulder blades and down along his tormented back, trailing ever lower until they were dangerously close to his back pocket, where he kept all his cash.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Grant chuckled, whipping around before the newcomer could retreat. “You ain’t the first to try that.” The sheriff chided, snapping a trailing hand by the wrist to halt the cunning fingertips as he spun to catch the culprit in the act.

Surprised doe-eyes, wide and startled, stared at the man over the black laced edge of a pink fan that hid the culprit’s face.

But Grant didn’t need to see the rest of the person's face - He knew those eyes all too well.