Chapter 1
You knew he was bad news. In fact, the whole country knew he was bad news. Luckily, this was a town of outlaws and thieves, a haven for ne’er-do-wells of all sorts. So he went relatively unnoticed by most, except you of course.
He frequented your father’s saloon, always sauntering in with a pistol on his hip and what your father described as a “bad attitude”. Your father thought most outlaws had a bad attitude though, which was pretty ironic since they were his primary customer base. And hell, maybe he did have a bad attitude. Of course, you’d never know one way or the other, since you were strictly forbidden from speaking to any of your father’s patrons.
Perhaps it was his unique stature that first attracted your attention. Namely, the four metal arms protruding from his back. The local people even said that they moved on their own, like giant puppets, but you’d never seen evidence of this yourself. Perhaps it was his handsome brown eyes, which you’d caught a glimpse of one evening when you were handing off some clean glasses to your father. Perhaps it was the way he’d tilted his hat at you that evening, with a grin that dared you to say hello. You almost did say hello in fact, before your father shooed you back upstairs.
It didn’t really matter though. You were strictly forbidden from speaking to any outlaw, him in particular. And if you wanted to continue living with your father, safe from an arranged marriage to any of the more “upstanding” local bachelors, you would obey his rules.
Aside from your studies, it was an incredibly dull life. You taught in the mornings at the local schoolhouse, then returned in the evenings to help your father with the saloon (behind the scenes of course). Teaching was rewarding at least, and although few of your pupils were ‘regulars’, you liked to believe that you were making a positive difference in their lives regardless.
That particular morning had been exhausting. They are all good kids, it’s just that, well, a lot of them lack consistency in their home lives. So was it really any surprise that they couldn’t demonstrate consistency in the classroom? You sigh tiredly, flopping down on a stool at the bar and laying your head down with a thud.
“Rough day again, Y/N?” asks your father, looking up from the glass he was polishing.
“Ughhhh,” you grunt in response. Your father tuts softly in response, under his breath. He’s proud of your teaching but has seen how exhausting it can be.
“That Anderson boy was in earlier, asking about you,” he says. You lift your head and fix your father with a confused look.
“What Anderson boy?” you ask.
“Bill Anderson? The deputy?”
“Ugh,” you grunt, “him.” You let your head fall back to the bar with a thwump .
“Look, I’m not a fan of his either, Y/N, but what’s the harm in talking to him? Maybe he’ll leave you alone?”
“But dad-” you complain. He shakes his head, chuckling.
“You’re just like your mother. I used to call her my cactus flower, you know. Beautiful but-”
“Thorny,” you laugh. Your dad, as overprotective and misguided as he is sometimes, has always just wanted the best for you. He wants you to be happy. Maybe he’s right about Bill. Maybe if you just go talk to him, he’ll leave you be. “Ok,” you concede. “I’ll stop by the Sheriff's this afternoon and speak to him.”
“That’s my girl.” Your father smiles, patting you lightly on the shoulder. “Now, help me get the tables wiped before the patrons get here.”