Rush

act i. { the calaboose }

{ ❧ Song of the Section; Who Did That to You? by John Legend }

❧ "Boone Avery, you are a murderer and a thief. And you're gonna hang for everything you've done. I can promise you that," that damned sheriff had snarled at me. I felt a swift kick to my gut and was sent into a fit of coughs on the unforgiving prairie floor. After a good beatin', that tubby son of a bitch spat a mouthful of chew at me and shackled me up for good.

Or so I thought.

                                                           ❦

{ ❧ Denver City, Colorado Territory, two weeks later }

I'd be lying if I said I'd never had a woman point a pistol at me in a moment of passion before, but when Mercy Montgomery did it, something inside me told me it wasn't just for show. Maybe it was the five shots fired and the sheriff's dead body outside my cell that evoked this realization in me.

Regardless, that girl should have known that I don't jump through hoops for nobody. Even if I was half naked and ass up on the floor of the clink.

Heeled shoes clicked across the battered wood floors, into my cell, and over to me. She greeted me with the sweet smell of rose water perfume and a shotgun to my head. I groaned inwardly, for this was no way to be greeted by a woman. I hadn't had the pleasurable company of a one in a while. Shoot, for a moment there I had been thinking things were starting to look up. 

"Boone Avery?" the woman inquired, ever so politely.

"Might be." It was difficult to talk, with the right side of my face pressed against the floor and all, but I still didn't budge from my entirely vulnerable position. "I insist you buy me a drink first." Somewhere in the distance, I heard dogs yappin'. Not to mention, shouts from the townspeople, who had likely just pieced together that their sheriff and his men had just been shot up by some floozy. 

"We don't have any time for that, Boone Avery." She chuckled a pretty little laugh.

For the first time, I pried my tired eyes open and let my gaze wander up that scarlet dress of hers. It was quite the contrast against the grey bricks and iron surrounding us. She stood with her smokin' pistol in one hand and the old sheriff's shotgun in the other. Her corset was laced up nice and tight and her lips were painted with rouge, just how I fancied on a gal. I'll admit she was pretty, too, with her light hair all loose and curled. If I had been a shy man, I might have blushed, being in only my johns and all. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips. This wasn't any soiled dove. What I had in front of me was a genuine lady. 

"Well what do we have time for, darlin'? Seems I'm in the mood to negotiate," I quipped, a sneer danced upon my lips.

The woman moved the barrel of the shotgun away from my head, so I took that as an invitation to turn over on my back and get a better look at her. I rubbed the stubble on my chin and gave her a nice once over. She shot a look of disapproval in my direction and prodded my family jewels with the shotgun. Before I knew it, that sneer slid right off my face.

Just as I was about to object, a moan broke through the silence outside the cell and I watched as without hesitation, the young lady in front of me pumped another bullet into the now-definitely-dead-body of the sheriff. 

Who did this woman think she was? 

"Get your ass up," she warned. I watched as she kicked a neat little pile of clothes toward me. "I won't ask twice." That time, I felt a sense of urgency and snatched up the brown trousers that had been placed at my feet, as well as the white shirt and blue vest. 

"Who the hell are you, woman?" I snarled, hopping off of the dingy floor and kicking on the pants. I struggled to button the damned things up with my tired, calloused hands. 

While I attempted to dress myself as quick as possible, she sat the sheriff's shotgun down with those deceivingly delicate gloved hands of hers. I could hear the sound of dogs and shouts getting closer and closer. The young woman dusted herself off and placed her own pistol back in the leather holster that was slung around her slender waist. I wanted to know what the hell this little pistol wanted with a guy like me. 

"Oh, Lord, how rude of me," she replied with a click of her tongue. Her face was lit up with the orange glow of the summer evening. "My name's Mercy Montgomery. And you, Boone Avery, are going to help me kill the Bell brothers." I perked up at the name, a chill ran down my spine. She paused, for drama's sake, I s'pose. "Slowly." Then a sick smile tugged on those rouged lips of hers. 

 And it was then that little lady really caught my attention.