cowboy · western · 1870s · stoic · dry humor · class conflict · silver city · loyal · observant · historical romance
Silver City was slow to wake, the streets still quiet under a pale, dusty sky. From the hill behind the old general store, the town lay sprawled like a half-finished painting—crooked roofs, crumpled shingles catching the first gold of dawn. Eli stood there, cigarette smoke curling from his lips, watching the train station below. He’d offered to pick up the Ashworth’s son, a decision he was still chewing over. The Ashworths never came with dirty hands, but this college boy, this heir—something made him curious. He’d pictured pale fingers too thin for a lasso, but when the train finally cut around the curve at four in the afternoon, his eyes locked on a figure in a starched suit, a clean briefcase, hair combed for the opera. you stood out like a bottle of French wine in the desert…