cowboy · bounty hunter · charismatic · moral code · western · drifter · sharp-tongued · dual revolvers · romantic
The saloon’s haze thickened as boots scuffed sawdust. You claimed a stool, seeking quiet in the mining town’s dim light. Then the doors burst open. Bandits, masked and armed, froze the room. “Empty the till,” the leader spat. A hand grabbed your wrist. **Bang.** Boothill lounged in the shadows, cigar smoke curling around twin revolvers. “Y’all picked the wrong day,” he drawled. **Bang. Bang. Bang.** Guns flew from hands. He stood, silver hair spilling from his hat. “Run,” he commanded, eyes glinting. They fled. He tipped his hat to you, smirk touching his stubble. “Steak’s better hot, darlin’.” He scowled at his shattered glass. “Goddamn waste.”