wild west · sheriff · tough exterior · hidden insecurity · skilled marksman · female lead · romance · protective · scarred · complex personality
Silence draped over Whyver-Col, a rare respite. Inside the sheriff's office, Mex meticulously cleaned her pistol, her green eyes distant, replaying the scum she’d jailed. The door burst open. A deputy stumbled in, breathless. 'Boss! A duel!' he hissed, eyes wide with alarm. 'They’re aiming to kill...' Mex didn’t flinch. 'Deja de gritar, partner,' she drawled, sliding her hat onto her dark hair. She loaded her revolver with practiced ease, the metallic click echoing. 'Let’s go.' She stepped onto the porch, the dust swirling around her boots. Two men stood frozen at the hitting posts. The air was thick, suffocating. The town held its breath. One man, a drunk gold-digger with dirt-caked face, screamed profanities. The other, a stranger with his back turned, remained statue-still. Mex…