Chapter Text
Dust flies up off the thundering hooves of Amber’s mustang as she and Ilia’s steeds fall into a steady gallop side by side with each other on the trail. The stagecoach is just a few lengths upward, and a grin nestles its way onto Amber’s lips as the wind whips around her through the open air. She glances over at Ilia who looks hard-pressed for a successful arrest, and she can’t think of a better time to pull his leg.
“Malinin, quit beatin’ the devil around the stump and get your tail up there,” Amber yells over.
Ilia’s eyebrows furrow with a mix of worry and focus. “They’re fast, sheriff.”
Amber bellows out a laugh. “Take notes, son.”
She whips the reins with practiced tenacity and darts up to be parallel with the two bandits maintaining haphazard control in the driver’s box.
“Afternoon, fellas,” Amber relinquishes one of the reins to tip her hat to them, “find everythin’ to your likin’?”
One of them regards her with a panicked yelp while the other shoots a furious glare.
“Glenn, you rat bastard,” he spits, reaching for something on his belt. He nearly loses grip on the reins and struggles to grab what Amber assumes to be his six shooter.
Amateurs.
“You kiss your husband with that mouth?” Amber asks with a teasing glint in her eye.
The yelper on the left giggles, and the other man slaps him upside the head before turning back to Amber.
“Go to hell, pig.”
“Race ya there.”
Amber kicks back and sends her mustang forward to the doubletree keeping the horses attached to the stagecoach. In one swift motion, Amber unfurls the lasso tied to her belt and snakes it around the wagon tongue, pulling it loose from its bearings. The horses whinny and rear back, separating themselves from the wagon and darting off in different directions.
“Go’on, git!” Amber shouts at the horses and falls back once more to avoid the spin out of the stagecoach as it flips on its side, sending the two bandits chewing gravel.
Amber and Ilia both take sliding stops and hop off to round up the men before they come to their senses. Amber runs up to one and uses the heel of her boot to stomp on the middle of his back.
“Whoreson of a bitch,” he hollers out, squirming under her weight like a cockroach.
Amber briskly ties up his hands and gives the back of his head some love with her spur before yanking him up by his collar. “Pull in your horns. You’re gonna need ‘em where you’re headed.”
Ilia has the other goon tied up, as well, and sends him toward Amber.
“Go on, get a move on,” he says and lands a swift kick to the man’s behind.
Amber chuckles under her breath watching Ilia. He may still be a rookie, but he’s got fire that reminds her of when she was just getting started all those years back. Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and trigger happy.
She goes to investigate the wreckage, and to her relief and pure entertainment, these bandits managed to steal away a stagecoach with jack shit in it. All that’s there is busted up planks of wood and a few dry corn kernels to show for their efforts.
“Y’all couldn’t even manage a good haul, boys. Boss is fit to be tied,” Amber teases and slaps one of them on the shoulder.
Amber and Ilia hop back on their mounts and fall into a slow trot behind the perps walking several feet ahead seemingly arguing back and forth at each other for who knows what.
Amber leans over to Ilia. “Over-under, let’s say… ten seconds.”
Ilia hums thoughtfully. “Over.”
“Generous,” Amber snickers.
They sit back and watch in anticipation for any signs of giddy up from the bandits. Amber’s been in the game long enough to know these types. All bark, no bite, even less brain. It takes a special kind of stupid to steal a Bandera stagecoach in broad daylight.
Amber counts down in her head.
Ten, nine, eight, seven…
On six, the bandits make a break for it and run like chickens with their heads cut off in either direction.
Free drinks tonight, baby.
“Run, fellas, run!” Amber calls after them, slowly unholstering her Smith and Wesson and giving it a kiss on the barrel.
Ilia, despite losing yet another over-under, laughs at the ridiculousness of the men’s sheer lack of athleticism.
“Check this out, rook. Ever been bandit golfin’ before?” Amber asks, loading her favorite .44 magnums because bandit golfing was a special occasion.
Ilia shakes his head. “Don’t reckon I have.”
Amber points the revolver out toward one of the men. “Just gotta aim reeeeeal steady…” She says and takes a deep breath out, firing a shot directly at his tailbone. He jumps up higher than a grasshopper on a hot skillet before hitting the ground and rolling down a hill.
“Hole-in-one!”
Ilia claps slowly and nods with approval. “Well, I’ll be ploughed sideways.”
The other bandit is still on the run, but his little legs haven’t gotten him too far. Amber knows she could take him out just as easy, but an idea comes to mind.
“Why don’t you give it a go?” Amber offers and holds her gun out for Ilia to take, and his eyes sparkle with excitement.
“Really?”
Amber flashes a smile at him. “Light ‘em up, hoss.”
Ilia eagerly snatches the gun and holds it up, quickly focusing on the skittering bandit several yards out, but Amber reaches out and grabs the barrel before he can shoot.
“Ah, ah, ah. You gotta kiss her before you take her for a spin,” Amber explains and lets go.
Ilia rolls his eyes and reluctantly brings the revolver to his mouth, giving it a quick peck on the cylinder before returning it to an aim. He squeezes an eye shut, breathes out real slow, and sends lead flying smack dab in the bandit’s right ass cheek. Similar to the other bandit, this one gets an extra pep in his step before falling over for the vultures to snack on later.
“Little wayward. We’ll call that a birdie. Still, not a bad shot, kid,” Amber compliments and takes her gun back.
Ilia sighs and tips his head back. “Drinks on me… again.”
Amber reaches over and gives him a love tap on his shoulder. “That’s seven in a row. You’re losin’ your edge, boy.”
Ilia gives her a dismissive wave. “Yeah, yeah.”
With that, they kick up to a canter and start their way back to town. The sunset casts a brilliant orange glow over the rolling hills of Bandera, and Amber thinks she may never get used to the beauty of her stomping grounds. Wild horses run free past the river, and hawks fly overhead screeching the anthem of the lawmen’s return home.
It’s dusk by the time they ride into main street, and there’s a small waiting party right on the edge of the jailhouse with smiles across their faces. Amber allows Ilia to yarn away with the tale of the chase, then they all scuttle toward the saloon for celebratory drinks.
The patrons whistle and tip their hats to Amber and Ilia as they stroll through and give an occasional pat on the back. They land themselves at the bartop and are greeted by Mikhail, the best damn barkeep in the state of Texas, at least from Amber’s experience.
“Sheriff Glenn! Heard ya lit their asses up with lead,” Mikhail beams and gives her a solid handshake.
Ilia laughs. “Quite literally, mind.”
Amber nods her head. “Just takin’ care of my folks. Speakin’ of which…” she turns to the crowd and waves her hat around, “one round on Deputy Malinin, everyone!”
The whole bar hoots and hollers, waving their hats in response. Ilia throws his arms up in defeat. “The whole saloon?! You think I’m made of cash?”
Amber chuckles and throws an arm around Ilia’s shoulders. “Who do you think fills your pockets? I got it.”
They settle comfortably by each other, and Mikhail is already getting a start on Amber’s usual.
“Old fashioned?” He asks as a courtesy.
“Always.”
Amber begins scanning the bartop and catches a glimpse of two women speaking intently about something with a worried expression painting their faces. If there’s one thing Amber can’t stand, it’s seeing ladies in distress.
She hops up from her stool and saunters over to them, holding her hat to her chest in respect.
“Yep. Heard she was in Medina last night. Only a matter of time ‘fore she’s up this way,” one of them says and tips back her drink with a heavy hand.
“Evenin’ ladies. Mind if I ask who you’re referrin’ to?” Amber asks, placing her hat back on her head.
Both women’s body language shifts from tense to inviting in a matter of seconds, and a knowing smirk crosses Amber’s face.
“Evenin’ sheriff,” one of them purrs, “word has it a bandit in Medina had a jailbreak and is headed east. She’s got quite the reputation, far as we know.”
Typical. Medina couldn’t keep bandits in the pen if they were tied by their ankles to the gallows. The reputation part, though, that intrigues Amber. She’s usually the first to know about these things.
“Not enough of one if I ain’t heard of her. Got a name?” Amber asks.
The other woman shakes her head. “All we got is the tip that she escaped. Says she’s pretty slick.”
Amber pockets her hands and leans against the bar. Looks like she’s gonna have some company real soon.
One of the women flattens her hand on Amber’s chest and slowly glides it up to her shoulder. Her eyes are half-lidded with what Amber guesses to be desire based on the intensity of her stare.
“She’d be a fool to set foot on your territory, sheriff,” she whispers.
The other woman’s dainty fingers slither their way onto Amber’s wrist. “You’d take care of her in an instant.”
Amber’s eyes flicker back and forth between them, and a familiar ardor envelops her core. Two-for-one nights always proved to be a treat.
“I am good at that, aren’t I?” Amber asks, her voice low and dangerous.
The first woman’s fingernails delicately scrape the back of Amber’s neck, sending chills down her arms. She steps just a hair closer, and Amber can sense the heat radiating off the woman’s skin.
“Think you’ve got a little more care to give tonight?”
“Enough for two?” The other woman chimes in.
God, the perks of this job.
“I reckon I could find it in my heart,” Amber banters, bringing both hands up to either woman’s face and gently running a finger underneath their chin.
Ilia clears his throat and snaps Amber out of her reverie.
“Sheriff, we’re settin’ up a game. You in?” He asks.
Amber looks over her shoulder and glares at Ilia for the interruption. He offers an apologetic smile, but he doesn’t relent.
She sighs and returns her hands to her pockets. Declining a game of poker on a successful night would be a slap in the face. “Deal me in, boys.”
Amber turns back to the women, and both of them appear mildly annoyed, but not enough to ruin the fun.
“I’ll be back, now,” Amber says.
“Don’t be too long,” one of them warns playfully.
“You know I never keep a lady waitin’,”Amber promises and sends a wink their way, causing the two of them to blush furiously.
Ilia scoffs and shoves her on their way over to the table. Amber’s taught him about wrangling bandits, roping loose cattle, and getting the upper hand in a showdown, but her flirting skills remain on lock. He’s got more work to do before indulging himself in the pastimes of a seasoned lawman.
The night starts off easy, and the table falls into cutting banter. Amber takes the first game, and Ilia shocks them with a straight flush to take game two. The rest of the table has accepted their inevitable defeat, but Amber’s resolve is unshakeable.
“Best two outta three, Malinin?” She asks, flipping a poker chip with her thumb and catching it midair.
Ilia looks down at the pot and back up to Amber. Five dollars are on the line, but the real prize is the bragging rights they’ll have until the next game night.
“You’re on, sheriff,” he accepts. The table cheers, drawing more observers over.
She’s gonna mop the floor with this boy.
The dealer begins shuffling, and the buzz of excitement lingers over the table as Amber and Ilia both count their chips. Amber can hear all the personal bets each patron throws out there, and she seems to have the over by quite a bit which riles Ilia up. That’s the fighting spirit she’s grown to love about him.
Just then, the lively chattering and picking of the strings in the background slow to a screeching halt, and an eerie silence falls over the bar, save for indistinct whispers here and there. All eyes dart toward the saloon doors as they swing back and forth, an unfamiliar figure standing right in front of them.
Amber very slowly pushes her chair out and stands to have a better viewing angle of the visitor.
It’s almost instant that Amber realizes this is a woman based on the soft features of her face and the size of her body. Intricately styled brown and blonde hair flows out from underneath a black felt cattleman, and Amber has to double check that those aren’t two raccoon tails clipped to the sides of her hat. She’s sporting an all-black duster with a vest of the same color, and Amber instinctively reaches for her holster when her eyes land on the woman’s hand casually resting on her own six shooter.
The room’s attention flickers back and forth between Amber and the woman, but no one dares says a word or makes any sudden moves. An uneasy feeling nestles itself into Amber’s gut, and the ladies’ words from earlier run back through her mind.
Word has it a bandit in Medina had a jailbreak and is headed east.
Looks like she made her way east, alright.
A sharp whistle rattles the silence, and the woman takes a few confident steps in Amber’s direction.
“Sheriff Glenn. What a sight to behold,” she remarks, her voice smooth and controlled. She takes her time strolling through the statues for a crowd, but she never takes her eyes off Amber.
Amber holds her gaze, tightening the grip on her revolver. There’s something in the woman’s dark eyes that Amber finds incredibly alluring, and it unsettles the hell out of her. Any old bandit would have their tail tucked between their legs walking into a full bar knowing the law is present, and yet, this woman struts through like she owns the place.
The rhythmic clicking of her boot heels against the shabby wooden floors has everyone on edge as she inches closer, closer, closer to Amber until she’s eye-to-eye with her. Amber feels incredibly exposed as the woman rakes her eyes up and down her body, sizing her up for whatever her intentions may be.
Amber doesn’t plan on finding out.
“Are you lost, darlin’? ‘Cause I can help you find your way out real quick,” Amber asks sweetly, but the warning is loud and clear.
The woman smiles up at her, and the flash of a piercing glints across her front teeth. Amber wonders what it’d be like to kiss someone with jewelry like that.
“Thanks, sweetheart, but I found what I was lookin’ for,” she says with a wink. “Boys over at Medina told me you’re ace-high. Had to come check it out for myself.”
Something tells Amber that this woman may have put the boys over at Medina to bed with a shovel before making her way out here. Despite herself, Amber allows a smile to fall on her lips.
“That so?” Amber asks.
“Sure is,” the woman nods and extends her hand out which sends Ilia up out of his chair, pointing his revolver at her temple.
Amber raises her hand up to Ilia, and he takes the hint to lower his gun. She reaches out and accepts the handshake, squeezing tight.
“Alysa Liu,” she introduces herself, but the name doesn’t ring any bells. Must be a new outlaw on the scene. Amber’s learned over the last four years of being the sheriff that new outlaws are either the dullest or sharpest knives in the shed, no in between. Alysa’s confidence is an indicator of the latter, but there’s still some time left to disprove that.
“Pleasure. Come to knock me down a few pegs, huh?” Amber asks, still holding onto Alysa’s hand.
Alysa tightens her grip even more, but she remains unphased. “Not in the way you’d think,” she pulls her hand back, but it lingers enough to leave a tingling impression in the palm of Amber’s hand.
She looks over Amber’s shoulder at the poker table. “Deal me in?”
Amber lifts her hand off her holster and crosses her arms. This woman would be out of her damn mind to get violent in front of the whole bar, regardless of whether she goes after a patron or Amber, herself. Even if she has an ulterior motive, Amber is more than sure that she won’t pull anything unless someone provokes her. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t intrigued by whatever the night has in store.
“Let’s see what you’re made of,” Amber accepts, motioning Alysa toward the table.
“Sheriff, what the hell are you doin’?” Ilia asks incredulously.
Amber takes her seat again, and Alysa sits down directly across her at the only open stool. Everyone in the bar remains standing, and they have their rapt attention on the two women.
“Ease up, Malinin. You ain’t gotta worry ‘bout it,” Amber reassures him. “Now, deal us in.”
Ilia takes a deep breath and sits back down, grabbing the deck and beginning to shuffle. Amber and Alysa hold eye contact until Alysa does an impressive knuckle roll with a chip, drawing Amber’s attention toward her fingers adorned with a bunch of silver rings in different shapes and sizes. She wonders how quick those fingers are against a trigger.
Ilia places the first bet out and deals them two cards each. Amber checks hers.
Ace of spades and ace of clubs.
She restrains the grin trying to find purchase on her lips.
Silently, Alysa tosses five chips into the pot. Her face is even for the first time tonight.
“Raise,” Amber says, pushing in an additional four chips.
“Call,” Alysa responds, following suit.
Playing it safe. Noted.
Ilia places the first three face-up on the table.
Ace of hearts, king of hearts, two of hearts.
Amber nearly cracks, but she manages to hold it together.
Alysa wets her lips and rubs one of her cards between her fingers.
“All-in.”
Gasps erupt from the room, and Amber lifts her eyebrows watching Alysa slide all her chips into the pot.
Amber’s free hand moves back under the table and onto her gun.
“Raise,” she says and uses her other to fill the pot with the remainder of her chips. She has two more than Alysa.
All eyes land on Alysa. The only noise Amber can hear in the moment is her pulse hammering in her ears.
Alysa flips the cards and tosses them in the middle.
Queen of hearts, three of hearts.
Alysa stares into Amber’s eyes and finally allows herself to smile.
Click.
Amber flies up, sending her stool clattering to the ground. It’s hard to say how she gets there, but Amber’s next view is the ceiling as her back hits the floor, knocking the breath right out of her. The cacophony of boots, fists, breaking glass, and gunfire flood the room, and Amber has absolutely no time to process being dragged from by arms out of the saloon doors and onto the dirt path of main street.
Still struggling to regain her breath, Amber digs her heels into the ground, praying that her spurs create enough friction to give her a second to catch up and break herself free.
She tries looking to see who’s pulling her, but there’s a heap of dirt gracing her vision at the moment. It’s certainly not Alysa, which means she wasn’t alone on her way out of Medina.
Amber remembers the gun she’s kept her grip on somehow, and she pulls the trigger, sending all six shots up as a last resort.
The continuous scraping of gravel against her back indicates six misses, the most Amber’s had in her entire career as Bandera’s sheriff. Those thoughts pummel her mind the further she’s pulled, but they all come to a standstill as something heavy and blunt makes contact with the back of her head, stealing her consciousness away slowly.
The jingling of keys and whipping of reins float around her in her stupor, and the image of dual-toned hair and an arrogant smirk burn themselves into the back of Amber’s eyelids.
“That’s it, now,” Alysa whispers, her voice distant and warbled, “get some shut-eye, sweetheart.”