by Ami Snow
They returned to the office and sat down. The sheriff reached into her desk and pulled out a bottle. She took out two shot glasses. With the bottle she poured herself a drink.
“You want one?” she asked.
“As long as you’re offering,” he answered.
She poured him one too and passed the glass to Chico.
“To law and order,” she said raising the glass.
“Law and order,” Chico repeated as they both drank their whisky in one gulp.
“I didn’t catch your name, deputy,” she said to him.
“Chico,” he responded. “Everyone calls me Chico.”
Or at least they had for the past hundred years.
“Well, Deputy Chico,” she said, “that was some mighty fine shooting. I haven’t seen anyone handle a gun like that since my own father, God rest his soul, was sheriff.”
Chico tried not to smile. She was comparing him to her own father whom it was plain to see she respected. It all made his job so much easier. He mentally calculated how fast it would take him to get her boots off, but he had plenty of time to work on it. He’d made his interest in her at the start, so have to go slow. He hadn’t slept on a bed in a long time and pondered if one came with the job. He’d need a nice long one for the both of them.
“I understand your father was the sheriff of this metropolis before you took over,” Chico stated.
“He kept the place from going to hell and paid for it with his life!” the sheriff said, slamming the glass down. The drink had hit her hard. “And that town council knows more than they are telling!”
Nothing to argue about there, Chico thought.
“I just can’t prove it,” she went on, “but I’m getting close and when I do….”
The sheriff became quiet, thinking and staring out the window. Chico saw her jaw set and a look of pure hatred come into her eye as something very horrible was being replayed in her mind. Best not to talk to her at the exact moment. Let her work it out on her own.
And then she came back to earth. The sheriff turned to Chico.
“Do you have a place to sleep tonight?”
Was she making an offer already?
“No I just got into town. I thought about seeing if the saloon would rent me a spot. Doesn’t seem like they have much business over there.”
“You can sleep in one of the empty cells,” she told him. “It gives me an excuse for going home and I don’t have to worry about being waked in the middle of the night over some stupid cow poke getting in a fight.”
“I’ll leave you the keys to the cell and gun rack,” she told him. “I probably shouldn’t be doing it so early, but the council hired you and if something goes wrong it will be their damn fault not mine.”
Chico glanced out the window and noticed very few people wondering about.
“Doesn’t seem like you have much to worry about.”
“We don’t,” she said. “Which is just the problem; almost everyone with any sense has left this town. Once the mines went bust all the prospectors left. Then all the people who supplied the prospectors. All we have left are the local ranchers and they don’t come into town enough to keep the streets dirty.”
Chico thought the situation over. Why would the town council want him to eliminate the sheriff if the town was falling off the map? He understood why they wanted the gang taken out who might be after the gold, but why were they so bothered by the sheriff? Especially if they thought she was a big joke?
“There is still the bank,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve had your share of robbery attempts.”
“We did until the crooks figured out there was nothing in it to steal,” she laughed. “Tom Wetzer has been talking about starting another bank someplace else. Can’t say I blame the old chiseler.”
Nothing to steal? It wasn’t what the bank president had told him earlier. He was worried the gold in the bank would go missing before he moved it.
“The only problems we ever have are from drunk cowboys riding into town to drink their earnings away,” she told him. “You get some fire water into those boys and all hell breaks loose. As a matter of fact I just saw some of them flying out of town before you came in here with the council. I heard a gunshot before that, so I would normally head over to the saloon and see if there was a problem.”
“But,” she concluded, “seeing as how you and them just came from the saloon, there couldn’t have been trouble or someone would’ve said something. Was there any trouble?”
“No, none to worry about,” he answered. Which was the gospel truth.
The next few weeks saw Chico backing up the sheriff the few times he was needed. Mostly it was to provide assistance in breaking up fights between cowboys at the declining saloon. They would let them sleep off the drink in the cell and boot them out of town the next morning. So far Chico had been able to sleep in an empty cell each night. The jail had been constructed with four holding cells and no more than two were ever occupied.
Trying to find a way into the sheriff’s grace was another problem. Chico still had the stigma of being hired by the council in her eyes which meant he couldn’t be trusted. The council had not contacted him since offering him the job and no outlaws had appeared trying to rob the gold assets the bank wasn’t supposed to have. After the hand slap, Chico decided on a less direct approach. The moon wouldn’t be hitting the full moon cycle for another two weeks and he still had some time. If nothing happened when he transitioned into bear, Chico would have to move on. Too many questions to answer if he returned to this town within the next few years.
One day, a week into the job, he was cleaning out some old files for the sheriff. There was a stack of outdated wanted posters she wanted him to take out and burn since they were taking up space in the corner of the office. Some had been left over from when her father was sheriff. Chico was in the process of dumping them in a hole he’d dug out by the firing range when one of the posters caught his eye. He fished it out of the pile and looked at it.
It was for a notorious bank robber called Blue Bush and listed the description of the bandit. The reward was considerable and the offer was dead or alive. The man had killed quite a few people in his drive to loot ten banks in the territory. It was dated ten years back and decorated with a crude drawing at the top.
A drawing which resembled Tom Wetzer the bank president. Chico looked at the poster again and scratched off the mustache from the drawing. The resemblance was too close. Either Wetzer had a brother who robbed banks or the bank president had been making unscheduled withdrawals of rival banks years ago.
He burned it with the others.
The following day Chico decided to make a quick visit to the saloon. He hadn’t been in except for official calls since the first night he’d visited the place. Wearing his bright deputy badge over his poncho, Chick strolled into the saloon and went up to the bartender. After ordering the beer, he made sure the town council was in their usual location at the end of the bar.
“Is that your only set of clothes?” the bartender asked him. “I don’t seem to recall you wearing anything else since you’ve been in town.”
“It gets washed every week,” Chico informed him. “And yes it is all I have until the town decides to increase my salary.”
He knocked back the beer and looked back at where the town council was meeting every day. This time the council had decided to relocate their venue to his end of the bar.
“How are you getting along with the sheriff?” the bank president asked him. “She giving you any trouble?”
“None I can’t handle,” Chico answered.
“Good,” the mayor said next. “We have word from outside the town that the gang we were telling you about might be here very soon. Just thought you’d want to know.”
“The sheriff doesn’t trust me,” Chico explained. “They think I’m your man.”
Dave Winters, the store owner, looked at the bartender who was getting too close with his cleaning rag.
/> “Don’t you have something else to do?” he asked the bartender.
The bartender took the hint and wandered out back.
“I just can’t understand,” Chico said as he finished his beer. “Why the gang would be interested in a bank which doesn’t have much money in it.”
“It’s none of your concern how much is in my bank,” Tom Wetzer growled a few inches from Chico’s face. “Just you make sure no one interferes with it.”
“As for the sheriff,” the mayor said. “We’ve made some other arrangements. Don’t be concerned about her.”
“What are you talking about?” Chico said, slamming the mug down.
“We think you’re getting a little too close to her,” the bank president commented. “So we don’t want you forgetting about our other offer.”
“She’s going to run into some problems tomorrow,” the mayor told him. “You just look the other way, understand? When it’s all over, you’ll have the sheriff job too.”
“I understand,” Chico said. “How are you planning to do it?”
“Not your problem,” the mayor told him. “We’ve taken care of it. Alright?”
“I understand,” Chico said wiping his mouth. “I get to be the sheriff after it happens.”
“Correct.”
He thanked them and left the saloon. As Chico walked out he noticed the bartender glaring at him from the side of the saloon. Maybe they all weren’t crooks in this town, Chico thought, but no one was going to stand up to that town council.
The next day Chico woke early and unlocked the office. Right on schedule the sheriff rode in and tied her horse to the post in front of the office. She walked in and took off her hat, her hair falling over her shoulders. She went to her desk while braiding her hair back and looked at Chico.
“Any trouble last night, deputy?” she asked him.
“None at all, sheriff,” he replied. None he could do anything about at the present. But there was going to be some trouble real soon.
The morning passed without any incidents. The mail was dropped off and the rider took off for the next destination. Sheriff Mary Jane sorted through the letters, putting the ones she wanted to read on her desk. Chico polished his revolver and waited.
Toward the afternoon there came a loud sound outside the office in the direction of the town center. The sheriff grumbled something about another useless cowboy and tossed the door open. Chico said nothing and followed her.
In the center of town a stage coach had broken a wheel from colliding with a cart belonging to a local farmer. The coachman and the farmer were yelling at each other, trying to blame somebody. It was starting to draw a crowd of the few people still living in Grizzly Gulch. The sheriff started walking to the scene of the accident, resigning herself to calming the two drivers down. Chico followed three steps behind her, glancing around the street and at the second floor windows. It was too convenient.
The rider came thundering out of a side street right in the direction of the sheriff. Chico saw him just in time. He had a handkerchief pulled over his face and his hat slouched down to cover his eyes. He was headed out of the sun where the sheriff wouldn’t be able to see him in time. The whole incident had been carefully planned. Chico pondered over how many people were involved when he pulled out his revolver.
Both the rider and Chico fired at the same time. Chico’s bullet struck the rider between the eyes and the rider’s shot hit the sheriff in the left arm. Chico could see the blood flow from her bicep as the rider flew off the back of the horse. The crowd turned from the accident and ran to the source of the gunshots.
As Chico worked to stop the bleeding, several people went to the dead rider and turned him over. They looked at the body and shook their heads.
“Who would want to hurt the sheriff?” somebody finally said.
“Does anyone know who he is?” the sheriff yelled through the pain of her wound.
No one had ever seen the rider before. He was a complete stranger. They all walked away. Someone said the undertaker should be called.
Chico looked in the direction of the saloon as he helped the sheriff back to her office. The town council was glaring at him from the under the eaves with pure hatred. The bartender was smiling from one of the second floor windows.
Chico managed to get the sheriff back to her house. He put her on her horse, after locking the office and walked her to the edge of town where the house her parents had lived in for many years was located. He had enough training from the wars on taking care of wounds and knew how to clean one out and dress it. While the sheriff swore, he tied her arm down the kitchen table and dug out the bullet. Next he poured enough whisky down her throat and over the wound to take care of the pain and infection. He ripped up her shirt and used it to keep the bleeding under control. She fought him every step of the way, but Chico had more strength than he let on. At one point she reared back to strike him while he cut the bullet out and Chico grabbed her fist, putting it down slowly.
A few townspeople came by and checked on her. By then Chico had put her to bed and let everyone see she was in good shape. He informed them the office would be closed for the next few days. When one older lady asked what to do if there was any trouble in town, he told her to talk to the mayor.
The town council was absent through the sheriff’s recovery. Chico watched over her through the night, making sure she would be fine. By the next morning the sheriff was moving around and her arm was healing. Chico didn’t tell her he knew of a few herbs to generate quick recovery. A few more things he’d learned over the years while traveling. Two days later the sheriff was looking at the arm and commenting how quickly the wound had closed.
Chico was looking at the sky that evening. In a few days it would be the full moon and he had to make plans.
The next day Chico told the sheriff she should allow him to clean her up. The sheriff had been wearing a night gown since he brought her home and not her usually riding clothes. Chico finally got her to agree when he told her it would help speed up the healing. He didn’t tell her that she was almost healed already.
Chico filled he bath tub with hot water he boiled in a washtub over a fire behind the sheriff’s house. He told her when it was ready and went to a different part of the house to allow her to get into the tub. She might be the sheriff but she was still modest.
He came into the kitchen where the tub had been arranged after allowing her a few minutes to get comfortable. Chico carried with him a bowl, washes rag, towels and a bar of lye soap he had found in the cupboard.
The sheriff was still wearing her night gown in the tub.
“How am I going to wash you if you are clothed?” he asked.
“You want to see me without my clothes?” she demanded.
“I really don’t see any other way to clean you.”
She pulled off the nightgown, now wet and tossed it at him. Chico grabbed it and put it on the kitchen table to dry. Then he returned to the sheriff.
Chico rolled up his shirt sleeves, noticing how she tried to hide herself by covering her breasts. He made his best effort not to smile and began soaping up the rag with water from the bowel. Getting on his knees to her level, Chico began to slowly wash her back. She needed it after being out sick from the bullet wound. Feeling her relax he worked on her neck and arms, being careful to avoid the area where the bullet had entered. It was almost healed, but no reason to push his luck.
She stood up in the tub and let him clean each leg, and then he worked on her feet. She sat down and held each one up, letting him work it as best as he could. He even washed her long hair. By the end, she was very relaxed. Chico put a towel around her as she stood up again and led her to the bedroom. He had put clean sheets on the bed for her and, after he had dried her off, let the sheriff lay down.
She pulled the sheet over her body and looked up at Chico.
“Are you feeling better, sheriff?” he asked her.
“I am feeling lonely, deputy,” she responded
. “Now why don’t you get your clothes off and make the sheriff happy?”
Chico nearly tripped over his boots getting them off. He’d prepared for this possibility by getting a bath earlier in the day while she was asleep. The sheriff propped herself up on her good arm while Chico pulled off his pants and slid under the sheets with her.
He began rubbing her back and waited for the sheriff to move his hands over her breasts. Taking care to avoid her wounded area, he pulled her mouth to his and began kissing the sheriff all over her face. She reached down with her good arm and grabbed him.
“I see this gun is loaded,” she giggled.
He stayed on his side and maneuvered the sheriff so he could enter her from the back. She was soaking wet when he thrust inside her and heard her let out a cry of joy as he went in deep. She was a big woman with a lot to love. Chico wished she’d kept her boots on, but it wasn’t practical. He’d also wanted to be under her when the time came to make love, but the bullet wound made it impossible. He growled as his bear side manifested itself in his rough lovemaking.
The sheriff loved it. She begged for him not to stop and he could feel the oncoming rush of her climax. When it hit she gushed all over him. Chico was surprised; he hadn’t had a woman do that to him in a long time. He finished soon after and pulled out, moving his head to the side of hers. They laid together in silence for a long time.
“I was afraid you’d be a virgin, sheriff,” he told her. She wasn’t.
‘Had my share of loving back east,” she told him. “And quit calling me ‘sheriff’. Any man who has been inside me can use my name.”
‘I’ve wanted to be with you the first moment I saw you, Sheriff Mary Jane,” he called her. “I’m going to have to leave soon, but I want to come back to you next month.”
She put her arm around Chico and kissed him.
“All you cowboys are alike,” she said. “Ride your cowgirl and move on to the next one.”
“I’m not like that.”
She snorted. And Chico remembered it was time to prove it.
“The town council wants you dead,” he told her.
