Chapter Text
The town of Holowest sat beneath the blazing summer sun, its dusty streets restless with the buzz of cattlemen, traders, and townsfolk. The wooden boards of the main street groaned under boots and hooves alike, and the air carried with it a faint scent of leather, tobacco, and horses. The sheriff of Fairbrook was away on county business, leaving his young deputy, Gigi Murin, to wear the badge in his stead.
Gigi was used to doing more than her fair share of the work, truth told. She was shorter than most of the men who strutted around town with holsters and bravado, but no one dared cross her. Her blonde hair, streaked with natural brown highlights, caught the sunlight when she walked, and her eyes—startlingly pink, like a gemstone only half-believed to exist—commanded attention. Some folks whispered about those eyes, said they were uncanny, even unholy. But the way Gigi held herself, shoulders back, fists like steel traps that could break bone with a single swing, made sure no one spoke their doubts too loudly.
That morning, she had been dispatched to the neighboring town of HoloCreek to hear a report. Robberies, they’d said. Suspicious men in the hills. It wasn’t anything new for the territories, but Fairbrook prided itself on keeping the roads clear of bandits. So Gigi saddled her horse, Dusty, and set off across the scrubland trail, sun beating hot on her back, badge gleaming on her chest.
By the time she reached the town hall in Willow Creek, her shirt clung to her skin, and the brim of her hat was low to keep the glare from her eyes. She expected to find a clerk or a mayor waiting with the report. What she found instead stopped her in her tracks.
Standing at the desk was a woman who looked as though she had stepped straight out of a painting.
Cecilia von Immergreen.
Even before Gigi heard her name, she knew this woman was not like the rest of the ranchers and settlers. She was tall—taller than most of the men in the room—with porcelain skin that seemed untouched by the harshness of the plains. Her short white hair framed her face with a striking elegance, not age but some quirk of blood, a family trait that made her shine in contrast to the dust of the frontier. Her eyes—deep emerald, sharp enough to cut—swept over the deputy as she entered. The tailored riding habit she wore, dusted with travel but still impeccable, declared her breeding. She was noble stock, daughter of the Immergreen estate, and every gesture of her hand spoke of wealth, education, and a woman used to command.
Yet the first words from her mouth were not polished pleasantries.
“Well,” Cecilia drawled, her tone rich with sarcasm, “they send a deputy. How reassuring. Should I expect the sheriff to arrive after the robbers are finished emptying my family’s coffers?”
Gigi blinked, caught off guard by both the beauty and the bite in the woman’s voice. For a moment, words fled her. She had faced armed drunks, rattlesnakes, and storms that tore roofs from barns—but this was different. She felt her heart lurch in her chest like a colt breaking loose from the pen.
“I—uh—Deputy Gigi Murin, ma’am,” she stammered before finding her footing. “Sheriff’s outta town, so you’ll have to make do with me.”
Cecilia’s lips curved into something halfway between a smirk and a smile. “Make do. How very frontier of you.”
The men at the desk chuckled uneasily, but Gigi ignored them. Her focus was on the emerald-eyed woman before her, whose sarcasm carried weight but whose gaze, when it lingered, softened almost imperceptibly.
“Two men,” Cecilia began, her voice steadier now, though her fingers tapped against the polished wood counter. “Masked, riding bay horses. They were seen near the Immergreen lands at dusk. I suspect they’re scouting for an opportunity. We’ve already had one barn set alight in the night.” Her tone faltered just slightly on the last word, revealing what her sarcasm sought to hide: concern, quiet and genuine, for those under her care.
Gigi leaned forward, fists planted on the desk. “You’re sayin’ they’re gettin’ bold.”
“I’m saying,” Cecilia corrected, eyes narrowing, “that if someone doesn’t deal with them, bold will become dangerous. And I would rather not see blood spilled on my land. Again.”
That word—again—hung heavy in the air, but Cecilia did not elaborate.
Gigi, though unshaken by most things, felt something stir in her chest. This wasn’t just duty. There was something about Cecilia, something beyond her beauty or her noble blood. It was in the way she carried her burdens beneath a veil of wit. It was in the way her sarcasm cloaked her care for others.
For Gigi Murin, it was love at first sight, though she’d never admit it outright.
“Well, Miss Immergreen,” she said, straightening and tipping her hat just enough to meet those emerald eyes without flinching, “I reckon we’ll see to it that those robbers regret ever setting foot near your land.”
Cecilia arched a brow. “We?”
“Yes, ma’am. If you’ll have me, I’ll ride out with you. We’ll find the trail. And if those men aim to cause trouble, they’ll find trouble comin’ right back at ‘em.”
For a heartbeat, Cecilia studied her. Then, against all odds, she laughed—a low, melodic sound that seemed to catch even her off guard. “You’re either brave or foolish, Deputy Murin. I haven’t decided which yet.”
Gigi grinned, her pink eyes alight. “Lucky for you, I’ve been called both.”
And so, beneath the blistering western sun, with dust on their boots and danger on the horizon, Cecilia von Immergreen and Deputy Gigi Murin set out together—two women bound by circumstance, and perhaps by something more.
Something neither of them yet dared to name.
---
The ride out from HoloCreek carried them into the open range. The land stretched wide, rolling with sagebrush and sun-baked rock, the occasional mesquite tree clawing at the sky. A hawk circled high above, the only thing moving faster than the wind.
Cecilia rode side-saddle on a sleek black mare that looked far too fine for rough country. Gigi noticed the way the animal’s coat gleamed even under the dust, the saddle stitched with intricate embroidery—Immergreen wealth written plain as day. But what struck Gigi most was Cecilia herself, sitting tall in the saddle, hat tilted just enough to shield those cutting emerald eyes. She looked every bit the noblewoman and yet oddly at home in the saddle.
“Not every day I see a deputy with eyes like a summer sunrise,” Cecilia said idly, glancing sideways at her companion.
Gigi nearly choked on the water from her canteen. “Ma’am?”
“Your eyes. Pink, aren’t they? Remarkable. The sort of thing bards would write songs about back east.” Her lips curved in a half-smile that spoke of amusement more than admiration.
“They’re just eyes,” Gigi muttered, adjusting her reins.
Cecilia chuckled. “Ah, so modest. A shame. I was rather hoping you’d preen like a rooster. It would make this ride more entertaining.”
Gigi flushed, thankful the brim of her hat hid the worst of it. She wasn’t used to being on the back foot, least of all with a woman. But Cecilia had an air about her, one that pulled her in like a whirlpool.
They pressed on, the trail winding up into low hills where the dust thickened. Gigi spotted the first sign before Cecilia did—fresh hoofprints, deep enough in the dirt to mark two horses, both heading west.
She swung down from her saddle, crouching low to inspect them. Her hand brushed the prints, fingers measuring weight and pace.
“Two riders,” she confirmed. “Heavy-set, pushin’ their horses hard. Less than a day ahead.
Cecilia leaned forward in her saddle, studying Gigi with clear interest. “You read dirt as though it were scripture. Impressive.”
Gigi stood, brushing her hands on her trousers. “You learn quick out here. Townsfolk depend on it.”
Cecilia tilted her head, her white hair catching the sunlight. “And here I thought you were just a pair of strong fists wearing a badge. Turns out you have a brain too. My, my.”
“Are you always like this?” Gigi asked, half-exasperated, half-enthralled.
“Like what?” Cecilia’s emerald eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Flirtin’ just to get a rise outta me.”
Cecilia gasped theatrically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Deputy Murin! Whatever gave you the idea I’d waste my charms on you?” Her grin gave her away, sly and playful.
Gigi’s ears burned. She turned back to the trail, muttering, “You’re enjoyin’ this too much.”
“Immensely,” Cecilia admitted, laughter soft as velvet.
They followed the tracks westward, tension thickening with each mile. The trail cut through a narrow canyon, its walls steep and shadowed. Gigi’s hand hovered near the butt of her revolver, senses sharp. Somewhere above, a loose stone clattered down the slope.
“Stay close,” Gigi murmured.
Cecilia arched a brow. “Are you protecting me, Deputy? How gallant.”
Before Gigi could retort, the canyon opened onto a clearing. There, scattered in the dust, lay the charred remains of a wagon. The wood was blackened, still smelling faintly of smoke. A few broken crates spilled their contents—cloth, grain, supplies. Buzzards circled overhead.
Gigi’s jaw tightened. She dismounted again, crouching near the wreck. Bootprints and hoofprints crisscrossed the dirt. She traced them with her eyes, piecing together the story.
“They ambushed here,” she said grimly. “Burned it after takin’ what they wanted. Looks like they weren’t careful coverin’ their trail. They’ll be close.”
Cecilia dismounted with unexpected grace for a woman of her breeding, skirts swishing against the dry ground. She stood beside Gigi, her face hardening as she looked over the ruin. For the first time, the sarcasm faded, and the true weight of her voice showed.
“I’ve seen this before,” she said quietly. “It starts small—wagons, barns. Then they come for people. Families.”
Gigi glanced at her, heart catching at the rare glimpse of vulnerability beneath the porcelain exterior. She wanted to say something—comforting, steady—but Cecilia’s hand brushed against hers as they both stood. Just the barest touch, light as the wind.
Gigi glanced at her, heart catching at the rare glimpse of vulnerability beneath the porcelain exterior. She wanted to say something—comforting, steady—but Cecilia’s hand brushed against hers as they both stood. Just the barest touch, light as the wind.
Cecilia’s eyes flicked to her, emerald gleaming with both sincerity and mischief. “Careful, Deputy. If you keep looking at me like that, you’ll give yourself away.”
Gigi swallowed hard, forcing her gaze back to the tracks. “We’d best keep movin’.”
But Cecilia’s smile lingered, as though she already knew what Gigi hadn’t dared say aloud: that the deputy was falling, fast and hard.
And in the quiet, broken clearing, with the sun sinking low and shadows lengthening, the chase had only just begun.
---
The tracks carried them further into the hills. The sun was dipping lower now, painting the sky in streaks of crimson and gold. Long shadows reached across the canyon floor, and every rustle of brush set Gigi on edge.
She rode ahead, scanning the ridgelines. Her gut told her they were close—too close to turn back. Dusty’s ears flicked, catching sounds long before human ears could.
“Deputy,” Cecilia called softly, reining her mare beside her. “You’re tensing up like a bowstring. Do you sense something?”
Gigi held up a hand, motioning for silence. She squinted at the far ridge where the sun’s glare turned the rock to fire. Two silhouettes moved against the skyline, dark and unmistakable—men on horseback. One carried a rifle slung across his back; the other leaned forward in his saddle, scanning the valley below.
“Robbers,” Gigi breathed.
Cecilia followed her gaze, lips tightening. “So it begins.”
The figures paused, their horses restless, as if they’d caught some distant sound. Then, just as quickly, they nudged their mounts forward, disappearing behind the ridge’s edge.
“They saw us,” Gigi muttered, jaw clenched.
Cecilia’s emerald eyes gleamed, unflinching. “Then we should ride them down before they slip away. Unless, of course, you’d rather we turn back to safety?”
The words were teasing, sharp, deliberately baiting—but her tone carried an undercurrent of steel.
Gigi swung her leg back over Dusty’s saddle, already tightening her grip on the reins. “No, ma’am. We’re ridin’.”
Cecilia smiled, slow and knowing, as if she had been waiting for exactly that answer. “Good. I’d hate to think I’d misjudged you.”
They spurred their horses forward, hooves thundering against the hard-packed earth, dust rising in their wake. The canyon walls echoed the sound like a drumroll, building toward whatever came next.
And though danger pressed close, Cecilia leaned just enough toward Gigi as they rode side by side, her voice cutting through the rush of wind.
“Careful, Deputy Murin. If you fall for me any harder, you might miss the bullets flying your way.”
Gigi’s pink eyes flicked to her, startled, but Cecilia only laughed—a bold, ringing laugh that carried across the canyon, straight into the coming storm.
The chase was on.