Author's Note
If you are reading this story on any other platform than Wattpad, you are at risk of a malware attack. Wattpad is the only site I have given permission to publish this story. To read it in its original, safe form, please go to Wattpad. Thank you. @Mrsdeemo  
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She's here.
Mary Leighton.
Of course. That was how the world worked. No matter where you went, your past always caught up with you eventually. Today happened to be that damn day.

Dust swirled in a tango around my scuffed leather boots. The tangerine folds of the setting sun clung to the sides of the mountains that surrounded the San Piccolo basin. The insistence of the breeze shuffled discarded cigar butts and dry soil into an unintentional race.

Mary Leighton.

She stepped lightly from the third class coach, smiling sweetly at the offer of outstretched hands from all but one of her fellow passengers. The exception being another female of a much slimmer and younger mould who lacked the curvature and smouldering passion of the thirty-year-old, redheaded teacher.

Teacher.

It made me smile to think that Mary had made something of herself. Last time I'd seen her, she had given up her hopes of a bright future to turn tricks at the 'Okay' saloon in Derby. Her laudanum addiction had taken over her life. And, unfortunately our love. She'd chosen her drug above everything, at such a young age. No matter how hard I'd tried, I hadn't been able to get her to see her habit for what it was. I had failed Mary Leighton. I never thought I'd see her fine, handsome face again.

Would she recognise me?

Time had not been kind to me. In fact, I would say it had been pretty damn cruel. The slim, stately figure of the rich gentleman from England that she used to know, had been erased by two decades of bar fights, drink and rough sleeping.

I'd come by my Sherrif's badge the hard way. I was betting that she'd earned her title of teacher in a similar  fashion.

Once she'd stepped her worn out black laced boots onto the hard ground, Mary graciously thanked the lucky owner of the hand and swept aside the lacy black veil from her face. She pushed it up over the peak of her dark brown bonnet and squinted through the coal smoke at her welcoming committee.

Me.

I tugged at the brim of my Stetson and focused on my feet. Praying that she wouldn't remember any part of me or our childhood home of Derby.

"Are you it, Mister?"

Her voice had changed. Not the pitch or the southern intonation, but the joy had gone. The happy-go-lucky lilt that used to reside there and send me giggling like a choir boy up to no good.

"I said, are you all there is?"

Without raising my eyes I grumbled back.
"Yes, ma'am."

Ignoring the plying arms of her lucky carriage assistant, Mary waltzed her curvy way towards me, her black chiffon dress swishing its approach.

She must be in mourning. But for who?

"Well, then, Sheriff, would you be so kind as to escort me to my lodgings?"

She sounded tired, a tinge of irritability stung on the edge of her words. She wasn't going to like what I had to say next. The old Mary I knew would have laughed and told me to go to hell. Somehow, I had the feeling that this new, all-consumed version of my first love would give in too easy.

Clearing my throat, I took a deep breath and mumbled my orders.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you'll have to accompany me down to the dance at the Saloon. They're expecting you."

She hesitated. I could tell by the shift in her stance. One hip dropped and her left pointed toe turned out and tapped twice.

Yep. The old Mary was still in there. Would she know me?

"Well," my Mary began, then, catching a hold of her emotions, she gave a huge sigh before turning back to the porter to direct the unloading of her luggage.

One small, bashed up carpet bag. Barely big enough to hold one dress.

"Is that it?"
The distress in my voice must have tipped her off. She span on her heels and focused her full attention on me.

"Yes. It is. What business is that of yours, Sheriff? Is there a minimum requirement on belongings brought in by widowed women in this town?"

"Widowed?"
It escaped my lips before I could think.

"Yes, Sheriff, are you deaf as well as insolent?"

Man, that was my Mary alright.

I couldn't resist a peek at her face, even though I had every inch of her etched in my memory. Deep, brown eyes, thick red curls, broad nose, cupid bow lips, a wicked smile, long, slender throat leading down to ample...

"Sheriff!"

Her sharp call broke my train of thought. I shivered, rubbing my clamy palms down my thighs.
"Yes, ma'am?"

"If we're going to get to this dance don't you think you'd better take my poor excuse for luggage to our transport?"

I shuffled forward and reached out to take the bag from her hand.

We touched.

My forefinger grazed along the side of her palm, soft, supple. The instant memory of her mouth under my command drowned me in sensation. Her silky hair, her tender tongue, her delicate...

"Sheriff?"

Shaking my head I sprang back and flung the bag over my shoulder.
"Follow me, ma'am. We've got some way to go."

I unhitched the reins of the horses from the post and manoeuvred the smaller bay round toward her. Holding out the reins, but keeping the brim of my hat down to shield myself from view, Mary stretched and snatched at her mount.

"You didn't think to bring a buggy? What kind of ladies do you normally entertain around here?"

"I can give you a boost up if it helps."

Snorting, Mary was about to let me have the full force of some scornful back talk when a crack of gunfire saved me.

She startled, wide eyed and lifted a foot for me to assist her up.
"Get me on, Sheriff."
Whatever anger may have resided in her voice before had been chased away by the rifle shot.

I hoisted her up and into the saddle, the abundance of her skirts swamped her.

Crack.

Out to the west of us, across the railroad track, a storm cloud of driven dust rose along with the oncoming thunder of hooves.

The Stanfords.

Another shot rang out from the direction of the train. I lept to my horse and mounted swiftly. From there I could make out the figures of the hired guards taking aim from the roof of the train. I had to be quick.

"Ma'am," I called to Mary with no trace of niceties. "You have to ride beyond that ridge of trees and stay there till I come for you."

She tossed back her loosened curls and yelled back at me just as a ripple of gunfire peeled off.
"I don't think so! I am not about to be sitting pretty waiting for some half-brained bandit to creep up behind me and have his heathen way with me. What in God's name gave you that idea, when I have this little beauty to keep me safe?"

Reaching across her wrappings of chiffon, she stuck her hand into her ankle boot and whipped out a Derringer.

Yep. My Mary.

I stopped grinning before she could notice and unclasped the rifle from my saddlebag. Loaded and ready for action. As always I prayed it would not be necessary, even more so right then, with her riding beside me.

The bulk of the train blocked my view of the attack. Yells and gunfire, horses screams and the fading daylight failed to stir my blood as she did. I ground my teeth and kicked down my heels, spurring my grey into action. Mad at myself for letting her transform the man in me into the teenager she'd turned her back on.

Cheers and whoops were followed by a fast retreat of horses. The Stanfords didn't have the stomach for an outnumbered fight. They'd not counted on the guards.

I blew out my breath and tipped back my head in thanks to the sky.

She watched me.

Gulping, I rapidly brought down my eyes and called to her over the rejoicing passengers.
"We'd best be moving, ma'am."

As we set off I heard her call after me.
"You know, you seem awful familiar, Sheriff."