Dixie yawned, rubbing her eyes. She pushed on the furry animal that licked at her face with a small giggle. "Quit, Shadow! What do you want?"

The black wolfdog jumped off the bed, his toenails clicking on the wood floor as he danced in place. He whined and looked at Dixie expectantly.

Dixie shoved her covers off, giving a shiver when her feet hit the cool floor. She smiled at Shadow. "Need to go outside?"

At the word "outside," Shadow whined loudly, and Dixie knew exactly what he needed. She grabbed the brown dress hanging over the back of the chair and quickly replaced her night gown with it. She wasted no time getting to the back door.

Shadow surged out the door as soon as it opened, shooting across the dewy grass like a black bullet. His long legs carried him around swiftly, the bright white patch on his chest glowing in the early dawn.

Dixie watched him run around, a smile of delight on her face. She was thankful for that big, black, furry canine. Between him and the Good Lord, she had slept peacefully. Her eyes wandered from Shadow to the bunk house where the ranch hands were up and about. No doubt Cookie was fixing up some breakfast for them.

The distant clucking of the chickens and the complaints of the milk cow reminded Dixie of all the things she had to do before she could cook breakfast. With a cheerful attitude, she set her course to the chicken coop to get busy with the morning chores, all the while praying that God would bless Jason for getting her such an amazing dog.

Once the chickens were fed and the eggs gathered, Dixie worked her way to the small pasture and stable that housed Daisy, the moody black-and-white cow, with Shadow running in circles around her.

Daisy was waiting on the morning's milking and feeding, her tail swatting at the pesky flies. She bellowed a loud protest as Dixie entered the single-stalled stable through the side door.

"It's good too see you, too, Daisy," Dixie greeted in a chipper tone. She rubbed Daisy's broad back as she took the few steps to the corner where a large barrel stood. Pulling off the lid, she scooped oats into the bucket inside before pouring it into a small trough. Daisy mooed her thanks, nearly shoving Dixie over in her rush to get at the oats.

Dixie smiled and grabbed the pail and little wooden stool sitting beside the water trough. She placed the stool at Daisy's flank and sat down, making sure she put the metal pail right underneath the cow's pink udders. In moments, streams of frothy white milk hit the bottom of the pail rhythmically as she milked Daisy.

Before long, Dixie was in the kitchen whipping up some breakfast and making coffee while Shadow played outside. After much thought, she decided to fix a cobbler to bring to Emily and Matthew. She wanted to stop by Dr. Moore's and check on them, and she didn't want to go empty-handed.

While she was mixing ingredients, Tavin stumbled into the kitchen looking like he hadn't slept in weeks. He rubbed his messy, dark reddish hair and sniffed the air. "I thought I smelled coffee."

Dixie laughed, wiping her floury hands on her apron. "Good mornin', sleepyhead."

"Mornin'," he muttered, shuffling to the table. He plopped into a chair with a grunt. "Coffee ready?"

"Yep," Dixie answered, sitting a steaming cup in front of him. She ruffled his hair with her knuckles, a tiny frown lowering her brows. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

Tavin took a gulp of coffee, grimacing as it burned its way down his throat. He looked into the cup, staring into the inky liquid like it held the key to life in its depths. He rubbed his light blue eyes and stifled a yawn. "Nope. Didn't sleep a wink."

"Why not?" Dixie questioned, mixing the ingredients for the cobbler while watching the eggs cook in the skillet.

"Me and Pa stayed up and talked for a while after you went to your room. Even after I got into my own bed, I couldn't go to sleep. I stayed up prayin'." Tavin closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and a swig of coffee. "Felt like God was impressin' on me to pray for someone, like somethin' is fixin' to happen to them. Plus, I was listenin' to see if anythin' would try the locks."

Dixie nodded, sticking the cobbler into her makeshift oven. "I see. Speakin' of Pa, where is he?"

Tavin swirled the last bit of his coffee around in the cup. He reluctantly met her gaze. "He spent the night with the hands for some reason of his."

Dixie didn't respond, but kept cooking. She knew why. There was no way a threat would come to her life and her father not do all he could to ensure her safety. She thanked God for her amazing family, even though He took Ma earlier than she thought He should've.

"Do you know how Matthew and Emily are?" Tavin inquired, giving a good stretch.

Dixie shook her head. "Unfortunately, I don't. I haven't been in a while, but I'm gonna run by Dr. Ross's today and bring them this blueberry cobbler."

Tavin breathed deeply, inhaling the warm and delicious smell of the dessert and the cooking breakfast. "I'm sure they'll love it. Is there anythin' you need me to help you with?" he asked, moving into the kitchen to join his sister.

Dixie handed him a rag, a bright smile on her face. "Not really, but if you want, you can take this skillet to the table."

"Alright." He returned the smile. As he carried the hot skillet to the table with the rag wrapped around the handle, he stared into the eggs and chunks of ham with longing.

After the food was placed on the table, Dixie and Tavin joined hands to pray for the meal, the upcoming day, and the Archer family.

***

Jason dismounted Raven with fluid grace and a confidence he didn't feel. He'd prayed extra hard that morning, but still wasn't prepared for the onslaught of memories that sprang up just by reading the faded words on the old hand-painted sign.

The Silver Spur Saloon.

He shivered. Saloons and loose women were a piece of his past, a part of him he thought he'd conquered. But the feelings bubbling up said otherwise. He would've never set foot on the porch if he hadn't found out Slick was hanging around inside, and he had a bone to pick with that crook.

"Howdy, handsome," a soiled dove with big red curls, too much makeup, and too little clothes greeted with a flirtatious flutter of her eyelashes. She reached out to touch Jason's arm. "Anythin' I can help you with?"

"No, ma'am." Jason shook her arm off quickly, pushing past her to the swinging batwing doors. Before he could go in, a misty marble-sized sphere rolled under the doors and hit the tip of his boots. He stared down at it with curiosity, and bent to inspect it when a crashing nose erupted from inside the saloon.

A giant of a man stumbled through the doors, bending over and picking up the object. He popped it into his empty eye socket with a venomous growl at Jason before barging back inside.

Jason watched the big man amble out of sight in the dimly lit, packed area of the saloon, taking a deep breath of stale air that smelled of alcohol, smoke, and cheap perfume. With a silent prayer, he pushed through the doors.

The inside of the saloon was close to being overcrowded with a mixed crowd of gamblers, townsfolk, ranch workers, and harlots.

Jason had to shove his way through the drunken mass to the counter where the bartender was drying out shot glasses with a filthy rag.

"What can I get for you?" the man asked, his eyes darting from Jason to the people sitting at small tables all around.

Jason slid a shiny dime onto the counter. "I'll take a sarsaparilla, please."

The bartender smiled, retrieving the dime and reaching under the counter. He uncorked a brown, long-necked bottle and handed it to Jason. "Here you are."

"Thanks," Jason said as he tipped his hat. He struggled his way through those standing around the full tables to a nearly empty table near the corner. He took a seat, trying to ignore the only occupant of the table. If the sleeping drunk man laying halfway on the table didn't smell so strongly of vomit, the task would've been easier.

Jason took a gulp of sarsaparilla and tried not to make a face. It was more bitter than it should be and definitely lacked something, but it was bearable. He scanned the room, noticing the six Crooked M cowpokes playing cards at a nearby table. His eyebrow curved up when he saw Slick being led from the group to a back room by a girl who looked too young to be in her profession. He'd just have to wait until Slick returned.

The cigar-smoking piano player began to play a rowdy tune, and some of the men grabbed the closest ladies of the night and began to dance. Among them, Jason saw the snowy haired sheriff with a girl dressed in purple.

One moment Jason was holding his sarsaparilla in his hand, and the next he was holding a girl in his lap. He had no clue how she got there, but there were two things he knew for sure. She had her arms wrapped too tightly around his neck, and her perfume was about to kill him.

"I was wonderin' when I'd see you," she whispered before giving him a kiss. "Miss me, Archie?"

Jason blinked in surprise, his face a mask of utter shock. The voice, those powerful brown eyes and perfect coal black eyebrows. "Rosabelle? How did--?"

Rosabelle put a finger to his lips, pressing closer to him. Her ruby red lips curved into a smile. "Shhh. Don't worry about that. Shall we begin where we left off, or start anew?"

Thoughts ran through Jason's mind so fast he couldn't move or even string together a simple sentence. He dropped his gaze only to see more of her than he wanted to from the revealing red dress. He closed his eyes, trying to take a decent breath. When she rubbed the back of his neck, something clicked within him and he jumped up from his chair, dumping her to the ground. "No, we won't start anythin'. I can't, and I ain't."

Rosabelle picked herself off the floor. She puckered her lips in a pout, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Ouch, Archie. My heart."

"You don't have a heart," he said in a dangerously low voice. He grabbed her hand and shoved it back at her. "You and me are nothin', nothin'! Do you understand?"

Rosabelle fluttered her lashes in disappointment, flipping her straight black hair. "Yes, I understand."

Jason gave a grim smile. "I'm glad we're on the same page. Now if you'll excuse me, I have better things to do."

"You have better things to do that spend time with this beauty?" Slick slurred as he sat in the empty chair beside Jason and pulled Rosabelle into his lap. "You don't know what you're passin' up."

"Oh yes I do." Jason leveled his stare at Slick, who was plainly boozed up. "Are you gonna pay up for what you did?"

Slick rubbed Rosabelle's bare shoulder, sending a sneer at Jason. "The only thing I'll be payin' you is my fist in your face."

"I could shoot you dead before you ever stood up to punch me, so I wouldn't advise you try," Jason warned, his blue eyes holding a steely edge. "You could at least pay for a new saddle."

"I ain't payin' anythin', and that's that," Slick insisted. He turned his attention to Rosabelle. "Whaddaya say we go and have a lil' fun, pretty lady?"

Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.

With the latter part of Romans 12:19 replaying in his mind, Jason grabbed his bottle of sarsaparilla and began to pick his way through to the door.

It rankled Slick to no ends that Jason would just walk away. He'd prefer to brawl it out, or better yet, get the Archer while he wasn't paying attention. It wouldn't matter if Jason could beat him, because he had five others in there who would intercept. In his rage, he pulled out his revolver and lined it up on Jason. Right before he pulled the trigger, Rosabelle bumped into his arm, and the bullet flew off course.

A scream ripped through the air, and everyone fell silent, even the music. In the middle of the room, the sheriff slid to the floor while the girl he was with cowered in terror. Blood spread onto the wooden floor from the gunshot wound in Coy's chest.

All eyes were on Slick who was holding his gun with shaking hands as Rosabelle moved away. Whispers spread through the saloon like a disease. Coy was dead.

Slick's intended target eased closer while taking a draft of his sarsaparilla. He grimaced at the harsh flavor before chunking the bottle at Slick. "This tastes just about as bad as your aim."

Slick caught the bottle right on the end of the revolver, and it shattered all over him. Shards of glass and sarsaparilla splattered onto his hand and shirt. He cursed in anger, firing another shot that burst the glass-eyed man's whiskey bottle.

The burly man roared, pounding his fist down on the poker table with a deafening crack. Cards, money, and tokens flew into the air and rained down like confetti. Seconds later, half of the table fell over on a drunk man asleep on the floor, the other half was propped up by one of the gamblers sitting in a chair.

The brute's good eye blazed with fury and he picked up a table half, throwing it at Slick.

The wooden piece fell short of its mark when it came crashing down on three men's heads, knocking one out cold. The two others ran at the offender, who came charging through the mass with a chair aimed at Slick's head.

An all out brawl ensued after the bear-like man smashed the chair on Slick's arm and knocked the revolver on the floor. Drunkards began slamming whiskey bottles upside each other's heads, the call girls skedaddled to the back, and the fearful ran out for dear life.

Over in the corner, the pianist began to play a tune that seemed to make the fighting worse. After a stray bottle knocked the cigar out of his mouth, he pressed down harder on the ivory keys. The ditty ended suddenly when a small crate whopped him on the back of the head, sending his forehead crashing into the keys with a horrendous clash.

In the fray, Slick and the large man were wrestling for the gun. They rolled over the fallen, drunk, and unconscious in their struggle for the weapon that would give whoever got it the upper hand.

Jason dodged bottles and flying objects as he weaved his way through the brawlers to the doors. The going was tough and slow, a very difficult task to accomplish, but something he was going to see through to the end.

A shot reverberated through the saloon and stilled the fighting. Smoke curled from the barrel of the pistol in the hands of the glass-eyed brute.

Slick let go of the man, stumbling back a few steps. He paled as he grasped his stomach and looked down at it as blood began to seep through his fingers. He stood rooted to the spot as if dazed before taking off in a run for the back door.

Jason took advantage of the momentary stillness and made his getaway. He was outside and in the saddle within moments, his mind in a blur over the events he was just a part of. Coy was dead, Slick was mortally injured, and he was in such torment he had no clue what to do. The scars of his past felt raw, like reopened wounds bleeding onto his future and staining it crimson.

Before Jason knew it, he was hitching Raven to the post and walking up the steps to Dr. Ross's door. He entered quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone else inside. He had taken just a few steps when the sound of laughter from the hall met his ears. He heard Dixie's unmistakable giggle in the mix, and his heart wrenched. He couldn't go see her. He wouldn't. She deserved someone far better than him, someone who was as perfect as she was. He wasn't the amazing guy she thought he was.

Emily and Dixie walked out of the hall, Matthew hobbling on wobbly legs between them. When Dixie looked up and saw Jason standing at the door, she squealed with delight. She left Matthew and Emily to run into Jason's arms.

Jason closed his eyes as she wrapped her arms around him in a quick hug. He needed to get out of there, he just couldn't stay and make it harder than it already was. He gently held her away at arm's length, his heart shattering at the confused look on her face. Without a word, he turned his back and walked out, a piece of his heart hitting the floor with each step he took.

It's better this way, Jason repeated to himself as he rode away. But no matter how many times he told himself that, he still felt the dull ache of pain. He hoped Dixie would realize he was only doing what was best for her. She didn't need him, and he didn't deserve a woman as great as her.

Tears coursed down Jason's cheeks, but he didn't care. The drum of hoofbeats echoed in his ears and kept pace with the throbbing pain in his chest. Brokenness burned like a white-hot branding iron, and cut deeper than any knife ever could.

When his eyes refocused, Jason saw a riderless horse in the distance and something laying on the side of the road. He instantly shoved all his hurt aside and urged Raven to go faster. As he drew closer, his fears were confirmed.

The object on the ground was a person.

Pulling Raven to a stop, Jason hopped from the saddle and rushed to the scene. He knew who it was before his knees ever hit the dirt beside them. The shallow rise and fall of the man's shirt gave him hope that there was still life. "Slick, are still with me?"

Slick slowly opened his eyes. He swallowed and groaned, his light green eyes bright with pain. "It hurts. . . ."

Jason looked at Slick's abdomen, carefully swiping away the ants and shooing away the flies. He grimaced at all the blood. There was nothing he could do, and Slick was fading fast. Despite what the man had done, he felt compassion for him. "I know it does. You just gotta hang in there."

"I. . . can't," Slick forced out. He shakily reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny leather pouch. He pressed it into Jason's hand. "Take this, and my. . .horse. Tell. . .your Pa I'm. . . I'm sorry."

Before Jason could say a word, Slick took his last breath. He reached out and closed Slick's eyes, whispering a prayer. He sat there with the dead man's head on his knees, weeping for a person he never really knew.