It had been another excruciating long day for Sheriff Jackson. Having been a wanderer for most of her life, she was used to the sun, the heat, the dust, and the general stagnant weariness, but all of these inexplicably intensified fivefold in that small town. Or maybe it was all a side-effect from this never-before-experienced stress Charlotte had to go through being the sheriff, given that she had led a carefree, though very, very quaint life. More complaints, more problems, more outlaws, more days without a drop of rain. Charlotte reached up and wiped a bead of sweat away from her brow.

The sun was going down now, and the temperatures were at last plummeting from the triple digits. Charlotte sat at the desk in her office. Her eyes were focused on a new “Wanted” ad she was to hang up soon. Deep inside her, she longed for the day to come when she’d see the face of the man who killed the love of her life on a Wanted poster; this was not him. Sighing, she grabbed the poster and stuck it on the board outside her office.

“Lord, I need a drink…”

It had been a few weeks since she’d taken up the position as sheriff, and calling it difficult was an understatement. Sand Flats was not a big town, by any stretch of the definition, so Charlotte already knew just about every building on its mere three streets. One of the buildings that didn’t seem dreadfully depressing, was a saloon run by a woman just as, if not more enigmatic than Charlotte herself. She had never stepped foot inside, but tonight, Charlotte decided, that would change. She hadn’t touched a trace of alcohol since she arrived, but she found herself craving it more and more under the pressure of her job that she tried desperately the carry out well. 

Stepping back inside, Charlotte pulled off her hat and ran a hand through her hair, figuring it was a good time to get going. Her “home” was exclusively inside the Sheriff’s Office, since she couldn’t just displace someone from their home. In the back room was her makeshift bedroom consisting of a bed, a dresser, a mirror and a tap that only worked half the time. A very small stove and table with one chair was also shoved into the already cramped room at the last minute.

She stripped off her sheriff uniform and pulled on one of the few pieces of clothing she owned—a beautiful red evening gown that could fit her since she was eighteen. It felt a little odd to be wearing something so… nice, but she figured if she was going out she’d might as well make an effort to look presentable. Standing in front of the mirror, Charlotte toyed with her hair a bit, then made sure not too much of her shoulders were exposed. Finally she slipped on a pair of sandals that weren’t the prettiest, but remained hidden underneath the folds of the gown. She also made sure to holster her pistol to a strap on her thigh, perfectly hidden behind the red. She knew she probably wouldn’t need it, but better safe than dead. The sheriff’s badge was also attached to it, because why not?

After adding just a touch of make up, Charlotte continued on outside, crossed the dusty street, and up the steps to the porch of the Sandy Rose Saloon.