A typical trip into town. A typical stop in the general store, and a typical journey home. There would be no drama, no violence, and she could be home before sundown. That was what Kizzy Cottman had assured herself would take place, and she sincerely hoped would take place. But nothing had been typical since Landon had been shot, and on occasion, she wondered if anything ever would. That afternoon, it seemed, was no exception.

"Miss Cottman!" the shopkeep had greeted with a nod and a grin. He might have waved as well, had his hands not been otherwise occupied. In short, practiced motions, the man shuffled paper from one pile to another, mentally noting totals even as he continued to speak. "Allers a pleasure to see you, ma'am."

His enthusiasm, though endearing, was not returned. "Afternoon," Kizzy answered simply, fingertips politely kissing the brim of her hat before she tugged it off. Even in a mere shop, she had been raised better than to parade about with her head covered.

"What brings you in today?" he continued cheerfully.

"Just need some sugar."

"Doing some baking?"

Kizzy paused, her hand hovering over a small bag as she mused over his words. [i]What, pray tell, would be another use for sugar?[/i] But the woman bit back the retort. He was a good man, and she would be wrong to take out her anger on him. [i]It just is not a good time.[/i]

There was no time for her comment, even if she had chosen to say it. A man who had previously lurked in the back suddenly raced by, a cloth bag laden with goods over his shoulder. His motions were unusual, she noted with some urgency, as she nearly toppled as he shoved past her. What excuse did he have for such behavior? Her first thought was a robbery, and the shopkeep's subsequent shouts confirmed her suspicions.

Her own shopping list was forgotten as she lunged after the man. Her boots thudded dully across the wood floor, and then the creaking porch, and finally the hard-packed, dusty street. But it was not until the blonde burst into the center of town that she realized the gravity of the situation. Men and women ran all about, their paths criss-crossing and apparently random, a sure sign of panic. Shouts carried from numerous buildings, accompanied by the familiar thunder of guns being fired. Immediately, her hand dropped to her own pistol.

[i]So much for a typical day.[/i] But in Soursprings, what did she expect?