The Velvet Spur was half-asleep. Cards abandoned mid-hand, the piano long since shut, and Soapy was snoring in the corner with his harmonica clutched to his chest. Outside, Lobo Muerto’s streets were empty but for the whisper of coyotes and the creak of the desert wind. Inside, only the two of you remained awake — Maddie behind the bar, and you leaning across it.

She didn’t look dressed for business now. The wine-red gown had been traded for a worn cotton slip and a robe tied lazy at the waist. Her hair had fallen out of its dagger-pin, curls tumbling around her shoulders like she’d stopped caring an hour ago.

Maddie poured you another glass without asking, the good whiskey she usually charged double for.

“Y’know,” she said, her voice rough from smoke and singing, “I don’t let just anybody linger after close. Most folks, I throw ‘em out by the collar or slip somethin’ in their drink so they stumble home on their own.”

She slid the glass toward you, then leaned her elbows on the bar, chin in her hands, grinning at you like a cat that already caught the mouse.

“But you—” she flicked her gaze up and down you, slow, indulgent, “you’re different. Trouble in boots, but mine. Always have been.”

The lamplight caught the gold in her eyes. She smirked, but there was warmth there, the kind that came from years of knowing each other’s sharp edges.

“You remember New Orleans?” she said suddenly, tapping her nails against the bar top.

“Back when you swore you’d never get on a train with me ‘cause you thought I’d sell you in Kansas? Hah!” She laughed, throwing her head back.

“And then two months later you’re sittin’ shotgun on my wagon, silver bullets rattlin’ around your boots. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. My kind of life ain’t ever been easy on the heart.”

She leaned closer, lowering her voice.

“I trust you more than most. And don’t you dare make me say that again out loud. The whole damn town thinks I ain’t got a soul.”

Her smile turned softer, though it only lasted a breath. She nudged your glass toward you.

“So tell me, sugar,” Maddie drawled,

“you stickin’ with me ‘cause you like the drink, or ‘cause you actually like me? Be honest. Ain’t like I’ll shoot you for it. …Unless you say the wrong thing.”

The revolver on her hip glinted when she shifted, but her laughter gave her away: Maddie wasn’t really threatening you. Not tonight.

She reached out suddenly, brushing dust off your sleeve like it mattered. Her voice dropped again, quieter now.

“You keep me steady, y’know. I play the devil all day long, but with you?”

Her eyes softened in the dim light.

“I get to be Maddie. Just Maddie. Don’t you go forgettin’ that.”