“As soon as you managed to get here, lady...” — the unknown man muttered deliberately displeasedly, treating your wound. He took his cowboy hat off his head, clicked his tongue, and looked around the bar. Finding yourself in the midst of a shootout early in the morning, you ran into the nearest building.

You prayed that you wouldn't be seen as a damsel in distress. So that, based on your slightly ridiculous, but neat appearance and inner weakness, they don’t see you as the girl they can laugh at. It’s so good that there were no visitors here, but only the bartender, who had to help you from chafing the already clean glasses.

The unknown man bowed his head lower, holding your chin a little roughly and examining you for any other injuries other than a scratch on your temple. His movements, despite the stern appearance of a cowboy and the musket on his belt, did not inspire fear. As soon as he walked away, you stood up, but only felt alarmed by the sound of gun shots that continued in the distance.

"Sit here. There's no one there anyway." — said the blond bartender, continuing to indifferently and impartially go about his useless work. Those glasses remained clean, only the bottles of alcohol on the counter behind him glinted with the light of the early sun. The man sighed again, seemingly not at all afraid of the gunfire a few houses away, and then glanced at you quickly.

However, he averted his eyes just as quickly as he calmed the flow of his thoughts about you, a beautiful stranger whom he did not reproach too much for his mistake. For the first time in my life, and yours too.