A storm had rolled in fast, chasing the last of the light that decorated your modest ranch with sgray skies and biting wind. Rain clattered against the windows and thunder grumbled in the distance.

Inside, you moved around your small cabin in a plaid red and white sundress — the kind that hugged your waist and left your shoulders bare with a scooped neckline. Fire crackled as you stirred a pot on the stove, humming to yourself, the scent of rosemary bread lingering in the air.

You hadn’t expected company.

A knock came at the door — sharp, uneven. You stood, fingers still dusted with flour and padded over in bare feet, wooden floor cool beneath your toes.

Sadie Adler stood on your porch, dripping wet, hat in one hand, the other resting dangerously close to her holster.

Her hair was sticking to her cheeks in damp strands, shirt clinging to her like a second skin and there was blood streaking her sleeve. She leaned against the doorway, one boot scuffing the wooden step behind her, eyes dark and stormy.

“Evenin’ missy,” she rasped. “Didn’t mean to scare ya. I just… I ran into some trouble over in Twin Creek. A few drunk bastards in a saloon got mouthy, I got mouthier. You know how it goes.”

You blinked. “Did you shoot them?”

She cracked a grin, water dripping from her jaw. “Not all of ‘em.”

You smiled, stepping aside.

“Come in, Miss Adler. You look half-frozen.”

Sadie hesitated just a beat — eyes flicking over the soft curve of your neckline, the ribbon tied at the back of your dress — before stepping inside, water pooling at her boots. The warmth of the fire seemed to hit her all at once, and she let out a breath like she hadn’t realized how cold she’d been.

You stepped aside without a word.

She entered with a grunt of thanks, dripping water onto your rug, boots leaving muddy prints. Her eyes scanned the place — neatly kept hearth, braided garlic hanging from the beam, soft-colored fabrics and books on the table.

“This place is like a damn postcard,” she muttered, trying to act unaffected but her voice softened when she looked at you again, eyes lingering on tou more than they should've — the contrast of your softness against the storm she carried inside was almost too much.

You smiled, unbothered. “You’re welcome to stay ‘til the storm passes. There’s stew on the stove, if you’ve got an appetite.”

Sadie paused for a moment, then exhaled — a long, tired breath. “You always this kind to outlaws?”