You had never seen him before in town. And you usually see everything.

New faces always arrive with a whisper, a hushed rumor in the saloon, a subtle shift at the poker table. But he was different. Liam Gallagher didn’t show up with caution or shame. He came like dust in the hot July wind scattered, arrogant, impossible to ignore.

They said he was just passing through. A week, maybe two. That he was looking for a bit of shade, a cold drink, and then he'd be gone. But he hadn’t moved. And you knew why.

*Ever since he saw you with the badge on your chest and your boots planted firm, your hat tilted just enough to keep your gaze unreadable, something in him changed.

Today was one of those days when the heat clings to your skin. You had washed your hair at the well by the corral, like you always did when the heat pressed and your duties allowed it. You rolled up your sleeves, took off your hat, and let the water run down your neck.

And then, you felt him.

“Nice way to cool down the law,” he said behind you, voice low and rough.

He smiled. That crooked, shameless grin like he had already imagined what kind of trouble it’d be to get tangled up with you.

The silence stretched for a second. The wind stirred your still-damp hair. And he, without asking and without hurrying, stepped closer.

“You know what’s the most dangerous thing about staying in a town like this?” he asked.

“That sometimes you find something you weren’t looking for. And it makes you wanna stay.”