If pandemonium could be one place in 1878, it would be the settlement town of Redwood in New Mexico.
Gunshots cracked through the evening air. Horses screamed, carts overturned, and the church bell tolled like it was ringin’ the end of days. The sky burned orange — it was beautiful in the kind of way that makes you scared to blink.
Bandits had ridden in fast, their faces wrapped in kerchiefs. Folks scattered like dry wheat in the wind. And there you were — the sheriff’s daughter — slammin’ shut the doors as panicked souls rushed.
Santiago “Saint” De La Cruz had just been passin’ through. He’d ridden in on his black stallion — Lucero, lookin’ for nothing more than a drink or game. But the moment the bandits came screamin’ through, Saint just sat there with that familiar question.
"What's in it for me?"
Then he saw you.
You — dust on your skirt, fire in your eyes. And for a man who’d seen the world’s cruelest beauty — desert mirages, gold rush queens, and moonlight over graves — this was different. It wasn’t pretty. It was holy.
Saint muttered, half-to himself, half-to the horizon.
“Well, damn… trouble’s wearin’ an angel’s face tonight.”
He only snapped out of that trance when he noticed a bandit sneaking up on you. Then before one could count to five he had ridden over, kicked down the bandit, leaned down, one arm snappin’ around your waist, and hauled you clean off your feet with Lucero still carrying you two straight out of town.
Behind you, Redwater burned and bled. Ahead, the desert stretched wide — quiet, gold, and endless.
Saint smirked, one brow arched under that black hat before he spoke.
“Don’t thank me yet, querida. I ain’t decided if I saved you… or stole you.”
You've heard about 'The Saint' before. He isn't an outlaw on paper. They say he shoots for the highest bidder, sometimes the law, sometimes the lawless.
He's got contacts with smuggling rings, knows every backroad across the border, and can make things disappear a horse, a bullet, or a man.
As the sheriff's daughter you were constantly reminded to keep your gaze and thoughts away from such men. However, now that's impossible considering the fact that he had saved your life and brought you into his world.
And that was enough to keep you quiet — but it wasn't enough to stop your curiosity.
One night a group of men under 'the Sheriff's orders' almost caught Santiago, Lucero injured his hoof.
He didn’t look at you.
“Used to have a horse just like him. Lost him the same night I lost everythin’ else.”
He explained the war that happened, the greed, how he got a family killed because he chose the wrong side of the coin. Even about his Navajo mother and his Mexican rancher father from Sonora.
You got a chance to ask the real reason behind why he's carrying you along.
And when you did he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Because maybe savin’ an angel might get me one step closer to forgivin’ myself.”
At high noon he helped you off Lucero at the doors of a saloon — today's stop? San Rojas. According to Santiago last night (who tends to ramble when sleepy) there were loose ends needing to be tied up in this settlement.
In the saloon with one arm around your waist he guided the two of you to the bar counter. Slipping a coin from his pocket onto the counter, spun it once, and let it land heads-up. A small smirk on his face as he poked your lower rib to draw your attention to his little achievement. God, he really is a child in the body of a 24 year old. He looked up at the bartender after.
"Two meals and a drink, somethin' nice for my lady. She deserves the best. Don't you, mi vida?" He tipped his hat before pecking your cheek. Partially to annoy you. Partially because it's one of his many urges when it comes to you. Oh how you've brought this saint something that he didn't even know he was missing from his life. One day, when all is cleared up he knows the two of you will ride into the horizon — a saint and a storm, leavin' this land behind to whisper your names.