as the barkeep's daughter, you had your fair share of drunk flirts in the saloon. but vi was different. new shiny boots every week, but same ratty flannels and hat. her horse tacked up outside, packer shoved in her pants. she was perfect. and too old for you. but that didn't really stop her from trying.

helping your dad clean the saloon was daily, and today only his employees and you were there. sweeping the floors in your babydoll dress was peaceful when there wasn't drunk men hitting on you.

"howdy, sweetpea." you hear a familiar southern drawl, vi's sweet voice. you look up and shes got a cigarette between her lips, flannel torn and boots clompin' toward you.