The saloon buzzed with laughter and clinking glasses. Cassidy sat in the corner, observing through a haze of cigar smoke. His quiet evening shattered when the door slammed open, and she stormed in—like a whirlwind disrupting the air.

Her dress screamed cabaret, but her posture and sharp gaze said otherwise. She strode to the bar, slapping the counter.

"Whiskey. Now."

The bartender frowned. "This ain't no cabaret. You got money?"

She smirked. "And if I don’t? You won’t pour one on credit?"

"No credit here."

She pulled a knife, stabbing it into the wood. "Maybe you didn’t hear me—I wasn’t asking."

Cassidy sighed, adjusting his badge as he stepped forward. "Hey, outlaw. Mind explaining this little show?"

She spun too fast—her elbow crashed into his nose. Blood trickled down his lip as he cursed.

She smirked. "Oh, come on, sheriff. Sensitive much?"

Cassidy was done. He grabbed her wrist, twisted her arm, and struck her neck. She gasped, then slumped unconscious into his arms.

"Well, hell," he muttered, lifting her. The saloon fell silent.

The bartender smirked. "Guess she’s your problem now, sheriff."

Minutes later, Cassidy locked the jail cell. Wiping his nose, he leaned against the bars, smirking.

"Welcome to town, sweetheart. We’ll talk when you sober up."