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"Grandpa -- you already told me all about Billy the Kid. And Jesse James. And Wild Bill Hickock and Doc Holliday. Oh and Wyatt Earp and Calamity Jane -- I know about all of them, Grandpa..." Johnny was almost thirteen, just about the age when toy guns weren't fun anymore and all the stories about the Old West didn't seem so entertaining, which meant that Grandpa didn't seem so entertaining because his stories were always about the Old West.
It was just about the time that Johnny started rolling his eyes and sighing, as his grandfather stroked his beard thoughtfully, trying to dredge up some old memory that the thought hit him.
"All right, kid. How 'bout Sharp Sarah Davis and Christopher 'Reverend' Marshall?" The old man knew his grandson's interest was piqued by the way his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed.
"Never heard of 'em, d'you just make 'em up? What's Sharp mean anyway? And what was he, a priest? I don't wanna hear no story 'bout any priest, grandpa..." He watched his grandfather with an accusing eye, always a sharp witted boy. He could see right through any fable, like Wyatt Earp himself so said his Papa when he was still alive. He would've made fine Sheriff material, but then? He came from a long line of them, so it was no surprise.
"Naw, boy. They called her Sharp 'cuz she never missed a shot and Reverend because he always said a little prayer before he killed a man. But I reckon you're old enough now t'hear 'bout them, Johnny. Now come sit by your grandpa and listen good..."
It was mid-July and the Texas heat was getting damn near unbearable, but that didn't slow business down. The Davis Ranch still had to run and function like it would have if it weren't a hundred and ten degrees in the shade, and Sarah still had a job to do, delegating tasks and keeping their business thriving. There weren't many other cattle herders in their area, and not a single person who could break a horse in five hundred miles, so there was never any lack of business.
But it wasn't that simple now that she was doing it on her own. Her father had contracted TB a couple of years back but it hadn't made it's presence known, or at least he'd never told anybody, 'til the beginning of summer when breathing became a chore. He'd hired on that quiet fellow, Christopher, just before telling his daughter that she'd be the one taking over, she'd be the only way their operation stayed intact. From the get go, her father told her how much he trusted Christopher, said he was a good man -- and he didn't say that often. But Sarah couldn't be bothered to cast him so much as a second glance, even when they were working alongside eachother. It never bothered Christopher, or if it did he never said anything about it, he just took her orders and went along doing his job and getting paid every week as he'd been promised. That was one thing he couldn't complain about -- Sarah was much more prompt than her father about paying the ranch hands. The happy hands stayed on longer, worked harder, in her experience and she couldn't afford to lose any now.
It wasn't until one hot day right before July turned into August when Sarah saw Christopher up on the bull headed new thoroughbred, Rusty, that she really noticed him. With this sun beating down on him, he looked so strong and handsome being that he was so concentrated on breaking the new horse. He didn't even notice the little group of ranch hands that had gathered to watch. It was no secret that more than a few of them had already tried their hand at taming the beast and none had gained anything but a headache and a couple broken ribs for their troubles -- except now, except for Christopher. Hardly an hour later and the horse was practically eating out of his palm, taking a saddle without so much as a flinch and acting like a seasoned veteran.
"Y'did a good job there, where'd you learn that?" Sarah was leaning on the gate, shielding the bright sunlight from her face with the back of her hand.
The way he looked at her, with his head canted to the side and his hair in his eyes, it made her usually bland expression light up in a smile. She thought her heart might have skipped a beat, but she wasn't sure. "Dunno. Always had a knack..."
"Couldja teach me?"
And that was the day The Reverend fell for Sharp Sarah Davis... that was the beginning of the end.
-
"Chris---" The boy fancied himself a ranch hand, but he wasn't much more than eighteen and practically knee high to a grasshopper, but he was a hard worker and could cook up a mean meal at the end of the day. That was probably why Sarah kept him around, Chris mused as he turned to look at him. Whatever winsome smile was on his face was quickly wiped away at the sight of David, who was practically doubled over with his hands on his knees, dirt on his face, gulping down the air like his lungs might collapse. He hadn't run all this way for nothin'.
"David, what's wrong?" His sharp blue eyes were concentrated on him as he clapped a hand on the kid's shoulder and bent sideways to try and make some form of eye contact.
"Chris she's hurt real bad, she got bucked off the horse --" He was panting, trying to catch his breath. "South stables--she's real hurt--" Before he could even blink, Chris's tan hat was falling in the wind behind him and he was racing toward the South stables, his feet beating down on the dirt far too slowly than he would have liked.
There were voices shouting, people running and general chaos happening. He didn't have to push anyone out of the way, when he happened on the scene the other ranch hands got quiet, parting like the Red Sea before him. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and wake up, this had to be a horrible dream.
And there was Sarah, sprawled in the dust, her eyes opened and glazed over, fixed onto nothingness. "Is she dead." He was surprised at the ferocity of his own voice, the way it sounded so gravelly and ragged.
"No, she ain't dead-- Doc's comin' dow, she hit her head real hard, Chris." Billy, his best friend, was speaking from directly behind him and Chris closed his eyes. He'd seen injuries like this before.
Bending to his knees beside her, he was careful not to move her, only brush the hair from her face. "Baby, you're okay..." She couldn't hear him, he knew, she might never have heard him again, he knew that too. Pressing a kiss against her temple so gingerly, he laced his fingers with hers and bent his head.
"Get outta the way, Chris, Doc's here..." Billy was heaving him up by his armpits, so that he wouldn't hear the Doc giving orders, so that Chris wouldn't know that Sarah was probably going to die and if she didn't? Well, she wouldn't have had much of a life worth living.
-
It was right after the first time Christopher took me riding through the meadow, where I didn't really want to go (because my mother had planted flowers there so long ago that are growing wild now, they always remind me of her and it's so hard to look at them... but he didn't know that) that I knew I loved him. He helped me off of my horse, which never happened to me before save for my father... I think the other ranchers are afraid of me, I think they think I can take care of myself. And I can! But sometimes, I don't want to.
Anyway, he helped me off of my horse, held my hand and we walked around the meadow. I had almost forgotten how pretty it was, how the sun set over the pretty blue wildflowers like a little ocean right here in the middle of Montana.
"I come here to get away from the guys..." He was too nervous to put his arm around me, so he made some excuse about it being chilly out and asked me if I was okay. Of course I said no and he put his arm around me and I leaned in so close, I could have sworn I heard his heart beating through his chest, he was so nervous.
"Now I know I ain't the right kind of man to be sayin' this, Miss Sarah..." He started awkwardly but I didn't let him finish, I didn't want him to put himself down that way.
"You're the perfect kind of man for me, Christopher." I said something like that, anyway, and he smiled.
That's when I knew -- I just knew. How could I ever live without him? How did I for so long?
