🂱 • 𝚍𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚢 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘 • 🂱 ~ 𝒹ℴ𝒸 𝒽ℴ𝓁𝓁𝒾𝒹𝒶𝓎

chapter fourteen - old ties

"Awfully nice gun." Ringo said, his fingers tracing over the silver barrel of her revolver.

Cheyenne didn't move from her chair by the hearth. She glanced at Milt, who watched carefully. She could see the tip of a shotgun rested on the edge of the counter, ready to shoot. He was ready to blow Ringo's brains out if things went south. Cheyenne was the sister of the man that built Joyce's business back up, after all. He had to do the right thing.

Cheyenne placed her fingers on her skirt and rubbed the lace fabric of her dress between her fingers. She sat in silence as Ringo took his sweet time viewing her revolver.

"You almost done?" Cheyenne snapped. Enough was enough.

Ringo handed her gun back to her.

"Was that old Nick's?" Ringo asked, sitting down in a chair across from her.

How in the world does she know Dad's name? Cheyenne thought to herself.

Cheyenne didn't let her guard down. She slipped the revolver back into her pocket and sat up straight, clearing her throat.

"I don't think it matters to you. What do you want, Ringo?" she gritted.

Ringo only shrugged.

"I wanted to talk to you."

"Now?" Cheyenne scoffed. "You've got some nerve after-"

"After what? I think I helped your pretty little ass back there. You oughta be thankin' me." Ringo grumbled, sitting forward in his chair. He rested his forearms on his knees, his head hung low. His eyes tore through Cheyenne's soul like a bullet ripping through flesh.

"Gimme a break. I hit him first. Weakened him." Cheyenne whispered, copying Ringo's position in his chair.

"Awful sorry to interrupt, but I've got yer drink here, Miss Earp." Milt said, breaking the conversation between the two. Ringo's clouded face lit up as he rose from his chair.

"I'll grab it." Ringo said. "For the lady."

Cheyenne rolled her eyes, reaching into the pocket of her dress. Her fingers fumbled around the fabric until she found a cigarette. She pulled it out of her pocket and leaned closer to the flames, lighting it. Cheyenne leaned back into her chair, raising the cigarette to her lips. She took a long drawl. It immediately calmed her.

"Here you are." Ringo said offering the cup to her.

Cheyenne took it without a word. She placed two of her fingers on either side of the cigarette on her lips, plucking it from her mouth. She rested the hand with the cigarette on the arm of the chair. With her other hand, she raised the cup and took a sip. The cold liquid charged her with life. She swallowed back the burn of the whiskey, clenching her jaw.

It was the strong stuff, that was for sure.

"So." Ringo began. "Tell me. Why'd you leave the cowboys?"

"I dunno, maybe because you shot me?" Cheyenne spat, the words dripping off of her tongue like snake venom. Suddenly, Cheyenne felt something. Something off. Her vision began to cloud.

Ringo didn't reply.

Or maybe he did.

Cheyenne didn't hear him.

Ringo's dark figure became fuzzier and fuzzier. Her ears rang. She was aware of a loud clanging noise, and the lack of the cup of whiskey in her hand. But she couldn't figure out why.

It was like a blanket of wooziness had fallen over. Her head throbbed. A man shouted.

Then, Cheyenne saw black.