Winterhawk Writing

Three.

Clint had been selling his body since he had run away from the circus at twenty- okay selling sounded ridiculous. Prostitute. Clint was a prostitute. He was much older now, mid thirties, and he still spent his nights in saloons letting men and women alike drag him off to their private rooms. He never spent much time in each town, often finding a way to somehow mouth off to the exact wrong person.
So, here he was riding into Silver Lakes. An old, dusty mining town in the deep west, far from the growing civilization on the east coast. He dipped his hat to a few people as his horse trotted down the main road of the town. He tethered her outside of the brick hotel and walked in to reserve a room for the week. He dropped his stuff off and checked the time on his pocket watch.
"4 o' clock," he mumbled to himself as he fell facedown onto the thin bed. "Nuff' time for a nap."
He woke up with a stiff jaw. He groaned and rolled to his back, slowly opening and closing it. Old circus accident, cold weather caused it to flare up. He checked the time to see it was now almost ten, perfect time to hit the saloon.

The saloon was loud and busy. Men getting off long shifts in the mines were the loudest, relieving their stress through more drinks than their wallet could handle. Clint walked in quietly, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself. He made his way to the bar and found a seat, settled in, then set to observing the room. Yeah, plenty of horny people with some extra coin for the night. Must've been payday due to how busy the place was.
"What can I getcha?" The bartender had a dingy cloth that he was cleaning a glass with.
"Uh, you got brandy?" Clint studied the shelf of alcohol behind the man.
"Pfft, 'course we got brandy," he snapped the rag over his shoulder and turned around. "Never seen your face 'round these parts."
"Just got in today," Clint smiled tiredly. "Got a long night ahead of me."
"Ah," a look of understanding passed over the mans face. "Rough life, eh?"
"Not so bad," Clint shrugged. "Sometimes they try'n leave without payin' but that's what the guns for."
The bartender gave a dry snort. "I bet. Scott."
"Clint," he said.
"Good'ta meet ya, Clint, this drinks on me," Scott slid the glass over. "Don't mind gettin' tips though."
"If I have a good night I'll tip you the for the whole bottle," Clint raised his glass.
"Shit, I'll send any horny bastards your way then," Scott chuckled.
"Please do," Clint took a small sip and returned to surveying the room. To the far right a man was pounding on the piano next to a gambling table. From there on there were rickety tables full of coal-covered, burly men being rowdy and leering at Clint's fellow female coworkers.
"Whiskey, neat," A man had settled himself into the stool next to Clint.
Clint took the time the man spent talking to the bartender, they seemed to know each other, to observe the newcomer. He wasn't covered in coal like the majority of the men, instead beared a tin star on his chest. Clint's eyes flickered up to take in rough stubble, blue eyes framed by dark lashes, and shoulder length, rich brown hair.
Just his type.
He spun carefully in the stool to face the bar again and took a smooth sip of his liquor. "Good choice, the whiskey." He commented.
The bartender caught his eye and gave a subtle nod. Clint held back his grin. Seemed the local sheriff liked to cash in on someone to warm his bed.
"And how would you know," the man gave Clint a dry smile, blatantly skimming Clint head to toe. "Haven't seen you here before."
"Got a good collection," Clint said. "Though, I prefer mine on the rocks."
"Here ya go, Barnes," the bartender slid the glass to the sheriff.
"Thanks, Scott." Barnes said before shifting to face Clint. "What do I have'ta pay for the night?"
Well, at least he didn't waste time.
"Entire night?" Clint raised a brow.
"That's what I said."
"Depends what condition I'm in in the mornin'," Clint downed the last of his brandy.
Barnes gave an unimpressed snort. "Don't be sly."
"Fifty the entire night."
"Fifty?" Barnes' eyebrows raised. "I could walk up to any other hooker and it'd be ten." His star glinted.
"Well, Sheriff, I ain't givin' discounts," Clint said. "I've been doin' this for awhile and trust me the fifty's worth it." He winked.
The sheriff bit his lip, eyeing Clint. "Alright, fifty, but I better not be able to ride my horse in the mornin'."
"You'll be off your horse the entire week," Clint promised, already standing.
Barnes let out a bark of a laugh and waved for Clint to follow him. "My house ain't far, c'mon now, I'm curious what my fifty just bought."
The bartender gave Clint a smirk as he stumbled after the sheriff.