Southern Love ↠ Jasper Whitlock

chapter one

Josephine, Houston Texas, 1863

"Just one drink, please," I muttered, placing a few coins on the wooden counter.

The day was warm, and I could feel the thin layer of sweat coating my tanned skin. I'd hoped to cool off with a small drink in the town's best saloon, but, of course, that never came without issues. Nevertheless, I could only hope that today would go differently, trying to push my pessimistic thoughts to the side.

"What's a pretty maiden like you doin' in a saloon like this?" The bartender asked.

"Just get me the damn drink," I growled, rolling my eyes before turning away from him.

He chuckled and walked away. The sound of his heavy shoes pounded on the wooden floor, making him sound like an angry toddler stomping away from a tantrum. I didn't expect less from him. Most of the men in this town proved to have the same prideful tendencies when it came to flirting with women. I jumped slightly when I felt a hand on my hair. Turning around, I glared at another man before eyeing his hand.

"Your hand is misplaced," I hissed, grabbing his wrist with two fingers and moving it off of me.

"What a beautiful lady you are," he slurred, moving his hand back to my Raven-colored hair.

The annoyance within me grew. He couldn't have been younger than thirty. His pinkish skin was coated with a considerable amount of dirt, much of which was crowded within his untamed brown beard. As I sized him up, I noticed that, apart from his unpleasant facial features, which included a face that lacked symmetry and horribly gapped teeth, he sported a relatively athletic build. He could've been six feet, possibly an inch under. Nevertheless, at eighteen years old, I was disgusted.

"Get your filthy hands off of me," I snapped, roughly shoving his chest with my hand. Though my shove wasn't the gentlest, he barely moved an inch. My shove was nothing more than a tickle to his broad-shouldered, muscular frame.

"Why don' I take you back to ma place?" He urged as he leaned closer to me, an action that made my stomach churn.

Leaning away from his alcoholic breath, I growled, "Only in your dreams, partner."

Even in his drunken state, I could see his eyes darkening. I figured he was growing impatient with me, but I couldn't care less. There was no way I was goin' anywhere with him, and I would put up a fight before I let him manhandle me into obeyin' him. However, as I told myself this, he managed to get a firm grip on my right arm and yank me off the stool. My heart leapt in my chest as adrenaline spread throughout my veins. Before he could drag me far, I raised my left hand and slapped him across the face.

"Hold it!" A deep voice suddenly barked, startling us both.

The stranger froze, never loosening his grip on my arm. As I turned my head, following the sound of the sharp voice, I immediately spotted the silhouette of a tall, lean, broad-shouldered, cowboy-hat-clad man. Since he was standing in the doorway, the contrast of the bright sunlight from outside and the dim lighting from within the saloon prevented me from seeing his face. That was, until he stepped away from the doorway and into the saloon completely. Then was I allowed to see his entire being.

The man was handsome, incredibly handsome. His honey blonde curls fell to his shoulders, framing the sharp features of his attractive face. He, too, was tanned from his excessive time under the harsh rays of the Texas sun. His gaze, a piercing brown stare, was locked on the stranger's grip on my arm. It was then that I noticed his uniform. He was a confederate soldier.