Incorruptible

On nights like this the plains were cool and dry. The heat of the day was still baked into the red earth but there was a brisk wind blowing dust into the eyes of Lee Shannon as he rode out of Clarke's Point. He pulled his hat low.

Lee was called "Mercy" in town. His reputation was spotless; upstanding both in his moral compass and notoriously rigid posture. Folks in Clarke's Point admired his dedication as Sheriff, a position he had held for nearly a decade by his thirty fourth summer. A handsome, angular man with dark hair already beginning to grey on his temples and mustache, it was not unusual for the young women in town to giggle and sigh when he rode past, or for their designing mothers to invite Mercy over for a hot meal.

The rumor was that Mercy had not one infraction to his name, which, in those parts, was rare even for a lawman. Never so much as picked up a nickel in the street that wasn't his own as long as he lived. He was a quick shot but never fired at an unarmed man nor got caught in the heat of the moment felling the accused without fair trial. When a posse of hotheads from the nearest settlement finally raided the Coyote rustler's hideout in South Pass, it was out of reverence for the sheriff that the gang was arrested rather than shot on sight. And it was due to his reputation that Sheriff Lee Shannon was entrusted with protecting the only witness.

The safe-house was a two room cabin several miles from Clark's Point, where a couple of Coyotes had been posted as lookouts with a mute woman to cook their meals. The latter was his charge. He had been advised to be gentle with her, that she had been terrified in the raid. They supposed she might know a thing or two about the gang, and, mute though she may be, if she could write more than her name they had good reason to off her before the trial. And so the sheriff rode out at dusk to play his part in serving justice.

Lee arrived shortly after the cool night fell. He knocked gently on the door and, when there was no answer, pushed it slowly open. The room inside was small but still sparse--a table with several wooden chairs about it, a leather bound trunk which gaped open and empty, and a cot by the blazing fireplace. Bundles of dried plants hung from the walls. A colony of tin mugs on the table shuddered precariously when he pulled the door closed.

"Miss Elvira?"

There was a soft shuffling from the second room and by the glow of the fire he saw his charge. Her long black hair was dripping and she was wrapped in a large wool blanket. She had been bathing. This was probably the first time in a long time that she had been alone, he realized, and not in the company of men. Criminals at that. The sheriff politely averted his eyes.

"Miss Elvira?"

She nodded, doe eyed and blushing.

"Ah. Excuse me, Miss Elvira. I seem to have caught you at an...inopportune moment. Please, take your time." Lee removed his hat, as he was accustomed to doing around ladies. "Name's Lee Shannon, by the way, I'm the Sheriff over in Clarke's Point. Most people around there call me Mercy, but Lee is just fine if you like."

The woman said nothing. She turned and sat on a little stool by the fire. One small hand emerged from the folds of her blanket and selected a small log to throw on the blaze. Lee examined her with piqued curiousity. She had fine features, high arched brows and a sloping, aristocratic nose. Her skin was golden brown and flawless.

"Well. Do you mind if I wash up right quick? I'm afraid I've been riding all day, what with all the arrests, and it was a hot one."

Elvira looked back at him blankly, and gestured to the doorway.

"I must apologize, Miss Elvira, I'm having a spot of trouble understanding," the sheriff admitted. "I'm going to wash up for just a minute."

He entered the adjoining room, taken up mostly by a large bed. In one corner was a round wooden washtub still giving off steam. He splashed some warm water on his face and, removing his vest and starched linen, rinsed the dust and sweat off his arms. He wondered how he would communicate with Elvira. They would be spending quite a lot of time together in the coming week. It had not escaped his notice that she was a beautiful woman practically naked in the next room, but he was far too respectable a man to let that compromise the task at hand. He adjusted the crotch of his trousers, then donned his shirt and vest and returned to the warmth of the fire.

Elvira was still huddled by the flames despite the heat, the blanket having slipped down around her shoulders. She fed a few crumpled pieces of paper in from a basket next to the logs.

"That's quite the blaze. Don't look like you need any more kindling there."

She looked up at him through thick, dark lashes and nodded, then returned to tossing wads of paper. Lee approached her hesitantly and squatted by the cot. Gently but firmly he clasped her forearm. Elvira let his hand linger for a moment before standing and turning from the fire.

He sighed. This was not going to be easy. He began to gather up the crumpled paper.

"Where'd you get all this anyway?" Lee asked, as much to himself as to the woman behind him. He unfurled a scrap of paper and held it up to the light. Blank. How strange to be burning unused paper when there's a healthy pile of firewood sitting next to it. Hell, they were practically in the middle of nowhere and paper was a valuable commodity. Lee squinted and held the scrap a little closer to the fire -- if he wasn't mistaken, writing was beginning to appear.

"Would you look at that," he murmured, "I'll be damned. It's invisible ink." He stood and turned. "I'll need to take these bits..."

But Elvira was not, as he had expected, sitting at the little table with her eyes downcast. She was looking straight at him down the barrel of a rifle.

He cleared his throat. "I see." He held up the clandestine note. "You knew about this, I presume?"

"I did." The sound of her voice was a bigger shock than the gun.

"And you're not a mute. I'm guessin' you're not as innocent as the boys in the posse made you out to be."

She smiled humorlessly. "I'm afraid the boys in the posse weren't quite as keen as yourself, Mister Shannon." Her voice was low and clear with the charming lilt of a slight Southern accent. "I must ask you to drop your weapon now."

The Sheriff glanced at the revolver strapped to his waist, then back at the fireplace. At a range this close she was sure to hit him dead on if he attempted to draw, and he didn't dare try anything that might excite her trigger finger. He reluctantly unbuckled his gun belt and lowered it gingerly to the floor.

"Kick it here, Sheriff."

He sent the belt skidding across the floor. "Lee, please."

"Alright, Lee," she continued, and he could swear he saw the ghost of a smirk flicker across her face, "now your shirt."

Lee raised his eyebrows. "You want my shirt, Miss?"

"Must be sure you're not holding out on me."

He shook his head and began to remove his vest, eyes locked on hers.

"Trousers too."

"Is that really necessary?" He protested.

She gestured with the gun. "Trousers, Sheriff."

When all was said and done, Lee stood barefoot in his cotton long johns and undershirt among a pile of his own clothes. His boots rested neatly to one side.

"That all, Miss, or will you be wantin' my underwear, too?"

There was that faint smirk again. "That's quite alright, Sheriff. Into the trunk there."

He did as he was told and backed away cautiously. Elvira retrieved his revolver and tossed it onto the pile of clothing in the trunk. To Lee's surprise, she stowed the rifle as well before shutting the heavy lid and clicking the rusty looking padlock closed.

When she saw the confused expression on his face she let out a soft laugh. "It's going to be a long night. Did you really think I was going to leave my rifle around for you to overpower me and land on the other side of the trigger?"

"What makes you so sure I won't overpower you now?"

"I've heard of you, Sheriff. I know why they call you Mercy. And I don't think you'd hit a woman. Especially one who's unarmed."

He nodded slowly, knowing and resenting that she was right.

"Then that's settled." She began to drag two chairs across the room to the hearth. "Now I figure we've got a good seven hours until the sun rises. When that happens, three Coyotes will be in from the South with a horse for me and I'll be out of your hair. Chalk it up to a kidnapping. We both know I could have knocked you out cold just now, but I reckon you're better company awake and a girl could do with some civilized company now and then."

She looked back at him expectantly, features lit by a halo of firelight, and patted the chair. Lee stared at her. It was hard to identify exactly what he was feeling, but he was pretty sure the phrase would be "impressed as hell."

The woman cocked her head. "If you're thinking of running, know that I'll have that lock open in ten seconds flat. And I'm a hell of a shot."

"I believe that." He seemed to be out of options, so he made his way to the chair and sat. "If you'd like to change, I can give you some privacy."

"Clever, but I'm not letting you out of my sight."

He chuckled, still in disbelief. "So. What is it you'd like to talk about, Miss Elvira? That is still your name, no?"

"It is."

"How long have you been with the Coyotes?"

"I thought you were asking what I'd like to talk about."

"Alright, then, you ask the first question. We'll trade off."

She laughed. "I don't intend to incriminate myself this evening, Sheriff. Fifth amendment, isn't it?"

"Fair enough." He conceded, "I won't ask you about them. But I don't much like the idea of talkin' about myself all night."

"Understood. Do you like your job, Sheriff?"

"Excuse me?"

"My first question. Do you like your job?"

"I do. I like my job very much."

"Why's that?"

"One question at a time, remember? It's my turn."

"So it is." A little smile graced her lips. She crossed her legs, exposing one smooth bronze calf which glowed in the light. Lee felt his cock twitch and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"You grow up around here?"

"Born here, sure. Lived with my grandmama in Charlotte until I was thirteen then came back to stay. And about the job?"

"Just like seeing justice served, I suppose."

She wrinkled her nose in displeasure. "How very chivalrous of you."

"What, you don't like when the bad guy gets cuffed? Even as a kid, even in stories?"

Elvira shrugged. "That's when the story ends. Awful boring without the bad guy around. Your question by the way. Are you married?"

"No. How did-"

"Oh, come now," Elvira interrupted. "I've afforded you a glimpse into my own life, now you return the favor. This is a conversation not an interrogation."

He sighed. "Alright then. No, I'm not married. Never have been. Never met the right girl, I suppose....Are you married?"

"I was once. Haven't seen him in a decade or so."

"Was he a Coyote?"

"You said you wouldn't ask about the them," she reminded him. "And that's your second question in a row."

He frowned. "Okay, then, I retract the second. But the first don't count either, I was just tryin' to be polite."

"You're saying you don't really care about my failed marriage?" She asked, affecting a melodramatic swoon. "You wound me, Sheriff."

"I wish you'd call me Lee."

"Well," Elvira leaned forward, "which is it? Lee? Mercy?" Her eyes flicked down and back over his tall frame, "I'll bet the ladies in town call you Mister Shannon."

"They do. But anyone who's seen me in my underthings gets to call me by my given name."

"And that would preclude the ladies in town?"

"Reputable women don't see the underthings of men they're not married to."

"And disreputable women?"

"To be sure, Miss Elvira, I've never been left alone with a disreputable woman."

"Not until tonight."

"Not until tonight," he agreed.

She raised one eyebrow but said nothing. Lee studied her carefully. One droplet of water fell from a lock of hair by her shoulder. He watched it trace a shining path across her collarbone and slip out of sight between the exposed peaks of her breasts. Once more he became acutely aware of his cock stirring.

"Your turn to ask a question."

"I change my mind," she said, tapping her right fingers softly against the opposite arm. "I don't like this game. I don't like the rules."

"Ah, that much I did guess...well, what do you usually do to pass the time around here?" He stood up, quickly enough to startle her to her feet, and before Lee could get a "woah there" past his lips, there was a four inch blade at his chin.

"Sit down, Sheriff."

"How many damn weapons you got in that blanket, Miss?"

"Make another sudden move and you'll find out." Her tone was steady but clipped. "Now sit."

Lee felt his Adam's apple bob nervously. Was it normal to be attracted to a woman threatening to cut your throat? He sat back down, maintaining cautious eye contact. "I didn't mean to startle you there. It's just these chairs ain't too comfortable."

"Perhaps I should have explained it more clearly. You don't move unless I tell you to. And we'll spend all night in these chairs if I say we will."

"Well then, I'm guessin' neither of us is going to get much sleep."

"No, I suppose not." Her eyes were locked on his, burning with quiet intensity, daring him to make a move.

Instead he stuck out his hand. "A peace treaty, then."

Elvira's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "I don't make peace treaties with men. In my experience, they cannot be trusted."

Lee cleared his throat impatiently. "Even Coyotes?"

"Peace treaties are between equals, not subordinates."

"I'm sure you don't strike me as a woman who works for men considering her subordinate."

"I didn't say I was the subordinate one."

The cabin was silent. Even the fire no longer crackled as loudly, though outside a harsh wind had kicked up. They were only inches apart, her big, hooded brown eyes calm but firm. This was not someone to be trifled with. Lee did his best to match her composed expression despite his heart thudding insistently in his chest. A woman had never made him feel this way before. No one had made him feel this way before.

"Alright," he let up, "from one leader to another. Mutual respect is all I'm askin'. Don't have to shake my hand."

Elvira kept her gaze fixed on his a moment longer and nodded slowly. Almost imperceptibly, the hardness slipped from her eyes as she relaxed and folded the blade of the knife back into its handle.

"It's been a long day. You must be hungry."

When she said it he realized she was right. The week's rations were sitting outside in his saddle bag. He had meant to retrieve them before the evening had taken such an unexpected turn. For a brief moment he considered taking the opportunity to flee to Clarke's Point, but she was one step ahead.

"No need to go out to your horse. There's nearly a full loaf of bread and some cheese in the pantry. That will have to tide you over 'til morning."

The "pantry" was a cool dirt hole below the floor boards under a little trap door. Elvira carefully removed a couple of bundles wrapped in oilcloth and set them on the floor.

Lee glanced doubtfully at the food. "Shouldn't we eat at the table? Like civilized folks?"

Elvira wrinkled her nose. "I thought you didn't like the chairs?" She asked, her tone tinged with sarcasm. "It's alright, you have permission to move."

Lee frowned and lowered himself to the floor. Across from him, Elvira did the same and folds of blanket swallowed her slender frame. He unwrapped the bread, tore a chunk from it, and offered it to her. With some hesitation, she accepted and, as their hands briefly touched, a bolt of electricity passed between them. It wasn't a handshake, but it would have to do.

They ate in silence. The bread was hard and stale, barely palatable but for a bit of cheese. No better than the salt-dried strips of beef in his saddle bag anyway.

"You know, Mr. Shannon..."

"Lee," he corrected automatically.

She swallowed a mouthful of bread and directed a good humored, if irritated, look at him. "I was going to say I may have misjudged you."

"Why, thank you ma'am. Or perhaps I should be taking offense?"

If he wasn't mistaken a genuine smile was tugging at the corners or her mouth. "I mean to say that maybe we could reach a point of...trust. Well, something like trust."

"I'd like that." Their eyes met again and Lee was sure she could spot the ripple of affection in his expression. He'd never had a face for poker.

She rose and began to peruse the bundles of herbs and flowers which hung on the wall. "Tea?"

"Please."

Having selected her quarry, she took the plants to the table and began crushing and mixing with great concentration.

Suddenly feeling quite useless sitting on the floor, Lee gathered up the butter jar and cloth and stowed them away below the trap door.

Pulling up a chair to the table while she worked, he cleared his throat. "I meant ask earlier how a young woman makes her way back to the middle of nowhere after thirteen years in Charlotte."

"Lookin' for my mother."

"And?"

"Turns out she was dead," She said plainly.

"Oh," Lee bowed his head with respect, "I'm sorry to hear that."

She shrugged. "I didn't know her."

"Still."

"I met her father, in any case. My grandfather. Stayed out here with him."

"He the one who taught you how to shoot?" Lee asked, eyeing the safe.

"That I taught myself. But the knife was a gift from him." She selected a particularly dented mug and crushed a handful of herbs into it. She kept a sidelong eye on Lee as she crossed the room and ladled hot water out of the pot over the fire.

She placed the cup in front of him and set about preparing her own. "Drink up."

The tea was bitter and woody. Lee gagged slightly and tried to hide it. Perhaps also some kind of flower in it? Yes, he thought, taking another sip, there was definitely a flower in there. Lavender, maybe, or indigo. He was always mixing them up. It was too hot but he politely drank it all, fast to avoid tasting it.

Elvira sat across from him and produced a deck of cards from thin air. "To answer your earlier question," she said with a nod, "what I usually do to pass the time around here."

"Miss Elvira, I'm serious, where are you keeping this stuff?"

She allowed him a smile, a genuine one, and gestured to the fireplace. Her deft fingers shuffled and dealt out cards seamlessly.

"What are we playing?" Lee asked, and yawned with his hand politely covering his mouth.

"Gin." She tossed the last card toward him and laid the deck between them. "Tell me you know how to play, the boys are too stupid to learn it."

"Sure, sure." He picked up the Queen of Spades. "What do you usually play?"

"Solitaire." She drew from the deck and discarded. Lee did the same.

"Sounds lonely."

"Just boring," she sighed.

They play a few turns in silence. Lee felt his eyelids become heavy with exhaustion. He made himself focus on the cards in front of him. If he could just get a nine he'd be set to win. He discarded.

Elvira considered the card between them. The King of Hearts. She picked it up.

"You know some people call the King of Hearts the suicide king. Gin." She laid down three melds.

Lee tossed his hand to the table in frustration. "Why's that?"

"He's plunged the sword into his own head. See?" She held up the card. Lee took it and squinted. His eyes swam with headiness.

"It was murder."

She let out an amused laugh. "Very good. How can you tell?"

"The sleeves. They're not the same -- it's not his hand holding the knife." He blinked a few times, trying to stay awake, and sorted through the cards on the table until he found the Queen of Spades.