"Deputy," said Simpson from his place behind the bar, "you look like you're unwell. Is everything all right?"

Simpson, like Reynold, was much younger in those days. The saloon proprietor had a head of thick bushy brown hair and a mustache that was the envy of many men in Fox Den.

"I have received some devastating news, Simpson," the lawman confessed glumly, "I was hoping you might have something strong to help me forget about it, however temporarily."

Simpson nodded, almost knowingly. "I suppose I can find something back here that fills the bill, deputy."

He set a glass on the bar counter and contemplated some of the bottles on the wall behind him.

"Now, based on what you were telling me earlier this week with the plans for the future Mrs.Reynolds to come to town...am I correct in assuming there's been a delay her arrival?"

"Worse, I'm afraid. I received a letter today telling me the whole wedding is off. She won't be coming at all."

"What?" Simpson exclaimed, both with shock and sympathy, "But I thought you said she was looking forward to seeing you soon! To seeing Fox Den!"

"I believed she was. But today's letter...as such, like I said, I need something to help me forget all this sudden terrible news. Please, Simpson."

The bartender grabbed an oval shaped green bottle. Uncorking it, the air quickly filled with the harsh burning smell of alcohol.

"Here, this will probably help you with fast forgetting," Simpson said as he poured. "And in light of this terrible turn of events for you, the first round is on the house." He pushed the full glass before the broken-hearted beefcake.

"Thanks, Simpson," Reynold said ruefully as he brought the liquid to his lips. It was far from pleasant tasting, but certainly strong as requested. He downed the glass's contents in three gulps.

"Another?" asked Simpson. Reynold nodded.

As Simpson began to refill the glass, Reynold suddenly was aware of someone standing besides him at the bar counter. It was a strange feeling that came over him with the individual's arrival; it was a sense of intrigue, yet also of dread at the same time. He turned to look to see who the stranger was and was startled to discover it was a woman.

She had been sitting in the dark when he came into the saloon, oblivious to anything but his need to wash his sorrow away. In the light by the bar, he could see her well - she looked to be about his age and stood just a little beneath average height. Her skin was pale white, almost unnaturally so, and her bright red lips and dark eyes only enhanced this unusual appearance. Her hair was black and long, cascading down her back free and natural. She wore a bright red dress; the way it was cut in the front almost made it seem like she was trying to sell her cleavage at an auction, presenting her full breasts to whoever wanted to examine them closer.

"I came back for another drink," the woman said to Simpson in a melodious yet strangely ominous voice. "I had whiskey, if you recall. I'll have another glass of the same." She made no effort while speaking to look at the barman and instead looked seductively into Reynold's eyes.

Reynold, despite his unhappy state, was still a man. Her feminine charms (and lack of modest garments) did not go unnoticed. She was an unfamiliar face to him; as deputy he had prided himself in knowing nearly all Fox Den residents, and yet, he had never seen her before.

"Excuse me," he managed to say as Simpson pushed his second round his way, "are you new in town?"

The woman smiled. "Why, yes. Just arrived this morning. Lovely place, nice to see towns like this popping up. And, of course, to see them populated with handsome men like yourself. May I know your name?"

Reynold was a bit startled by the woman's directness. Not in a bad way, but most women in those parts were not so fast. Then again, most women in those parts didn't wear dresses that displayed so much of their boobs or drink alone at the saloon.

"I'm Deputy Rexford Reynold," he replied. "And you are?" If she was direct, surely he could be direct back.

"Meriem St. Mares," the woman answered, "'Rexford'. "Rex" means "king". You may work as a deputy but you certainly have a body worthy of royalty."

Reynold could feel himself blushing. Sure, Sheriff Ghastfash said things like that to him often, but Reynold always shrugged it off as his supervisor's quirky behavior. To hear a woman who had just met him praise his appearance in such a manner somehow was different.

"I'll bring your next round over shortly, ma'am," Simpson said, glancing at the deputy and then to Meriem. The woman nodded.

"Actually, I would like to pay for her refill, Simpson," Reynold found himself saying, not even realizing it until the words came out.

"Why, that's awful nice of you, deputy," Meriem smirked wider. "I don't suppose you'd like to join me. I've been sitting by myself over there. Sure would appreciate some company."

"Well," Reynold could feel himself smiling too, though again it seemed involuntary, "if you want me to join you, I guess I can't refuse."

"Ma'am, you can take a seat," Simpson said, almost a slight command in his voice, "I'll have the deputy bring your drink over in a moment, as he's generously paying for it. I just would like to talk to him privately about something- man talk."

"Oh, I see," Meriem giggled, though it was noticably a strained laughter, "I certainly have no place in 'man talk'. Deputy, I'll meet back at the table soon."

Reynold watched her walk away; there did not appear to be one part of the woman's body that was not just the right proportions.

"Deputy," Simpson's voice was hushed and serious, drawing Reynold back to reality, "there is something not right about that woman."

The bartender's comments were a tad surprising, though at the same time understandable, Reynold reasoned.

"Yes, she is dressed a bit... provocative for Fox Den," he agreed, "but she said she just arrived here this morning. Maybe she's from somewhere warmer and she hasn't had time to change into more appropriate attire."

"No, deputy," the barkeep continued, "there's something not right about her character. I cannot place it now, but I have a sense for these things. She has been sitting there for hours, doing nothing more than watching everyone who comes in. She appears to be looking for something. That you're the first man she got up to talk to, I'd be wary."

"'Looking for something'? Maybe she just wanted someone to talk to and who appeared to be safe. Could be lonely for her being in a new town, particularly as we don't know her business for coming to Fox Den. As deputy, she has nothing to worry about from me. In fact, in light of my sad news today, maybe talking with a pretty lady would help lighten my mood."

"Deputy..." Simpson began but trailed off. No, he had spoken his piece; though he couldn't figure it out, he somehow knew that woman was trouble. But Deputy Reynold was a decent lawman, heartbroken or not. Surely he would be able to handle his own with her, especially now that Simpson had pointed out his concern.

Instead, the bartender filled the woman's drink request and handled it to Reynold.

"Be careful," he told the lawman, though he could tell Reynold did not seem the slightest bit worried about the stranger in the corner.