Cowgirls & Creme Brûlée
A tidbit that I may turn into something longer someday.
From the first time I laid eyes on her, I knew she was unlike any woman alive today. Hell, she was unlike most men. She belonged to a different era. She was straight out of the Old West, or at least the Spaghetti West. You could kill her entire family and she wouldn't shed a tear. No time for that. No point. To make it in this world you had to be as tough as the shoe leather beneath her feet. At least that's what she thought.
Perhaps it was her upbringing. All those stories about her great-grandfather; how he'd been a gunslinger in the Wyoming Territory, how he'd once killed twenty men in day. Did he wear a white hat or a black one? She didn't know because it wasn't that simple. The college-set may look down their noses at those old cowboys who ruled the West, but for all their talk about Realpolitik, they don't see that's exactly the code her great-grandfather and his contemporaries lived by, lawman one day, outlaw vigilante the next.
