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The pink cowboy boot neon light blinked randomly in time with the music thumping from the jukebox across the room. The dust was inches thick on the old west memorabilia that scattered the walls and the shelves of the bar. It wasn’t as if Nedley had a lot of spare time of late to get to mundane tasks such as dusting.
Despite being early Shorty’s was almost empty. The celebrations had all but petered out. It’s not every year that the town hockey team takes out the championship trophy. The beers had flowed hard for hours. The townspeople of Purgatory finally had something to celebrate, and they were determined to make a party of it.
Sheriff Haught had spent the night dragging drunkards out and locking them up in the holding pens at the station. Her new flatfoots struggled to keep pace with the experienced Sheriff. While Haught wouldn’t let on, her back was hurting, and her feet were sore.
The tall redhead had been burning the candle at both ends. Training new staff and getting the Sheriff’s department back up to speed as well as drowning in the absolute joy of satisfying her insatiable new wife, meant that she barely had a spare ounce of energy.
As her shift closed out and the last of the stragglers were leaving Shorty’s her patience was wearing thin. She was on her way back to the station with a very inebriated cuffed Champ Hardy. No one could believe it when he had showed up to celebrate the trophy.
Hardy mumbled and was generally griping and complaining, being every bit the jackass that he was. He could barely stay on his feet and was making even the simplest of tasks difficult. Nicole was surprised to see the boy man back in town. Waverly had literally frozen when he had winked at her from the other end of the bar earlier that night. When Nicole turned and saw that signature square jawed smug, it caused every cell in her body to stand to attention.
All Nedley had to do to ground the fiery redhead was rest an assured hand on her shoulder. His steady energy literally stopping her as she was about to rise from her seat.
Her instinct was to waltz over to him and put him in his place. Tell him outright to wipe that damn smirk off his face and to never wink at her wife again. That’s right she thought, my wife.
Too embarrassed to show his face around town after Waverly had cut him loose, he had joined the rodeo circuit full time. The last anyone had heard was that he had gotten some undeserving girl pregnant and was forced to marry her at the end of her father’s shotgun barrel.
“Just desserts,” mumbled Nicole to herself in response to her recollecting thoughts.
“Don’t make it harder than it needs to be Chump,” grumbled the weary Sheriff as she dragged him across the road.
Hardy was ranting and raving about how Nicole had stolen his girl. His voice echoed through the main street.
The Sheriff would normally not be so tolerant, but the last few years had changed her. The trauma and heartbreak had almost broken her spirit. She had seen so much loss and knew if Purgatory was to heal and rebuild everyone had to get along for the sake of the town. Demons, humans even Hardy and Haught.
So, she did her best to dance around her own feelings. However, that was getting harder to uphold with every step towards the station. Champ’s behaviour was escalating, his swearing and carry on was one thing but he began to writhe in her grasp, no longer complicit to her directions.
Y-y-you stole W-w-w-aave-Waverly he slurred, his beer-soaked breath washing over Nicole’s face.
She could taste him, and it disgusted her. He disgusted her. The way he had treated her wife, the way he had acted like a hero following Shorty’s death. She knew the truth of the matter, the idiot barely held himself together, almost wetting his pants when he managed to run from the scene.
Dolls had shared the story with her over a beer. Recalling the memory Nicole had a pang of sadness. Dolls was a good man and despite being from a different agency there was a bond among service personnel that ran deep. She missed him.
“You’re just making it harder for yourself Hardy stop dragging your feet, keep up with me,” she moaned as she dragged him towards the cell.
She slid the heavy iron door open and walked her collar into the tank. She pushed James towards the wall, requesting that he rest his forehead to the bricks. She spread his legs and patted him down.
“Whaaat y-you doin Haught? You tryin to get a handful of a r-r-r-real mman,” he spluttered.
Bile rose in her throat at the thought, and she moved swiftly to reef down on the chain between his cuffs, causing him to yelp and rise to the balls of his feet.
“Keep your filthy mouth shut Hardy and step into line,” the Sheriff directed. She knew that she had to keep the upper hand and not forgo the lead. Dancing with a devil like Champ Hardy was always unpredictable.
Nicole was sure to keep herself between him and the door. Her plan was to remove his belt and monstrous buckle, take off his cuffs and slowly step backward to exit the cell. She had carefully choreographed each step. It was a well-rehearsed routine that she had performed on many occasions. The problem was Champ didn’t know the steps. Yeah, sure he had been thrown in a cell plenty of times, but he was far too drunk and could barely stay on his feet to me cognisant enough to perform any of the routine without support.
The Sheriff spun Hardy around to face her in closed position. She needed to remove both his belt and that hideous buckle; they were too much of a risk. The thing weighed more than Doc Holliday’s guns and it could easily be used as a weapon. The mood Hardy was in, he was likely to harm himself and there was no way the Sheriff wanted that paperwork on her hands.
He swayed.
She steadied him, resting a hand on either shoulder.
He continued to taunt and complain, declaring that Waverly Earp was the love of his life.
“Too bad, so sad,” she stated without emotion doing her best to hold it together. “Now stand up straight while I get this…” she found the end of the leather plaid belt and pushed it back through the keeper and under the brass clasp at the back of the buckle. “Damn it Hardy, it’s freaking tight.”
“That’s what she said,” muttered Champ almost coherently, he chuckled at his own joke. “You know when I first slept with Waverly...”
Nicole countered quickly, “Shut your dirty mouth.” She had a sense of where he was trying to lead their exchange.
She moved in close, her face hovered over him. She drew breath through her clenched teeth and her fists scrunched at his shirt tightly. She glared hard, her cutting look pre-empting her potential next move. She hated him. She hated every man that she had ever met that was like him.
Champ shuffled his feet and as his weight shifted, he started to stumble. Nicole pulled him back toward her by his belt and he dipped in the other direction. His weight had transferred to his other foot, and he was about to fall.
Giving up on the belt Nicole quickly threw her arms around his waist just managing to catch him before he dropped to the floor. They stood in the middle of the cell, Nicole’s arms tightly wrapped around Hardy and his head rested on her shoulder.
They embraced; the last time Nicole had been in this position was with her wife as they slow danced at their wedding a few months earlier. The pair struggled for the lead as they spun and swayed in a clumsy rhythm. Nicole struggled to keep Hardy on his feet, and she worried if he was to fall it would just be her luck that he would hit his head and she would find herself justifying that to a magistrate.
The beat between moves dragged on. Nicole had lost step with her choreography and was about to go off plan and improvise. Get your head in the game she chided herself internally desperately trying to regain control.
“C’mon Haught you know ya wanna hit me,” he challenged. The boy man was sobering, his voice had more cadence, and he was attempting to take the lead by getting under the Sheriff’s skin.
He thrust forward in a drunken attempt to slam into Nicole.
She stepped aside using her body shape to trick him as he charged.
He stumbled off balance and she sprung on him grabbing him again by the leather tail of the belt.
“Shut-up Hardy,” she commanded as she ripped his belt back hard, using her full strength to release the belt hole from the pin that held it in place.
“Hey! Haught you’re hurting me,” he moaned.
The tempo shifted and her razor like focus returned. She may have been exhausted but she was sick of going back and forth with the man. She had held her nerve as they danced around but now, she needed to bring this to an end. The double step tempo throwing Hardy completely.
Unrelenting, she shifted her weight, her sharp staccato movements taking James by surprise. Despite her tiredness her technique was faultless as she dropped him to his knees and planted hers into his back. It was her Coup de Pique moment.
Like a matador she stood over her bull confident and brave. She was hyper aware and in control and everything about her reflected her strength. Her posture. Her command of the space as she uncuffed him. Her final spin on her heel as she locked the heavily barred door. The only thing missing was her cape.
Everything a matador does is contrary to normal human behaviour. When a bull charges, the bullfighter stands still and draws the bull towards them. Masters of their own movements, every action has its place. The dance between foes was a fight to the death.
Waverly was anxiously waiting for her back at Shorty’s so Nicole hurried through her handover procedures before signing off from her shift. She could barely lift her feet as she shuffled back through the front doors of the iconic bar.
It was quiet. Just a gorgeous brunette sitting on a bar stool. Everyone else had left. Knowing that Waverly wouldn’t be leaving until Nicole returned from her final collar, Nedley had suggested that she lock up.
Nicole walked toward her wife, there was a heat behind her glare.
“Come here often?” She husked on her approach.
Waverly stood to meet her, wrapping her arms around the redhead’s neck, she slightly tilted her head and connected with the brown eyes that had honed in on her from the other side of the room.
“Even exhausted, you’re a charmer.”
Nicole tightened her grasp around her wife’s waist lifting her from her feet. She spun her around slowly never losing contact with her eyes. “Only for you.”
Waverly pressed her lips into Nicole’s, the redhead would never tire of the softness of her kiss.
“Dance with me,” she whispered.
Waverly was surprised by the request, after the shift Nicole had just had she would have thought dancing was the last thing on her mind. “Are you serious?” She quirked.
“Yes, she gasped breathily, “I want to dance with my wife.”
Despite her aching feet and weary muscles Nicole spun Waverly again. When she placed her down, they fell comfortably into a closed stance and swayed to the muted sounds from the jukebox.
The brunette pulled back to look at Nicole, “did everything go okay with Champ?” She quizzed concerned that something had happened.
Nicole placed her hand tenderly on the back of Waverly’s head pushing her back to rest on her shoulder, “Yeah it was routine, nothing to worry about.”
Waverly continued “But your…”
Nicole interrupted brushing her feather light lips across the shell of her ear. “Can’t a girl just want to dance with her wife?”
They fell silent, cloaked in the intimacy of the room. The music was soft, the lights dim, the blinking neon boot the only shifting energy present.
So, they danced.
Nicole held Waverly close and moved sensually against her as they swayed in each other’s arms. It took all the brunette’s will not to pull Nicole down and make love to her right there on the dance floor.
Their bodies melded together. Their hearts were in perfect step.
When the song finished Waverly nipped gently on Nicole’s earlobe whispering, “Let’s get you home you must be exhausted.”
Without a sound Nicole agreed, falling in behind her wife as she led her to their red jeep outside.
On their drive home Nicole struggled to keep herself from falling asleep, the gentle rhythm of the drive cajoling her. However, she managed to hold on and as they drove beneath the rickety entrance to the homestead she leaned over the centre console and kissed her wife on the cheek.
“Promise me something,” she asked as she pulled back.
“Anything.”
“Promise me that we will always find the time to dance together like that.”
The brunette pulled on the handbrake and looked over at her wife a warm smile spread across her face, her eyes lit up and the familiar wrinkles formed around their edges.
“I promise,” she replied before responding with a breathy kiss to Nicole’s lips. When she came up for air she assured, “I will always save the last dance for my wife.”
Hearing Waverly speak those words melted away the last bastions of her tough day. Champ Hardy be damned she thought, I’m where I always wanted to be, at home with my wife.