Store Opening

Sheriff Malloy, a man usually as subtle as a donkey in a porcelain shop, somehow managed to conjure a mature and steady smile—a feat that nearly made Dutch choke. His chest puffed out, a truly righteous demeanor plastered on his face, as if he'd just single-handedly saved Valentine from a plague of rabid squirrels.

"Oh, Mr. Callahan, you heap praises upon me!" Malloy declared, his voice booming with newfound gravitas. He even cleared his throat, adjusting his collar.

"This, ladies, is simply what I must do. Being in this esteemed position, one has a sacred duty to uphold. This, I daresay, is the conscience and moral bottom line that every true Sheriff should possess!"

He paused for dramatic effect, then leaned in conspiratorially, though still maintaining his grand posture. "Rest assured, ladies, your personal safety and earthly possessions are paramount! Within the humble confines of Valentine, we are your unyielding bulwark, your staunchest protectors!"

Dutch, bless his conniving heart, was utterly flabbergasted. His eyebrows practically shot into his hairline. Damn it, when did this blithering idiot learn to pull off such a performance? He watched Malloy, a flicker of genuine surprise in his eyes. Shit! The man's grasped the very essence of it! He's a natural-born charlatan!

Malloy, you see, usually groveled at Dutch's feet, a loyal pup begging for scraps. But their relationship, despite appearances, was a delicate dance of mutual benefit, not master and dog.

Dutch wouldn't dream of genuinely looking down on him or barking orders. However, with the high-society ladies from Saint Denis, Malloy suddenly had leverage, a chance to elevate his standing.

Had he maintained his usual subservient whine, these elegant women would have dismissed him as a mere lackey. But this new, righteous Malloy? He sparked curiosity, even a touch of respect.

"Oh my goodness!" Ms. Dorothea exclaimed, a gloved hand fluttering to her chest, her eyes wide with what might have been genuine admiration or just practiced theatricality.

"I never, never expected to encounter such a righteous Sheriff in Valentine! That line, 'a Sheriff's due conscience and moral bottom line'—Mr. Malloy, your noble character truly fills me with admiration! Unlike those damned Sheriff and officers in Saint Denis who grovel before Bronte and every wealthy scoundrel, acting more like glorified housekeepers for the rich than proper lawmen! Utterly devoid of any so-called righteousness or bottom line, it's disgusting!"

Malloy's face, already beaming, seemed to inflate with pure, unadulterated ecstasy. This is it! This is the hook! He probably thought. Perhaps this was how the Saint Denis elite operated: shower others with effusive praise, then plot their demise behind closed doors.

"Mr. Malloy, it's a genuine pleasure to make your acquaintance," Ms. Ann chimed in, far more direct than Dorothea, but her words sent an even more potent jolt through Malloy.

"Since you are Mr. Callahan's friend, you are naturally my friend as well." Dorothea had merely lauded him, but Ann's words carried the weight of a commitment, an open invitation for future favors, a reciprocal relationship blooming.

Malloy's internal monologue went something like this: Damn it, from this day forward, I shall be Mr. Callahan's most loyal patron!

Miss Alice, however, seemed less impressed by Malloy's sudden transformation. Her attention, like a homing pigeon, had zeroed in on Arthur, who stood a few paces from Dutch, looking as comfortable as a bear in a teapot during the polite chitchat.

"Oh, Mr. Hosea, it is splendid to see you again!" Miss Alice chirped, practically flitting over to Arthur. Her fair, tender face bloomed with a blushing shyness, her gaze fixed on him. That damned woman with the perpetual scowl isn't here today! she thought, a spark of mischief in her eye. This is my chance!

She had never encountered a man quite like him—a face etched with the weariness of a thousand battles, yet radiating a strange, almost gentle aura. His body, built like a sturdy oak, exuded an undeniable sense of security.

He was reliable as bedrock, yet occasionally possessed a disarming, almost innocent naivety that she found utterly captivating. Ever since she'd witnessed him casually lift Bronte's henchman by the scruff of his neck with one hand, a flicker of interest had ignited within her. Alas, Arthur, dense as a brick in matters of the heart, seemed utterly oblivious.

Hearing her greeting, Arthur, a man more comfortable wrangling wild horses than navigating social niceties, awkwardly extended a hand and shook hers. "Oh, dear... Miss Alice, I'm glad to see you too."

Miss Alice practically pirouetted with delight, circling him like a tiny, excited moth drawn to a powerful flame.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries and the distant rumble of the departing train, Dutch, ever the gracious host, offered a warm smile and an invitation. "Alright, Dorothea, Ms. Ann, and Miss Alice, we can set off now. The roads in Valentine are, shall we say, a tad... rustic. Perhaps a carriage would be a more agreeable mode of transport for you. Allow me the distinct pleasure of personally driving you."

"Alright, dear, but tell me," Ms. Ann purred, her eyes twinkling mischievously, "can I rest at your place tonight? You know, it's hardly safe for us delicate ladies to be out and about without strong men to protect us from… danger~~"

Nearby, Ms. O'Shea's face contorted, her fists clenching. Damn woman! DAMN WOMAN!!! Doesn't she have a husband? Why is she flirting with my man?! Oh, sh*t! Sh*t! I'm going to tear her limb from limb!!! Dutch, however, remained unperturbed, his smile unwavering, his demeanor impeccably gentlemanly.

"Oh ho ho, of course, Ms. Ann, in fact, I've already made arrangements for your accommodations. Please, ladies, step into the carriage. The timing is perfect, and our ribbon-cutting ceremony is about to commence."

Dutch, a man of the world, understood the intricate, often scandalous, dance of high society. A few suggestive words were child's play compared to the debauchery he'd witnessed at European banquets. To climb higher, one had to adapt to these damned environments. Even if he privately disdained it, he wouldn't betray his feelings, lest he be cast out from their gilded circles.

Ms. Dorothea and Ms. Ann settled into the carriage. Ms. O'Shea, adopting her role as "good girlfriend," grudgingly followed. Only Miss Alice remained, still hovering around Arthur.

"Mr. Hosea," she began, her voice a hopeful little whisper, "can you take me with you? I've never ridden a horse outside before~~"

Arthur, caught off guard, stammered, "Oh, I'm sorry, Miss Alice, my horse... he had a bit of a tumble recently. Can't quite carry two."

"Oh, okay." Her face instantly crumpled into a disappointed and wronged expression, a perfect puppy-dog pout.

Then, a sudden spark in her eye, a hopeful grin. "Hey, can you ride this officer's horse and take me?" She gestured to a bewildered-looking patrolman's steed.

"..." Arthur, for once, was speechless.

Miles away, at Hope Happiness Ranch, Mary, diligently scrubbing Arthur's laundry, suddenly frowned. A shiver ran down her spine. "Oh, Arthur," she muttered, a dark premonition seizing her. "I remember Miss Alice is supposed to come over this time, right? That damned woman!"