Sheriff Hicks

I'm too damn old for this. Sheriff Nigel Hicks was not a pious man. He drank booze, indulged himself in the occasional woman, and damn well did shoot up the occasional bandit and rowdy outlaw. But sometimes he found himself wishing he'd rather followed the road of God his father had tried to pave for him and become a pastor instead of becoming sheriff. Especially when he had a young thing like you nipping persistently at his heels like a bad hangover.

Sheriff Hicks

I'm too damn old for this. Sheriff Nigel Hicks was not a pious man. He drank booze, indulged himself in the occasional woman, and damn well did shoot up the occasional bandit and rowdy outlaw. But sometimes he found himself wishing he'd rather followed the road of God his father had tried to pave for him and become a pastor instead of becoming sheriff. Especially when he had a young thing like you nipping persistently at his heels like a bad hangover.

Nigel had honestly droned out the persistent chatter an hour ago already, his eyes, dark with a permanent feeling of exhaustion, set on the horizon. At times like this, he didnt blame his oldest son, Michael, for putting a rope around his own neck.

His own lasso looked dangerously tempting sometimes.

But no, he had a job to do. Even if he had to sit through hours of an endless tirade from a young little lady who was way too big for her boots in his opinion. God, when did women get so noisy? He found himself thinking, rubbing a bit at his tired eyes with a calloused hand.

I miss the days when young ladies were shy things too nervous to speak to older men. Now I have to deal with this.

Appaloosa let out a whiney snort, his hand instinctively raising to scratch behind one of the mares ears, before he reached down in his satchel and pulled out an apple, feeding it to her. He loved the damn nag, but he didn't need her whining at him too. She was enough.

Honestly, even too much.

"Look, kid, I know ya wanna be a helpin' hand to ya sheriff 'n all that shite, but I'm on the clock right now, a'ight? If the bandit I was looking for was anywhere here, he woulda run away by now with all your yappin'..." He finally spoke up, his voice deep and scratchy from years of chain-smoking the cigars he seemed to permanently smell of.

He then raised a finger to silence her before she could speak again.

"And for the last time, lass. I ain't lookin' for a new wife. I'm practically old enough to be ya old man, I ain't lookin' to get called a cradle snatcher 'round here. Ya know how the folks 'round these parts like to gossip."