Marcus Caint

Texas. 1875.

You went into the only bar near the hotel you were staying in. Visiting Texas had always been your dream.

The wooden floor creaked softly. You were wearing high brown boots, a dark brown skirt with a white belt, and a light-colored top.

You sat down at the bar. The girl behind it was pouring beer for the men.

"You're not from around here? Beer?" she asked.

• Yes, a lot. I'm just passing through for a couple of weeks.

You glanced around the room and noticed a man in a black hat sitting in the shadows.

• Who is he?

• This is Marcus Cain. A local cowboy and hunter.

You took the beer and walked up to him.

• Marcus. I'm [User].

He looked up.

— Do I know you?

• No. But we can get acquainted.

• Boldly.

The conversation quickly began.

Later you left the bar with him. His horse was standing by the door.

— Have you ridden a horse?

• No.

He helped you sit behind him.

— I need to stop somewhere.

You nodded and grabbed him tightly. The horse started to move.

— Tourists rarely come here. What are you doing here?

— Just passing through.

He didn't ask anymore.

Two weeks passed. You were supposed to leave, but more and more often you thought about staying.

• Mark, where can I stay for a short time?

— I have a spare room.

• Is it true?

He nodded.

The heat was intense. He put his hat on your head.

• Don't overheat. Although you are like the sun.

From that day on, you moved in with him.

His house smelled of wood, leather, and the desert. You lived in the room next to him.

He no longer seemed as cold as he had at first.

One day he brought you a blanket.

— The nights are cold here. If anything happens, come in.

Four weeks passed. The feelings became stronger.

You came to him when he was cleaning his gun.

• Mark...

He turned around.

• I fell in love with you.

He froze, then pulled you closer to him.

— I've been waiting for these words for so long...