An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Summary:
Timely is a town where trouble lurks around every corner, most of it originating with Mayor Fisk. Sheriff Steve Rogers means to protect the innocent citizens of Timely, no matter the cost. He does not count on falling in love as part of the bargain.
Notes:
Lots of little notes for this one:
This story is a sequel of sorts to A Town Called Timely, though some details are bit changed. I decided not to go back and fix the older story to match.
I used the word "Indian" in reference to Red Wolf and his people because it fits the timeline. No disrespect is meant by this.
The same with Miz Wilson and her unnamed son (Sam) - she probably would have had a job like cooking or cleaning in those times.
Though this is based on Battleworld Timely, I wrote it more like it actually existed in the real West in 1872. I am a student of the Old West, particularly the post Civil War period when the country began westward expansion and I could write happily in Timely forever. Besides, Steve makes a fine sheriff and Tony makes a fine town drunk.
(Here you go! As per usual, I have a tendency to run long)
Being pinned down by enemy fire was a common enough experience for Natasha Romanova. Part of what she liked about the untamed prairies and deserts of the American West was how little control the government had over small settlements. Of course, that could just as easily be an issue for her as a blessing. Today was one of those times.
What was unusual about this situation was who was also pinned down with her.James Buchanan Barnes was everything Natasha had decided she was not. He was a lawman, and he was absolutely ready to remind her of this every time they met. Not that she disliked the reminders; it was simply a bit amusing to be faced with a man so determined to present who and what he was to her, regardless of if she had expressed interest or not.
“Friends of yours?” Barnes demanded after attempting to look out from behind his hiding spot and having his hat shot off his head.
“What makes you think they’re my friends?” Natasha shot back, her accent still very much a reminder of her homeland, even out here. “For all I know, they’re after you and not me.”
Barnes muttered a curse that, were they in a different set of circumstances, he would never have spoken in her presence. Ever aware of the fact she was what he called a ‘lady’, he had never cursed or made ribald comments in her company. Until now. Natasha found herself thinking that she would very much like to see what else got him to curse like that.
“Did you get a count of how many there are?” Natasha demanded, her fingers tightening around the grip of her pistol.
“Couldn’t stay up long enough to count,” Barnes huffed. “But judgin’ from the amount of gunfire, I’d wager it’s at least four.”
“I see,” Natasha smirked to herself and began to crawl on her belly along the floor.
They had taken shelter in the abandoned home of their last preacher, as it was the only building that didn’t have a locked door. Most of the furnishings were now long gone—either taken by the preacher, or stolen by opportunists—and so Natasha had a clear line of sight to her goal. The back door opened onto a garden plot that would be well out of sight of their attackers, then she could go from there.
“Where are you going?” Barnes demanded. “Didn’t think you were the sort to run away.”
“I’m not running away,” Natasha retorted tartly. “I have a plan. You stay here and draw their fire.”
Barnes yelped another curse as the single wardrobe he was hiding behind took another round of bullets. “Draw their fire,” he said in a sarcastic undertone. “Got it.”
With their attackers now well and truly occupied, Natasha finished her slow crawl towards the back door. Rolling off the back stoop and onto the ground, she drew her legs underneath her so she could rise into a crouch. No one appeared to have noticed her, as there was no shout of warning or other signs of being spotted. Nodding in satisfaction, she tucked her pistol back into its holster and drew out her preferred weapons; a pair of stiletto blades.
Moving as silently as a cat, Natasha made her way along the side of the house to peer out at their attackers. Barnes had been fairly accurate in his estimate; four men were currently reloading their various firearms. Now was her best opportunity.
Adjusting her hold on one of the stilettos in her hand, Natasha aimed carefully and then loosed the blade at the nearest of the gunmen. He fell with a choking sound of pain, the stiletto embedded in his throat. His nearest companion turned sharply at the sound of his friend dying.
“Damn!” the second gunman shouted. “Somebody got outta the hou—!”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence, because Natasha had leaped through the air, her second stiletto already stabbing into his throat. By now, the other two gunmen had realized something wasn’t quite right and turned to face her. Before the third one could even draw his pistol and aim at her, Natasha kicked out, her boot making contact with his chin. There was a sickening crunch of bone breaking, and an equally sickening snap as his head rocked back too far. As he collapsed beside his two dead compatriots, Natasha was already drawing her pistol. The fourth gunman died with a curse, the one bullet he had fired going wide.
By the time everything was over, Barnes was at the door and staring at her in shock. Natasha didn’t like the way he was looking at her right now, and she couldn’t place why. Rather than focusing on that, she knelt beside the two men she had killed with her blades and withdrew them from the dead bodies.
Cleaning the blades was a good distraction, for the moment.
“Miss Romanoff?” Barnes said in a low voice.
“Don’t worry about me, Deputy Barnes,” Natasha said, her voice carefree and lighthearted, despite the fact she didn’t feel that way.
Barnes’ hand on her shoulder startled her for a moment, and she glanced up at him. His expression was no longer shocked, but full of respect.
“Maybe you ought to quiet down for a bit,” he said with a slight smile. “Come to church on Sunday, like a good Christian woman. Less folks’ll try to shoot you that way.”
Natasha stared at Barnes in confusion. “You…what?” she asked rather stupidly.
“I’ll see y’there, Miss,” he replied with a wink before he wandered off.
For several minutes, Natasha stared after him, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Had Deputy Barnes asked her to church? To…court her?After a while, she decided she rather liked that idea.
