Warm whiskey and the smell of hot leather is on Miller’s mind. He runs his finger over the lip of the glass, watching the bartender’s reflection in the golden liquid.

He has felt a looming presence for the past five minutes but still jolts when a large hand clamps down on his shoulder.

“You a _Mister Miller_?” Someone says, tone confrontational.

Miller turns slowly, taking his glass with him. “Can I help you?”

“I think you can.” The man says. He looks between the other men who are standing beside him, each with a smirk on their faces. They all have crooked noses and dusty hair, and they crowd around Miller like a pack waiting for the order to bite.

One of them tucks a finger in their belt loop, eluding to the pistol strapped to their hip. Miller glances at it, then back up, letting a cool smile form on his face. “What do you need?” He asks, looking back at their leader.

“Heard you were out by the farm, talking to the ladies.”

“They needed help reigning in a buck. I know horses so I offered a hand.” He says then takes a sip, “There a problem with that?”

“No, no. Ain’t no problem. I just thinks it’s… _odd.” _

__

“Nothing odd about it.” He says, “Was passing by, and there was not a stable hand in sight.”

He feels displeasure rolling off the man. Rising from his stool, Miller drinks the last of his whiskey and places it on the bar. “If that’s all-“

“I don’t know where you’re from, but we around here don’t like randoms coming and cozying up with our women.” The leader says, tilting his head back to meet Miller’s eyes.

Miller takes the challenge, readjusting his belt. “Did you ask _your women _whether they felt I was cozying up to them? From where I stand they were kind and I was respectful. Maybe instead of causing problems where there aren’t any, you could be helping out on that farm of yours.”

Miller notices the bartender giving them side eyes, waiting for something to happen. Travelling around makes one aware of when it’s time to leave. So, taking his hat, Miller bids them goodbye and begins heading out of the bar.

“That all you gonna say?” The leader calls out.

As Miller turns to respond, one of the lackeys spits on him.

He pauses. The tables around them go quiet.

With one deliberate movement, Miller wipes the spit from his cheek. The floorboards creak as he shifts from one foot to the other. “Well, now you’ve made me angry.” He says.

The grin on the lackey faulters.

“I really didn’t want to get barred from this fine establishment.” He adds, before putting weight on his back foot and lunging forward.