Chapter 1 ~ Exit Delly, Stage Left.

1876, Dakota Territory.

"You're what?" Gale repeated, his brain still muzzy from the night before. Delly handed him a clean jar full of water and a small handful of willow pithy. He chewed on the inner bark, making a face, and took a long sip of the cool, sweet water. Leaning back in his chair, he tried to make sense of whatever it was she had been jabbering on about for the last few minutes. "Woman, can't you tell I'm trying to sleep?"

"That chair is bad for your back," Delly said, a small smile tugging her lips. "And besides, everyone knows the only bed you sleep in these days belongs to Comstock Hanna. Now, where was I? Oh-yes. Remember that ... "

Gale tuned it out. He didn't need a play by play of the schedule, as long as everything went off without a hitch and he didn't have to worry about it.

"...and my coach leaves this afternoon, so that my fiancé-" (she blushed) "-and I can reach to San Francisco in good time."

"San Francisco? ... wait, what?"

Delly stopped mid-chatter. "I'm awful sorry, Mr Hawthorne, but Wheatley got a telegram about his inheritance from his brother Lars out in California. We reckon we got just enough between us to get out there." She didn't have to say And away from here, but he heard it plain as day. It was common knowledge that Delly, for some insane reason, had taken care of her employer since the day she took over as his right hand woman in his saloon, The Hob. Thanks to Delly's no nonsense attitude, the place had flourished ever since Katniss' departure (he couldn't deny it, that still stung). She balanced the books, she managed the profits, she charmed the liquor suppliers, she kept gals from fighting, and the miners all adored her. But...

"...Leaving?" he repeated in a tone of utter disbelief, running one hand through his dark hair.

Delly looked at him patiently. "Yes, Mr Hawthorne. And getting far away from this town." She lowered her voice, stepping close to his ear. "I reckon that General Snow's got eyes and ears everywhere. Me and Wheatley don't mean to spend our whole lives beholden to the company store, if you catch my drift."

Gale did know what she meant, unfortunately. General Coriolanus Snow owned the mine, and in a sense, he also owned the town. Hell, every saloon on Main Street owed fealty to Snow, and they paid the devil his due - or they found themselves six feet under. "But.. but..." he spluttered.

"Mr Hawthorne..." Delly held out her hand and Gale stood up, crossing his arms. "You've been so good to me. But Wheatley and I... He says it's not healthy for a good woman to work in a saloon." Her cheeks turned pink. "He wants me to be a proper wife and proper wives don't manage saloons, at least not unless they're..."

"Married to the boss?"

Delly eyes went wide's and her face turned crimson. She dropped her hand.

Gale sighed. He couldn't be mad at her. He'd known for a long time that she'd been holding a candle to the wind, hoping for a change of heart. But his heart still belonged to his half-cousin, Katniss, false jade that she was. "I can understand. Wheatley's a good man." A better man than me. "He'll make you a good husband." He took her hand. She was trembling. "I'll give you a month's pay-no, hush-think of it as an early wedding present." He wrapped his arms around her in a brief embrace.

"Miss Cartwright!" Wheatley called from the other side of the door, causing her to spring apart from Gale, blushing furiously. "Our coach leaves in a quarter hour!" He opened the door and stepped inside, nodding at Gale. "Hawthorne." Wheatley was a Mellark, tall and stocky with dark blonde hair and a carefully waxed mustache. He didn't look anything like his brother Peeta, and for that Gale was grateful. He might have decked him one if he had.

"Mellark," Gale replied in a similar tone. "Is your youngest brother joining you in San Francisco?" He couldn't even say the bastard's name.

"No, Mother wrote Peeta out of... well, the inheritance is split between Lars and I." Wheatley grimaced. "Mother didn't approve of Peeta rushing off to the gold fields in the first place, and certainly wouldn't approve of his taking an Injun squaw—your cousin," he corrected himself just in time. Gale was just itching to land his fist across a Mellark nose, and one would do just as well as the other. Wheatley read what was on the wind and nodded to Gale. "If that's all, we'd best be on our way. I'll meet you downstairs, Miss Cartwright. Hurry." He tapped his pocket watch and sauntered out the door.

Delly flew to Gale and flung her arms around him. Her lips brushed against his cheek, and she smelled faintly of apple blossoms. "I'll write and let you know when we get there safely," she promised. Then she was gone, and Gale sank down behind his desk, staring unseeing at the mess in front of him. Just what the hell was he supposed to do now?

XxX

A/N: Adjusted dates to 1876, not 1878. The Black Hills gold rush took place from 1874-1878 and peaked from 1876-1877. Hope you enjoy this story. As of this note, the timeline will be adjusted to reflect the proper dates.