This fic is largely the result of spending too much of my time listening to Brad Paisley, Dolly Parton and Alison Krauss songs. Unfortunately, I dont' own Battlestar Galactica, that honour would fall to Ronald D. Moore.
The heat was blistering. Sheriff William Adama removed his hat and swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, removing the tiny beads of sweat that had formed there. Dropping the hat onto his rickety wooden desk he paced over to the china bowl that sat in the corner of the jailhouse, the keys dangling off his belt jingling with every movement.
He groaned when his knees protested as he stooped beside the bowl, picking up the jug of water that sat next to it and pouring it out. He took the once-white rag that he kept handy for times like this and dipped it into the water, wringing it out thoroughly before passing it over the nape of his neck and across his face. The water that dribbled down his neck was room temperature, but at least it was cool in comparison to the stifling heat that had taken hold over the past week.
He was surprised that the already frayed tempers of some of the townsfolk hadn't yet reached boiling point, resulting in the numerous brawls over at the Saloon that he and his deputy usually had to break up at this time of year. The abnormally calm atmosphere of Colonial Falls weighed heavily on Bill's mind, like the calm before the storm.
Bill sighed to himself and wiped his face with the damp rag again, maybe the heat was making him paranoid. Ignoring the creaking of his bones as he straightened, Bill fished his hand into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out his pocket-watch. He frowned as he flipped the bronze lid open and saw the time; Saul was late again.
Gritting his teeth, he slipped the watch back into his pocket and checked the revolver in the holster at his waist was loaded before collecting his hat and stepping out into the glare of the sun. He was greeted by a waft of dust as some of the local boys raced their horses through the town, he'd have to remember to talk to them about that later, but for now he had to prepare himself to step into what he considered the bowels of the earth; namely Baltar's Saloon across town.
He nodded politely to old man Black and his wife setting out their morning wares as he passed the General Store and tried to ignore the way the conversations between the small groups of people loitering around immediately quieted as he came near. He had been Sheriff long enough that he should have gotten used to the way they tended to avoid his gaze when he was around, but he never had. He tried not to let it bother him but sometimes he wished that they could see behind the badge, title and responsibilities and see the man he is when he was not keeping the peace, the man he was before he had been elected as the Sheriff of Colonial Falls.
Adjusting his hat so that it kept the brightness of the sun from dazzling him, he walked slowly through the town, keeping his eyes open for any disturbances that could use his attention. He saw nothing peculiar other than the fact that it was uncharacteristically quiet, and he found himself hoping yet again that everybody was simply taking refuge from the heat in their homesteads.
His boots clattered against rotten wood as he climbed up the three steps to the porch of the Saloon, where he removed his hat before stepping through the swinging batwing doors. He kept his face stone-like as he was yet again assaulted by a sudden dimming of noise; the grating piano music culminated with the clash of numerous notes and the jeering and laughter of people gathered at the poker tables ceased as dozens of pairs of eyes simultaneously sought out the intruder.
Bill paid it no mind, however, as his own eyes found the man he had been looking for hunched over the crude bar, fingers wrapped around at stained glass of clear liquid, which in all likelihood was the strongest moonshine on offer. Fingering the brim of his hat, Bill strolled over to his deputy and glared at the woman trying to crawl into his lap until she slinked away with a swish of her tightly curled hair.
Perching himself on an unsteady stool, Bill leaned forward with his forearms on the bar and looked at his friend with sad eyes, "Little early to be starting, don't you think Saul?"
Saul Tigh shrugged absentmindedly and drained the remainder of his glass, raising it above his head to indicate for a refill, "Not if I haven't stopped." He slurred bluntly, wiping at his bloodshot eyes with his thumb and forefinger.
Bill reached up and took the empty glass out of his hand before the bartender had a chance to refill it and placed it upside-down on the bar. "You've been here all night?" he shouldn't have been surprised, it was a common occurrence that usually meant one thing; "What did she do this time?" he asked, hating that he was the one to bring it up.
He heard Saul growl low in his throat, "Disappeared with one of those young cavalry boys again." Bill sighed and looked down at the bar, he wished that his friend would find someone who would be completely loyal to him, like he had, but no matter how much his wife was a woman of questionable repute, he loved her anyway.
Deciding the best thing he could do for his friend now was to get him away from the Saloon as fast as he could, Bill stood and gently hauled Saul to his feet, steadying him when he swayed. He glared at the people watching him, satisfied when they immediately turned away in an attempt to avoid the wrath of the Sheriff, and led the grumbling deputy outside.
Stumbling down the steps, Saul shook off Bill's stabilising grasp and lumbered down the dusty street towards the jailhouse, his feet lifting small clouds of dust behind him as he went.
Knowing Saul would rather be by himself at the moment, Bill kept his distance but watched him intently as he followed him back to the little wooden sanctuary that was their jailhouse. As long as no-one was stirring up trouble today, Saul could sleep it off in one of the cell bunks without being disturbed, which was probably the best idea for everyone concerned as Saul acted like a wounded bear when he was sober.
Once he saw that his friend was settled on one of the bunks, Bill went outside again and circled to the back of the jailhouse. Pulling out his watch again he saw that it was nearing lunchtime, the perfect time to take a trip up to the schoolhouse. Grinning to himself, Bill pulled on his hat and removed his revolver to hide it in one of his saddlebags; Laura didn't like it when he carried his weapon, she often told him he was more likely to get injured that way, and he wouldn't be needing it up at the schoolhouse anyway. He saddled up his trusty steed Husker and led him out into the open before he mounted him, letting the old horse adjust to the added weight before he trotted through the town, weaving between the people and wagons moving lazily to their destinations with a practiced ease.
When the old horse began to slow on the incline to the schoolhouse, Bill dismounted and led him on foot; puffing his way to the top of the hill and securing Husker to a wooden post in front of the schoolhouse. He wiped his brow, smoothed down his hair and waistcoat and straightened to gleaming silver Sheriff's badge that embellished his chest; he always like to make sure he was looking his best before he saw Laura.
From the sound of her voice floating out the open window, class was still in progress, so he resigned himself to what he knew would only be a short wait considering it was almost time for the children to eat their lunches and play before the next round of lessons began. Bill had no idea how Laura handled the sometimes unruly children day to day, he knew from her stories that keeping the focus of a group of children whose ages ranged from as young as six to as old as fifteen was like herding cats, and he gave her all the more respect for it; after all, being the sole schoolmarm of the community was no mean feat.
Eventually he heard the distinctive sound of chairs being scraped across the floor in the children's haste to leave the building as soon as possible, and if Bill thought about it, he wanted them to leave as soon as possible as well. As they all scrambled over each other in an attempt to get out the door, Bill smirked and placed his hands on his waste in an intimidating manner, the action enough to calm the torrent of small children. Most of them meekly tiptoed past him, some of them staring at him and his badge with awe, but a bold few braved a 'hello' or 'good afternoon Sheriff' before disappearing to join their friends.
Bill walked quietly into the one-room schoolhouse and silently set his hat on one of the rusty hooks they used for coats. Laura had her back to him, giving him the opportunity to admire her without her noticing; the gleam of the sun through the windows setting off the copper tones of her hair and highlighting the curves of her shape gave him just a few remainders of why he loved her.
His examination of her was short lived, however, when she broke the silence, "Good afternoon, Sheriff." He could hear her smile in her voice even though he couldn't see it. He still hadn't found out how she always seemed to know when he was there. When she turned to face him his heart clenched in a familiar fashion, one he had come to associate with her presence.
She had smears of chalk across one cheek, her usually pale skin flushed from the heat and her long, unruly hair was curling every which way, but to him, she had never looked more beautiful. A detail he made sure to remind her of every chance he got.
Laura smiled that dazzling smile of hers and dusted her hands together in an attempt to clear them of any leftover chalk. Once she was sure her hands were relatively clean again, she stepped closer to him and placed one hand over his heart, leaning in to capture his lips in an all to brief kiss for his liking, but he knew that if their courtship were to become public knowledge, she would bear the brunt of the negative opinions. He would never understand why it was so important to the townsfolk that their children be taught by a single woman, but according to what Laura had told him, it was the same in other towns she had lived in, including her childhood hometown, it just wasn't socially acceptable for the schoolmarm to be anything other than a prim and proper spinster.
He reached and lightly brushed a stray curl away from her eyes and resting his hand briefly against her cheek, smiling when she leaned into his touch. When she removed her hand from his chest he didn't care that she had left chalky fingerprints on his shirt, they were directly over his heart, exactly where she had left traces of herself throughout their, so-far, brief courtship.
"How are you, Laura?" he asked her as she started to move around the small room collecting the small chalkboards the children used.
"Oh I'm just fine thank you." She lifted her head to smile at him and started cleaning off the larger chalkboard at the front of the class with a rag, "Mayor Adar has been relentless with his advances," she grinned when she heard Bill growl, "but don't worry, I'm sure I have made it quite clear that I am neither available nor interested."
Bill grunted and perched himself on the edge of a desk, "It's not you I'm worried about." Laura chuckled quietly and smoothed down the folds of her long skirt before she moved to stand beside him, not close enough to draw suspicion if any of the children came back early but close enough to be a reassuring presence.
"Well, I can assure you that you needn't worry about him either." She grasped his hand in hers and gave him an imploring look, silently asking him trust that Adar would not be a problem. She squeezed his hand lightly and laughed when her stomach protested loudly to the absence of food.
Bill rumbled a laugh with her and stood, running his hand down her arm, "How about I take you down to the café and we remedy that?" Laura nodded her agreement and smiled when he held an arm out to her. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and sighed as he walked with her out onto the dusty hilltop.