Qualified Ride (n.)
When a bull rider makes an eight-second ride and is not disqualified, he has made a qualified ride and, therefore, earns a score.
"I mean it," she says with a grin, settling her stetson back in place atop her head before turning toward the bar's dingy double doors. Her strides are confident. Bold - befitting an officer of the law.
Officer Nicole Haught steps into the sun, wincing into the stark bright Purgatory morning. The wooden doors fall closed behind her with a tired groan.
Not that she hears it.
To be honest, the only thing she could hear clearly was the deafening flow of blood in her eardrums. Probably because her heart had been firmly lodged in her nearby windpipe for the last couple of minutes.
Remembering the windows on the door behind her, the deputy pulls her shoulders back and straightens her spine, crossing the last few paces to her patrol car with the same confident swagger she had displayed in Shorty's just now.
Just in case.
It isn't until she is finally inside the familiar confines of her patrol unit, her hat stowed dutifully on the worn leather of the passenger seat, that she allows herself to exhale the breath she wasn't even consciously aware she'd been holding.
Yeah OK so she kind of wants to vomit now, if she's being totally honest. The adrenaline she'd been riding throughout her "introduction" to Waverly Earp was beginning to wane, and her hands were starting to tremble.
"Holy shit."
She's been a cop for a few years now. Faced down her fair share of drunken idiots and violent men. But introducing herself to this five-foot nothing of a woman is easily one of the scariest things she's done while in uniform. In fact, that might have been the most terrifying two minutes of her entire life.
"Boy-man? It's the worst? God, what the hell was that Nicole?" She throws her head back against the headrest.
Confidence has never really been an issue for her, not really. She had meant what she said to Waverly - that she doesn't like to wait when she sees something she likes. Let's put it this way. When a girl grows up surrounded by more cowboys and farm hands than you can shake a stick at, it wouldn't be unheard of for some of the redneck braggadocio to seep into one's psyche. Couple that with the boys club of rural law enforcement? Nicole learned well before today that being a wallflower will get her nowhere. To get along, she's gotten damn good at playing the game - speaking her mind, walking like she's got every right to be there, and making her own opportunities. Uniform or not, no one will take her seriously unless she makes them.
And staying quiet will certainly not get her any closer to one Waverly Earp.
That's not to say she always believes her own bluster. Exhibit A: she's sitting here, in her patrol car, heart pounding and palms sweating. Waltzing in there, cool and cocksure, felt like one of those nightmares where you're sitting in class, surrounded by your peers, and realize you're naked as a jaybird.
Maybe for once she really cared what someone thought of her. It matters this time.
The first time she laid eyes on Waverly, she was on patrol in old town in her second week on the job here in Purgatory. As her patrol unit idled at a red light, this waifish beauty strolled out of the Purgatory Historical Society, a stack of books tucked into her side, and crossed through the intersection. A truck waiting on the light opposite Nicole called out to the bookworm as she passed, and she waved and smiled right back at them.
Officer Haught could practically feel the warmth of that smile from her car clear across the street. She hadn't been able to stop looking then.
That was three months ago.
She quickly learned the identity of the mystery history buff - one Waverly Earp - and with that piece of the puzzle in place, she began to realize just how thoroughly Waverly wove through the entire town. If the town of Purgatory had a mascot, it would be Waverly. Everyone knew her. She's their very own bottled sunshine.. Hell, half the guys at the station talked about her like she was their own kid sister. The other half - well, she doesn't want to dwell on that.
It's not a big town. Although their circles had not overlapped before, it seemed that over the past few months they had moved within each other's orbit, passing frequently, but never quite on the same trajectory.
So. Sometimes you have to give the orbit a little...jog. And this is how she ended up in Shorty's Bar before opening, helping a beautiful barmaid out of her sopping wet shirt, and laying it on thick as molasses. To be honest, Waverly's responses to her advances were...unexpected. With as many roughnecks and flirtations someone as magnetic as she encounters on a daily basis, Nicole had expected her to be coy herself.
Instead, Waverly turned into a rambling puddle, tripping over her words, and in the process being perhaps the most adorable person in the universe. And jesus, the shirt - that had been - well. There was a moment after she helped extricate Waverly from her shirt where her bluster had all but deserted her, leaving her there smiling softly at the floor like a girl at prom.
The blush blooms with alarming speed on her neck and creeps up to her cheeks. The unexpected warmth is enough to snap her out of her reverie.
"Oh god what if she's looking out the window?"
The thought crosses Officer Haught's mind unbidden, but all the same her eyes quickly scope the landscape, checking the bar's exterior for any signs, but nothing looks amiss. Still, it's enough to break the spell of the moment. Before the locals start to wonder why one of their deputies is just sitting in her car in the middle of town on a peaceful morning blushing to beat the band, she needs to get the lead out.
Sliding the key roughly into the ignition, she replays her exit once more in her head. There was a look Waverly had given her when she walked away, when she swore they'd have that coffee another time. Standing there with a spoiled shirt clutched demurely to her chest, resting against the well-worn counter in Shorty's dim lighting, she looked like a beatific Botticelli. Half disbelieving but all light and promise.
And damned if it didn't look like the most hopeful sight Nicole had ever seen.
Before her thoughts could unsteady her further - and with the most un-deputy-like sigh ever to pass her lips, she throws the car into reverse. The grin reflecting in her rearview mirror is blinding.
As it turns out, Officer Haught needn't have worried about any unwanted observance from the lone inhabitant of Shorty's Bar. Far from it, in fact. The girl inside remains rooted in place behind the bar.
Waverly traces the name on the card again, her fingertips slow, reverential. She traces the creases in the cardstock where Officer - Nicole - had pulled it from her front pocket. It still feels a little warm to the touch. Catching herself in this unexpected reverie, she indulges it another fleeting moment, feeling the butterflies and the heady euphoria, things she hasn't felt in, well, longer than she cares to admit. This train of thought, unfortunately, brings her back to Champ.
Crap.
After one more lingering glance at the business card held admiringly in her graceful fingers, Waverly carefully slides it into her back pocket for safekeeping.
"Boy-man? Really, Waverly?" Her eyes roll dramatically. They land on the traitorous taps, and it's only then that she remembers her state of (un)dress. Turning on her heel, she finally manages to unstick her feet and moves towards the stairs to search for a change of clothes.
Her smile is soft but unshakeable.
The growl of a nearby car engine reverberates in the stillness of the bar.