Thank you everyone for sticking with me and for voting! This story came out top so I hope you enjoy it. Thanks to Isarodas10 for the Spanish translation :)

CHAPTER 1

The nights were as cold as the days were hot in the desert.

Sheriff Troy Bolton settled down for some kind of sleep on the uncomfortable hard ground; protecting himself the best he could from midnight visitors. The snakes were deadly out here.

A scuffling sound brought one of his lash-guarded eyes partially open where he lay; arms folded across his thick chest.

A desert mouse hopped away, making him smirk. At least it wasn't a coyote. He tipped his cowboy hat over his face to block out the bright moon and he snuggled his chin into his neckerchief.

"Goodnight world," he grumbled into his hat before sleep claimed him.

/

Life as Troy Bolton knew it was about to change. He was on a two day trip across the desert to meet his fellow county sheriff, John Strand and the law-officer had a little present for him. A prison-breaker. Not just any prison-breaker. A notorious prison- breaker. Three times the boy had tried; three times he had only just failed.

Unfortunately for the little scroat, Troy was also notorious. A notorious lawman with an air of fearful authority, an eye for detail and a level head. He wasn't like some of the Sheriff's posted in nearby towns that let crooks come and go dependant on how many coins they laid in his pocket- he was a man of integrity and he wasn't going to let his little miscreant get away under his watch.

No way no how.

Luckily he was three quarters through his trip and he was due to meet Strand at the old abandoned bell-house at midday the following day. His horse, Striker, was ready for the journey and Troy could hear him quietly stomping and blowing out air as he tried to settle in the cold night.

It wasn't easy for horses out here, what with all the strange smells; the sense of danger and the cold to unsettle them. But Troy cared for his animal the best he could by putting on his blinkers and wrapping him in a blanket before he'd settled down for the night. He didn't like to see an animal in distress or pain; or a person for that matter.

He might have to use his gun when need called but he wasn't about to go injuring anybody any time soon and when he found eejits stupid enough to then he punished them. Simple as.

Troy tried to drift back to sleep for at least a few more hours before his morning journey began; wrestling uneasily on his back. He'd regret this stint on the desert floor; he wasn't getting any younger and some would say the lack of a woman by his side only made him age more.

He figured he'd weathered his thirty-eight years pretty darn well and he had no plans to go changing anything by tying himself down to a woman. No, he was footloose and fancy-free, just the way he liked it.

No amount of temptation from the local massage parlour had persuaded him otherwise. He knew the girls there offered more than massages and technically, he could have closed them down ten times over but he preferred to keep them under his watch. They were safer that way.

If he closed them down, they'd only move out of town and the girls would be open to all kinds of trouble. They were vulnerable, he understood that and he liked checking in with the Madame of the house; Miss McKessie and he liked being a protector for them- of sorts.

They appreciated it too, everyone was happy.

Everyone but a lonely sheriff.

/

Troy galloped across the hard, dry ground and found his meeting place easily, dropping down to take a drink of water and offering some to Striker. His horse drank needily from his hands.

"Good boy," Troy stroked his mane affectionately, wrapping his fingers around the pistol that hung down his thigh as he heard a noise behind him.

He twisted, checking the approach and he sighed as he recognized Strand on one horse and a small, skinny boy on another.

The prisoner was bound by the hands- behind his back. His mouth was gagged and his hair was cropped. He looked all of eighteen, but Troy knew the boy was older. From what Strand had told him, he was in his twenties, but something didn't feel right as the two men approached.

Two dark, chocolate eyes bore into his and he felt his stomach lurch. Troy squinted, ripping his gaze away to meet that of his fellow law-man's.

"Strand," Troy stepped forward to shake his hand.

John had a firm grip that Troy respected.

"Bolton," the other man tipped his hat.

"This is him?" Troy checked, though it were obvious the cargo on the spare horse was the prisoner they had spoken of.

"I know, he looks small enough but he's strong as an ox and wily, too," John told Troy.

Troy looked up. The boy remained expressionless but there was something about him…something odd…

"What's his name?" Troy wondered, figuring he might put some pieces of the puzzle together if he knew the boy's family.

"Pablo," John supplied.

Troy choked. "Pablo? That's it?"

John shrugged. "He won't tell us anything."

"You caught him stealing?" Troy asked of his crimes.

"Many times," John shared. "He likes nice houses and pocket watches."

Troy nodded. They didn't have any 'nice' houses in his town, but there were a few rich people threading through the settlers.

"You sure he's normal?" Troy wondered, cocking his head not putting his finger on what didn't fit.

John chuckled. "He can play chess with ya and deal a mean hand at cards if that's what you mean," his friend mused.

Troy slid him a look. There were boys who weren't all that into the typical male past-times that got somewhat vindicated for being effeminate. John was one of those guys who would notice if a guy was not what he should be; but Troy seemingly saw something in Pablo his friend didn't.

Pablo was staring at him with a frown.

"Okay, get him down, he's riding back with me," Troy moved on from his misgivings.

"You sure about that?" John checked.

"He escaped from you three times my friend; I know what I'm doing…"

"Well alright," John murmured, "…but he's strong…"

Troy smirked, his stubble scraping against his hand as he rubbed his chin.

"I think I can manage…"

Troy and John wrestled Pablo down from one horse and onto the other, Troy having to vault up behind him to keep him from struggling.

"Wild little fella, huh," Troy mused as he wrapped his arms around the small body of his prisoner, not in the least bit phased that it was another male he was capturing against his chest. When it came to the law he didn't let anything sway him, especially not what other people thought.

"I warned ya," Strand told him as he straddled his own horse.

"Does he speak English?" Troy wondered belatedly.

"Only Spanish," Strand told him. "And none of it made any sense to me anyways…"

Troy dipped his chin in parting. "I know a little…I guess I'll see you around, Strand…"

"Good luck!" Strand called as he galloped off into the desert the way he'd just come; the dust from his departure drifting across the barren land.

Troy tightened his arms as he kicked off his horse and felt Pablo squirm.

"Quédate quieto Pablo...Ya no te vas a escapar mas, eso te lo puedo asegurar..."

"Keep still, Pablo…you're not escaping anymore, I can promise you that…"

No reply, just a tension in the petite young man's body. Troy frowned as Pablo's backside bumped against the apex of his thighs. Despite the fact the boy was wearing trousers and a stiff denim shirt, Troy was confused at the softness he felt. He wasn't a pervert but as far as he knew, guys didn't have soft backsides…and that could only mean one thing.

That Pablo wasn't being truthful. Pablo could in fact, be Pabla. But that was crazy, right? That was impossible…there was absolutely no way a woman could dupe a man of the law for so long, let alone someone like John Strand…

Or was there?

But the person in the saddle with him was undernourished and badly fed; if Pablo was Pabla then she had managed to convince them pretty good because if they had known she was a female then she would have been fed better. That curvy backside would be curvier.

He was interested in his wild, insane theory and he knew chance would come to test it. He offered his prisoner some water. Once that liquid had made its way through Pablo's body then he'd need to relieve himself. Then Troy would find out the truth. For now, he just had to wait.

And a long and quiet wait it was.

/

"Necesito ir al baño,"

"I need to go to the toilet," Pablo called over his shoulder.

Troy arched a brow. It was about time. They would be stopping soon for their first sleep and he was pleased he would find out before they bedded down whether his instinct about his prisoner was right.

"Ok, go ahead," Troy dropped down and let his prisoner have two feet of chain to distance them while they walked towards brush for decency.

"No tienes que vigilarme,nunca lo han hecho antes..."

"You don't need to watch me," The prisoner complained. "They never have before…"

"Y tú te escapaste tres veces antes. Algo me dice que ese puede ser el porqué..."

"And you escaped three times before." Troy mused. "Something tells me that might be why…"

"No puedo ir al baño si me estas mirando,"

"I can't go while you're watching." the boy blushed.

Troy pressed his lips together. "O tienes que ir al baño o no, tú decides"

"You either need to go or you don't."

A frown hardened his young face and his brown eyes grew dark with frustration.

" ¡Eres un hijo de puta! ¡Justo como los otros!"

"You are a bastard! Just like the others!"

Troy lifted his brows at the insult, not sure if he should exert his authority in this moment because he was still waiting to see if Pablo was in fact a girl as he suspected.

"Yo no sé lo que los otros hicieron, Pablo," "Pero tu estas bajo mi vigilancia ahora y no te vas a salir de mi vista hasta que estés encerrado en una de mis celdas."

I don't know what the others did, Pablo." he said his name deliberately disbelievingly "But you're under my watch now and you don't leave my sight until you're locked in my cells."

Pablo squinted tempestuously and spat at him, causing Troy to grit his teeth. He could end up hitting a woman if his belief was accurate. He had to stay patient and force his hand.

" ¿Quieres orinar en el piso al frente mío o en tus pantalones encima del caballo?"

"Do you want to pee on the ground in front of me or in your pants on the horse?" Troy asked.

Pablo swallowed.

"No puedo ir al baño mientras me estas mirando."

"I can't go with you watching."

"¿Por qué no?"

"Why not?" Troy arched a brow.

Pablo looked up at him, his lashes unnaturally full and flicked for a boy. He sucked in a breath.

"Me llamo Gabriella y yo he estado pretendiendo ser un hombre."

"My name is Gabriella and I've been pretending to be a boy."

/

Troy had had some shocks in his life, but Pablo's revelation was a little hard to stomach. Alright, so he'd guessed as much himself but this ruse had been going on for some time and he was half amazed and half impressed that the prisoner in his care had carried off such a trick.

Something in his stomach grated, too. Pablo-Gabriella, even, was seriously underweight. He'd have to do something about that. He'd have to get to the bottom of this whole darn mess and it wasn't going to be whilst she relieved herself on the desert floor; with his back turned in a gentlemanly fashion even though he hadn't loosened any of her chains.

He knew it would be a struggle for her but he had no choice. The girl wanted to escape so badly she would try anything; even dress as a boy. He couldn't risk dropping his guard for a minute. But he felt a little confused now; hell, he felt a lot confused.

As Gabriella finished up he helped her back up onto the horse and trapped her under his arms once again; now secure in the fact the backside he was feeling was most definitely that of a woman. Her hair was elfin short; her ears cute and if he had really looked hard he should have been able to tell without doubt her sex.

But now what was he meant to do? Lock her up and throw away the key? No, there was a story here, more to this than appeared on the surface and he'd be damned if he didn't find out what it was.

/

Gabriella ate with the fervored hunger only an emaciated person could really display and Troy lifted a brow as his meager supplies very quickly disappeared to fulfill her empty stomach.

He forwent his own usual large portion to give her more; but he had to reserve a little of his knapsack for the following morning.

"It'll be cold out here tonight," Troy said as he went about clearing up their meal; throwing her a blanket.

He unlocked one of her cuffs and she looked at him, hopefully but he slipped the other cuff over his own wrist and clicked it shut, shoving his hand down his jeans to deposit the key in his undershorts.

"Don't even think of going in my pouch, princess," he warned as he laid back wrapped in his own blanket.

Gabriella didn't complain about the dirty, uncomfortable ground, she just fidgeted until she was comfortable- as far away from her captor as she could manage whilst joined to him.

The stars were out and the moon was high. She watched as Troy tipped his hat down, revealing his messy hat-shaped hair. She envied him his red neck-scarf to keep the cold out and she shivered in her thin clothing. The man smelled good, she mused to herself. Considering they were out in the heat during the day and he'd probably not had a wash for two days; his natural man-scent was strangely alluring.

She could have felt afraid in this moment, in all reality anything could have happened. If John had found out the truth that Troy had worked out so quickly, he might not have been so calm and reasonable. He might have even tried to prove his anger by hurting her. He could have raped her. It wasn't unknown when women were found in men's clothes for the men around them to prove some kind of twisted point by taking what they felt was theirs.

She shuddered; glad Troy wasn't one of those men. Was it possible, then, that he could be as forward thinking as she was? She barely dared to hope. He'd given her the largest portion of food at dinner; he seemed to care on a very basic level at the very least. And suddenly she wondered if she needed to escape anymore.

Then she remembered the reason she did it at all- the stealing, the crime. All those unfed children; all those families with nothing. The odd pocket watch and a couple of broaches from rich people who owned more than enough to really miss it was often enough to feed the poor for months. And that's why she had to escape.

And she had to escape tonight.

/

What in the cotton-pickin'…?

Troy jerked awake as fingers made contact with his manhood and for one swift second he thought Gabriella was going for his gun and had somehow missed. But when he rolled over to find his fly wide open and his under-shorts on show, he realized she had in fact been searching for the key to her restraints.

He kneeled over her and pushed her wrists to the ground; breathing heavily with the exertion of his move.

"You're hurting me!" She cried, wriggling.

"You speak English then," he glittered of her switch back to the more common language of the county.

She glared at him. "Get off me."

"Do you want to make this worse for yourself?" He checked. "Because you're going the right way about it…"

"You're going to take me?" She arched, fear striking her eyes as she asked. "A man of the law is going to commit a carnal sin?"

Troy frowned, letting go of her wrists quickly as the shock of her question hit him in the solar-plexus, followed by her freed hand. He quickly dipped into his pants for the key to release his wrist and bind hers. He made sure the chains connecting her feet to her hands was short, leaving her little room to move apart from her squirming.

"It didn't have to be this way," he murmured ruefully as he rose; zipping up his pants.

Gabriella lay confused on the floor. "So he does have morals," she accused.

He turned and squinted at her. In the dark, she looked beautiful, all dark lashes and eyes. Never mind how short her hair was; her face was truly stunning now that he allowed himself to see the woman inside. With a little rouge and some tint on her lips, he'd bet she was a knockout.

"Ma'am, I'm not a barbarian," he arched.

"I'm not a ma'am," she replied sulkily. "I never married."

"Go figure," he joked of her tempestuous nature.

"I am Latina and proud," she raged. "The men of my country like their women feisty."

"You're in the West now, sweetheart," Troy reminded. "Men don't like any of their women feisty let alone Latinas…"

"You too?" She challenged with a jut of her chin.

"Never mind how I like my women," he evaded her question. "If you're not to be called Ma'am then what the hell should I call you?" He wondered.

"Miss Montez," she corrected him haughtily.

He sighed. "I just hope we can keep you alive."

"What do you mean?" She shot him a fearful look.

"Tell me, Miss Montez, how has it gone so far, this dressing as a man?" Troy enquired lightly, amused.

Gabriella swallowed. Okay, maybe he was right. Maybe it hadn't gone too well but that didn't mean everyone had to have an issue with her. Right? Oh god, he was trying to tell her she was done for. And now that she apparently had no way of escaping, things could get really tough.

She gave him a doe-eyed look. "Won't I be safe in the cell?"

He didn't even know that he was going to keep her in the cell yet, so he couldn't answer that. But he didn't have much choice. She was still a prisoner. But women found doing the things she had been found doing normally got killed pretty quickly. And he was surprised she had dodged that fate for so long but he also didn't want to be the man responsible for a woman's death- no matter what her crime may be.

An idea struck him.

He was good friends with Madame McKessie at the massage parlour now. He had a few favours to call in. He was sure she would be only too willing to assist, should he ask kindly enough.

And when Troy wanted to be, he could be very kind.