Countess Natasha Romanoff was on a mission, a brave, daring and dangerous mission: find the perfect dress in time. The Wives of Old Belle Towne Committee's annual fancy dress ball was in two days and she hadn't found it yet. She wandered slowly through Main Street, stopping and looking at several window displays on her way. As she looked at one in particular, she noticed the reflection of several stares of men passing by on the street behind her, looking the infamous Russian Countess up and down. But it was the stare of one man that held her interest. Every window held the image of his face, always on the other side of the street, or in an alley, or behind a corral. But always there, always looking… like a hawk. It wasn't a look of want or appraisal or even curiosity… no, it was the stare that she feared the most: knowledge, understanding… determination. And she didn't like it. She didn't like seeing his face in every window. Not now. Adjusting her hat, she risked a glance behind her. Her shadow looked boldly at her, as if daring her to go something about it. Natasha smiled demurely. The man nodded and tipped his hat, looking at her once again before turning and walking the other way. Who was this man? Natasha had no shortage of enemies, this she was painfully aware. But this man was different and Natasha was determined to find out, one way or another. The sun was beginning to set, and people began scattering this way and that, making their ways indoors, to their carriages and on their way. Always on their ways somewhere. Even here, in the Main Street of town the people were afraid of the dark. Not Natasha, darkness was her friend. Walking briskly the way she came, she reached her carriage where her driver stood, arms folded as he leaned against the carriage door, watching the women walking up and down the street.

"Found any you like?" Natasha asked smiling. He pushed himself off the carriage and onto the footpath.

"None to my taste," He said smirking at Natasha, "Not that I can have anyway."

"Won't they play with you?" She asked playfully. He smirked again, and held out his hand bowing slightly.

"You wanna play?" Natasha smiled and shook her head, taking his outstretched hand, and climbing into her carriage. He shut the door and leaped up to the driver seat.
"The park, Milady?"

"The park, Bucky."

. . . . . . . . . . .

The park that Bucky referred to was a deserted building on the outskirts of town. It used to be an office for the former Sherriff, before he was shot in the back… several times. It was then left to ruin, until a new Sherriff came to town. But he moved into a bullet-proof house in town, surrounded by guns; after his horse was shot out from under him. Twice. Now, the office, named the Park in memorial of the first Sherriff, was empty, save for a few rats, a table, two chairs and a bed that had seen better days. But Natasha didn't mind. She didn't mind rats and wasn't using the bed anyway. Neither was her visitor, not that he knew it. Several minutes passed, until Natasha heard a horse whinny outside. Natasha took a deep breath and folded her hands in front of her. The driver dismounted and came to the door. A knock sounded and a head appeared soon after.

"There you are my dear. Been waiting long?"

"Not at all, major. Come in." The major smiled and shut the door behind him, looking around as he took off his coat and threw it on a chair.

"I must say, this is an… interesting place for our meeting."

"Suits my needs." Natasha smiled. The major smiled and back and walked towards Natasha.

"You have a good point."

"Would you like to sit down?" The Major took one more step towards Natasha and put his arm around her waist, pulling her towards him.

"That's not-" The major's words were cut off as a trickle of blood came out his mouth, a shocked look clouding his blue eyes as he staggered backwards. His mouth opened and closed before he collapsed to the ground. Natasha walked towards him, wiping her knife on a handkerchief. She kicked the still major's form, smiling.

"Should have sat down."