Chapter 1

"A stranger in town is like a white dog, he gets noticed immediately"

Marshall Aaron Hotchner and his partner Derek Morgan reached the city shortly before sunset. Their superiors had warned them about the heat in this area, but they hadn't quite believed what kind of furnace they would enter once they crossed the border in the middle of the day. The sky over the valley was bluer than anything Hotchner had ever seen, but beneath the merciless sun was the end of the world. The mountains behind the river bed drew a strict line between the valley and the rest of the world.

Hotchner had heard the rumors. According to them nobody who had left the valley over the mountains had ever returned. He didn't believe in rumors. As he saw it many people simply didn't even make it over the mountains. The nights were cold, the days unbearable hot, the climbing difficult. What sane person would try to beat a ridge of mountains when the other side of the valley was open to leave?

"Strange place," Marshall Morgan remarked as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"It's a town, Morgan. What could be strange about that aside from the sadistic killings?" Hotchner asked dryly. "Let's search for the Sheriff. Though I doubt it'll take him long to find us. Our presence has already been noticed by the natives."

Morgan saw what Hotchner meant. As the two men led their horses slowly along the wide road, more and more faces appeared behind the windows or people left their houses to watch the newcomers with barely hidden curiosity.

"I've already detected the most important place," Morgan remarked with a grin as they passed the saloon. He lifted his hat to greet the assembled crowd of women and was welcomed with chuckles and waving hands. "I think this place has just become much more inviting. Look at the blond! I think I'm falling in love!"

Hotchner did as asked and had to hide a smile. The woman who had caught Morgan's attention was a small blonde with rich curves and a red dress that showed more cleavage than it covered.

"Take this," Hotchner said, slipped his hand into the inner pocket of his vest and handed a folded piece of paper to Morgan.

"What is it?"

"Notes of dates and places. Simply said, every time you said "I think I'm falling in love" when we entered a new city!"

"You made notes?" Morgan asked, astonished.

"Just a hobby." Hotchner shrugged and narrowed his eyes when he saw a tall man stepping onto the dusty street. He carried a shotgun and an old hat with several holes, probably caused by bullets. The badge on his vest reflected the sun. The silence in the streets became heavier as if everybody waited for the Sheriff's reaction to the new faces in town. It was obvious the man held the respect of his citizens and to show him the same respect, Hotchner ordered Morgan with a short wave of his hand to stop his horse several meters in front of the man.

"Sheriff Gideon?" Hotchner asked and bowed his head a bit.

"That's me."

"The Marshalls Morgan and Hotchner. You requested our help." It was a simple statement, not a question. The Sheriff nodded. "So I did."

Gideon approached the horses, shook Morgan and Hotchner's hands and then he turned his attention to the faces that were attentively staring at them. "The show's over. Go home now and don't forget to lock your doors after sunset."

Nobody questioned the kind, but straight order and after less than a minute the street was empty.

"That's what I call training," Morgan said when he climbed off his horse.

"My office is right down the street," Gideon explained, without paying attention to Morgan's comment. "I'll tell my Deputy to take care of your horses. Your journey must have been long."

"We've never been so far away from home," Hotchner agreed.

"I've told Emily to prepare two rooms in her saloon for you. There isn't enough space for you in my office and our hotel doesn't deserve the name. Emily will take better care of you."

"Anything you say." Hotch nodded, took the harness and followed Gideon and Morgan down the street.

When Hotchner and Morgan entered the humble room that served as Sheriff Gideon's office, they understood why he said it didn't offer enough space to give them shelter. There wasn't even enough shelter for him. There was a desk, a chair, a cupboard that didn't have enough space to store all the books, Gideon had brought in there, a weapon's locker that was almost empty and a window that was barricaded with some planks. Everything was covered with dust, but the room was as tidy and neat as the circumstances allowed.

"Quite a shack," Morgan said as his eyes roamed the dark walls.

"It's better than nothing. I have a small room on the first floor of the neighbor's house."

"Where's your Deputy?" Hotchner asked.

"Patrolling in the streets. The sun will set soon. Since the last killing we pay special attention to the people that come to the saloon. We observe strangers closely."

"What makes you so sure the killer comes from the outside?" Hotchner asked. "Often people closest to our homes commit the most horrible crimes."

"I assume you're right, Marshall," Gideon said, "But I know my town."

"And we would love to hear about it – later," Morgan said.

"Yes, before you tell us more about everyone, we want to get a possibly unbiased impression."

"All right. The best way to meet everyone is to go to the saloon. The bull pen is crowded in the evenings."

Hotchner and Morgan nodded in sync.

"Sounds perfect."

The Sheriff hadn't promised too much, when he said the bull pen would be crowded. The place was overcrowded. Men, women, cowboys, prostitutes and gamblers had gathered in the saloon. The air was heavy with the smell of whiskey, smoke and the usual hint of the forbidden.

"People feel safe here," Hotchner said, as they entered. "They think as long as they're among themselves nothing can happen to them."

"I've heard more stupid things," Gideon said, as he led them through the crowd.

"Is anyone in here you don't know?" Morgan asked.

"Two of our biggest ranches are searching for new foremen. Some of the cowboys at the bar are new. The one without hair for example," Gideon pointed to the tall man who didn't quite fit in. His clothes looked fresh, and though he pretended to be busy with his drink, his eyes searched the room. "He's been around for some days. I heard Strauss didn't want him for the job."

"Strauss?" Hotchner asked.

"The grand dame of the valley. Widow of Sebastian Strauss. Her foreman died last week. Fell from his horse, drunk. His neck was broken. He was a good man, an alcoholic, but a good man."

Hotchner and Morgan exchanged a stolen glance.

"I see. Have you had similar accidents lately?" Morgan asked and turned his head, when a beautiful woman passed him.

"Well, strangely enough, two weeks beforehand the foreman of another big ranch died as well. But he fell off the hayloft."

"Drunk?" Hotchner wanted to know.

"No, in the middle of the day. He didn't watch his feet," Gideon answered with a grin. "There were witnesses."

They had finally reached the bar where a dark-haired beauty welcomed them with a bright smile.

"Sheriff! Do you bring me my new guests?" The woman left her place behind the bar and made her way through a bunch of drunken cowboys without much ado. Hotchner noticed that many men stared at her, but the one who couldn't even tear his eyes off her after she had passed him, was the man Gideon had pointed out before. The stranger was still standing at the bar, seemingly unimpressed by the noise and throngs of people around him, as he fixated the beautiful woman who now approached Hotchner and his company.

"Right, Emily." Gideon gave her a smile and lifted his hat. "These are the Marshalls Morgan and Hotchner and this[,] gentlemen, is Emily Prentiss. She owns this place."

"Did own this place you mean," she corrected him grimly.

"You really sold it?" Gideon asked with narrowed eyes.

"Yes, but it seems the bull pen will remain what it always has been," Emily said. "I'll tell you later what happened." She turned her attention to Hotchner and Morgan.

"So, you're the Marshalls. We've never had guys like you around here before." She stretched out her hand to Hotchner who shook it as one of his rare smiles crossed his face.

"There's a first time for everything. Please call us Hotch and Morgan."

"I will. Your rooms are upstairs. I told JJ to fix them for you. They aren't big, but…"

"That doesn't matter," Morgan interrupted her quickly. "We just need a clean place to rest."

"I can also guarantee for good food and good drinks. My bartender…." She pointed to the young, thin and shy looking man with big glasses behind the bar. "Well, he looks as if he doesn't know how to spell whiskey, but he's the best bartender available. Strangely enough people like him, because he knows a solution for every problem. He's living here as well. Reid!" She yelled over another man's head. "Three drinks for these gentlemen!"

Reid nodded and got busy with the order while Morgan stretched his neck, looking for something he couldn't find.

"Today I saw a small blonde on the street. She wore a red dress and…," Morgan started, but Emily's laughter stopped him. "You mean Penelope Garcia. She's an angel. She's responsible for the music… the piano is her slave and the keys are her children. She'll start her show soon."

"I see… she works here. Nice." Morgan grinned.

"My girls are clean…" Emily said sternly and Morgan's smile faded upon the frosty look Emily gave him. "They're taken care of and they don't fool around. They sing and make people drunk. That's all."

"We don't doubt that, Miss Prentiss," Hotch said quickly. "Can you tell me something about this man right behind you? He's been staring at you for some time now."

She shrugged and didn't bother to turn. "He's been here every evening since he arrived. He never talks to anyone."

"Do you know his name?"

"He signed into the hotel under the name of Doyle. Ian Doyle."

"So you noticed him and asked some questions," Hotch assumed amused.

"I like to know what kind of people I'm dealing with. The city isn't the safest these days."

"Keep your eyes open and inform me when you notice something strange."

Emily gave Hotch a bright, winning smile. "I can promise you that, Hotch. My eyes are always open, even when I sleep."

When Gideon returned to his home shortly before midnight, he was welcomed by the seductive scent of cooked food. He smelled steak and potatoes, his favorite meal after a long day. He smiled. In this little house he always found peace, and in the arms of the woman who owned it, he was reminded that life wasn't so bad after all.

Her deceased husband had been the Sheriff, before a bandit had shot him after hijacking the weekly stage coach that operated between the town and San Diego. When he was asked to take over the job, Gideon had refused at first, but it had been Elle Greenaway who had convinced him to follow into her late husband's footsteps – at first only professionally, and after one year of service in the city also in the most private way.

Officially he had rented the room over her small grocery shop, but in fact he shared her table and her bed. Both were comfortable with the arrangement and enjoyed their passion filled nights.

He entered the kitchen and found Elle at the oven. He abandoned his hat, sneaked up on her form behind, clutched her and pressed her against his body. She didn't startle. Actually, she never did, because she knew him too well.

"There you are," she purred and leaned her head back to have a look at his face. "A little late."

"I know," he said and regret filled his voice. "I'm sorry, but the Marshalls arrived tonight. I needed to show them around."

"They stay with Emily."

"Sure… or do you want them here?"

Elle chuckled. "Never. I don't want to share our home with anybody else."

"That makes two of us," he agreed and kissed her again.

"You're starving, mh?" Elle asked cheekily, as they parted.

"Starving for you… so let's hurry with the food!"

tbc