We're so close… I can do this. MOTIVATION. :D

Thanks so much for your reviews, guys! I hope you like the ending when it comes!

Also, do you say fries or chips? Is that a USA v. UK thing? My game says fries, so I'll go with that, but I kind of prefer chips… Aw, well. Whatever. (Talking about the most inconsequential things ever, sorry.)

Prince Charming

Glasses clinked against bottles for refills and heavy boots made the floor boards creak. Smoke from the fryer filled the chimney and the smell of fried fish engulfed the little room. Another relaxing night at the bar in little Sugar Village.

Joe was on one drink too many, feeling very happy. Wallace was behind the counter alone preparing fries. Bob was complaining about Tim again.

"He just goes out and disappears without a word! What am I supposed to do? Assume he'll come back?"

"Man, you've got to let the kid go," Joe shook his head even though he was more immature than the kid ten years his junior. "He's got to explore! It's his dream, man!"

"And leave me alone to do all the ranch work myself, yeah, thanks," Bob grumbled, pulling his drink closer. His massive hands looked like they would crush the tiny wine glass. Which he did on more than one accidental occasion.

"Look, man, it's not that bad. You like animals. He likes the road. Let him go…!" Joe slapped a hand to Bob's shoulder and used his other arm to point off into the distance. Though he was seeing a hero riding out on a beautiful sunset, Bob was seeing the dusty corner with the mop.

"That'll be enough for you, Joe," Wallace came by and took the half empty cup. He gave Bob the French fries.

"Aw…!" Joe whined, reaching out and missing. "Why?"

"You get weird when you've reached your limit. You say 'man' a lot," Bob rose an eyebrow and took a long gulp that Joe enviously watched. "Besides, we made a pact about this years ago."

"Nu-uh!"

"Yes-huh! You said if you got too bad, we should intervene. Otherwise, you'll feel it in the morning and get an earful from Woody," Bob argued.

Joe slouched in his seat. It took only a minute for him to try arguing again. "But not just a little bit?"

"No!"

"I can't even finish my glass?" Joe looked impossibly hurt.

Before Bob could shout or Wallace jump in to support him, the door opened. Chilly winter air spilled into the room along with slush and snow. The pair beat their boots off at the door and walked up to the table.

"Tim! You ran off again," Bob scolded, putting his fist down upon the table. In his delirium, Joe jumped up in his seat and looked around, wondering who was knocking.

Tim took off his safari hat, a rare occurrence, and brushed some stray snow from it. He placed it back onto his messy black bed head. "Yeah, well, I brought a friend again."

"Again?" The new man answered with some interest.

He was ignored.

"Hey, Wallace!" Bob shouted. "Got a newcomer!"

Luckily, Wallace had prepared dinner for Ronald in case he would stop in. He came around the counter, offering the fish and tomato salad on a tray. "Why, hello, stranger! Cold weather to be travelling in."

"Very," the man shivered, hugging his shoulders. As indicated, he took an empty seat and continued to shake.

"Would you like something to eat? This came straight out of the kitchen if you want it – on the house even," Wallace kindly offered, setting the food before the stranger to look at.

The man nodded and smiled. "I don't remember the last time I had fish. Thank you very much. You're too kind."

Joe squinted at the man as he started to eat. "Man, it's not that cold."

The stranger shrugged. "Not my kind of weather."

"What? You used to summer, summer all the time?" Joe teased with a laugh.

The look he gave answered in the affirmative. No joke.

"Oh," Joe said. He sunk back into his chair under Bob's glare.

Turning to the stranger, the burly rancher smiled wide. "Well, hey, where you from, stranger? What brings you out to Sugar Village?"

"I'm on a manhunt," the man said shortly, taking another bite. He was accustomed to juggling eating and talking to get his story out. He had told it many times before. "A man killed my daughter."

"I'm real sorry to hear that," Bob frowned. Everyone in the room, sober or not, gave the stranger their full attention and sympathies. "Real sorry. I'm Bob; this is my little brother Tim. We lost our parents at a young age – we can understand somewhat… What's your name?"

He shrugged. "My name's Samson. And thank you… it means more than you think. But I'm hoping someone out here can help me."

"What can we do?" Wallace asked from the counter. "We don't have much, but if you need travelling supplies, we can set you up well enough."

Glad to meet such hospitable people, Samson smiled. He was already finishing his food. "That would be great! I have some money left, but not much. It's been more than one wild goose chase, but I… I can't give up. Not now."

"You know him?" Tim piped up. He had found another stranger in the woods, but he never expected him to have such an interesting purpose. It was like Samson walked out of some drama and into their little set of slow life.

Samson nodded darkly. Even though no one asked, Samson understood the looks. He propped his elbows up on the table to tell his tale. "It was years ago. She was about to get married… I had never seen her so happy, but I knew something was fishy. This guy she was engaged to – it wasn't straight. She never even told us his name… I knew something was going to happen. But I never expected her to do it."

Everyone was quiet. Samson took a moment to collect himself, still raw from the experience. He hid his eyes with one hand. "She… took her own life… They had a fight, and she killed herself."

Silence.

"No note! No… No nothing," Samson shook his head. He took a deep breath and looked at the strangers around him. "I went looking for him, but there wasn't anything to go on. It seemed hopeless. Until I got this."

Samson brought out a piece of paper and laid it out on the table. Everyone leaned in to see. Tim was the first to comment. "She's pretty."

"My daughter. Selena. A sketch of her…" Samson sighed. He quickly took it back and put it away. "There was an auction in town, and it was there in the trash. Things that couldn't be sold. I had been roaming around looking for a lead and… and this came out like a ray of light.

"The house belonged to some big wig or other. The important part was the story attached to the son. He up and disappeared. He owned this sketch. I had my guy."

"Who was he?" Joe asked, completely in awe. He was enjoying the story too much, so it was evident he forgot himself and thought it was fictional.

"Gill Gray," Samson finally announced. The room didn't change. He sighed and shook his head. "And you haven't heard of him…"

"I'm sorry, Samson," Wallace sighed, leaning on the counter for support. "If we knew anything, we would surely help you."

"Yeah, the only new guy we got isn't a Gill," Joe shrugged.

"Someone new? To your town? When?" Samson sat up in his seat with new hope.

"Been here almost a year," Bob explained. "Decent sort, I gather. Lives with Harry just south of here. He's a farmer."

Samson fell back into his chair rubbing his mustache. "Doesn't sound like the man I'm looking for…"

"In any case, we'll be glad to set you back up on your search," Wallace said. "Though I advise you against revenge. I don't know you or this Mr. Gray, sir, but I know that revenge is a nasty thing. It does nasty things to good people."

Samson nodded though he disagreed. It was too late for him to turn back now. After his daughter was gone. After his wife had left him. "I'll remember that. Thank you. Again."

"Grandpa! I'm off to the farm!" Katie pounded down the stairs. Her voice carried before her. It was common to hear Katie before seeing her. The door opened and she emerged with a basket in tow.

"Wear your ear muffs, Katie. It's cold," her grand-father advised.

"Okay," she said, collecting some leftover muffins from the day. She stole some tomato salad. After getting to know Gill better, she discovered he was partial to tomatoes, so she tried to get them as often as she could even if they were preserved.

"Hey, Katie! This is our new friend, Samson," Bob introduced the tanned man with red hair by slapping him on the shoulder. It was a rather strange combination she thought.

"Oh! Why, hello! Did you have anything to eat?" She asked politely.

"He's fed, Katie," Wallace smiled, proud of her.

"Good!"

"Samson's been through a rough time," Bob vaguely explained.

"Yeah, Katie, he's looking for a guy who murdered somebody," Joe loudly added in. He winked at her teasingly. "Think it could be your Prince Charming?"

Samson noticeably flinched, but everyone was watching the banter between the old friends.

"Oh, please!" Katie had her hands on her hips. "Toby would never do such a thing! Are you guys still suspicious of him? I can't believe you! You should be ashamed of yourselves!"

"Katie's right," Wallace supported her. "It's not right to accuse innocent people. Especially of such terrible things… Besides, Katie's quite happy with Toby. He'll make a good husband for her, and I don't want anyone picking on him."

"Grandpa!" Katie blushed. She stopped short from arguing when she noticed the table. "Where did he go?"

Everyone turned to the seat that Samson occupied. It was empty.

"I didn't even feel the wind…" Joe mumbled.

"Strange," Bob stared around. "Maybe he just needed some air."

"There was plenty of dark talk tonight," Wallace agreed with a sad nod.

"Why? What happened?" Katie asked.

Wallace shook his head. "Never you mind, Kate. You better get along if you want to be back before it gets too dark. I don't want you to freeze out there."

"I won't!" Katie nodded. She picked up her earmuffs and scarf at the door, waving over her shoulder. "Bye, everybody!"

And she followed Samson to the farm.