Nah, to hell with it! Order that drink!

Texas stopped in front of the saloon doors, on the threshold between danger and safety. She flexed her fingers, considering the weight of her actions.

No. No matter how much Texas pushed it to the back of her mind, that final comment didn’t sit well with her. Texas was a responsible lawmaker, but she wasn’t about to let some no-good bovine talk down to her like that.

She was sure that Annabelle had information, and she was gonna milk that cow for all that she was worth.

“Ya know what, Annabelle?” Texas declared, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “I think I’m feeling thirsty after all. Howsabout you pour me a drink?”

Annabelle leant against the bar, still holding the glass she had been cleaning since Texas walked in. She chewed the inside of her cheek as she watched Texas step on back to the bar.

“Water ain’t buying,” Annabelle said as Texas seated herself. The stools were made for bigger patrons, so Texas felt a little like a doll left on the side as Annabelle stared down with those big, brown eyes of hers. “You order yerself some liquor or you get yer lawkeeping ass off my property. For good this time.”

It was barely noon and Texas was the last person you’d find drinking on the job. Yet she’d already made the scene, and the tiniest surge of pride was keeping her fixed on this course. Pride and, of course, a certain motivation to get the information she knew was here. With all this in play, the smartest thing to do would be to stick to her metaphorical guns – and keep her literal ones close by.

“Whiskey it is then, Annabelle. Two fingers.”

Annabelle belted out a laugh, a short, sharp guffaw that could have been confused with a belch. It smelled enough like one, as the bovine’s breath puffed over the sheriff’s face. It was eye-watering enough to put Texas in mind of the inside of a stable.

“You sure you’re feelin’ okay, Tex? The heat ain’t getting to ya none, is it?”

“I’m feelin’ just fine, Annabelle. Better after you serve me. And I want real whiskey, too. Don’t you go trying to poison me.”

“Now, why would you ever think I’d go do something so mean spirited, sheriff?”

Annabelle waited, perhaps long enough to see if she could call Texas’ bluff, before shrugging and setting the glass she had been holding onto the counter.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll take mine from a different glass,” said Texas. She had seen Annabelle spitting into it as Texas entered and would be much happier if she drank from something she hadn’t seen being cleaned. Out of sight, out of mind and all that.

Annabelle’s expression curdled but she decided to play the good, clean barkeep for now. She fetched a fresh tumbler from beneath and splashed a healthy amount of hooch into. She dropped it in front of Texas as if it was red hot and held her hand out for cash, which Texas had been prepared enough to bring with her.

“I’d say I was glad you gave up the criminal life, but with these prices I ain’t so sure you did.”

“Just because you’re a paying customer now don’t mean I’m about to take none of your sass,” replied Annabelle, with a distinct warning rumble to her voice.

Texas raised her glass to the bovine barkeep and began to drink. She’d managed to buy herself a little extra time in The Crushed Weasel. The question now was what she thought she’d do with it?

Was there a different tactic that she could try with Annabelle? Maybe she ought to go around and speak with the other patrons, see if they’d be a little easier to tease a lead from? Or should she just order another drink, since it turns out the swill that Annabelle offers isn’t half bad?