The morning was dry in Lincoln County, New Mexico. Beth Stone, sprawling out on the barn floor. Groaning, muscles protesting as she pushed herself up from the hay-strewn barn floor. Shoving her size eight feet into cowboy boots, a strand of greasy, auburn hair fell across her face, tickling her cheek. Swatting it away, blinking against the sliver of sunlight piercing through the cracks in the barn walls. The air was thick with the scent of dust, horse and chicken shit, a familiar aroma that always greeted their mornings. Should have been up hours ago – cattle weren't moving themselves north. Reaching for her holster, fumbling, fingers brushing against the cold metal of a hunting knife. Clattering to the ground, the sound echoing strangely loud in an otherwise silent barn. Bending to retrieve it, a chilling memory surfaces – faces of rustlers, their eyes wide with fear as they stared down the barrel. She'd never enjoyed the sight of a man begging for mercy, but it was a necessary evil in this life.

Suddenly, a shadow flickered across the barn entrance. Frozen, hand instinctively tightening around the grip of the colt. Heart pounding, creeping toward the door, the hairs on her arm perked up. Cautiously sliding the latch open, pistol raised, ready to fire.

Standing in the doorway, a mischievous grin playing on his lips, was Billy the Kid. 'Jesus Christ' she breathed, hand trembling slightly. 'You scared the hell out of me,' closing the heavy doors behind, how she found it. Her earliest memories were laced with the thrill of being where she didn't belong, but disrespect wasn't her style. In her mind, they'd granted entry – albeit through her own unorthodox method of breaking and entering. 'Where's your cattle?' Kid, grinning playfully. Beth's heart lurched. 'They're...' Panic surged, feet stumbling speedily toward the back of the barn. A sea of fifteen hundered cattle, each one, with their muzzle to the grass that stretched across the once untouched land, grazing, the crew sharing the euphoria, fishing in the creek as the morning fog crept in.

Sweltering days stretched behind them, and the heat showed no signs of relenting. One of the five disgruntled men, wiped the sweat trickling down his brow. 'Ah, we gonna light a shuck?', the cowhand grunted. All the men looked to Beth and started shouting and protesting the hot days. 'Pull in your horns,' Beth staring through the men with disdain. 'Ain't listenin to no woman'. One of the cowhands said with his mouth full of tobacco and spitting the viscous brown substance between his lips. Beth wasnt a woman of words when it came down to pistols. 'Hell, never seen a lady cowboy be-', Beths reflexes were lightning fast. In a blur of motion, her pistol was clear of its holster before his hand even twitched towards his own, the sharp crack echoing off the barn and throughout the dry field, catching on fire. Hat flying off his sweaty head as the bullet pierced through his hat, eyes wide with surprise. She'd learned to steel herself against the patronizing smiles and the casual interruptions. It was the price of being a woman in a man's world. 'Hold yer horses!' A gruff voice boomed at the cowhand on the horse. Another hand, quick as a whip, grabbed a bucket and doused the flames. 'Now sit yer ass down, fore ya cause more trouble'. As Beth rode amongst the cattle, the scene became a seductive dance, the gruff voice, was this husky cowboy with deep-set hazel eyes found his heart captivated by her grace. Safety was a forgotten memory, perhaps a phantom from a time that never was. Billy and she had known only constant movement. Their paths had crossed in childhood. Air crackled between them, their constant clashes mistaken for passion. But their story wasn't one of romance. Orphaned, Billy found solace in Beth, a scrappy, older girl, a newcomer to the church in Lincoln County, already scarred by the sisters' cruelty. Recollections of violence in the past nights had left their mark; her eyes were swollen slits. She'd slipped away long enough to take some bread from one of the sisters.