Valentine sat in its valley like it had been dropped there by accident.
Mud ruled the streets, churned thick by hooves, boots, and wagon wheels that never bothered to ask permission. The buildings leaned into one another as if sharing secrets. Wood darkened by weather. Windows clouded with dust and breath. The town smelled of manure, spilt beer, and iron from the tracks that cut straight through it, sharp as a promise.
The stockyard was always loud. Cattle lowing. Men shouting. Horses stamping and snorting, nerves carried on the cold air. No matter the hour, something was always being bought, sold, or lost. Valentine didn't rest. It waited.
People came here believing it was temporary. A stop. A night. A paycheck. Nobody planned to stay forever, yet the town remembered everyone who passed through. Especially the ones who brought trouble with them.
The saloon doors swung open and shut like they were keeping time. Laughter spilt out, then curses, then the sound of glass breaking. Upstairs windows watched it all without blinking. The sheriff's office sat close enough to matter, far enough not to interfere unless it had to.
Beyond the main road, the land stretched wide and pale, grass flattened by wind that never fully stopped. The hills rose gently, deceptively calm. From up there, Valentine looked small. From inside it, the town felt like a snare pulled loose, waiting for weight.
Samuel Rowe sat upon the single-horse cart he managed to keep together as it jolted and rattled through the heart of Valentine, the slow roasting heat of the cigarette he had lit travelled through his lungs as he reached forward to pat the hind of the single horse, his only treasured possession. Talon.
Talon was a gift from years ago. When he had rescued a herd of horses for Mr Levi, the owner of the stable in Valentine, Amos was a good man. Despite Talon being as old as time, she was fast, deceptively fast, and could run until kingdom come. Even if Samuel skipped a meal, he'd make sure the old horse never did. But the one thing Talon hated was towing the stupid wagon.
They were on the way to Mr Levi's stable to drop off hay for the horses, along with Talon. The other gift that the stable owner gave Samuel was a job...
He lay back slightly as Talon trotted past the saloon, eyes shutting for a brief second.
"Samuel... you know why I called you that? In the bible, Samuel was the son of Hannah, a barren woman like me. Samuel became a pillar of strength, from nobody, to king maker... my son..."
Talon's snorts woke him from the last memory he had of his mother, no place or background, just her voice before she left him alone in the world.
Talon's snort turned into a low, complaining huff as Samuel guided the cart toward the stable, the memory loosening its grip the way it always did. It never arrived whole. Just pieces. A voice. A warmth that didn't last.
He straightened, rolled the cigarette between his fingers, and flicked it into the mud before it burned down to nothing useful. "Easy," he murmured, more habit than command. Talon answered with a sidelong toss of her head, patient but unimpressed. The wagon creaked behind her like it always did, and she made her opinion of it clear with every step.
Mr. Levi's stable sat open and busy, smelling of hay, horse sweat, and oiled leather. Amos Levi himself was inside, sleeves rolled past his elbows, hands already dusted with chaff. He glanced up as Samuel approached, eyes narrowing slightly in the way of a man who'd known him long enough to expect trouble but not enough to distrust him.
"You're late," Levi said.
Samuel climbed down, boots sinking into the mud. "No, I'm not."
Levi snorted. "Sun's already halfway to wherever it's going."
"Sun don't wait on wagons," Samuel replied, hauling down the first bale. "Neither do horses."
That earned him a thin smile. Samuel worked without wasting movement, stacking the hay carefully where Levi pointed. A chestnut mare leaned her head over the rail, blowing warm breath against his shoulder. He paused just long enough to scratch her jaw, and she settled, eyes half-lidded.
"They like you," Levi said.
"They like quiet," Samuel answered. "I'm good at that."
Levi reached into his pocket once the last bale was set and pressed a few coins into Samuel's palm. Samuel closed his fingers around them, not bothering to count until later. Money was money. Levi was fair. That was enough.
"You sticking around after this?" Levi asked.
Samuel shrugged. "Gonna get a drink."
Levi grunted, which passed for approval. "Don't stay too long."
Samuel hitched Talon free and let her stretch, old joints cracking softly as she stepped away from the wagon. She was grey at the edges now, flecked and scarred and stubborn as a fence post. Still, there was a tension in her stance, a coiled readiness that hadn't dulled with age.
He rubbed the side of her neck. "Almost done," he said.
She flicked an ear, forgiving him despite herself.
The saloon was already loud when he reached it. Heat spilt out through the swinging doors, thick with smoke and laughter and something sour beneath it all. Inside, the noise swelled, then evened out into its usual rhythm. Boots scuffed. Glass clinked. A piano fought its way through a tune and lost.
"Sam," the bartender called when he spotted him. "You alive today?"
"Last I checked."
"That so? I'll pour you something to celebrate."
Samuel took the offered beer and leaned against the bar, letting the press of people happen around him. A ranch hand complained about prices. Two men argued over cards at a corner table. Someone told a story that got louder every time it failed to impress.
Samuel listened without prying, nodded when spoken to, and smiled when it was expected. He didn't push conversation, and it found him anyway. That had always been the way of it.
"You still working Levi's?" a woman asked from a nearby table, eyes sharp but not unkind.
"For my sins."
She laughed once. "At least the horses eat better than most folks."
"Most folks don't know when to stop," Samuel said, lifting his glass slightly.
He drank slow, savoring the quiet spaces between words. Outside, Talon shifted and stamped, restless in the way of a horse that preferred motion to waiting. Samuel glanced toward the door, then finished his drink.
He left a coin on the bar and stepped back into the daylight, the noise falling away behind him. Valentine went on as it always did. Mud. Wind. Voices rising and fading.
He counted the money as Talon trotted, the path familiar. Ten dollars for his troubles. Levi was being as fair as always.
The sun began to depart, sinking slowly, and soon the sky looked as if it bled. Talon slowed and came to a halt outside a small building, consisting of just a Bedroom and a small sitting room.
He fed Talon a carrot and watched the horizon, where somewhere a mile or so away, the smoke of a fire began to curl high. Sam noticed the smoke, a sense of foreboding gripping his stomach... but he paid it no mind and entered the small house after hitching Talon, slipping off his boots as he washed his face.
He slipped off the dusty, worn brown coat he had on and the scuffed shirt, before sitting down on his bed and pulling from a drawer a Bible. He prayed a silent prayer before he lit the oil lamp and opened the book randomly.
"But he strengthened himself in the LORD his God." 1 Samuel 30:6