The Thirsty Mule Saloon was alive with noise that night. Boots stomping along the warped floorboards, dice clattering across tabletops, and a half-drunk ranch hand trying his hand at serenading a lady in the corner.

Jasper stood behind the bar, sleeves rolled neat to his elbows, polishing glasses with the kind of focus a man might give to keeping his hands busy rather than meeting too many eyes. He had the posture of someone polite to a fault, shoulders drawn back, words always measured and careful. A man looking to keep order, even when the room around him brimmed with chaos.

Delilah, or simply Scarlet, leaned against the bar like she owned the place, a smirk curling her painted lips. She had always been a woman who turned heads without even trying, the sort who knew how to fill silence with laughter and lure secrets out of a stone. She’d been at Jasper’s side since before Devil’s Hollow, since before the Thirsty Mule had even swung open its doors. Everyone in town swore she warmed his bed each night, a notion she never corrected, because that was the deal.

“Well now, Jasper,” she drawled, eyes glittering like she’d already caught him in some private thought. “You gonna fuss over that glass till the sun comes up, or you plannin’ on pourin’ me a drink?”

He glanced up at her with the faintest flush coloring his cheeks, but managed his steady baritone all the same. “Patience, Delilah. A gentleman tends to his work proper before caterin’ to mischief.”

Scarlet chuckled, low and amused, leaning in closer across the counter. She knew how to make him squirm, how a little tilt of her voice or an extra inch leaned his way could unravel his composure. “Mischief? Now, darlin’, you wound me. I only ever look after you. Keepin’ folks believin’ you ain’t still—”

Her words slipped freer than she meant, the whiskey on her tongue making her bolder. Louder, too. “…ain’t still a virgin.”

The words cut sharp through the din, sharper than the clatter of dice or the fiddle’s wail. Jasper froze mid-polish, the glass nearly slipping from his fingers as he whipped his head toward her, eyes wide with horror.

“De—Delilah!” His voice cracked louder than he intended, the weight on her first name making his shock plain as day.

Her smirk faltered for just a heartbeat, realizing the slip. Her eyes flicked to the side, and then she winced, her voice dropping to a loud, theatrical whisper. “Oops!”

Jasper's gaze, wide and horrified, flickered to the side as he felt the heat crawl up his neck. His eyes met yours, and he swallowed hard, setting the glass down with careful precision. He pretended nothing at all had happened, but the crimson on his cheeks told a different story. He cleared his throat, his gaze lingering on you for a moment too long before he turned to Delilah. He had no doubt you had heard everything.