It was the kid with the curly brown hair who appealed to me.  I don’t know why, since he was obviously young and inexperienced.  Usually I like rough, tough men who’ve been around.  They understand the game.  I was surrounded by just that type, all crowded up to the San Francisco bar where I perched on a stool that was the closest I came to a home these days, listening to another honky-tonk piano and breathing in the same sweat and alcohol laden smoke that passed for air.  The men argued about who was going to buy my next drink, used any chance to look or ‘bump’ me, trying to find out if what I had under my dress was real, each trying to get me drunk so he’d have a better chance convincing me to go with them into one of those discreet upstairs rooms.  I knew how it worked.

But the young man didn’t.  He didn’t know it was next to impossible for me to get drunk.  Oh, I’d faked it before.  That and a few other things.

I could see, even from the far end of the polished bar, that he was getting worried about me.  He shifted restlessly, his beer uncomfortable in one hand, the fingers of the other twitching against the genuine but battered Stetson he’d set on the bar.

I turned back to Frank, the lusty blackbeard on my left, and gave him my attention.  The huge man reeled back, although I knew it was more from alcohol than from the impact of my best smile.  He knocked into Bobby Tinker, who spilled his drink—and the one he was hoping to use to bribe me into bed—all over his front.

“Ahhh!” Bobby groaned.  I felt an honest grin pull at the corner of my mouth as the alcohol turned the fake gold on his gaudy vest back to its original chalky green.  I glanced over at the curly-haired boy and saw a twinkle in his eye that told me he also appreciated life’s little balances.

Maybe he wasn’t all that inexperienced.

The men around me continued to talk and boast, but my attention was drawn once again to that slim figure across the room.  I reevaluated him as he talked to the taller, black-haired man at his side.  I noted the dusty working-cowboy shirt, jeans and boots he wore.  Anyone could put on the clothes—this young man belonged in them.  Inexperienced with women he might be, but there was depth here.  I tilted my head, still watching from under my lashes.  And his laugh wasn’t mean.  I liked that.

Frank lurched forward again, blocking my view.  He craned his neck stiffly to see what I’d been looking at and spotted the kid.  His loud and disparaging words wafted toward me, riding on his potent breath.

“Watcha want with him, babe?  He’s nothin’ but a moo-calf, testin’ his legs.”  Through the smoky haze I saw the young man duck his head slightly in embarrassment as most of the saloon’s customers laughed.

Bobby interrupted his ineffective brushing at his chest to call for two more!

The redhead on my right had dispelled all folk wisdom about fiery temperaments by speaking rationally and calmly all evening about the twists and turns of the latest political scandal—the only truly interesting conversation all night—and now he slid a drink in front of me with a challenge in his eye.  I gave him back a steady stare as I drained it to the bottom.

The kid twitched again.

Red raised an eyebrow in silent question and jerked his head toward the stairs, smugly sure of his appeal.  I thought about it.  He was just the sort I liked; a lot of fun and no regrets.  Bobby gave up on his chances with a disgusted mumble, set the two new drinks back on the counter with a thud and started searching the room for easier prey.  I thought about Red, and I considered Frank.  Either man would make a good partner for the night; certainly better than I’d met in other saloons.

The piano player took a break and I rose from my seat and stretched, amused to see the men at the bar react.  Red stood as well, but I turned away.  Frank preened until I started to walk past him, then his jaw dropped so comically that I placed one finger under his chin and pushed it shut.

I used my ‘come hither’ walk as I moved to the kid’s side.  He stepped away from the bar and watched my approach with a mixture of simple pleasure and unease.  When I got closer, his friend just bowed out of my way with a knowing grin.

I stopped squarely in front of the young cowboy and slowly ran my hands through his hair—thick, soft, glorious—then slid my fingers lightly down the back of his neck to rest on his shoulders.  I could feel a slight shudder run through him.  He was taller than I, enough so that I lifted up on my toes to look deeper into his eyes.  They were green, the shining green of an emerald, the passionate green of the storm-tossed sea.  I felt his tentative touch on my waist through the thin dress fabric as he steadied me.  I drew my thumbs gently along his jawline while I spoke softly but clearly in the quieting room.

“You,” I emphasized, my voice unaccountably husky, “I’ll remember.”

Then I drew his head down.  He tasted of the drink his friend now held, of the wild towering mountains, and of disturbing maleness.  I saw his eyes close and I gave myself up to the sweetest, most passionately innocent kiss I’d ever experienced.  How could he taste of both the lush, flower-filled meadows of my youth and of the hot dry winds that now blew over the devastated land?

His hands spread across my back, pulling me closer.  I felt an unfamiliar twist in my gut, part response to him, part to memories of another young man I’d forced myself to forget.  I slipped my arms under his to wrap around his waist, feeling the strong, lean muscles ripple as he stroked my back.

He deepened the kiss.  I lost all sense of where we were and felt something shatter deep inside somewhere.  I was only dimly aware of his arms around me, holding me together.

Then slowly, gently, we pulled away, neither wanting to give up the comfort of our embrace.  I stared into his eyes again and realized that somehow he’d given me back something I hadn’t known I’d lost.

Then he smiled and spoke a few words very softly, so softly only I could hear.  “I’ll remember, too.”

I felt a grin threaten my pose, but managed to beat it back.  Except I knew he saw it.  His eyes twinkled in appreciation as I pulled farther away, my fingers lingering delicately on his shoulders, arms, then his hands, until finally we broke apart.

I turned slowly from him, walked carelessly away; but at the door to the street I looked back once more over my shoulder.  All eyes in the room shifted from my grand exit to the young man standing alone in the center of the floor.  I allowed my grin to surface just once.  He raised his hand in a jaunty salute, and I walked out of that saloon to head home.

THE END

This story first appeared in a different fandom, but the more I thought about it, the more I felt it really belongs here.