Insert romantic title

Chapter 1 Just another Friday night. The bar is packed with people traveling from other towns, near and far. I wonder what the other towns are like. Pretty, bright, and colorful, or at least that's what I hope. 19, and working in a bar. As a kid I dreamed of becoming rich and powerful, and helping other people who were poor like me. But here I am. I know that being rich and powerful was impossible, but I couldn't stop dreaming. That's like telling a tumbleweed to stop rolling. It just ain't gonna happen. But I have been saving money to travel. I wonder what the cities look like… I bet they're bright, and full of opportunities for people like me. Maybe I could even get a proper education! But someone disrupts my daydream by calling out for me. "Aye, Lillie, can we get some more beer? This *hic* this rounds on me boys!" Ain't nothin' like watching people get wasted. I grab the guys group some beers, and give it to them. As I was walking away, a man grabbed my arm. "Oh Lillie, aren't you perty…" he barely managed to say. I recognized him almost immediately. He used to be the town banker. But he was replaced for hittin' on women when he got drunk. And this man got drunk all too easily. His name was John Blannkerd. "Mr. Blannkerd," I said politely, "please let go of me." "Why should I? You and I could have a lot of fun together," he said, with his eyes half closed. "Let go of my arm," I said firmly. I was done being nice. "Oh come on, don't be like that baby," he said. He was barely making words. I slapped him square on the face and he let go. I walked back behind the bar and watched his eyes water. My employer said that he didn't care what I did to men who tried to grab me like that. If I asked them nicely to let them go and they didn't listen, I was free to do what I liked. I sat there watching him cry from pain in a drunken rage, when a guy walked in. He didn't look older than I was. 20 at best. And he had a bandana covering the lower half of his face. I recognized him almost immediately. There were wanted posters with his face on them as far as the eye can see. I heard that he was being hunted even as far out as California. So why was he in Texas? Why would the notorious, b****y black bandit out here in the middle of nowhere? He sat down in front of the bar, and looked me dead in the eyes. He had cloudy green eyes, and pale skin. All he had uncovered was the top of his head. He took off his black hat, and I could see dark brown hair that was messy and unkept. "A whiskey on the rocks please," I heard him say, just louder than a whisper. I rushed around, and silently prayed someone was going to go get the sheriff. I almost slammed the whiskey glass in front of him, and looked around. No one had left to go get the sheriff. Instead they sat silently and awestruck, staring at the two of us. It took everythin' I had in me not to scream at the top of my lungs. "You shouldn't rush around Missy," I heard him say, again his voice just louder than a whisper. "If you rush around, you might mess up my order." I swallowed hard and nodded. He grabbed the glass and walked out the door. He would probably wait to drink until he was alone so he didn't have to take of his bandana in front of people. About two hours later, everyone had left. I was washing off the bar with a wet rag when I heard the sound of metal on the wood floors. Someone with metal plated shoes probably wanted a drink. "Sorry, we're closed," I said angrily. I didn't have any more patience to deal with more drunk men. "Not anymore," I heard a familiar voice say. Yet again, the black bandits voice was barely audible. I looked up terrified. The bandit loomed over my crouching body. I stood up straight, yet he was still taller than me. I took a step back, frightened. "I need another whiskey," he stated. Why couldn't he talk louder? I almost didn't hear him, and I didn't want to get killed because I couldn't get an order right. This time I heeded his advice and went slower. "This ain't for me," he stated quietly and blandly as I slid him the glass. "Who else could it be for? You are the only person in this bar," I stated. I was talking normally but between the silence and how quietly he talked, it almost sounded like I was shouting. "Maybe the only other person in here," he stated quietly. "But I can't afford this," I stated, tears coming to my eyes. I hated telling people I couldn't afford things. Especially a measly glass of whiskey. But I wasn't wasting my saved money on whiskey. "Who said you were paying for it," the bandit whispered. He slid the glass towards me. "You may need a bit of break. I saw your little fiasco through a window. You need this more than I do." I put my hand in his face. Big mistake. I quickly put my hands at my side. "I can't take that. I can't make you pay for something just to waste it on me," I stated, with what little pride I had in my voice. "Well, I'm not taking no for an answer," he whispered, pulling a g*n out of a holster somewhere on his leg. He pointed the muzzle at my forehead. I quickly grabbed the glass and downed the whiskey in one gulp. The cold liquid soothed my mouth, and when it reached my stomach it warmed my body. If I drank this under different circumstances, it might have been good. But I'm not under different circumstances. I'm being forced to drink by the b****y black bandit himself. Fear raged through me as he slowly put the g*n into its holster. "Good, ain't it Missy," he asked. I slowly nodded. He slowly set 4 dollars on the bar, got up and left. When his foot stepped onto the dusty ground outside, I collapsed with relief. I leaned my head against the bar, and cried silently. People tend to think that crying is loud because of the noises that come out of the back of people's throats. But crying can be silent if you don't make noises. And I've gotten quite good at crying silently.