Choose Any Woman You Want, Cowboy,’ the Sheriff Said — There Was Only One He Was Looking At

Chapter 1

The water bucket slipped from Hannah’s fingers and hit the wooden floor with a hollow clatter. She didn’t bother picking it up. Her mother’s voice had already pierced through the walls like a blade, sharp and merciless, cutting through the last shred of sleep.

“Get up this instant!”

Hannah’s eyes flew open. The room was dark, the fire long dead, and the cold had crept through every crack in the cabin walls overnight. But her mother stood in the doorway, already dressed, her arms crossed so tightly it looked like she was holding herself together by sheer force of will.

“The sheriff has called every unmarried girl to the square,” her mother said, each word clipped and precise. “Every last one. They’re choosing wives today.”

Hannah sat up slowly, the thin blanket pooling around her waist. Her stomach dropped. She had heard the rumors at the well, fragments of conversation carried on the wind. But she had prayed they weren’t true. She had prayed that somehow, some way, she would be spared this particular humiliation.

“You’ll go,” her mother pressed on, her voice dripping with a bitterness that had aged into something permanent. “Even though no man in his right mind would ever choose you. You’ll still stand there like the rest of them. So I’m not shamed for keeping you hidden at home.”

The words landed like stones in Hannah’s chest. They always did. She had grown up beneath them, learned to brace herself for them, but they still found a way to bruise.

“Don’t just sit there staring. The bucket’s empty. Go fetch water and bring back vegetables, too. You might as well be useful, since you’ll never be wanted.”

Her mother’s footsteps retreated, leaving the room colder than before. Hannah forced herself up, her joints aching, her hands trembling as she reached for the faded dress hanging on a wooden peg. The seams strained at her shoulders when she pulled it on. She wrapped her old shawl around herself, the edges fraying where she had mended them over and over, a patchwork of her own persistence.

Outside, the morning air was cool and damp, carrying the scent of horses and hay and the smoke from chimneys beginning to stir. But the town was already awake. Wagons clattered down the main road. Shopkeepers pulled open their wooden shutters. Voices carried, and with them came the whispers that followed her everywhere.

“There she goes.”

“Sheriff’s gathering won’t change her fate. No man would burden himself with that.”

Hannah fixed her eyes on the dirt road ahead. Her bucket knocked softly against her leg as she walked faster, trying to outrun the words. But they followed her, clinging like burrs to her skin. Her chest tightened. If she could just reach the well quickly. If she could just make it back home before the tears came.

A small cry stopped her.

She turned her head. By the side of the road, a little boy sat in the dust, clutching his knee. His face was streaked with tears, his lip trembling. Passersby walked on without slowing. A few glanced, then shook their heads. Nobody stopped.

Hannah hesitated. She knew what the whispers would say if she knelt there, if she showed her soft heart again. But her feet carried her forward anyway.

She crouched beside the boy, her voice gentle. “Shh, it’s all right. Let me see.”

The boy sniffled, lifting his scraped knee. Dirt clung to the shallow cut. Hannah tore a strip from the corner of her shawl and dabbed carefully, her fingers surprisingly steady.

“You’re brave. See? Nothing to be afraid of.”

The boy’s tears slowed. His lip trembled, then curled into the tiniest smile. “Thank you.”

Hannah smiled back, though her own eyes stung. She gave his hair a soft pat, then rose to her feet. Across the street, a group of women whispered behind their hands. “Always tending to strays.” “Strange girl.” Their laughter followed her like a cold wind.

Hannah pulled her shawl tighter and kept walking.

The well came into view. Girls clustered nearby, their dresses clean, their ribbons bright. They laughed easily, tossing their hair, rehearsing the smiles they would soon wear for the men who might claim them. Hannah lowered her gaze, ashamed of her plainness. She dropped the bucket into the well and watched her reflection ripple in the water. Round face. Tired eyes. Cheeks already burning with a heat that had nothing to do with the sun.

Her mother’s words echoed again. No man would ever choose you.

Hannah gripped the rope and whispered into the hollow air, “Let it be over quickly. Please. Just let it be over.”

The bucket hit the water with a splash, the sound loud in the quiet morning. She pulled it up with trembling arms, knowing this was only the beginning of a day she could not escape.

The market was crowded when she arrived. She moved through the stalls quickly, keeping her head down, hoping to go unnoticed. She never did.

“Dance, Hannah, dance!”

The voice rang out from somewhere near the apple cart. She felt it before she turned — eyes on her, laughter rising. Three boys leaned against the cart, grins wide and cruel.

“Show us how light you are!”

Hannah froze. Heat flooded her cheeks. “Please,” she muttered, clutching her basket. “Leave me be.”

But they circled closer. “You’re made for stomping, not dancing.” “Careful, she might crack the ground.”

Their laughter stabbed her chest. She shifted her foot to pass them, and her skirt tangled. She stumbled, arms flailing. The basket tipped. Carrots rolled into the dirt. The crowd erupted. Women with baskets, old men at stalls, even children — all of them pointing, laughing.

Hannah dropped to her knees, scrambling for the vegetables. Her eyes blurred. Her hands shook. “Why was I made this way?” she whispered, drowned by the noise.

She gathered the last carrot, rose, and clutched her basket to her chest, her shawl hiding her tears. Behind her, the boys shouted, “Dance again, Hannah! That was the best one yet!”

Their jeers chased her through the market. Each step grew heavier. She slipped into an alley away from the noise, and only then did the tears fall freely. Her mother’s voice replayed in her head. You’ll never be wanted. Never.

Hannah leaned against the wall, her breath shaky. She hugged her basket close, as if it could shield her. Alone, hidden, she whispered into the empty air, “Is there any place in this world for me?”

No answer came. Only the distant laughter, carried on the wind.

And then the town bell began to ring.