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

Chapter 3

“Yes, Mama.”

Her mother’s hurried steps filled the room as she yanked open drawers and tossed clothes aside. She pulled out the red dress. “This one. Better than rags.”

Hannah hesitated. It clung too close, the fabric too heavy, the color too loud. But there was no argument. A white cap was tied beneath her chin. “At least you look disciplined,” her mother muttered.

As Hannah slipped into the dress, the boys’ jeers echoed in her memory. Dance, Hannah, dance. Her chest tightened. Now she must stand before the entire town. Her hands trembled.

“Go!” Her mother shoved her forward.

The door opened. Sunlight spilled over her. Each step down the porch grew heavier. The town ahead buzzed with noise — doors clapping, horses stomping, voices rising. Eyes followed her. Pity. Scorn. Laughter.

“She’s going too?” a woman muttered.

“Can you imagine?” another whispered.

Hannah kept her gaze on the ground and walked slowly toward the square, toward her fate.

The town square throbbed with noise. Dust rose under wagons and boots. Mothers tugged daughters forward, smoothing hair and sleeves. Fathers lingered at the edges, arms folded, eyes sharp. Hannah slowed. The red dress strained. The bonnet framed her flushed face. Every glance burned.

“There she is, big as a mule, standing proud.”

She forced herself onward. At the front, the girls lined up — light dresses, bright ribbons, neat faces, anxious but hopeful. Hannah took her place at the far end. The crowd rippled.

“She’ll be left standing.”

“Who’d want her?”

“She’s wasting time.”

Her eyes stayed low, but her mother’s glare from the crowd pinned her in place. So she stood.

The sheriff climbed the platform, his boots loud against the wood. He was a thick man with a graying beard and eyes that had seen too much. His gaze swept across the women like they were cattle. Deputies waited behind him, rifles across their chests.

“By order of law,” the sheriff called, “these women stand today. The men of Reedridge will choose their brides. No woman excused. No man will defy.”

The words struck the square like a hammer. Mothers clutched daughters tighter. Girls whispered, cheeks flushed, some still smiling with nervous hope. Hannah’s heart pounded. The dress pulled at her shoulders. The bonnet pressed hot against her skin. She already heard the laughter that would follow.

Beside her, a slimmer girl glanced over with the faintest smile. Almost kind. It made Hannah’s throat ache. Kindness, she knew, would not last.

The sheriff raised his hand. “Men of Reedridge, step forward. Make your choice.”

The square roared alive. Boots scraped against dirt. Mothers shoved daughters forward. Ribbons fluttered. Hannah kept her head bowed. Dust swirled at her feet. Her heart begged for escape, but there was none. The choosing had begun.

The sheriff’s boots crunched on dry dirt as he stepped forward, his voice cutting through the restless crowd. “Bring him up.”

Heads turned. A towering figure emerged from the back of the crowd. The giant cowboy — broad shoulders, sun-darkened skin, hands like iron. He stood taller than anyone else, a presence that silenced whispers. His eyes swept across the square with a quiet intensity that made even the boldest men look away.

The sheriff pointed. “This town respects strength. You’ll set the example. Choose a bride.”

A ripple ran through the people. Mothers nudged daughters. Ribbons were straightened. Prayers whispered. Every girl on the line held her breath.

The cowboy’s jaw tightened. “I came here for no marriage.”

The sheriff’s brow furrowed. “You’ll do your duty. A town cannot prosper without families. The law demands order.”

The cowboy’s chest rose with a heavy breath. “I owe no law my heart.”

Gasps spread through the crowd. Some smirked, eager for a fight. The sheriff stepped closer, barely reaching the man’s shoulder. “Don’t mistake yourself for untouchable. Today, every man will choose.”

The cowboy’s eyes swept across the trembling women. “I will not.”

The refusal cracked like a whip. Uneasy murmurs rose. Men barked. Women whispered. The sheriff raised his hand for silence. “Refuse me here, and you’ll answer to more than whispers.”

The cowboy stood unmoved, arms crossed, a mountain of defiance. “This isn’t about what you want. It’s about duty. If the strongest man refuses, what hope do the rest have?”

The silence stretched. Mothers clutched their children. Men leaned forward, waiting for the spark.

Finally, the cowboy shook his head, steady and final. “I did not come for this.”

The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll find, cowboy, that no man leaves here untouched by duty.”

The crowd erupted again — shouts, laughter, whispers piling together. The women fidgeted, hearts pounding. And at the center, the cowboy stood firm, resisting, unbroken.

Then the sheriff’s voice thundered across the square.

“Even she stands here with courage. Will you ignore her?”

His hand pointed straight at Hannah.

Dozens of heads turned. Dozens of eyes locked onto her. And a ripple of laughter rolled out.

“She really thinks someone will pick her?” a woman muttered.

“Look at her dress. Look at her shape.”

The voices struck like stones. Hannah’s shoulders trembled. Tears pressed against her eyes, threatening to spill. She blinked hard, fighting them back.

The sheriff’s voice cut through the noise. “What say you, cowboy?”

The silence stretched, long and heavy. Hannah felt every second like a blade across her skin. She braced herself for the final blow. She knew what was coming. He would laugh. He would refuse. He would humiliate her just like everyone else.

The cowboy lifted his chin.

“Her,” he said. “I choose her.”