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        Lina skipped dinner that night, so she opted for breakfast the next morning to speak to Sam. She stalked down the stairs and sat at the bar, waiting for Sam to look up so she could order.

        "I missed you last night," he said, looking at Lina with one eyebrow arched.  

        "Sorry, didn't have enough money for breakfast and dinner, so I opted for breakfast," Lina looked at Sam, a bit disgruntled.

        "If you would have come down I could have found you something on the house." Sam said, stifling a laugh at Lina's expression.

        "I don't take handouts, thank you though. Anything on a job?" she asked.

        "How do you feel about waiting on tables?"

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        The first two weeks working as a waitress for Sam went by without a hitch, except for this night in particular. The night was heavy, and the saloon was full to the brim. Piano played softly in the background, the player was slumped over, alone and coughing. His playing was choppy at some points of the concerto, as if he were struggling to press down the keys. The playing stopped completely when a woman in a white blouse and a cherry red riding skirt burst into the saloon, fear painted all across her face.

        Her lack of height was very noticeable as she marched up to the counter that Lina was behind. She was beautiful, her features soft and round, lips plump. She was the epitome of every man's fantasy, and Lina wouldn't be surprised if she had become quite wealthy for that reason either. She looked at Lina, brown eyes wide.

        "Can I buy a room for just the evening? I don't have money for any longer." she asked, clutching the bar, her knuckles white. "Please," she pleaded, her eyes communicating urgency. Someone could be heard in the streets, yelling.

        "Poinsettia darling, come back, I wasn't finished!" the voice slurred. The ring of a revolver going off filled the streets shortly after. "Come on love, we were having a good time weren't we?" the man yelled again, and Lina cringed at the thought of making a fool out of herself like the man outside. Another gunshot rang out. "Don't make me use this on you doll!"

        "Please," the woman spoke up again. Lina frowned and felt in her pocket for her own keys. When she felt the familiar coolness she looked back up.

        "Follow me." she said, and blocked the other woman's hand when she held out money. "You can stay in my room until the idiot is gone."

        The relief was evident on the woman's dainty features as she sighed. "Thank you."

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        Sam observed the interaction Lina had with the woman from out of sight, in the kitchen. He smirked. Lina acted quickly on her feet, and it took him aback. That woman was full of surprises, it must have been the Indian in her. Sam fully intended to find out just what her deal was. When he saw Lina produce her own keys and lead the girl off, he emerged from the kitchen.

        There was the culprit of the girl's fear, one Billy Clanton, stumbling in drunkenly, revolver in hand. He seemed over the woman and instead decided to go harass the lone piano player. Sam smirked. He had no clue whose hands were producing the wonderful music, but Sam did, and it could only end bad for the Clanton boy.

        Lina walked down the stairs again, smoothing the front of her dress down nervously. She headed back to the position she was holding behind the counter. She didn't want Sam to think that she was slacking off, so she rushed, not paying attention to the event that was unfolding. If she had been she would have noticed the deathly silence that enveloped the saloon. You could cut the tension in the air with a butter knife.

        "Hey, is that Old Dog Trey?" Billy asked, leaning against the piano, taking some man's beer from a poker table and tipping it back himself.

        "Pardon?" the player said, halting the somber tune he was playing to look up at Billy. He wiped his mouth quickly with a handkerchief before anyone could see anything suspicious. He wasn't sure if it came back red or not.

        "Y'know, Stephen Foster. Oh Susanna, Camptown races?" He drank again and found the indifferent look on the player's face irritating. "Stephen stinkin' Foster!" he repeated himself, leaning too close to the player, trying to seem threatening even in the state that he was in now. He was making a true fool out of himself.

         The piano man straightened and moved away gracefully. "Oh," he resumed playing. "Well, this happens to be a nocturne." he replied, the music coming to a small climax.

        "A which?" Billy asked dumbly, attitude evident as he threw the glass bottle on the floor. It shattered and Sam and Lina both cringed. He had no clue just how much of an insufferable idiot he was being.

        "You know," he leaned toward Billy again, in a friendlier way then the Clanton just had. "Frederic fucking Chopin?" He finished, his words dripping venom. He never stopped playing.

        "You know I oughta shoot you for that." Billy slurred, indignant, waving his Cattleman's revolver around in the player's face.

        "You've already spent your bullets, boy. Don't bother." The player said, standing up to face the youngest Clanton. He was considerably taller and he looked down his nose at the young man.

        "You watch your goddamn back, Holliday." he said with a look that resembled an animal that had just been backed into a corner. That was his last jab for he turned on his heel and sauntered back out into the street. The player found his seat and resumed the music. The new tune he played sounded triumphant.

        Holliday. Lina thought to herself. The name sounded incredibly familiar. She shrugged it off, heading back into the kitchen to fetch a broom and pan for the broken glass. The noise and bustle of the saloon recovered slowly from the tension that had taken it over.

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        The next morning was for the most part uneventful. The buzz of last night's almost-fight had made its way to everyone.

        "You should have seen the look on Billy's face. I thought he was gonna give it to that Doc Holliday."

        "It was crazy, the way that man stayed so calm. He doesn't look like a fighter you know, he's small and kind of sick actin'. His eyes though? Well, I'll never forget that glare."

        "That sumbitch stole my drink. I had to buy a whole new pint 'cause of him. Damn barkeep wouldn't give me a free one."

        Lina couldn't help but smirk at the exaggerations she overheard. That Doc Holliday. He was surely something.

        A woman walked up to the register, alone, pulling Lina out of her thoughts. She was beautiful; blonde hair and big blue eyes, and pink lips to match. She was wearing a sky blue dress that matched her eyes just right, and a graceful smile painted her face.

        "Hello," she bowed her head in greeting. "Do you have any rooms available?"

        She was clearly not from America. 

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