Maggie and Katie

The warm Montana sun dipped low, spillin’ golden light over Butte’s dusty streets. A soft breeze rustled Maggie’s burgundy dress as she sat tall, grippin’ the wagon reins. Beside her, Katie adjusted her gun belt, boots propped against the wheel. “Last chance to turn back, Mags,” Katie teased with a smirk. Maggie grinned. “Not a chance. The West won’t paint itself, now will it?” With a flick, the horses lurched forward, wheels creakin’. Butte faded behind them.