Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight... I'll just pick up an idea and run with it like crazy!

Author's Note: This is a very strange and very special story. It's being written as a birthday present for BuJyo, who is wonderfully supportive of my writing in addition to being an amazing writer herself. Happy Birthday, BuJyo, and thanks for everything! More chapters with adventure, fun, and eventually smut will be coming! =D

West of the Pecos

Part 1

Thundering hoofbeats cast clouds of dust into the dry desert air as Marshall Mann rode into the small town in the newly established New Mexico Territory. The United States Marshal was on an errand to answer an urgent request from the town's mayor; lawlessness was afoot, and he was there to ferret it out in whatever form it took.

He rode dressed in black trousers and a matching black vest over a white dress shirt, on which he'd been sweating a fair bit. His long black duster was slung over the back of his saddle, removed as a concession to the heat, but he had otherwise gone out of his way to maintain a dignified manner of dress; his status as a marshal demanded that he present a certain image, one which he completed with a gunbelt, black cowboy boots, and his badge.

His arrival did not go unnoticed, for as soon as he was in sight, word began to spread through town like wildfire, and by the time he rode into the town proper, a crowd had gathered. At the head of the gathering stood a short, balding man in a fancy waistcoat and bow tie, checking a pocket watch on a long, gold chain.

"Right on time," the little man remarked contentedly, stroking his curled moustache as the marshal dismounted before him.

Marshall's brow knitted in confusion at the man's remark. He was scheduled to arrive any time during the week and nothing more specific than that, but he supposed the man in charge wanted to play up the part.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the bald man continued. "My name is Stan McQueen, and I'm the mayor of this fine city."

Marshall grimaced slightly. Calling the ramshackle gathering of buildings a town was a stretch; to refer to them as a city crossed the line well into ludicrous.

"U.S. Marshal Marshall Mann, at your service," he continued the introductions, clasping the mayor's outstretched hand.

"You said marshal twice," the man said, giving him an odd look.

"Marshall is my name as well as my title," Marshall replied, and the bald fellow nodded in understanding. "What seems to be the trouble?"

"Come along to my parlor," Mayor McQueen invited, gesturing to a much younger man who seemed to bear some resemblance to him, even with his full head of hair that was parted down the middle in the fashion of the day. "My assistant, Charlie, will pour us some drinks and we shall discuss the matter in depth."

"You should bring that tall drink of water over here for some… refreshments," an older woman shouted from the balcony of a nearby brothel, her tone lewdly suggestive. Her manner of dress and the way she draped herself over the railing left Marshall in little doubt as to the nature of the woman's occupation; she was undoubtedly a prostitute, and from the look of things, she'd been in service for quite some time.

"Jinx Shannon," the mayor shouted back, "would you kindly show the marshal some respect? Your deportment leaves much to be desired."

"Your hair leaves much to be desired!" she screeched in reply.

"Quiet, you old harlot!" the mayor bellowed before regaining his composure and gesturing to Marshall to follow him.

Once they were settled in the parlor room of the mayor's home, during which time Charlie served them some surprisingly good-quality brandy, the mayor got down to brass tacks.

"This jewel of the desert in which you find yourself presently," he opened grandiosely, "was once a quiet, peaceful settlement of good, kind, law-abiding people… the elder Miss Shannon notwithstanding… but no longer. A criminal element has this town in an uproar. They've robbed the bank twice, they wreak havoc and spread destruction wherever they go, and my people are now forced to live in terror."

"And you have no local law enforcement here?" Marshall asked curiously.

"Well…" the balding man hedged, "we do have a sheriff, appointed by myself. Our sheriff, however, is overwhelmed, though that admission has been less than forthcoming. You would do well to tread lightly…"

The mayor was interrupted by a crash as the door to his home was thrust open rudely, slamming into the wall and knocking down a portrait which hung there. Boots clomped down through the foyer with rapid, angry steps, and the doorway to the parlor was soon filled by an imposing and rather curious figure.

She was tall for a woman, Marshall noted once he realized it was, in fact, a woman who stood before them. Long, golden hair flowed around her face, partly pulled back to keep it out of her eyes. She was dressed quite boldly in men's clothing, the button-down shirt open at the top nearly to the point of indecency and pants cinched tightly at the waist. She wore cowboy boots, which accounted for the loud stomping that had accompanied her arrival. Marshall wriggled in his seat a bit; there was something about this woman, dressed so inappropriately, that he found intensely provocative.

"What the hell, Stan?" she shouted at the mayor. "I just got back from settling a fence-line dispute out at the Alpert ranch, and I come back to find there's a goddamned fed in town to do my job?"

"Sheriff Mary Shannon, may I introduce United States Marshal Marshall Mann," the mayor replied, being none too obvious in his attempt to redirect the blonde woman's wrath.

"You said marshal twice," she said in a withering tone, spearing Stan with a glare to match.

Marshall cleared his throat, bringing her attention back to him. "My given name is Marshall, and I am also a marshal."

"That has got to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard," she snapped, before turning back to Stan. "I can deal with O'Connor and those morons he rides with. You didn't have to make Marshal Marshall here waste his damn time when I don't need him."

"Now, Mary," Stan held up his hands placatingly, "you may not want to admit it, but this situation with O'Connor and his boys has gotten out of hand, and it's time we had some help from a higher authority."

"To hell with higher authority, and to hell with O'Connor!" she barked. "And that's Sheriff Mary to you!"

"If I may interrupt," Marshall broke in, "who is this O'Connor?"

"He's nobody," Mary huffed. "Nothing but a mule-headed jackass who rides with a bunch of feeble-brained idiots, gallivanting all over hell and back causing trouble. I can handle him just fine on my own."

She glared at Stan again before turning to the door and storming out. Stan ran a hand anxiously over his bald head, casting an apologetic glance at Marshall.

"If you don't mind, I think I'm just going to, um…" Marshall gestured vaguely after the incensed sheriff; when the mayor nodded, he jumped up and dashed after her. Somehow, he couldn't just let her walk away.

Grit and dust crunched under his boots as he pursued her outside. The hot desert sun set her hair ablaze with reflected light. She clutched a hat in her hand, white-knuckled with fury, and in the absence of the hat on her head a breeze caught at her hair, tossing it about. He caught her by the shoulder and she spun to face him, her eyes flashing fiercely.

"What do you want?" she spat. "Is this the part where you tell me to be a good little woman and step aside so you can do the men's work? Because I can tell you right now, that is not going to happen."

He stood his ground, not entirely surprised at her venom. This was not a world that treated women well, he knew, and especially the unconventional ones like herself.

"That was the furthest thing from my mind," he assured her, hoping she wouldn't find his tone to be overly patronizing.

"Oh, I see. Then this is the part where you suggest we get a room at the cathouse and knock boots as God intended," she replied, her gaze searing.

Marshall choked slightly; that bold of a statement did surprise him somewhat, and while he hadn't been planning on suggesting anything of the sort, it hit too close to the mark for comfort.

"I was going to suggest that I can do my job that much better with assistance from someone who knows the situation, who can show me the lay of the land," he recovered, evading her previous accusation.

Mary scoffed at him. "That doesn't sound like that great of an offer to me, getting to be your assistant. Like that kid Charlie in there, always playing fetch at Stan's beck and call. No thank you."

"I'm talking about an equitable partnership," he offered. "I won't order you around. If I want something from you, I'll ask for it."

"You'd be the first man in history to agree to that with a woman," she answered with a bitter laugh. "Fine. If you think you can live up to that arrangement, I'll accept. But if you cross that line with me, I'll run you out of town myself."

Marshall could have pointed out that, sheriff or not, she hadn't the right to run him out, and he thought he could take her… but he sensed she had a hard edge to her, a dangerous streak that it would be unwise to test. Added to that was the fact that the more she railed against him, the more he came to see her as an intriguing oddity, a puzzle to be figured out. Instead, he held out his hand; she gripped it firmly with a surprisingly large hand of her own and the deal was struck.

"Now that we've got that worked out… do you know where I could rent a room?" He glanced up and down the main throughway but didn't see what he was looking for. "I can't seem to find a hotel."

"That's because Stan hasn't managed to get one built yet," she answered with an ominous leer. "There's only one place with rooms to let, and that's the cathouse."

He followed her pointed finger to the brothel from which he'd previously been propositioned, and, wincing, he heaved a sigh. This was going to be a long assignment.

A/N: There will be more to follow, so hang on for the ride, cowpokes! XD