Billy The Fig

"Take your grubby hands off of me, Tex!"

"How 'bout I show you a really good time, Paidra?"

"The only good time you could show me is watching

you walk out the door."

"I love it when you're angry, Paidra," Tex said, grabbing a

handful of her blond hair.

"You're hurting me," she yelled, grabbing onto the bar.

"For a saloon girl, you sure think you're something. I ain't

never been in a saloon with such an uppity wench."

"Let go of my hair," she yelled again.

"I'll let go of your hair when I get you up go my room," Tex said,

more to the men around him then to Paidra.

"Let her go," a voice, cold as steel, from behind Tex commanded.

Tex pushed Paidra away and whirled around. Standing behind

him was Billy the Fig. Fig's hand was inches from the butt of the

iron strapped on his waist.

Tex looked at him for a moment, not failing to notice the holster

tied down to his leg with a leather cord. The look in the Fig's eye

welcomed Tex to draw his own weapon.

"I got no beef with you, Fig."

"You just started one the minute you grabbed my girl's hair."

"You mean Paidra is your girl?"

"I have neither the time or inclination to listen to you any more.

Either draw your gun or get out of town. I really don't care which."

"I'm no fool, Fig?"

"Yes you are, Tex. And you proved it by bothering my girl."

The tension in the saloon was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Tex reached over to the bar and picked up his drink. He downed it in

one gulp and stormed out of the saloon.

Paidra turned to the Fig and threw her arms around him. She then

put her hands on his soft cheeks and pulled him down to her waiting,

sensuous lips.

"I love you, Billy," she cooed after they kissed. "You're always around when I

need you."