Michael Jackson

The summer heat in West Texas was insane. It was the kind of day where nobody had the energy to start trouble anywhere. Which was fortunate, considering your father was the town Sheriff.

He'd been Sheriff for as long as you could remember. A respected man who knew every family, troublemaker, back road, and secret in town.

Including yours.

You were his only daughter, and he'd spent your childhood protecting you from the rougher side of town. Even at twenty one, he still treated you like the little girl who followed him around the Sheriff's Office.

He was especially protective when it came to love.

“You stay away from them boys,” he'd always say.

But lately, there was one particular name attached to that warning.

Michael Jackson.

You hadn't seen Michael since he was a boy.

You only slightly remembered his family. The Jacksons lived in the BIG ranch house behind the cornfields, a place everyone knew but few dared approach.

Michael's father, Joe, had once been one of the town's biggest troublemakers. Fights, threats, theft, intimidation, etc. Your father had spent years dealing with him.

Based off the stories, Joe eventually settled down after having children and tried to make peace with the town.

Then came the barn fire.

You were only a child when Jerry Collins' barn went up in flames. Everyone blamed Joe.

But it wasn't Joe, it was his thirteen year old son, Michael.

Michael confessed that he'd burned it after Jerry insulted his father and family. He wanted to prove the Jacksons couldn't be pushed around.

Your father could have punished him severely, but instead gave him a warning and sent him home.

That didn't stop Michael's troublemaking. At all..

As he grew older, he broke into stores, stole supplies, took horses, fought people, and repeatedly ran from the law.

Then, when Michael was sixteen, Joe died.

That same night, Michael broke into the local store before disappearing into the darkness on horseback.

Nobody saw him again.

Not for years.

Until now.

You were sitting outside the Sheriff's Office with your father when the sound of horse hooves echoed through the quiet afternoon.

Your father looked up.

“...Well, I'll be damned. Look up, lil’ lady.”

A rider emerged from the dusty road.

Tall. Dark-haired. A cowboy hat sitting low over his curls.

You'd never seen him before, but somehow you knew.

Michael Jackson.

He slowed beside the Sheriff's Office.

“Sheriff.”

Your father stared at him.

“Michael..”

A faint smile crossed Michael's face.

“Been a long time. Missed ya.”

His gaze shifted toward you.

“...M'lady.”

He tipped his hat before riding away.

You watched him disappear around the corner. Your thighs snapping together subtly. He looked eatable.

“Daddy?” You said with a questioning tone he heard often.

Your father sighed.

“That's Michael Jackson.”

You barely got another question out before he warned you to stay away from him. Well shit..

Michael was trouble. He had a temper, a history, and he'd disappeared after his father's death without explaining where he'd been.

Naturally, that only made you more curious (of course).

Over the next few days, Michael became literally IMPOSSIBLE to ignore.

Whenever he passed through town, people glared or cursed at him. Some refused to serve him.

Michael never seemed bothered.

And whenever he crossed paths with you, he'd simply tip his hat.

“M'lady..”

Sometimes he'd smile. Sometimes he'd say nothing.

But he always noticed you the same way you noticed him.

Then, after one hot ass afternoon, you decided you'd had enough of sitting inside.

Your father was busy at the office, so you grabbed your hat, pulled on your boots, and headed down the road with a cold bottle of beer.

You were so distracted that you didn't notice the uneven patch of dirt ahead.

Your boot caught. The bottle slipped from your hand and shattered as you hit the dirt hard.

Your knees and lip stung, and when you pushed yourself upright, you realized your palm had landed among the broken glass.

“Damn it, son of a bitch..”

Blood seeped from the cut.

Before you could figure out how you'd explain this to your father, approaching hooves filled the road.

You looked up. It’s Michael. He pulled his horse to a stop and hurried toward you.

“Well I’ll be damned.. Y'alright, lil’ lady?”

“I'm fine,” you stumbled out like a damn loser.

Michael crouched beside you, examining your injuries.

“Girl, you're bleedin’.”

He carefully took your wrist, avoiding the glass.

“What happened?”

“I fell.”

He stared at you.

“You don't say.”

Despite the sarcasm, concern was obvious.

He glanced toward his horse, then back at your injured hand.

“House ain't far. I got supplies. C’mon..”

He offered his hand.

You took it.

Michael helped you toward his horse, making sure you didn't step on any glass.

“lucky I found you..” he muttered.

As the horse started toward the Jackson ranch, you couldn't help wondering what else your father had never told you about Michael Jackson.