They called him 'Pistol'. Not because of his shooting skills but because of his quick wit with the customers. Pete was his true name. He had come to the small western town to start a new life for himself. One that didn't include his past. So he got himself some work at the Madera House Hotel, cooking, cleaning, and doing whatever else they needed. He seemed to be the 'go to' guy. If you needed something fixed Pistol always found a way, or at least knew of someone who might know how. He was every man's friend and every woman's helper except, that is, for Mrs. Jonas Smith.

Mrs. Smith—better known as 'The Widow'—was tough as nails. In those days it was a man's world except when it came to The Widow. Children were afraid to look her in the eyes for fear they would be turned to stone. And let's just say that everyone bowed down to the ol' widow queen everywhere she went. Except for Pistol.

Pistol had known women like her in his past. They could chew up nails and spit them out, but under that bluster was a soft woman just wanting to be held. He was sure of it. Pistol had always stood up to a challenge and felt The Widow was a contest to be won.

She owned half the town and another half of the next one, but lived in a large rambling house full of cats and ivy. It was the only house in the old beat up town that had been there since the beginning. It began as a town full of promise. Prospectors coming in hopes of finding some gold in the nearby streams and striking it rich. It began to grow as families started to move there. A mercantile, hotel, and restaurant—along with a few saloons—were hastily built. One building was donated for a schoolhouse and that was how Minville was built. No one knew how Mr. Jonas Smith had gained his fortune but some said he robbed a train and had hidden the cash out in the forest. He just showed up one day with a wife and a baby and built the house The Widow still lived in. Speculation had it that maybe The Widow had something to do with his death, but that was just hearsay. He was up walking around feeling great and going to the bank to check on all his holdings, and the next day he was deader than a doornail. The sheriff said it was “Probably something he ate” and left it at that. The Widow hadn't been very friendly before her husband's death and when her son came of age he'd left the small town to find a better life. The Widow had been left alone and the more alone she was, the meaner she got.

Pistol heard the chatter of the local women at the hotel talking all about The Widow.
“Well, when I went over to clean her house there were actual bones that I found in a box.”

Another told the story of going over to 'be nice' to The Widow, bringing her some homemade mincemeat cookies. And she'd yelled at her for coming up her walk unannounced. “I'll never go there again. She's an old bitty, that's what she is.”

Pistol heard the stories and it made him want to get to know the old woman all the more. He made sure to say hello every time he passed her on her way to the bank but she never uttered a word. She pursed her lips and one time had actually growled. Pete began to wonder if she was an animal. Maybe she was hanging around too many cats.

He began to stake out her place. What else did he have to do in the dead beat town? He would make a point to walk by her place every morning. He could see the curtains moving and the cats sitting in the window sills. He thought he even heard some faint humming but he couldn't be sure. The yard was meticulously groomed yet he never saw her in it, and she even had a guard rooster that would come flying at you with his pointy talons to warn you 'not too close.'

There must be a way, he thought. How long could someone stay mean?
Then he found a window of opportunity one day. He was walking to work and a couple of cowboys rode up on their horses. They came barreling into town stirring up the dust and causing all kinds of ruckus. There was The Widow walking in her dark brown high necked dress toward the bank. The horses were heading straight for her. Pete knew it was his chance to have her 'owe him one.' He ran up to shelter her from the dust. She stepped in front of him and socked the horse right in the nose. It reared up knocking the driver off and spooked the other horse with his rider on his back. She brushed off her dress and just kept walking like nothing ever happened. “Tough as nails,” Pete said under his breath.

“Mrs. Smith! Could I talk to you for a moment?” Pete ran up to her side.

“No, you may not,” she kept walking.

“I just wanted to introduce myself.” He wiped off his hand and put it out. “I'm Pete.”

She brushed his hand aside. “I know who you are. Loved by all,” she said with disgust.

He decided to play her game.

“I know who you are. Hated by more,” Pete said amused.

The Widow bent her eyebrows. “What did you say?”

“You heard me” Pete said strongly.

“That's what I thought you said.” She kept walking then she flipped around.

“What do you want from me? You must want something because everybody else does.”

“Nah, just thought you could use a friend but...”

“I got friends.”

“Yeah, I know...cats.”

“Hmmprh! Leave me be. You don't know me.”

“I do... I used to be you.” She looked him up and down and he continued. “I had a wife and a child and lost them both. I was like you... Madder than hell and didn't want anyone around until I felt so alone I thought I would die so... I moved and changed my way. You're lookin' at a happy cowboy now. You need people. You could do so much for this town yet you sit in your unhappy little house and grieve. And it goes on day after day. I know how you feel. I've done it," Pete declared.

"Thing is, if you get out there and help and get beyond where you are at this very moment, it gets better and easier. When you start taking interest in your town and all the people in it, it gets better and easier. When you start to get a little down you just talk to people and it gets better and easier. Trust me... I know. Now how about coming to the town hall meeting this week?”

“Do you really think your little speech is going to change everything?”

“Nope. I just know that taking one small step forward will start to help.” He picked up her elbow. “Just one little step.”

“Don't touch me, you… you… Masher!” she said with as much acid as she could muster. He held on tight.

“I think this is exactly what you need.” She pulled her elbow away and straightened her white hair. “If I'm going to the town meetin' I need to change.”
Pete smiled. “You got that right!”

“I mean my clothes.”

“What? Are you going to change into yet another one of them dark brown dresses, cuz' I'm telling you, they ain't so flattering.”

“Who do you think you are? Telling me how to dress,” The Widow brought down her eyebrows and whispered out of the corner of her mouth, “If you're so darned smart, what color do you think would look flattering on me?”

“Any color but brown.” He thought he saw her crack a smile.

“Like cats?”

“Can't stand 'em.”

“Good, come with me to my house. I won't go unless I go with Pistol Pete, the fastest mouth in the west.”

Pete took her elbow and walked her home. She kicked aside Fluffy the rooster. “I can't stand roosters,” she said.

“Them I like,” Pete chuckled.

They squabbled all the way to the town meeting but no matter. Pistol Pete had won her over and he would never tell her that he really did like cats.