This probably needs more work, but eh, whatever. This fic is for fun and stress relief, so frankly I don't care if every sentence isn't a work of art **repeats this mantra to self**
Anywho, it might be awhile before I post another installment, 'cause the next week or so is gonna be craaaaaaaaaaaaaazy 
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Tex dismounted when she saw the first plumes of chimney smoke. Pulling some supplies from her rucksack, she led Humphrey to a grove of nearby pines. Chickadees hopped from twig to twig, chirping and flicking their tail feathers; pine needles tickled her face and arms as she pushed aside a branch and sent her horse past. The shade was cool and fragrant, and for a moment she longed to while away the evening among the trees. Instead, she gave Humphrey two quick pats, tied off his reins, and left him to devour his bag of oats.
Tex crept up the hill in a low and stealthy crouch, then peaked over the top. There it was. The Neutron homestead sat below her on the plain, and Tex took the lay of the land in silence. A good-sized house on a flat patch of soil...an apple tree...a stable near a dry gully....a set of locomotive parts lying in the middle of the yard...
Despite the lackluster scenery, Tex's heart pounded within her. She stood slowly, and a gust of wind caught her hair and threw back her longcoat. She could smell the desert – that odor of sand and coyote and distant sage, and a wild excitement filled her. There she was, standing on the very edge of civilization, and nobody within 100 miles knew what she had come here to do. Nobody knew what she thought or felt or wanted. Nobody ever did. Not her clients, or her informants, or her victims. There was a power in her loneliness, and over the years Tex had learned to relish it like nectar.
She picked her way down the hill, ears straining against the chirruping grasshoppers. But Goddard didn't bark as she approached, and nothing moved within the house. She stepped onto the porch, and it creaked weakly – and Tex knew she was alone.
She found the front door unlocked. The instant she crossed the threshold, the smells of the interior washed over her. There was sawdust and parchment, woodsmoke and peppermint – but above all, the familiar, comforting fragrance of balsam soap. It was the smell of civilization, and in a flash Tex was back in her childhood, sitting in the front parlor of her family's home. It was all there, in vivid detail: the crisp pages of the book in her lap, the folds of her peach-colored dress, Daddy's too-large slippers on her feet. It was as if the past and the present were tethered to each other by a scented string, and she need only look down its length to see herself standing on the other side.
Tex threw off the memory with a shiver and stomped into the front room. A map of Retro Valley hung over the fireplace – which was unlit, Tex discovered with a frown. Where was the chimney smoke coming from, then? As she rooted around the house, checking for weapons and valuables, she came across other oddities. There were chunks of quartz on the Grandfather clock, for instance, and a box full of metal cogs occupied the armchair by the door. In the washroom, she found a broken gel-plate camera, and she nearly bashed her head against a hairbrush-and-crank contraption hanging from the ceiling. Continuing with this theme, Tex's foray into the pantry revealed a cactus taking up most of the kitchen table.
The study was the only room that seemed to be in order. A bookshelf soared nearly to the housetop, and it contained tomes with names like Experimental Researches in Electricity, Domestic Quadrupeds: Their Natures and Uses, and The Encyclopedia of Infinite Knowledge. She walked to the far side of the room, where an abacus, some paper, and a jar of ink sat atop a mahogany desk. Without meaning to, she ran her hand over the glossy wood and sighed. Gorgeous.
Tex strolled into the master bedroom last of all. The bedspread was the same blue as the curtains, which was the same blue as the throw-rug on the floor, which was the same blue as the chair in the corner. Tex grinned at the Sheriff's decorative sense as she rifled through his belongings. Some keepsakes, a set of candlesticks, a telescope by the window, a wall-safe behind the dresser...
The Grandfather clock struck six, and Tex jumped in surprise. The throw-rug slid when she landed on it, and she staggered sideways and nearly tripped over a heap of unwashed pants. Tex was about to open the obscenity flood-gate when something caught her eye – her accident had shifted the rug just enough to reveal a glimmer of metal underneath. She pushed aside the pants, lifted the corner of the carpet, and threw it back. The outlaw didn't bother stifling her sharp intake of air. There, in the middle of the bedroom floor, was a trapdoor. And it was double-bolted and padlocked shut.
She plunked down on the Sheriff's bed. A trapdoor....to where? What could he be hiding under the house? Big valuables, that couldn't fit in a safe? Contraband? Bodies? Her mind swarmed with questions, then, one insight: The chimney smoke. There's another fireplace down there. Tex laid back as she pondered, and the scent of balsam soap wafted up from the comforter. She closed her eyes. I'll bet he smells like this too... Shuddering, the outlaw reprimanded herself for the thought, then jumped up and began pacing.
After about ten steps, it occurred to her that she didn't want to kill him...at least, not yet. You could tell a lot about a man based upon his belongings and his reputation in town, and the Sheriff seemed an outlier in both these categories. Nothing about him fit with the image of a pioneer-town lawman. A Sheriff on the edge of the world ought to be vigorous and austere, not scatterbrained and inscrutable, with hidden rooms under his house. Tex wanted to know more. Curiosity gnawed her insides like hunger, and she fished the murder contract out of her coat.
Her mind raced as she read the words. She would offer him the Remuneration Clause...then she'd see what kind of man he was. She'd unravel him until he had no secrets left. Calmed, Tex tucked the document away. She slid the rug back over the trapdoor, then set out to finish the preparations for his arrival.
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This just in: even in a completely different version of reality, Jimmy still can't be bothered to pick up his pants.
HISTORICAL SHIT AND BULLSHIT SHIT
-But first....science! And smell. Fun fact: Because the olfactory bulb is part of the brain's limbic system - an area so closely associated with memory and feeling it's sometimes called the "emotional brain" - smell can produce powerful responses almost instantaneously. We encounter most new odors in our youth, so smells often stir up childhood memories. I think most people have had the experience of instantly liking or disliking a person or place based on smell, and I tried to work this into Tex's character.
-In the study, Tex encounters a book called Experimental Researches in Electricity, which was written in 1844 by the great scientist Michael Faraday. His research on the magnetic field around a conductor carrying a direct current established the basis for the concept of the electromagnetic field in physics. Faraday also established that magnetism could affect rays of light, and that there was an underlying relationship between the two phenomena. He similarly discovered the principle of electromagnetic induction, diamagnetism, and the laws of electrolysis. His inventions of electromagnetic rotary devices formed the foundation of electric motor technology, and he also created an early version of the bunsen burner. So yeah, cool guy. (The second book, Domestic Quadrupeds: Their Natures and Uses is something I made up; The Encyclopedia of Infinite Knowledge is of course from the JN episode Time is Money).
-Finally, if Tex's reaction to the hidden trapdoor seems a bit excessive, you need to keep in mind that in the 1870s, frontier houses weren't equipped with basements. Root cellars, maybe, but nobody kept those padlocked shut under rugs in their bedrooms. Something like that would have been just a tad suspicious. 
~*Mara*~ = ^.^ =
NEXT PART -> A New Constellation
