Short Story Saturday

David sighed as he checked into yet another cheap motel. This one, one the company had chosen, was called "Time Travel Inn".
"What a hokey name" he thought, accepting his key. He hoped the room was clean. With a smirk, the guy behind the desk gave David directions to his room. "What about Continental Breakfast?" asked David.
"If you are still here, it will be in the lounge" answered the guy, laconically.
"If I am still here?" thought David, blinking. "Where else would I be going?"
Truth be told, he was glad to be away from home. His wife, Carley, had given birth to twins a month ago, and it seemed like their small trailer was nothing but the noise of the crying babies, whiny older kids, and the bitching of Carley. It was getting real old, real fast.
Trudging back out to his car, David reached up and wiggled his neck tie, unbuttoning the top button on his shirt. Taking a deep breath, he started to cough. "Not used to this country air" he thought, rubbing his nose. Quickly he gathered his briefcase and suitcase. It held all the stuff he would need for his presentation in the morning. Hands full, he followed the directions he was given to his room. He was amused, when he got to the door, to see a pair of cowboy boots painted onto the front of it.
"Wild West Room" was written on the door.
"Hope I don't need spurs" he thought, chuckling. "They didn't tell me this was a theme motel".
Putting down his belongings, he put his key to the lock, and swung the door open.
Peering into the dark, he stepped in, and fell. The door swung shut behind him, yet, it was no longer a motel room door, instead, wooden, swinging bar doors.
"bout time you got here" said a voice, over his head. Looking in the direction, the first thing David noticed was a pair of scuffed, black boots. Cowboy boots. Just like the ones on the door.
"I'm the gunslinger Virgil Smoot" said the voice over the boots. "And you'd be our new sheriff, I'm guessing?"
Getting to his feet, David began to dust off his suit. But it was no longer his suit. Instead, he was wearing a black outfit, with a vest, and a star. Around his waist was a belt that held 2 guns. And on top of his head, a hat.
"Where am I?" he asked, completely bewildered.
"Your in Pineville, of course" answered Virgil Smoot. "You just rode up on your horse." He was pointing out the double doors, so David turned around, and noted the big paint horse tied to the front of the building.
"Come on in and let me buy you a whiskey" chuckled Virgil. "I'll introduce you to the fellas, too. We're mighty glad to have us a new sheriff in town. The other one was crookeder than hell. Was a shame I had to shoot him"...
"You shot the sheriff?" said David, wondering if he had fallen asleep and this was all a dream.
"Yeah, but I didn't shoot no deputy" answered Virgil Smoot, grinning. "Matter of fact, there is your deputy over there. "Hey, Cross Eyed Pete, come meet yer new boss" shouted Virgil Smoot, gunslinger.
A tall, blond gangly man got to his feet and drunkenly shambled across the wooden floor. The prostitute that had been in his lap squeaked indignantly as she hit the floor."
"Hi, I'm Pete" slurred the man, sticking his hand out towards Virgil Smoot.
"Not me you cross eyed fool, HIM" said Virgil, smacking the hand away.
"Oh", answered Pete, waiving his hand in the direction of David. "Pleased ta meetcha".
"I'm sure" answered David, warily.
"Lets get that drink" said Virgil, steering them towards the bar.
Looking around, David noted the woman on the stage warbling "Clementine" and the man at the piano who was having trouble keeping up with her. A few women were milling around, all dressed in scanty clothing and feathers. Including the one that had been dumped off of Pete's lap. Mostly, though, the bar was full up with men, all dressed the same way, from the cowboy hat down to the boots. And they all wore guns.
"Where on earth have I landed" he thought to himself, surreptiously pinching the inside of his arm to see if he could wake himself up from the dream he was sure to be in. Nothing happened.
He automatically took the shot glass that was thrust into his hand by Virgil Smoot, then gasped at the hot fire of the liquid running down his throat.
"Good stuff" muttered Pete, smacking his lips.
"Ah, yeah." answered David, gingerly placing the glass on the bar. Before he could protest, the barkeep filled it again.
"Let me tell you about our little town" said Virgil Smoot, Gunslinger. Sitting down on the proferred stool, David tried to listen as the man told him the particulars of where he'd landed. Every now and then, he'd take a drink of his whiskey, only to find it refilled. Before long, his head began to swim. Without warning, he passed out, head landing on the bar, in a puddle of whiskey.
"I do believe the sheriff is drunk" announced VIrgil Smoot, Gunslinger, frowning down at the comatose man. "Seems he can't hold his liquor. Shame."
Together, Virgil and Cross Eyed Pete gathered David up, and carried him upstairs, to the room where the sheriff of Pineville always resided. Pulling off his boots, they put him in the bed, and propped him up on his side (just in case). Turning out the lights, they left the room just as he started snoring...
*************************
Waking up the next morning, David clutched his head in agony. He also wondered if a dead rat had crawled into his mouth and died. Rolling over, he fell off the bed, and onto a wooden floor. Eyes squinted, he realized he was not at home. All he saw was the dirty bed he'd just rolled out of, a basin and pitcher on a 3 legged table, and a bucket.
"How do I get out of this?" he thought to himself. "Do you really WANT to get out of this?" echoed his brain, back at him. "Of course I do" he snapped, out loud. Seeing his boots on the floor, he sat back down on the bed, and put them on. He could smell bacon and eggs sizzling somewhere near. And he was starving. Grabbing the cowboy hat, he turned to leave the small room. Stopping suddenly, he stared at himself in the small mirror that hung on the door. Five o'clock shadow crept up his cheeks, with the beginnings of a mustache. He'd always wanted a mustache, but Carley hated facial hair on a man. Smiling, he rubbed his face, then left the room.
Following his nose, he poked his head into a room, and noted about 15 people sitting around a large table, eating breakfast. The bartender from last night, some of the "girls", Cross-eyed Pete, and even the gunslinger Virgil Smoot. "Mornin' sheriff" said those whose mouthes were not full. A large woman in a gingham dress bustled past him. "Take a seat, sheriff" she instructed. "I'm Miss Fanny, this is my boarding house, bar, and er, bordello" she announced, slapping more food down on the table. Doing as she instructed, David sat down, and began to eat.
His day only got better from there. He walked around the new town, meeting people, learning his way around, and even spent time getting to know his horse, and his guns. He snuck off to a private place to fire them off, and was pleased to note he was a pretty good shot. He vowed he would come out, and practice every day. He had three good meals at Miss Fanny's table, ad enjoyed a poker game with the boys that evening, over a good cheroot. He was more careful about how much whisky he drank that night.
A few weeks went by in this pattern, and each day that finished was better than the last. He felt some guilt about leaving Carley alone with the kids, but figured she was probably happier without him. He felt more sorry for his mother, though, losing her son for the second time.
The first day of his third week there dawned bright and clear. He could smell the morning eggs and coffee, and hear the birds chirping. Getting out of bed, he donned his clothing, taking extra care to pin the sheriff star on just so. Grinning, he whistled as he went down the stairs.
He sat down to breakfast as usual, and noticed the quietness of everyone. "Where is the gunslinger Virgil Smoot?" he asked Miss Fanny. Looking anywhere but in his eye, Fanny answered "oh, well, no one knows for sure sheriff!" She sounded nervous. No one else was able to look him in the eye, either...
Quickly finishing his breakfast, he left quickly. The streets were empty. "Odd" he thought. Rounding a corner, he saw the bank doors. Wide open. And the dead banker, laying right in front of them. Coming out the door, bags of money and gold in his hands
was Virgil Smoot.
"This doesn't concern you, Sheriff" said Virgil, meanly
"Oh I beg to differ" answered David, hand hovering over his trusty six shooter
"Don't think you can out shoot me, boy" smirked Virgil, who kept walking.
Seeing that he had no choice, David cleared his throat.
"I am to stop you, Virgil Smoot" he announced.
Sighing, Virgil put down his bags of loot, and spun on his heel.
"Fine. I didn't want to have to shoot another sheriff, but I guess I will have to".
Eyeing each other, the two men sauntered to the middle of the dirt street, hands hovering over their weapons. Swallowing, David prayed this would not be the end of his life. At this exact moment, he was regretting not trying harder to get back to Carley.
"Are you ready to meet your maker, sheriff?" Asked Virgil Smoot, gunslinger.
David, in lieu of an answer drew his gun, and fired. Shock and surprise registered on Smoot's face, then he fell over dead.
"David, what did you just do?" screeched a voice behind him.
Turning on his heel, he faced a face he thought to never see again.
"Carley?" he answered shocked at her appearance.
As he said her name, her face started to shimmer and fade, and he found himself, face down, in the grass outside the Time Travel Inn.
Carley, on the other hand, shrieked as her husband disappeared, then threw her arms up to cover the indecent amount of cleavage her dress was showing off....