Hi darlings! This is gonna be the big post for Peach Whiskey. Here you will find the masterlist, important links, and the taglist as it grows. This helps me keep stuff sorted and helps you find things!

Masterlist:

Chapter I

Chapter II (IN PROGRESS)

Important Links:

Pinterest Board

Sources Google Doc

Taglist:

(Note: This is empty bc I didn’t wanna add anyone without them telling me to. If you wanna be added, please let me know!)

Summary: Y/N is the daughter of a saloon owner. On what should be a typical shift, a group of cowboys wander in. The leader of said group is Elvis Presley, a man with a reputation for his quick temper and even quicker trigger finger. Word Count: 1.9k

Author’s Note: I was deeply inspired by A Whole Man is Hard to Find, an absolutely gorgeous peace by my now favorite author, @aconflagrationofmyown​. That being said, my knowlegde of the time period is nowhere near as good as Marina’s in that fic. I will be doing more and more research as this fic goes on, but for now I am relying on memory, movies, and Red Dead Redemption (hey, I love cowboys, ok?). This takes place in like the early 1800′s in a little made up town, but I picture it being like Rhodes from RDR2, so we’ll just say it’s in Georgia (my apologies to any from Georgia because I feel like I’m gonna butcher my knowledge of the state). Also I couldn’t find like an actual word for the leader of a cowboy posse? The only one I saw was sheriff so we will roll with it. I haven’t written a series in a LONG time, so bear with me please.

Warnings: Period typical violence, swearing, guns, death threats (not directed toward Y/N), unwanted and uncomfortable flirting, sexual references (nothing explicitly NSFW), use of the word “daddy” (in reference to an actual father, this is the old south y’all), cowboys, mentions of robbery & murder, jeez this isn’t looking good for just the first chapter, mentions of prostitution, family issues, mentions of kidnapping, not proofread lol

Your daddy had shook his head when you asked to work a couple of hours at The Silver Spur. It had been nearly a fortnight since the incident that made him remove you in the first place. Piggish men deep in their glass just couldn’t keep their tongue still, you had learned. Luckily your daddy had stepped in and escorted the man out, effectively suspending you in the process.

Yet here you stood, leaning against the wooden bar, diligently cleaning a glass with a well-worn cloth. It was a slow night--the occasional customer wandering in and sitting down to get piss fucking drunk--but you didn’t mind. Any citizen of  Lynnburn or wandering stranger could plant their soul in the saloon.

Lynnburn wasn’t a big town, housing no more than five-thousand and seven hundred residents. To any stranger it would have seemed nothing more than a dusty place with poor folks. That was the facade the town was lucky to have, keeping lush farmland hidden within the woods nearby. Corn was what kept the people fed and paid along with the yearly cattle sale. Horse shows had begun to turn a profit in the confines of the town’s stables, but it had only just started to gain the attention of outsiders. It both excited and worried Lynnburn natives. The Silver Spur drew in wanderers from all over the wooded state of Georgia. Your father’s well-known peach whiskey attracted all sorts of folks--most of which being shady business men looking to snatch farming land, or men passing through on their way to the big city.

One of those shady business men was sat at the end of the bar, nursing a drink in his sweaty palms, his eyes baring directly at your body. You paid him no mind as you continued your work. The consistent hum of patrons suddenly hushed, a rhythmic k'duh sound slicing through. Your eyes shifted as the glass was quickly abandoned beneath the counter of the bar. Plastering on a smile, your voice came out soaked in honey. “Hello, what can I get ya?” Finally the men came into view, and by god, the middle man was so pretty.

He had what could only be described as the face of a young adonis. A fine beau with soft, tanned skin covering a toned but equally soft body. The raven black hair pulled the focus to his eyes, bluer than the sky on an autumn day. But you recognized his face for another reason, one that made your hands tremble a bit.

The man and his companions filled the remaining seats at the bar. He pulled the hat off of his head and rested it on the counter. “Hi, honey. We’ll all just be havin’ whiskey, on me.” You gave a nod in response and started pouring the spirit. A few drops slid down the side of the glass, a soft apology leaving your lips.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Presley.” You sat the glass in front of him. Elvis Presley was sitting in your father’s saloon. The same man who had a hand in removing a whole gang from Lynnburn and stolen their loots, blood staining his hands and perhaps his soul, was now asking you for a drink. The cowboy let out a soft chuckle, his calloused hands wrapping around your own.

“You’re alright, darlin’. Ain’t none of us degenerates gon’ hurt you.” Elvis cooed. The skin on your face felt so hot, whether it was out of fear, embarrassment, or flattery, you weren’t sure. His friends gave agreeing nods or laughs of their own, the other patrons in the saloon melting back into their own conversations. “In fact, as long as we’re drinkin’ here, your safety is our priority.” He smiled at you--a big, toothy grin--and you could feel your stomach twist.

It wasn’t long before you had given out the rest of the drinks to his buddies--who you had learned were named Jerry, Sonny, Robert (who they called Red), and Scotty. They had been gentlemanly to you as soon as Elvis gave the word. For a moment, you were sure that the night would go on and end normally.

But that business man could only hold his tongue for so long. He was near red in the face when you approached to take his empty glass. “Sweet thing, how much would a man need to offer to get a night with you?” He rasped. You had to stop yourself from boiling over, instead choosing to stiffen and move away.

“I never.” You practically hissed. Before the man could part his lips to retort, another voice cut through.

“That’s enough. Leave the lady alone.” Elvis sneered. He was standing now, moved closer to the business man with his hands curled down by his sides. The gaggle of men he’d arrived with also focused on the situation with fierce snarls. “Why don’t you just pay your tab n’ go on home, huh?” The distinct click of a revolver hammer followed. A ghostly hue washed over the now disgruntled patron as he dug in his pockets, producing some silver coins and hastily setting them on the counter before rising and hurriedly shuffling out of your father’s business.

Your eyebrows remained raised in surprise. “Thank you, Mr. Presley, but you didn’t have to do that. Usually they take the hint after the first couple times.” You snatched the glass left by the offending male, cleaning it and shoving it below the counter. It was a lie. They didn’t stop, only kept perusing until they lost interest and paid a prostitute, or your father made an appearance and forced them to leave. You were silently thankful that a man with a violent reputation had chosen to have mercy on you that night. Though, you had never heard such things about the Presley gang--who you had heard called the Mephis Mafia by town-goers, on according that the men involved had moved from Memphis, in whispers at the general store or in the corner of the saloon--ever doing anything like that to a woman. But just because nobody thought a person could do something didn’t mean that they wouldn’t. It was a hard truth your mother had sowed in your brain. Love few, and trust even less.

Elvis nodded his head slightly, scooting the coins down to you and moving back to his seat. “I only regret that men speak to you that way. ‘Specially pigs like that, though that’s a dishonor to the swine.” Scotty laughed, swallowing down the last of his drink. “But like I said, nobody’s gon’ talk to ya like that when we’re here. Swear it.” The man looked back to his friends and received grumbled agreeances. “And please, call me Elvis. Mr. Presley is my daddy.” That boyish smile made a reappearance, as if he hadn’t just threatened to paint the walls with the blood of another human being. It was sickening in a way--but, it had been in your favor. Elvis looked to the swinging doors, shaking his head softly and stretching. “Well honey, we best be goin’. Never did get yer name though.” It wasn’t a question. Not a ‘could I know your name’? It was almost a demand, but delivered much more gently. “It’s Y/N McCane, sir.” You returned his smile. You swiftly collected the empty glasses together. “Though I suspect you may know my brother, Teddy. He’s always runnin’ around town helpin’ folks with something.” Knowingly, Elvis leaned in.

“I do, actually. Good kid. Tried to recruit him a couple ‘a times, but he said your daddy wouldn’t want our blood money.” The blood running through you froze. The cowboy had been such a gentlemen before, but you couldn’t help the suspicion rising in you that it may have been a threat. “Relax, honey. Told ya. We ain’t that bad. Tell ya what,” Elvis leaned back to look at Jerry and cocked an eyebrow, the other man shrugging, “why don’t you come out to our ranch tomorrow? You can see what we’re really about.“ Shit. There’s no way your family would let you go out there. But, what harm could it do? “It will have to be after church, Mr. Pre- Elvis. Just...just meet me there.” You breathed quietly. The man across from you took your hand again, placing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“Great. We’ll see you then. Come on boys, we got chores to wrap up!” Elvis reached into his pocket, pulling out what you quickly noticed was far too much money and setting it down. He left you no time to object before he ushered his posse out. Your elbows lifted to rest on the counter, your head landing in your hands with a sigh.

Once you’d closed The Silver Spur for the night, you hobbled up the stairs to your family’s abode, your stomach rumbling as you caught the smell of your momma’s cooking. You made no attempt to do anything but sit in the chair at the dining table. As you sat and locked hands with your family, your mother said grace and that was that. Not a word was spoken between mouthfuls. That was, until your father spoke. “How was work, Y/N?” It had startled you, nearly making you choke on the roasted chicken in your mouth.

“Mm, it was fine.” You replied as you wiped your face. The fork in your hand jabbed at the food on the plate. Your mind was at war with your mouth and it was unsure which would win. “Oh, uhm, Elvis Presley stopped in. Wanted me to visit his ranch.” The words spilled out of you so fast you’d barely avoided cutting yourself off with another mouthful of food.

Your father, however, became downright stiff. His utensils were abandoned on the table. “You let Elvis Presley convince you to visit his home? Good god...” Fingers grasped at the bridge of his nose. “You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t fucking kidnap you now that he knows where to find you. What were you thinking?” He chastised. You dared not look at him, instead meeting the eyes of Teddy. His expression was sympathetic. He knew they weren’t completely awful, but his lips remained tight.

“Daddy, he ain’t that bad. Defended my damn honor and paid me more than enough for his buddies’ drinks.” You retorted, finishing your food. Long ago had you tired of his over-protectiveness. “I am grown. I can go where I please, when I please. I appreciate you wanting to keep me safe, but just this once, please trust me.” It was pleading. Even a man as stoic as your father couldn’t resist giving in.