Rawhide Fandom Week 2024

Rowdy knew, or he had implied as such, but whatever it was had remained a secret. In time, if the man wanted to tell him, Gil would listen. For now he let it be. Men’s secrets were their own, after all.

He nudged the hotel room door open with his hip and guided Jonah through, smiling a little more at the muttered curse as Jonah stumbled to take off his boots. They were scuffed and well worn. Gil thought they must be very comfortable, soft as butter perhaps. He reached down and helped the man stand up straight.

“Here, let me-”

He stopped mid sentence, his attention caught by Jonah staring up at him with wide, almost grey-blue eyes.

“I think,” Jonah started, his voice breathy, “if it had been you, I might’ve been happy to be a bride, for a while at least.”

Gil blinked at the words. They burrowed into his mind and settled there like dormice.

Then Jonah kissed him.

His lips were soft, softer than they had any right to be. His hip and shoulder were warm under Gil’s hands, his breath a gentle sigh as he stretched up to reach Gil’s lips.

Despite himself, despite how he knew it was a bad idea (a terrible idea, a dangerous idea, liable to get one or both of them badly beaten at least should anyone find out) he found himself kissing back. His hands moved, arms wrapping around the shorter man until they were pressed together, his neck bent so he could kiss him easier, and the shaky moan that came from Jonah’s chest made his gut twist pleasantly. He felt Jonah’s hands on his shoulders, felt the warmth of a tongue against his lips and made a soft sound in his throat. He parted his lips, let Jonah in and tasted the rum they had been drinking, heat blooming somewhere in his stomach.

It had been so long since he had-

And then it was over. Jonah tore himself away and turned to face the bed, his back to Gil and the door. It looked like he was shaking.

“I’m- I’m sorry. I… just go.”

Gil stood for a moment, lips tingling, his hands still halfway raised where he had been holding on to the man. He could see the tremor in Jonah’s hands as he folded his jacket. The urge to step forward, to reach out and take Jonah in his arms again struck him like a mule kick to the stomach.

Jonah whirled, something cold and broken in his eyes. “Please, Mister Favor, go! Leave me!”

Gil shut his mouth, swallowed, and turned away. The door shut behind him with a click that was almost deafening in the quiet hallway. He went back down the stairs and to the saloon across the street, eyes glancing up to the dark window where Jonah’s room was. The lamp was doused. The curtains were shut.

“Everything alright, boss?” Rowdy asked when he walked in and sat down.

“Mm.”

Rowdy didn’t look convinced. Gil didn’t blame him.

“Well if you change your mind, I’m all ears.”

He took the beer from in front of his ramrod and drank deeply, hoping that if he could wash the taste of Jonah from his mouth he could somehow get rid of the warmth of him too, and forget the broken pain in his eyes.

Rowdy didn’t complain as the drink was taken. He waved the bartender over and ordered another, rubbed his cheek with one hand and drummed his fingers on the wooden bar top.

“Somethin’ just happened. I don’t know… it probably ain’t gonna mean anything but-” Gil shook his head and felt a sigh work it’s way up his throat. He felt dazed. “I don’t know.”

Rowdy frowned, his eyes far too keen for a man who had spent the better half of the day in the saloon. “What do you mean?”

“Not here.”

He followed Gil from the saloon, the questions he was obviously holding in clear on his face.

When Gil explained what had happened, the surprise Gil had expected didn’t come.

“I mean, he didn’t exactly hide it, boss.”

Gil stared at his ramrod. “Uhh…”

“You mean, you really didn’t notice?” Rowdy raised an eyebrow. “Come on, boss, you can’t be that dense.”

Had it been any other moment, Gil would have considered smacking Rowdy on the back of the head for the comment. As it was, he just stared down at his boots. “I… I really didn’t notice. But now I know, it’s hard not to.”

They walked through the darkened town and stopped by the stable. Rowdy glanced at him a little nervously, the expression strange on his usually cute face. “I know it ain’t my place, but I feel I gotta say something. You be careful with him. He’s-”

“Older than you,” Gil interrupted with a small smile. “Than me, too, by a few years.”

“Let me finish!”

Gil raised his hands, suitably admonished.

“He ain’t like us. This,” Rowdy gestured to the town around them, “this ain’t his life! He should be in some city sippin’ fancy tea with his pinky- well, his left pinky sticking up.”

“I know, Rowdy. I know.” He rubbed his face, fingers lingering on his lips for a moment. “You coming back to camp?”

Rowdy nodded.

She was going to march right up to him and ask that he take her on, no, she would demand it. If he wasn’t in that dusty field by the large magnolia tree, then she would just track him down some other way. Probably by standing on the one hill in a six mile radius and looking around, but that still counted as ‘tracking’ in Ida’s book. 

Her dark, short hair tangled under her hat and stuck out in every direction; her long, house skirt dragged in the dirt and ripped along the edges on the sharp stones buried in the dry dirt. Good, she thought, let it get destroyed. Let the old me die in the dust. 

She could still smell the cattle, even from the opposite side of the hill blocking the town. Good, they hadn’t left Goodsprings yet. He would have to take her on, then, if only just to save another strange woman from her unfortunate circumstances. Ida had seen him do the same thing not three days prior, bringing a troupe of young women - who had been abandoned by one of their husbands to die in the wilderness - into town to live out the rest of their days in peace. 

But Ida did not associate her town with peace. Her parents arranged a marriage for her with the creepy, leering man who ran the general goods store. They claimed he would bring in good money, and Ida’s mother suggested she would only have to suffer physically until she bore him a son. That would not do. Not while she still had breath in her lungs and will enough to move her body. A cowboy’s life would suffice, especially with that as the alternative. 

Fear and anxiety left her body as she approached the chuck wagon, the bright, hazy day casting a magical glow over the cow hands laughing over a poorly cooked meal and a game of cards where they all cheated. mister Favor stood at the center of it all, watching over the men like he did his cattle. Ida approached with the most confidence she could muster, nearly tripping over her ripped skirt hem in the process. She strode to the top of the hill and cleared her throat loud enough to draw the boss’s attention. 

Mister Favor looked shocked to see her– they had only met once before, when the new ladies to town introduced themselves at the cramped old saloon just a few days prior. He had no reason to believe the town would need him again so soon, and on that he was right. The town didn’t need him, she did. 

“Mister Favor,” Ida stood tall at the edge of their makeshift camp, her arms relaxed at her sides, her chin raised. She cannot show weakness. “I would like to inquire about a potential opening in your team, as it were. I saw one of your hands run off with the three lovely ladies, so I would like to fill that space, if you would permit it. Sir.” 

The formal address was tacked onto the end of her thought hastily, although she could barely think with all the eyes locked on her. Some of them seemed to think it was a joke, but others, most particularly the tall ramrod that always found himself near mister Favor, just looked… curious. 

Mister Favor took a steadying breath before replying, “the cowboy life isn’t for just anyone, especially a woman like yourself,” he smiled to himself, “did your folks tell you you needed to work more hours at the general store? Why are you really here?” The men chuckled, the tense energy diffused by the idea of Ida’s wants being so banal. 

“I want my own life, mister Favor,” she refused to cry, refused to turn back, “they wanted to marry me off to the old man that runs the general store, I couldn’t do it, he’s been after me all my life, if I stay in that town I’m as good as dead.”

Mister Favor’s eyebrows shot up. “He’ll kill you?” 

“No. But every year I live tied down to that man with no freedom, no sense of self, no ability to do what I desire– that is a death of attrition, no matter how long or short I live.” 

The men had fallen silent again. The scout - Pete? - cleared his throat. “We do need more hands, mister Favor. That boy that ran off barely did any work in the first place.”

“Yeah,” the ramrod finally found his voice, “and she can lift a lot. I saw her carry a huge sack of flour from one side of town clear across the other. She can handle herself.”

“Rowdy, I’ll judge the situation myself for now.” Mister Favor snaps, which shut him right up. Ida’s glad for it, it gave her time to think: When did the ramrod, Rowdy, she corrected herself, see her carry that flour to the Bennett’s? The cowboys only ever went to the saloon, and mister Favor stopped by the general store only twice. Ida, for one, thought that every man in the town was too preoccupied by the lovely newcomers spinning tales and performing piano trios to see anything else happening around them. Apparently not. 

“We don’t accept women on, usually. You need to understand that, miss…” 

“Ida.”

“Ida, yes, well…” Mister Favor sighed, rolling his head from side to side, “do you know how to ride a horse?” Ida nodded. “Alright. You’re on. Rowdy’ll teach you the rest. Wishbone, get her some pants and a work shirt, will you?”

“I’ll be right on it, mister Favor!” 

Wishbone, the scraggly cook, shuffled over to Ida and gestured her over to the covered wagon. She tensed up. Thankfully, he seemed to notice and understand why. 

“Don’t you worry, Mushy’s just around the corner, and he needs to be told what to do every five minutes or else he goes braindead. This’ll be quick, I promise.” There was something in his eyes that spoke to a greater honesty and truth than Ida could possibly know. And so, she went. 

The days passed. Each mile they rode away from Goodsprings was like a weight lifting away from Ida’s heart. The horses got spooked too easily, the nights were filled with bugs and harsh rocks poking at her spine, the cattle were loud and smelly and the cowboys were the same. 

It was perfect.

What she couldn’t understand about the outfit was Rowdy. He was tall, lean, confident and headstrong. But somehow, he didn’t have a woman or seem to care too much about them. Every man on this team had something wrong with him that explained their lack of a girl back home–Mushy’s simplemindedness, Pete’s closed-off nature, Wishbone’s bullheadedness, Quince and Scarlet being too attached at the hip to care about women, Jesús’s superstitions, mister Favor’s need for control–so Rowdy’s perfection confused her even more. There must be something else wrong with him, a small part of Ida’s brain nagged, Pete complained about his womanizing, that must be it! He moves from woman to woman too quickly! Even though he hadn’t even so much as mentioned a woman in my presence, there must be something wrong with him… He couldn’t possibly be the strong, sweet cowboy I know him for… 

Even with those thoughts running through her head, she couldn’t stop looking at him, day in and day out. His bright smile, his loyalty, his seriousness when it came to his work. She decided to distract herself with reading whenever she wasn’t too busy pushing a few beeves back into line. She only had three books with her, in her haste to leave her childhood home: Crime and Punishment, Pride and Prejudice, and a battered old copy of Hamlet. 

Mushy caught her reading Crime and Punishment by the fire late one night, back pressed to an old tree and and knees up, cradling the book and her mostly-eaten dinner. 

“Is that a book? I didn’t know you could read, miss Ida!” Ida could hear Wishbone’s groan of disapproval through the chuckwagon. She chuckled. 

“Yeah, Mushy, have you heard of this book? Crime and Punishment?” He shook his head. “It’s about a man who commits a terrible crime because he thinks he’ll do good things afterwards, but he only succeeds in hurting himself further and going nuts.” Mushy’s eyes seemed like they would pop out of his head, but Ida seemed to have drawn the attention of some of the other drivers. 

“There’s books like that?” Quince asked, Scarlet also looking intrigued at his side. 

“Well, yeah, there’s books about all sorts of things, fellas,” Ida couldn’t help but laugh, “do you want me to read it aloud?”

The fire crackled in the tense silence around the fire. The men made eye contact with each other, and then with the dust beneath their feet. The young woman could tell the men wanted to say yes, but something was holding them back. mister Favor and Rowdy sat opposite of her, and despite her intention of avoiding Rowdy, her eyes found him regardless. Rowdy gave a small smile and encouraging nod, as if to tell her that she had full control of the situation. She decided to break through the silence with fully artificial confidence. 

“Well! I bet none of you would stop me if I started over from the beginning and read out loud - for no particular reason - towards you all. Correct?” A murmur of agreement rose from the men. That answers that question, she supposed. Ida thumbed through the pages back to the beginning, cleared her throat and began, “On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of the garret in which he lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards K. bridge…”

The day finally came, three months after she started with mister Favor’s crew, where Ida realized she should learn to use a gun. Not just for hunting, but for threatening people and for gun battles.

She learned this useful lesson in the half-second before being shot by a rogue cowboy who was jealous of mister Favor’s success, and probably also because of his disdain for women with jobs outside the home. Not a very useful time to learn it, but thank the great Lord above that the man was a terrible shot and only ended up nicking her upper arm. 

The raucous of the saloon immediately afterwards was worse than the bullet– Jesús and Pete could barely hold Rowdy back from decking the man and ripping him apart, a chair got smashed, Ida heard a gunshot from somewhere, but all she could see was the blood seeping between her fingers clamped over the bullet wound. It took mister Favor’s booming voice nearly shaking the rafters to stop the commotion, and even then Rowdy didn’t stop. 

“Get over here, you coward! You think you can shoot a woman ‘cause you’re mad with mister Favor?? Huh?? That seem like anyone else’s business but yours and his?”  

“Rowdy-” Ida inched towards the man, a blood-covered hand reaching for him. He couldn’t see it though, he was still focused on the man he was reducing to a quivering leaf. 

He tugged an arm out of Jesús’s grasp and stumbled forward to grab the man by his collar, “I oughta rip your damn arms out for hurting Ida like that, you think you’re going to leave this town alive?”

“Row-”

“You ain’t seen mean yet, you whelp!” His fist drew back in Pete’s grasp, but a bloody hand stopped him before he could hit the man. 

Ida’s voice was barely a whisper, “Rowdy,” and it was her hand, gentle against his fist tightened in the man’s shirt that brought him down. 

“Oh gosh, Ida, I-I, I guess I went–” his eyes focused downwards on her arm, his hands releasing the man without fanfare and he collapsed to the ground with a satisfying thud, “show me where it hurts, I can help, I swear.” The pain of the wound was nothing compared to the zap of electricity when his gray-blue eyes locked onto hers, especially after he crouched down a bit to be at her level to look at her wound. 

Ida was hit with the sudden desire to Kiss The Man.

She should not Kiss The Man, especially with such a large audience at such a high energy.

She wanted to Kiss The Man very badly, she found, as he wrapped his long fingers tight around her arm to staunch the bleeding for a moment. She bit her lip as hard as she could to stop herself from kissing Rowdy square on the mouth, and it barely worked. 

Thankfully, Jesús jumped in with great advice, “Let’s get Ida back to camp, yes? Then we can get her better.” That seemed to break Rowdy’s focus enough to let Ida breathe, and she was soon rushed out of the saloon and onto a horse. Nobody would listen to her protests that she wasn’t hurt that badly, not enough to whisk her away and hem and haw over her condition. Something in her wondered if this concern was an attempt at convincing her to stray from the cowboy life, but it felt less like the control of her parents from her youth, and more like caring. Something had happened in the scant months she had worked with the cowboys, and whatever it was, she was grateful. 

Wishbone was tightening the bandages around her arm when mister Favor ambled over to the chuck wagon. He cleared his throat several times and kicked his feet through the dust. There was something he had to say that he didn’t want to– hopefully it wasn’t a, sorry, you need to leave, you suck at this, kind of talk.

“You, ah… Should probably take some pistol lessons. Real soon, hopefully. After your shootin’ arm heals up, of course.” He nods to himself, “Rowdy will help you out with that, so you can ask him more about that later, okay?” 

Ida nodded. She noticed the tips of his ears were red. Her eyebrows furrowed. Was that really it? Gun lessons?

But her unasked questions were answered when mister Favor walked away, towards an irate Rowdy tapping his toe and rolling his eyes. Understanding bloomed over her mind. Rowdy chewed mister Favor out for not teaching her gun skills earlier, did he really care that much about her? The idea warmed her heart something fierce, and the desire to Kiss The Man bubbled up her throat and almost escaped, but she was able to tamp it back down. For now, that is. 

The gun lessons started a few weeks after the saloon incident. Mister Favor had been uncomfortable with Ida coming back into any town afterwards, but she reminded him that they faced more danger with the beeves every day over some idiot with an itchy trigger finger. Thankfully, there wasn’t an idiot with an itchy trigger finger – outside of their outfit – within fifty miles, where they were currently traveling up to Sedalia. It was just Ida and Rowdy at the southernmost point of the bed ground, a few types of guns lying on the grass. 

“Alright, we’ll start with a pistol, okay?” Rowdy started, picking up the pistol and double-checking that the barrel was empty. He handed it to her, and the metal of the grip was still warm from his hands. “You’ll have to put your right hand against the grip, like,” he gestured vaguely, “like this.”

“Rowdy, I have no idea what you mean by that,” Ida couldn’t hold back her laugh, his face scrunched and all his wrinkles showed up, which just made Ida laugh harder. He looked so handsome with that look on his face, and she could feel deep in her gut that she had fallen too hard, she would never recover from this love. 

“Well, I’ll just show ya, then,” Rowdy leaned into Ida, wrapping himself around her back and gently cradling her hands in his. She felt the heat of his chest against her back in a long line. It felt safe, and also a bit hot in both meanings of the word– summertime in northern Texas was nothing to scoff at, even at dusk. 

His hands shaped hers into the way he wanted, and Ida was excited to realize that it felt comfortable to hold the pistol in her grip. Rowdy let go of her hands and let them fall to his sides. His comfortable weight was still pressed against her, which gave her the confidence to take aim at a tree far off and pull the trigger. 

The gun clicked faintly, but all Ida could hear was the huff of breath against the back of her neck. The urge to turn around and Kiss The Man was overwhelming, but there was still one thought that stopped her from the simple motion: she needed this job too badly. If she Kissed The Man and he didn’t reciprocate, or if he only reciprocated for so long, then Ida would have to find a new job. She would probably get left in the next town and be forced to make friends with the corrupt politicians and strange rich folks. Either that, or she would be forced to ride drag until the dust kicked up from the beeves choked her. 

Ida stepped away from the peaceful warmth of Rowdy’s body with a small smile. She just needed more time. Then, maybe, she could take the chance. She turned to him and nodded towards the ammunition. 

“We ready to kick this up a notch?”

More months passed. Men joined and left the outfit as drives started and ended, but a few faces stayed. Ida felt she was stuck with these silly men ‘til the end, but the thought of that didn’t make her scared as it might have before. It warmed her heart, that she chose these men and they chose her. 

The one thing she hadn’t trusted the men with was her birthday. They knew she was in her early twenties, but that was about it. Seasons came and went, demand for beef rose and fell, and still no one knew Ida’s birthday. She claimed it was so they didn’t know exactly how old she was, and so they didn't make her a terrible birthday cake that she had to pretend to like. She knew it was something deeper, her fear of trusting, her fear of being known. Of being loved and cared for. 

One clear spring day at the end of a drive, Ida found herself sitting on a grassy hill somewhere near Sedalia. The air was fresh, the dirt damp, and she was alone with her thoughts and her copy of Hamlet. She had put her book aside a while ago, content just watching the clouds floating by and listening to the robins and bluebirds calling. Her eyes fell shut into a peaceful sleep. 

A shadow over her face interrupted her peace, and with annoyance Ida cracked one eye open to yell at the sonuvabitch who thought bothering her was more important than getting drunk in some hole of a bar. The face that greeted her was wrinkled, sweet, and had bright gray-blue eyes that struck her to her soul: Rowdy. Her face cleared in an instant. 

“Rowdy! Sit down, it’s so comfortable here,” she patted the grass beside her. He listened, sitting down with as much grace as a newborn duck. Ida chuckled, patting his leg. Was it just her imagination, or did the tips of his ears go red? 

“Uh, miss Ida, I had something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Ida let out a world-weary sigh. “What did I tell you about calling me ‘miss’? You really don’t have to, we’re friends, right?” She lifted herself up to sit cross-legged next to Rowdy, bumping her shoulder against his. “I know you respect me, and I respect you, but I won’t be calling you ‘mister’ anytime soon.”

Rowdy put a hand to his chest, his jaw dropping open in mock offense. “I’m a respectable sir, Ida, I would appreciate you addressing me as such. Also, I will need a useless tight suit with a collar that buttons up to the throat, since I am such a fine gentleman,” joy danced around his bright eyes, and Ida couldn’t help laughing and leaning further into Rowdy. Her forehead rested against his shoulder and the tremors of his laughter echoed through her. 

“Seriously, though, Ida, I uh, have something for you.” Something about his tone made her giggles disappear. Ida pulled away from Rowdy, looking him in his eyes. He, however, was looking off at the white fluffy clouds along the horizon. He squinted, and Ida had to stop herself from tracing his crow’s feet with her fingers. 

“Alright, are you dying or something? Am I dying?” She left a hint of humor in her voice, leaning into Rowdy’s line of sight to try and draw him back into the conversation. He shook his head absently. 

“No, no, it’s not anything like that, it’s just…” He pulled his hat off and rubbed at the back of his neck with one hand, “can’t a man be shy for once in his life? Boy, this shouldn’t be this difficult…”

The red tinge spreading over his cheeks and down his throat pulled at something primal in Ida, and the desire to Kiss The Man reared its appealing head back into her consciousness. She decided to wait. If she opened her mouth now, she would act rashly. She would compliment him too sincerely, or grab his hand too firmly, or beg him to stay with her forever. 

“It’s been a year since you joined the drive, so I… well, me ‘n the guys, got you something. For it. Your year with us.” He dug around in his side bag for a moment, and pulled out something rectangular wrapped in old newspaper and bound in twine. His long fingers brushed against Ida’s as he passed it to her. 

It was hefty, and Ida had a feeling she knew what it might be. She peeled the wrapping back as gentle as she could, undoing the twine and setting it aside to use again. The paper fell away to reveal a new copy of The Odyssey. Ida held the book close to her chest and glared at the now-grinning Rowdy. 

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You did, you bastard!” She smacked his arm a few times, breathlessly laughing, “you got me a book, you all care too much about me.” 

“I think I might care too much, Ida. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” his face became serious, his eyes locked onto her own, his brows drawn in tight, “you’ve been the only gal for me, this past year. The rest of the crew thought I’d move on, but I haven’t. I won’t.” He leaned closer to Ida. 

Her hands found themselves against his lean chest, and the fear she had held for so long about Kissing The Man seemed so distant, now. 

“You’re important to me, you know that, right? And I want to be important to you. Can I be important to you?” 

“Oh, Rowdy, I’ve been crazy about you since the day we met. Don’t beat around the bush, tell me what you want from me.” Ida knew she was teasing him, but there was always something so beautiful in his coy smiles. 

Ida didn’t have to wait for words– Rowdy pressed his lips to hers firmly, and it felt like something shifted inside of her, as if the beast of desire had finally settled down in her heart. She pushed against him, nearly climbing into his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. 

There were only small pauses for breaths and lingering kisses around his mouth, face, throat, and Ida could not get enough. She pressed her mouth against Rowdy’s Adam’s apple and felt him swallow. The motion was far more erotic than she expected it to be.

“Ida, we, ah, should maybe hold on a moment,” His hands pressed further into his spine, which betrayed his true thoughts about stopping their impromptu necking session. 

“Why, you getting too excited?” Ida glanced around. “There’s a stream downhill we can wash ourselves off in afterwards, right as rain.” That made Rowdy choke, and his fingers tightened against her sides. 

“No, but I think you’re making things worse for me now. It’s just,” Ida pressed a kiss under his jaw, “ah, I told the outfit to check up on us fifteen minutes after I came over here, just in case I ruined things.” Ida nipped his earlobe. 

“You ruin things pretty often, but this was not one,” Ida leaned back, admiring Rowdy’s blown pupils and rumpled shirt, “well, maybe not letting us have more alone time ruined it, but you can always make up for that later.” She patted his chest, rolled off of him, and recovered her new book from the damp grass. 

“Really? Starting that book now?” Rowdy sounded upset, but the anxious energy in his fingers and still-obvious tenting in his jeans showed Ida it was just embarrassment. She smiled at him.

“I have to get ahead if I’m going to read this out loud to you all later tonight, but I can sit in your lap while I read if that makes you feel better,” a saccharine grin painted her face.

“...You menace.” 

“That doesn’t sound like a no, Rowdy! You’ve started this relationship, and now you’re all in. You can’t take it back now!” 

Rowdy looked down at his hands. His wrinkles grew as his smile did. “I’ll never take it back, Ida. Not ever.”

The breeze blew past the two of them, and the long grasses whispered a sweet song. The call of the robin echoed in the field.