#kimiwrites

Your skin prickles with icy bumps despite the warm night air, and just like that, your peace turns into guarded caution. Pope, Deran's oldest brother, has taken an eerie interest in you ever since you started working at the bar. Nothing you couldn't deal with at first--lingering stares, overly generous tips--but he kept hanging around, even after the other Cody's had left. You do your best to treat him like any other customer, but his brooding glares, eyes sinking into you like teeth, always send an involuntary chill down your spine.

You square your shoulders and stiffly walk the last few feet to the driver's side of your car, looking down, pretending not to feel the dark eyes trained on your every move.

The sound of a car door closing makes your heart jump into your throat, calculated footsteps crunching towards you soon after.

"Where's Deran?"

Pope's voice is quiet, even-toned and almost gentle, a sharp contrast to the staunch posture of his shoulders, spine stiff as he stands over you, about a foot too close, his shark-like eyes staring, unblinking.

"Don't know," you choke out hoarsely, a sticky lump still lodged in your throat. "He left a few hours ago with a friend."

Pope remains still for a moment. He hums, low and contemplative, the corners of his mouth dipping as he dissects your words. His eyes fall to your lips, a flicker of a glance, so quick you almost believe it didn't happen. Like slipping on a mask, his features return to normalcy, stern, harsh, observant.

"It's late," he says flatly. "Get in, I'm taking you home."

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You heaved out another sigh, shielding your eyes with your forearm from the glaring spotlight on your shame. Your skull beat like a drum as you struggled to align the disjointed memories of last night. The tangle of limbs and frantic, starving kisses. Hot breath against the tingling skin of your neck, the smell of liquor and lust setting your senses ablaze. His whispered praise and whining, needy sighs. The soft, gentle smile as he brushed the sweat-dampened hair from your forehead, his calloused touch the last thing you remember before drifting off to sleep.

And now you lay here, alone and hungover, the broken scenes the only thing left to comfort you. You cursed yourself for letting things get so out of hand. You barely had a handle on how you felt about Sean before adding “drunk one-night stand” to the situation. Now what would he think of you? That you’re easy after a few drinks? Would he start coming onto you when he felt lonely, already three sheets to the wind? Or worse yet, what if he realizes that you do have feelings for him and he ridicules you? You couldn’t stop the barrage of shameful possibilities from flooding your thoughts, a looming cloud of anxiety blooming through you. 

Would that you could stay in your tent and disappear, never having to face the consequences of your drunken escapades. Fearing Grimshaw’s vitriol, you hoisted your sluggish carcass up and out of your tent, splashing your face with cold water to clear the sleep from your eyes. Once your sight was clear, you found yourself scanning through camp, searching like an eagle for the rowdy redhead. You checked his bedroll, the campfires, even over by the whiskey boxes next to Pearson’s chuckwagon. He… he wasn’t here. A fresh wave of nausea and disappointment tangled in the pit of your stomach, your shoulders sinking. Your feet dragged as you reached the main campfire and bent down for the coffee percolator, hoping a mug of steaming sludge held the cure to your hangover and venomous thoughts.

“Looks like someone had a rough night.”

Karen stood over you, waiting to get herself a cup of joe, a knowing smirk curling her lips as she took in your haggard appearance.

“Drank too much,” you grunted stiffly, nursing your drink close to your nose.

“Uh-huh,” Karen hummed, her eyes trained on you as she reached past you for the percolator. “You and Sean both, huh?”

Coffee splashed over the lip of your mug as you choked, more from shock than the liquid that leapt into your lungs. It was far too late to play coy, your face going beet red as you hacked and coughed, trying to catch your breath. At least Karen found the whole ordeal amusing. Barking out a throaty laugh, she clapped you hard on the back to dislodge the coffee and embarrassment. It took a moment for you to recompose yourself though the heat in your cheeks stuck around like a sunburn. You threw Karen a threatening glare before returning your focus to the bitter brew in your mug.

“Quiet down, will ya?,” you said hoarsely. Against your better judgement, your eyes wandered through camp again. “W-where is he, anyway?”

The worry in your voice was like a magnifying glass on your insecure thoughts, causing Karen to raise an eyebrow at you. You were thankful she didn’t push you for more detail as she shrugged and gently pursed her lips to cool her coffee. 

“Out scoutin’ for a job, I think,” she said after a hesitant sip. “Saw him and John ridin’ out first thing this mornin’. Must’ve been a hell of a night, Sean looked about as bad as you!” Karen chuckled to herself again, but quickly dropped the subject, satisfied with the reaction she’d gotten.

Your heart fell from its teetering position in your chest down to the dusty ground at your feet. Surely it would have been beyond awkward seeing him this morning, not sure if you needed to explain yourself or ignore the situation altogether. Somehow, though, it was far worse not even having the opportunity to find out. You wanted more than anything to know how, if at all, things had changed between you. Maybe he would laugh it off as a drunken night of fooling around and things would go back to how they were. Or, what if… what if he wanted more? Felt more, like you did….

For now, though, it seemed you’d be stuck in this gut-wrenching purgatory of thunderously disquieted thoughts. You downed the rest of your coffee, ignoring the heat as it burned down your throat. You stood from the campfire without another word and turned on your heels to get started on your camp chores, the heavy cloud of unease growing larger and darker in your mind.

The day wore on, the sun dipping from its peak point in the sky to dance delicately over the rippling waters of Flat Iron Lake, casting deep shades of pinks, oranges, and purples over the waves. You wiped the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand, finally finishing up the list of tasks Miss Grimshaw had so graciously gifted you (your late start this morning did not escape her ever watchful eye). Unfortunately, the tedium of camp chores and sticky Lemoyne heat was not enough to distract your mind from him… from Sean. The storm continued to swell, thunder cracking in the sound of his voice. Flashes of lightning cast shadows on the clouds that looked like him, his smile, the lean muscles of his chest, his large, calloused hand smoothing over your stomach as he looked at you with lustful reverence….

Goddamnit, where was he?, you thought. He’d been gone all day, and just for a scouting mission? Clearly he was avoiding you, right? He was probably off having a grand old time in the town saloon with a working woman he’d just met, drink in hand and not a worry in his head about you. The thought alone caused your throat to tighten with emotion, the unwanted jealousy fueling the fretful clouds, the inky storm reaching with infectious tendrils to permeate your chest.

You were stone quiet during supper, the cacophony of thoughts drowning out Hosea’s dramatic stories and the bright plunking of Javier’s guitar. Even Karen frowned with concern as she watched you play with your food rather than eat it. As the sun was waving its last goodbye from the line of the lake, you decided you’d had enough. If you were being forced to deal with this storm, you weren’t going to do it sober. You pushed yourself up from the table and made a beeline for the whiskey box, snatching a brand new bottle. You pulled out the cork with your teeth and took a deep swig as you headed away from camp towards the water’s edge.

The noise of camp dulled to a soft buzz as you settled unseen behind a boulder close to the camp perimeter. Seeking salvation from the rampage of thoughts, you took another long drag from the bottle, the liquor burning down to warm your belly. You welcomed that familiar warmth, letting it weigh your eyelids closed to forget the world around you.

There he was. Sean, perched above you, arms locked on either side of your head. A single bead of sweat trailed down his temple, a glistening path guiding your gaze to his oceanic eyes. They washed over you, like a gentle wave teasing the sands of a beach, drinking in every tantalizing inch of you. His pink, swollen lips twitched at the corners, eager to connect with yours once more.

“Look at you. A work of art,” Sean crooned, his rumbling tone stoking the raging fire in your belly. “I’m the luckiest man alive.” He lifted a hand to brush a thumb over your collarbone, his work-hardened skin leaving a trail of electricity. Mesmerized, he lowered his head to kiss the hollow of your neck. “Just for me, right, love?,” he whispered into your skin, his voice almost pleading. “I’m the only one who does this to you, aren’t I?”

“Only you.”

CRACK!

A branch snapped sharply far down the trail that led to camp, shattering the rapturous images of your daydream. With your mind starting to feel heavy and sluggish from whiskey, you slowly pulled yourself up to peer over your hiding spot and waited as the trodding sound of hooves grew louder and nearer. Your eyes fell into focus right as the horses breached the treeline and your heart tried to leap from your chest, reaching towards what it’d been yearning for.

Sean.

He sat perched proudly atop his silvertail buckskin, his signature smirk in place as he and John strode back into camp at long last.

“Oi, Pearson! Hope there’s still some stew left now that the money-makers are back!,” Sean hollered as he slid deftly from his saddle.

John rolled his eyes back with a practiced groan, hitching his horse lazily beside Sean’s. “Christ, boy, do you ever shut up?,” he whined.

“Why don’t ye come over here and shut me up, eh, scarface?” Sean winked and blew a kiss in John’s direction, causing the dark-haired man to groan for what must have been the thousandth time that day. John shoved his thumbs into his gun belt and sulked off in the first direction that led far away from Sean.

Your gaze stuck to Sean like glue, drinking in the way the campfire light shimmered off the wavy copper hair that jutted wildly from beneath his velvet green bowler. The way his plump lips stretched over his gap-toothed smile incited the butterflies in your belly into a frenzy. Your hazy eyes drifted up, hoping to catch a glimpse of those bright, cerulean eyes, the ones that had just last night raked over you with a worshipful gaze, pupils blown wide. To your horror, you found them staring quizzically back at you. Sean quirked his head and raised a bushy red eyebrow, a curious smile twisting his mouth. A surprised squeak burst from you as you nearly fell back from where you were peeking, heart racing with all the fervor of a wild mustang.

Shit!

Of all the scenarios you’d imagined that day about seeing Sean again, spying on him like some kind of fanatic from behind a rock was far from one of them. You scrambled to find some way to bluff yourself out of this insane situation, but from the sound of footsteps approaching from behind you, it was too late.

“Fancy seein’ you here, love.”

Your body tensed, shoulders hunching at the sound of that teasing, lilted voice. You slowly turned your head to see Sean leaning casually against the boulder on his forearms, his devious turquoise eyes measuring you studiously. 

“Eager to catch a glimpse of ol’ Sean, are ye? Guess that means ye missed me,” he said with all the arrogance of a strutting peacock.

That little…. How could he be so glib when you’d been losing your mind all day? A dozen different emotions flushed through you, each one battling for dominance. Right now, you wanted most to tell him off for leaving like he did this morning, as if nothing even happened last night. You shifted your body to face him, mouth twisting uncomfortably as you stared up at him. Lightning flashed in the storm clouds behind your eyes, crimson with resentment.

“‘Course not, why would I?,” you said, voice slow and deliberate, each word sharp and meant to wound. Your tone was harsh, harsher maybe than you thought he deserved, but you couldn’t stop the pent up venom from spilling over.

The confidence deflated from Sean like the whistling sigh of a steamboat, his smile faltering at the corners. He stood up straighter and reached a hand to scratch the back of his neck sheepishly, his eyes falling away from you.

“Oh, well, I…,” Sean stammered, trying to chuckle through the tension. “I just thought that… that maybe after last night-….”

“Didn’t think it meant that much to you,” you spat, cutting him off. “Seein’ as how you left.”

“You think I wanted to?,” Sean snapped defensively.

“How would I know? I figured you just wanted someone to warm your bedroll!”

The look on Sean’s face filled your heart with immediate regret. His brows were knitted together with confused irritation, his cheeks flushed red as though he’d just been slapped. His mouth gaped, opening and closing like a smallmouth bass, before it tightened into a thin pale line. He stomped angrily around the boulder, stopping to pace in front of you. As he grunted and huffed, fighting to find the right words to say, you felt your chest tighten from the suspense. You can’t remember a time when you’d seen Sean get angry.

“You… you really think-…,” Sean started hastily before cutting his word short. He sighed, dragging a large hand over his weary features. When he looked back at you, you could have almost sworn he had a storm of his own churning behind his eyes, but the signs were gone as soon as they appeared. He crouched before you and reached to take one of your hands in his, his gaze calm and cool, the rage gone out like a candle.

“You listen to me, now,” he said, his voice deep and soft. “If it weren’t for ol’ scarface draggin’ me out to go scoutin’ at the whisper of dawn, I would’ve stayed all day with ye in that tent, I swear it.” He paused to squeeze your hand, a hint of a smile returning to his eyes. “I hate that I had to leave ye, darlin’. And I hate even more that I made ye worry. But I… I’m so happy ye stayed to drink wit’ me last night. And… and after. I’m happy about that, too.”

A pointed beam of bright light pierced at the center of the dense storm of tumultuous emotion that had raged within you all day, one beam turning to two until light radiated out in every direction. With a few soft and simple words, the anxious clouds were eradicated from you and relief enveloped you instead. You sighed, an awkward smile tugging at your lips.

“You… you ain’t just sayin’ all that?,” you asked tentatively. 

Sean chuckled deeply, any remaining tension shaken loose from the warm sound. “Darlin’, I wouldn’t lie about matters of the heart. Now thievin’? That’s different,” he teased, but the gentle squeeze of his hand let you know he meant every word.

Tears began to sting at the edges of your eyes and you brought a hand up to clear them away. You felt simultaneously comforted and ridiculous. How could you let your thoughts run away from you like that? You should’ve known it was something simple, but you…

“… didn’t know what to think,” you whispered hesitantly. “I’m sorry, I just… I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to be around me anymore or that I did something wrong. I really like you, Sean, I didn’t want-….” You clamped your hands quickly over your mouth, too late to catch the words that had fallen out. 

“Ehhhh? The truth comes out, does it?,” Sean chimed, his Cheshire grin painted with glee. “And here I was thinkin’ it was just the whiskey that’d loosened ye up.” He playfully poked you in the ribs, obviously teasing, but you were already mortified.

“Shut up, no! I didn’t mean it like that! I mean, I did, but I wasn’t-….” You waved your hands frantically in front of you as if the motion alone would whisk away your words. Sean caught your wrists, pulling you towards him until you were only a breath away. A pleased smirk turned his full lips, his eyes drifting down to yours.

“I like you, too, sweetheart.” 

Then, your lips met and your mind went blissfully blank for the first time that day. A low hum rumbled your throat and your hands came up to cup Sean's face, your fingers reaching for the wavy amber hair by his ears. You felt his arms wrap around you tightly and the lake, the camp, the world was lost to your senses. He was here with you now and nothing else mattered.

Crimson, warm and thick, rolling down your arms to drip from the kitchen knife still gripped too tight in your trembling hand. You couldn’t bring your eyes to focus on the pooling blood gathering on the hardwood floor, circling your boyfriend like a dark door to hell.

Your legs moved you towards the coffee table, your hand picking up your phone, tapping the screen a few times before holding it to your ear.

“Yeah,” said the familiar gruff voice after half a ring.

“Pope, I….” 

Your voice cracked through your throat, unfamiliar to your ears.

“Chris… he was screaming at me. Screaming about some customer he saw me with at work. He hit me, my face-”

“He what,” Pope snapped. You heard a rustling in the background, the jingle of keys and air rushing past the receiver. “That son of a bitch. I’ll kill him.”

“He’s dead, Pope," you choked, panic rising in your chest. "I don’t know what happened, I don’t know what to do.”

A pause and a deep hum from Pope.

“Stay there. Don’t call anyone, don’t go anywhere. Okay?,” he instructed, his voice quiet and even again. “I’ll be there in ten. Don’t go anywhere.”

Pope hung up and stuffed his phone in his pocket. He was already at the door of his truck, flinging himself inside and jamming the keys in the ignition. 

He made it to your place in five minutes.

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You sighed, a heavy, exasperated breath leaving you along with the last remaining threads of your already thin patience. You bent slowly at the waist to put your bowl on the ground, eating up as much time as you could before answering Sean. That little turd really knew how to get a rise out of you. He never took it so far as actual insults, but those little jabs got under your skin more than you'd like to admit. Who was he to call you boring? President of the Fun Society?

The line of Sean's piercing blue eyes followed you like a wild cat watches its prey, his gaze trained on your every movement. He was captivated, mouth hanging open slightly as he waited with bated breath for your response. Only once you’d straightened up, your back stiff as a board and your chin held high, did your eyes meet Sean's. He was doing his best to appear patient, but his eagerness was obvious from his restlessly bouncing knee.

“If I say yes, will you never ask me to go to town with you again?,” you proposed, your sharp glance pinning him in place. You could almost guarantee that you’d regret giving him a chance, but at the very least, just for tonight, you could sacrifice your precious free time to get him off your back for good.

The poor man could barely contain himself, vibrating with so much excited energy all you could think of was a dog greeting its owner home, tail wagging furiously behind it. He took a quick, deep breath in an attempt to compose himself, and threw his right hand over his heart.

“You have my honest word, I’ll never ask ya again,” he vowed. He leaned closer to you, his voice lowering so that only you could hear. “But I can’t promise ya won’t be askin’ me next time, eh?” He narrowed his eyes mischievously and he chuckled deeply. That stupid, no-good smirk twisted his mouth up like a snake, never leaving his face.

“So ye’ll come wit’ me then? To the show?”

It took all of your mental strength not to roll your eyes into the back of your skull, never to see the light of day again. His blatant over-confidence already plucked at your nerves and tempted you to knock him down a few pegs. Instead of heeding the desire to take back your proposal, you gruffly cleared your throat and smiled stiffly, the smile not quite reaching your eyes.

“Just this once, Mr. MacGuire. And I swear on my grandmother’s grave, if you try anything funny, I will gut you. I know where you sleep,” you threatened, voice smooth and cold as ice over a winter lake.

You got to your feet, straightened out your clothes before heading towards the horse hitches near the edge of camp. As you made your way through the tents and tables, you kept your eyes forward to avoid any wandering glances from the others. Subtlety wasn’t exactly Sean’s specialty, so his interest in you was no secret to the gang and Karen in particular found endless entertainment from teasing you about it.

You tried your damnedest to ignore the sight of her leaned over whispering something unintelligible to Mary-Beth, giggles drifting over to your eardrums.

Once he'd caught up to you, Sean threw his hands up in front of him in mock surrender. “Tha’s quite the accusation. I’d never try anythin’ indecent, I’m an honest fella, I swear,” he chuckled nasally.

You scoffed, ignoring him while you greeted your Dalmatian Appaloosa with a soft pat to her strong neck.

“Those aren't exactly the words I’d use,” you responded, voice laced with mirth. You hoisted yourself up onto your mount and waited for Sean.

“Ah, ya don’t mean tha’, darlin’,” he prodded, following your lead and saddling up on Ennis. “Will ya at least try to have some fun wit’ me? I promise, I ain’t all bad. I’ve had many a woman beggin’ for a night wit’ me,” he boasted, wiggling a mischievous eyebrow at you.

I don’t think dreams count towards that, you groaned silently. Does he really think I’d fall for that?

Sean didn’t give you any time to call him on his lie when he spurred his horse into a quick trot, leading the way into Valentine with his signature smirk ever present. You fell in line with him, finally rolling your eyes at his arrogance, though a small smile crept onto your lips all the same. As much as you’d hate to admit it, Sean’s persistently upbeat mood was contagious.

You were only a few minutes down the road when you felt a deep ache in the pit of your stomach. A groan that sounded more like a wounded elk than a man-made noise emanated from your torso and you smacked a hand over your belly to get it to stop. Right… you hadn’t eaten yet.

“If you can get me a proper meal first, I’ll consider having fun,” you sighed, slouching in your saddle as lack of fuel finally hit you.

“Right ya are! Can’t have ya wastin’ away, now can we?,” Sean chimed with determination. He leaned over towards you, the familiar waft of tobacco and whiskey reaching over to tickle your senses. He looked at you with hooded eyes and dropped his voice so you had to lean in closer to hear him. “‘Specially not ‘fore you’ve had the pleasure of enjoyin’ an evenin’ with ol’ Sean MacGuire.”

“Oh, please,” you groaned. “I’ve spent plenty of evenings with you at camp and I’m not sure I’d call your yammerin’ enjoyable. I’d have a better time with a mountain lion.”

“Ouch, darlin’,” Sean pouted, the playful sparkle never leaving his eye. “Yer tongue’s a bit more sharp when yer hungry, is it?” Sean winked before sticking a boot heel into his horse’s flank, galloping away before you could crack back.

The shock from his jab dissipated quickly as you quite literally ate Sean’s dust, the kicked-up particles landing in your hanging maw. The little shit was really trying to piss you off. And this, after finally agreeing to going out with him? You’d be damned if you let him get away with it. You spit the grit from your mouth and whipped the reins, sending your horse speeding after Sean’s shrinking frame.

Your horse’s hooves pounded heavily into the packed earth, deep grunts and weighted breaths chugging rhythmically from her like a steam train. You narrowed your sights onto your target and watched the distance between you shrink, stride by bounding stride. The smirk fell from Sean’s expression like an anchor when he turned and saw you not far behind him, hardly a wagon’s length separating you.

The two of you hurdled towards Valentine Station, horses neck-in-neck, manes whipped up by the wind. “Fancy yerself a race, is tha’ it?!,” Sean called over the whooshing air, brow furrowed with focus.

“Yah!,” you cried sharply, pushing for one last burst of speed. You’d barely eked past Sean as the pair of you rounded the corner of the train station. Your narrow lead gave you an idea to pull hard to the right, cutting him off at the apex of the turn.

“Oi!,” Sean yelped and yanked back on the reins causing Ennis to rear up. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his legs tightly around the horse's chest to keep from being ejected. Once he’d gotten Ennis steady again, Sean scowled after you, his face gone beet red with surprise and frustration.

You only had a moment to flash a cheeky set of teeth in Sean’s direction before the crack of hammer against wood brought your attention back to the busy main road. Expertly weaving through the carts and careless townsfolk, you strolled up to the hitches outside of Smithfield’s Saloon wearing a triumphant grin.

You were leaning casually against the railing outside, lazily smoking a cigarette when Sean pulled up to the saloon. He dismounted and hitched Ennis without so much as a glance in your direction. Was he…pouting? You were sure of it, despite the brim of his hat tilted purposefully over his eyes. The corners of yours crinkled with glee, marveling in the silence of a defeated Sean. You could sit in this feeling for hours, finally getting under his skin for once.

Sean stomped up the steps with leadened feet, head hung low and thumbs hooked into his gun belt. He was seething by the looks of it, but, to his credit, he hadn’t lost his head yet. Ever prideful, the strike to Sean’s ego would no doubt sting for a while, but he was still determined to show you a good time tonight. You were smiling at him, after all, so losing a silly race couldn’t be that bad.

“‘Bout time you showed up,” you jeered as Sean slumped up next to you. “I thought you were takin’ me into town.”

Your eyes began to wander over the parts of his face that you could see, the taut point of his chin, the red stubble over his pinkish cheeks. You’d never noticed the faint blanket of freckles resting over his nose…

“Ah, shut it,” Sean snapped, forcing your focus back.

Right, dinner and a show with Sean, you thought. Then, I’m done with him forever.

Right?

“Who even taught ya to ride like tha’? It’s downright dangerous, ya almost knocked me flat on me arse!,” Sean complained. He finally lifted his head, gazing at you with oceanic eyes swimming with complicated emotions, his cheeks heated by his wounded pride.

“Don’t you go gettin’ used to this, now,” he continued. “I don’t let no one best me twice.” Sean puffed a burst of air from his nose, crossing his arms over his chest as if that settled the matter. The corner of your mouth threatened to lift, twitching with a smile you were straining to hold back.

You shrugged and turned on your heel, leading the way through the swinging saloon doors.

“If I’d known you’d be such a sore loser, I might’a let you win,” you provoked.

The chaos of the busy saloon cut off any smart retort Sean would have made as you entered the building, the slotted doors an inadequate barrier for the raucous noise of the clunking piano and chattering patrons. There must have been a livestock auction or other goings on in town; the saloon was packed to the rafters with ranchers, cowboys and working women, laughing and conversing boisterously as they heavily drank all manner of spirits. The air was thick with the smell of stale liquor, tobacco smoke and the musk of too many bodies stuffed into such a tight space. At the sight of the crowd and commotion, Sean hooked a large hand around your arm with a protective grip as he led the two of you through the sea of people towards the over-full bar.

Sean secured a spot for you at the bar, squeezing between to settled regulars to rest his free hand against the counter. You felt the rough calluses of his fingers gently brush over your skin when he released your arm and waved down the bartender. You couldn’t help but fixate on the absence of his touch…

“Hey there, friend!,” he called over the cacophonous ambiance of the saloon. “Mind gettin’ us a bite to eat? Somethin’ fancy for the lady here, she’s got fine taste.”

You jabbed an elbow into Sean’s ribs at the remark, pleased to hear a small “oof” escape him. Sean glanced at you sidelong, tossing you a wink.

The bartender set down the glass he was cleaning and slid over to the pair of you. His styled mustache jutted out from the sides of his face like the spikes of a cactus, looking more like a weapon than whiskers. “Sure thing, mister. Got some fine steaks in today,” he offered, leaning against the wooden counter casually, palms flat against the surface.

“Comes with roasted potatoes and greens,” he continued, his eyes skimming over Sean skeptically. He took in the worn, dirty clothes and equally unclean man, one side of his mouth dipping almost imperceptibly. “Ain’t gonna be cheap, though.”

The air around the conversation stiffened, thick as the mud caked to the sole of your boots. You stole a glance at Sean, not sure if you should intervene. His eyes had darkened and one was twitching at the corner, though that charming smile still clung to his lips.

“Don’t remember askin’ the cost, friend,” Sean replied, his voice losing its usual brightness, his turquoise eyes pointed narrowly at the man in front of him. He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and slapped a handful of bills onto the scuffed bar counter. “And two glasses o’ whiskey. Tha’ don’t gotta be cheap neither.”

The mustached man’s eyes fell to the crumpled notes, grunting mutely before swiping them up. He pulled out two cups from below the counter and filled them each with amber liquid.

“Food’ll be right out,” the bartender muttered under his breath, turning his back to the pair of you to tend to other waiting guests.

“Damn right, it will,” Sean growled once the man was out of earshot. He picked up his cup and gulped down the liquor in one go as though it were merely water and not fluid hellfire. He turned to you, his playful demeanor settling back into place.

“Can you believe the pair on this one?” Sean jutted a thumb behind him. “Do I look like I can’t afford a couple’a steaks? The gall…”

“Well…,” you hummed, your gaze floating away from Sean as you picked up your own glass.

Sean gasped dramatically, a hand clutching at the front of his vest like a tired-out actor.

“Oh, darlin’, I can’t believe wha’ yer sayin’,” Sean sighed, shaking his head with disapproval. “Now, I don’t aspire to be some rich fucker in a castle on a hill, servants waitin’ on me hand and foot. But I damn sure look like I can handle me own business.”

You snorted a laugh into your glass, splashing droplets of whiskey over the lip.

“I mean, maybe you would if you…bathed,” you said through a poorly restrained smile.

Sean’s mouth fell open, hanging on its hinges like a busted down door. “I bathe plenty! I don’t got nothin’ growin’ on me, now, do I?”

“I wouldn’t know,” you remarked. You smirked into your glass once more as you downed the whiskey, gasping as it seared down to your belly.

Just then, the bartender with his piercing whiskers brought out your meals and set the plates brusquely in front of you. “Here’s your food. Now, mind clearin’ up some space? Y’all can sit at a table.”

The bartender turned his back to you before either of you could protest, already caught up pouring drinks for a line of ranch hands. You shrugged and picked up your plate, turning to face the crowd behind you. Across the packed room you could see a small table pushed against the far wall with two empty seats beckoning you.

“Over there,” you pointed out with your chin. “Last table free.”

Sean slung a string of curses at the bartender's back before grabbing his own plate from the counter. You started making your way to the table, weaving through the sea of saloon patrons, careful to avoid any dancing limbs or swinging beer bottles. Sean was evidently having a harder time snaking through the narrow gaps between folks; you heard him grunting and muttering half apologies to the less-than-friendly looking men he occasionally bumped into. You’d made it about halfway across the room when you heard the unmistakable sound of porcelain shattering to the floor and a fresh slew of profanity flowing from the Irishman’s mouth. Ears pricking up like a jackrabbit, you twisted around just in time to see Sean’s meal slide down the back of a towering man, his black duster coat now plastered with steak grease and potato skins.

“Jesus! Watch where yer goin’, ya fuckin’ eejit!” Sean barked loudly, wiping bits of greens and potato from his vest, the front of him coated with what remained of his food. “Hope ya plan on buyin’ me another plate, backin’ into me like tha’!”

A few heads turned to take in the commotion, the bubbles of people around you quieting to a murmur. After shaking the now mashed potatoes from his hands, Sean confronted his assumed assailant and jabbed a finger into his shoulder.

Your eyes flickered rapidly between Sean and the stranger’s slop-covered back. You wished, hoped with all your might that Sean would let it go, just keep moving with you to the little table. You’d even let him share your steak or offer to buy him another one. But you knew that wasn’t going to happen, the stubborn ass. So much for keeping his temper in check.

Sean jammed his finger in the man’s shoulder again, continuing his tirade, “Least ya can do is turn ‘round and apologize, fella. I spent good money on tha’ steak!”

The man slowly turned, dark eyes landing on the disgruntled redhead. The lofty stranger straightened up to his full height, standing a good head taller than Sean and twice as thick. Sean’s hat shifted back on his head when he lifted it to match the stranger’s stare, Adam’s apple bouncing with a gulp in his outstretched neck.

Your skin went cold when you noticed the unmistakable green sash of an O’Driscoll tied loosely around the man’s neck, all hunger forgotten instantly. You quietly set your plate on the table beside you, eyes never leaving the tense pair, your hand moving slowly to hover over the revolver resting on your hip.

“Look what the cat drug in, Malachi,” the O’Driscoll said in a gravelly timbre, nodding to an unseen man behind him. “Ain’t this one’a Van der Linde’s dogs? The yippy one, yeah?”

A gaunt, toothless wisp of a man stepped out from behind the trunk of his comrade, leering threateningly at Sean with blackened gums.

“Ah, sure, tha’s ‘im, alright,” the one called Malachi slurred in a whiskey-coated Irish accent. “An’ his little bitch, too.” The skeletal man’s slimy gaze landed on you, eyeing you like a piece of meat at the butchers stand.

Not one to be readily ignored, Sean pushed himself into the smaller man’s line of sight. “You can leave her outta this, ya nasty old fool. This big bastard owes me,” he griped, refusing to back down. His fists clenched tightly at his sides as he stared down his opponents.

The greasy O’Driscoll sneered, gap-toothed and menacing, “Only thing he owes you is a killin’.”

The tall O’Driscoll took that as his cue, reeling an arm back, tight fist ready to connect with Sean’s cheek. Sean readied himself for impact, vibrating with excitement at the prospect of a proper brawl. In an instant, a fist was swung, but instead of meeting Sean, it connected with an unassuming cowboy standing next to him, sending the innocent bystander hurdling over the poker table.

Your hands were clutched to the shoulders of Sean’s coat, eyes filled with a wild panic. You had yanked him down just in the nick of time, now crouching amongst a sea of legs next to a stupefied Sean.

“Christ, Frank!,” the toothless O’Driscoll shouted. He rushed over to the shocked and bruised casualty, hands waving innocently. “Wasn’t for you, friend, apologies!”

The cowboy, nor the disturbed group of gamblers, were ready to forgive the misunderstanding. He slung a beer bottle into Malachi’s head, causing shattered glass to scatter through the air. The slight O’Driscoll collapsed to the floor with a thud and in seconds, a full bar brawl had broken out. Fists were flying and connecting with whatever dared cross their paths, shouts and curses filled the air as boredom and alcohol spurred the pent-up men into a frenzy.

Still on the floor and out of harm's way, Sean looked at you with wide, astonished eyes. “Wha’ in God’s name-…”

“Shush! Follow me,” you whispered. You led the way through the crowd, using the commotion of the brawl to hide your escape. Once you’d pushed open the door of the back exit, the cool night air rushed over you and invited relief to fill your lungs.

You finally sighed and relaxed against the wall of the narrow alleyway, not sure how long you had been holding your breath. Sean only looked at you, his face a mixture of confusion, anger and admiration.

“What’d ya go an’ do tha’ for? I had it handled!,” he protested, standing in front of you.

“Handled? You’d’ve lost more teeth if it weren’t for me!,” you argued. You took a step forward to confront him, only inches between you, an irate scowl marring your face. “Least you could do is thank me.”

Sean stepped closer, pushing you back against the wall and pressing his palms on either side of your head, boxing you in. “Thank you? For pullin’ me from a fight? I could’a taken ten’a them fuckers!”

“And get yourself killed over a steak? I like you better alive,” you said in a hushed tone, your voice losing the heat of anger.

Sean’s face softened at your words, eyes dropping for a moment. When he looked back at you, his gaze was playful, that stupid smirk curling his lips once again.

“So ya like me, then?,” he teased, his face leaning in closer to yours. “I knew you had a thing for me.”

You rolled your eyes and groaned dramatically. Part of you was glad he was back to his normal self, but seriously? Now?

Before you could complain and tell him to shove off, Sean leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, catching you off guard. When he pulled away, your eyes were wide and lips slightly parted.

“Thank you,” Sean said quietly. He paused for a moment, suddenly looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “Sorry, I… this evenin’ didn’t quite go to plan, eh?”

You smiled softly, hands coming to rest on his waist. You lifted your face to his and kissed him fully. He was still at first but soon kissed you back eagerly, soft lips dancing delicately against yours. You broke the kiss first, admiring the soft pink flush warming Sean’s freckled face.

“It’s okay. You were right. This was…fun,” you admitted. “Maybe next time we’ll actually catch the show?”

Sean’s face lit up with childlike glee, his eyes sparkling. “Yeah! Yeah, next time, for sure!”