The Beast in Me - Chapter One
Pairing(s): GN!Reader/Arthur Morgan (Minor: John/Abigail, Kieran/Mary-Beth)
Summary: You never thought you'd be heading home to the ranch but after your father passed away and leaves the ranch to you, that's exactly where you find yourself. Nothing much has changed about Strawberry or the surrounding areas since you left... Apart from the rumours that there's something lurking in the woods. Something that isn't an animal at all...
Tags/triggers: Werewolf AU, Not canon compliant, gender neutral reader, mild gore, mild horror
Notes: All 3 parts available on AO3
The beast in me
Is caged by frail and fragile bars
Restless by day
And by night rants and rages at the stars
****
You had never cared for scary stories, ghosts, ghouls and the like. You weren’t scared of things that go bump in the night and didn’t believe in the local gossip of creatures that would snatch up children who played too far from the town or strange sounds from the mountains.
Ghosts and ghouls didn’t exist. People do.
****
Daddy had never really been the same since mama passed. He took it hard, real hard. You visited him twice a year if you could find the time but he wasn’t the same man who had raised you.
Maybe a part of him died when your mama had. And now the rest of him had died too.
Consumption, the doctor had said over the telephone; he’d hidden it pretty well from you, just telling you that it was the cold getting to his chest and you’d believed him or maybe you had wanted to. You knew he hadn’t wanted to worry you. The doctor said he had passed in his sleep. The ranch hand had found him the next day. It had been peaceful, apparently. You sure hoped so.
So you quit your job in Saint Denis and took the long train ride back home.
Autumn in Lemoyne was very different to that of West Elizabeth. The days were still hot, the sun seemed merciless sometimes but as the train rattled into Riggs Station, it felt like you were in a different country. Night was drawing in already; it always seemed to draw in faster out west. You could feel the chill of wind that swirled around your feet and the few leaves left on the trees rustled melancholically.
There was no one else left on the train by now, most people had gotten off at Valentine so only you headed into the wood cabin that was the station, a far cry from the bustling Saint Denis station.
The clerk was busy lighting lanterns as you had walked in but he greeted you all the same. “Good evenin’. Can I help you?”
“Yeah,” you replied, “do you know when the stagecoach will arrive?”
“Arrive?” The clerk repeated, sounding confused as he went back behind the counter. “Well it just left not fifteen minutes ago.”
You sighed before asking when the next one would come.
“Not til tomorrow mornin’ I’m afraid. Where do you need to go?”
“You know White Bison Ranch?”
“Sure, I know it - out by Little Creek River... Wait! Are you takin’ the place over?”
You nodded. You’d hoped to get there before it got too late but it looked like that wouldn’t be happening now, the sky was already bleeding black, like ink onto parchment.
“Well I’m sorry, there won’t be nothin’ til the mornin’.”
“I could take ya.”
The new voice made you turn, startled. There was a man sitting inside the cabin that you hadn’t noticed. He stood as he spoke to you.
“I can take you as far as Strawberry if that helps?”
“It’s certainly better than sleeping here tonight.” You replied and he smiled. The man was tall and slender, his hair dark and down past his collar, his eyes a glittering hazel and kind. The left side of his face was scarred, as if he had been in an animal attack but it didn't make him any less handsome. He held out his hand to you.
“John Marston.”
You shook his hand and reciprocated his greeting with your name.
“I’m waitin’ on a delivery from Blackwater, shouldn’t take too long now then we can get you to Strawberry.” He told you.
Just as he said that, a wagon pulled up and a man hopped down, “Mr Marston? I have the medicines you ordered.”
“Thanks,” John said gruffly, taking the parcel from the man almost furtively. You followed John Marston around the side of the cabin to where his buggy was. He put the parcel in the back then helped you with your luggage and then you got up on the buggy with him.
You made your way to Strawberry, the buggy trundled along the uneven road that you hadn’t been down in such a long time.
“I’m sorry to hear about your father.” John said, “he was a kind man. Me and my boy, Jack helped him out with the lambing just this spring gone by.”
“Thank you... “ you replied.
You felt guilty that you hadn’t been there to help; once upon a time it would have been you to help with the lambing though you remembered being squeamish at the sight when you were younger. You weren't no rancher, at least you thought you weren't. As soon as you had reached eighteen, you had left home in search of a better life and more money than what a dairy could get you. You’d headed for the bright lights if Saint Denis, not only was it as far away from the ranch you’d grown up on physically but in every other sense. The people of Saint Denis were nothing like those of Strawberry or the surrounding areas and you liked that.
You never thought you'd be going back like this but of course you had known your daddy couldn't keep on at it forever. You were the sole benefactor of the ranch and everything he had worked for his entire life… Which wasn’t a lot but it was enough for you to be able to leave your job in Saint Denis and come back home.
Home.
It felt alien. Yet as you neared Strawberry, nothing had changed that you could see. All the buildings and the people… Everything looked the way it had the day you had left.
When you reached the Strawberry hotel, Mr Marston stopped the buggy.
“Here we are. I wish I could extend my hospitality to you more but I have to get home. I got my boy and my wife and my brother… He ain’t a well man and I need to help take care of him... We own the stables just outside o’ Strawberry, maybe when you’re settled in you could stop by?”
“I’d like that very much. You’ve been very kind, thank you Mr Marston.”
You got down from the buggy and so did he, he helped you with your luggage again before tipping his hat to you, bidding you good night and riding away.
The hotel was warm, walls were deep burgundy and a large fire was cracking in the main room, casting large, looming shadows. You weren’t keen on the taxidermied animals that were displayed everywhere, a buck, a mountain lion and most prominently a large grizzly bear that stood behind the main doors, staged reared on its hind legs with a mean look on its face.
The clerk was friendly enough and luckily there was a room available for you.
“You came from Saint Denis, you say?” The clerk asked as he helped you upstairs with your luggage and showed you to your room. “That must have been one hell of a journey. Why don’t I get a bath ready for you?”
“Sounds good,” you smiled.
The bath was hot and just what you needed after a long day’s travel. Once cleaned and dressed, you headed back downstairs to see if the hotel offered food. The clerk told you they did and you ordered and waited towards the back of the main room which now had candles on every table.
Towards the front of the room were two well dressed women sitting across from each other on plush sofas smoking and talking.
“You tell me then, Willamina - What did Mr Jones see when he was out night fishin’ at Owanjila Lake?” One said a little hotly to the other.
The one called Willamina laughed, “Mr Jones was three sheets to the wind, Francesca. He probably saw a wild boar or a buck and tried to save face when he came tearin’ back into town, scared like a little kid to his momma! What was it he said? Eight feet tall? Red eyes? Claws as long as butcher knives?!”
Francesca bristled, “well, you won’t catch me going into the woods on my own, that’s for sure!”
“And rightly so, Miss Alehart,” came a man's drawling voice.
You’d been looking away, staring at the front of a newspaper that had been left on the table pretending to read it but really, listening in on their conversation but now you looked up.
A man you couldn’t say you’d noticed had joined them, hovering by the sofas. He was tall, dressed in black aside from his hat which was cream, maybe in his early forties and had scraggly blond hair.
“You shouldn't go into them woods without precautions.” He told Francesca and Willamina, speaking each syllable of the word precautions quite deliberately as he reached down to his gun belt and drew his revolver quickly, aiming at the taxidermied bear in the foyer and mimed shooting it, “ya never know what's a-lurkin' out there… waitin’ for you…”
“Oh Mr Bell!” Willamina exclaimed, “don’t be so dramatic.”
“Oh I ain’t being dramatic,” Mr Bell replied, his voice low and almost taking on a sultry tone. “The things I’ve seen out there,” he said gesturing to the door of the hotel, “why... It would make your blood run cold. O’ course, I could always help keep you safe… if you ever needed protection’.”
You could feel the atmosphere turning very awkward very quickly. You glanced over again. The two women had gotten to their feet
“We’ll let you know if we ever need a man of your specimen to protect us, Mr Bell. Good evening.” Willamina said coldly. With that, they left the hotel.
Mr Bell didn’t seem too concerned and chuckled to himself. You were aware of his icy blue eyes on you from under the brim of his hat but you ignored him. At that moment, the clerk appeared with your dinner and you made small talk with him to keep Mr Bell at bay.
****
The next morning you took the stagecoach to the ranch where you were due to meet Kieran Duffy, the ranch hand who had been helping your daddy out over the last few years. It felt strange coming back to the ranch after all this time. You remembered the trail as if it were only last week that you had ridden it, even some of the trees seemed the same and the way the trail dipped here and there had a comforting familiarity about it.
The stagecoach pulled up to the mouth of the ranch and Kieran almost ran out to greet you. He was a skinny man, with wide, light eyes peering out beneath the wide brim of his hat.
He shook your hand enthusiastically, “your daddy was always talkin’ bout you. It’s a shame you didn’t get to be with him in the end… proud man your daddy, didn’t even want to accept my help even when he couldn’t walk but three steps without needin’ to rest!”
Maybe Kieran could see that he’d been a little insensitive because his eyes widened further still. “I… I uh… He was peaceful at the end.”
The doctor had told you that much. You smiled weakly at Kieran, aware that it may come off as more of a grimace. He did his best to smile back.
“Why don’t I show you round? Must have changed a bit since you was last here.”
It hadn’t, it really hadn’t. The house and barn still looked the same, even down to the same white paint peeling from the exterior.
Kieran showed you the animals, sheep and a few dairy cows and around the back were chickens. "Mr Watson Jr from the general store comes by on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays to collect eggs and milk,” Kieran explained.
By the side of the house was a small stable with a couple of horses inside, a palomino morgan named Cash and a black and white appaloosa called Domino.
“They’re both fine horses. Cash is better for shorter distances but Domino is better for longer hauls and doesn't scare so easily,” Kieran said, patting them both fondly on the muzzle before giving each a sugar cube.
Sat on the porch was a fawn coloured chesapeake bay retriever who perked up when it saw Kieran approach.
“This is Bran, he’s real good at keepin’ foxes and greedy coyotes away from the chickens.” Bran barked playfully at this, as if he understood what Kieran was saying. Kieran leaned down to scratch the dog behind the ear before looking back up at you and swallowing, “uh… I... Maybe you’d wanna take a look in the house by yourself?”
You nodded at him. “Thank you, Mr Duffy.”
That smell. The scent of home knocked all the air out of your lungs and filled you from top to bottom and edge to edge. Autumn leaves, wood shavings, something warm that you couldn’t quite place. Home. Your home. The home you had grown up in and then eventually left.
It was silent inside. Still. You could hear the clock ticking in the kitchen. Outside Bran barked again.
You felt comforted yet also like you shouldn’t be there, like a trespasser. Your fingertips glided along the wooden bannister as you ascended the stairs and looked in your old bedroom. A knot formed in your chest when you saw that it had been left exactly the way it had been when you left for Saint Denis almost six year ago. Your bed was freshly made, as if it had been expecting you to come back some day. And now you had.
You swallowed as you crept back down the corridor and towards your parents room; the room the doctor had informed you that daddy had passed in and the same room mama had passed in eleven years prior to that. For one fleeting second, you thought, maybe you would die in here too. You shook the thought away. Silly.
The windows of the bedroom were open and the cold breeze ripped through the room so much so that you shivered. Folding your arms across your chest, you went back downstairs and outside to Kieran who offered to help you unpack.
You soon discovered that Kieran Duffy was a kind and sweet man. He lived just outside of Strawberry with his wife. He talked about her a lot, real proud of her, said her name was Mary-Beth and that she wrote novels. You were glad of his chatter, the noise filled the house and it felt less empty. Soon enough however, the night was drawing in again and he told you he had to head home.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, an element of a question in the statement, “that is if you still need me to help out with the animals and such?”
“Mr Duffy, what I know about caring for these animals can be written on a cigarette box. Of course I want you to come back tomorrow!”
Kieran’s boyish face lit up and he smiled, “then I’ll be here bright and early. Good night.”
Kieran mounted his own horse, a flaxen Tennessee Walker and trotted down the path of the ranch and into the woods out of sight.
You managed to get a fire going in hearth in the living room, the crackling was comforting and reminded you of when you were little; you’d sit on daddy’s knee while mama embroidered and he would read to you - all sorts of stories about princesses and princes, about magical fairies or witches and people who lived on the other side of the world who spoke completely different languages. When you settled yourself in front of the fire, Bran padded over and lay down. He gave a big sigh and fell asleep. You smiled, “me too, boy, ” you said to him quietly, “me too.” **** Maybe you’d become too accustomed to the city. The wheels of wagons and horses hooves clattering on stone paths, people shouting and calling to each other and the whistle departing trains was something you could, and regularly did, sleep through but the silence of the woods was too loud. Eerie and almost frightening. You tossed and turned in your old bed, unable to drift off into a sleep that lasted more than fifteen minutes. Outside you could hear elks crying and the creaking of the trees that swayed in the wind. Animals chirped and screamed and you were reminded of those times that you were afraid as a child. You used to go into your parents room and whimper, “I’m scared..!” Your mama would laugh, “don’t be silly, sweet thing. You’re safe in here with mama and daddy.” She’d send you back to your room and you’d curl up under your blanket with your eyes squeezed tight shut, somehow the sounds from outside were louder than before. But you knew your mother must be right, she always was. You were safe inside.
It was around three o’clock in the morning when you awoke to a sound. This time it was different. It wasn’t just the scurrying of an opossum or a racoon, not even a coyote. You found yourself compelled to swing your legs out of bed, bare feet found the cold wooden floor and you walked across the room to look out of the window so you could see the rest of the ranch.
The animals were in the barn so the fields were empty. You could see the fence and the opening of the ranch, you could just make out the trail past that but the looming trees beyond that made it impossible for you to make out anything else. Maybe a flicker between the branches but maybe that was your eyes. You were tired.
You couldn’t hear the noise now, wasn’t even sure what you had thought you might see. Maybe a fox or even a wolf. You remembered there being all sorts of animals when you were younger, you’d even seen a bear running across one of the fields early one morning after daddy forgot to take in some honey mama had ordered from the general store.
Maybe you’d dreamed it. It had been a long few days. You lay back down but didn’t sleep until the sun began to filter its way through the window.
****
Kieran was a great help. You had milked the cows before but even then it was something your daddy and the ranch hands dealt with more than you.
You collected the eggs and fed the chickens while Kieran milked the cows and mucked out the barn. You felt bad but he said he didn’t mind, it’s good honest work and the barn wouldn’t muck itself. You supposed he was right.
“Say, Mr Duffy,” you said to him once he was done and the pair of you sat on the porch together drinking lemonade that you had made that morning for lack of being able to sleep, “you said Bran took care of the foxes, right?”
“He sure does,” Kieran replied.
“Just foxes?”
Kieran half shrugged, half nodded, “sometimes coyotes. He had a cougar once but I think that was a fluke… He’s good with pests, too. Rats and the like.”
“Ever anything… bigger?” You asked cautiously.
Kieran thought for a moment, “I can’t say so.” His large eyes met yours, “you worried about the animals at night?” He asked, “'cause that barn is secure, I swear it. Mr Marston from the stables and his brother came and did a fine job with it. It was half fallen down before then!”
You nodded.
“Well it's comin’ into winter soon,” Kieran said thoughtfully, “so yer won’t have to worry so much ‘bout the likes of bears - not that you see ‘em that often no more down this way. All these new ranches and houses goin’ up... The bears have gone further into the mountains. They’s more scared of us than we is o’ them.”
You nodded. You supposed that much was probably true. You also supposed that you had just been tired the night before.
Even so, it didn’t stop you from taking daddy’s old rifle down from above the fireplace. It was rusted and looked a little worse for wear. You’d never shot a gun before, never really had to but maybe it would give you peace of mind to have a gun ready. Just in case.
The next day, you rode Cash into Strawberry, your daddy’s rifle stowed on the side of Cash’s saddle. You'd forgotten how pretty of a town Strawberry was, like something drawn on a postcard.
You hitched Cash outside the general store, you remembered coming here with your mama when you were younger and buying the groceries. The store had been run by an old man named Mr Watson and sure enough when you entered the store he was standing behind the counter, like he had never left. To say you were surprised to see him was an understatement; he had seemed impossibly old when you still lived in Strawberry and now he seemed even older.
He was speaking to another man who stood at the counter, “here’s everythin’ you ordered Mr Morgan. It’s good to see you out and about again, you feelin’ better now?”
My Morgan, who still had his back to you, shifted awkwardly; he was a tall man, his back and shoulders broad, you could see that he wore his sandy coloured hair long.
“Yeah,” he replied gruffly.
“And how’s the rest of the family? Mr and Mrs Marston? And little Jack?” Mr Watson asked, smiling kindly at Mr Morgan.
“Fine.” Mr Morgan replied rather bluntly.
“Well you take care now,” Mr Watson said as he handed Mr Morgan his items, “come back soon, I do enjoy our chats.”
Mr Morgan permitted himself a laugh at this, short and more of a bark. The effort made him cough, though. He turned from Mr Watson, covering his mouth as he coughed. It sounded bad and you found yourself wincing as a visceral reaction. His eyes met yours, brightest blue, like the skies of your childhood summers. He was handsome enough, his features angular yet not unapproachable.
“‘Scuse me,” he apologised to you, not making eye contact and moved away from the counter.
Mr Watson greeted you then his eyes widened, “my my! Is that who I think it is? Last time I saw you… Well it’s been years!” He beamed at you, “you back to take over the ranch?” He asked and you nodded. “I am so sorry ‘bout your daddy. Fine man, he was. He’ll be sorely missed.”
“Thank you, Mr Watson.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I was hoping you could help me with this…” You put the rifle on the counter. “It belonged to daddy, I think it’s pretty old but I just need it to shoot.”
Mr Watson’s white eyebrows shot up to his hairline, “my word,” he chuckled, “I don’t think I’ve seen one of these since the war. Sure don’t make ‘em like they used to! You’re right, it certainly is an old rifle indeed… I don’t think I stock the cartridges for this particular model any more, I’m afraid.”
You sighed.
“You could always try the gunsmith over in Valentine,” Mr Watson suggested.
Valentine was at least the best part of a day’s ride away. It seemed like an awfully long way to go in the hope that the gunsmith there might have the right cartridges for daddy’s old rifle…
“Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearin’...” It was Mr Morgan, he had been checking through the parcel Mr Watson had handed him. You turned to look at him, able to search his face now. His complexion was ashen and while his eyes were certainly striking, they were also bleary. He looked exhausted. “Can I see the rifle? I might have what you need.
You passed the rifle to Mr Morgan who inspected it. “Could do with some cleanin’,” he muttered to himself, “but it ain’t in too bad condition…” His voice was low and rough but has a strange kind of softness to it.
He looked up at you, eyes an arresting contrast to his pallid skin. “I reckon I might have some cartridges lyin’ ‘round if you want ‘em?”
“Really? That’d be mighty helpful of you.”
“I’d be glad to help you out. Your daddy was a good man. I’m Arthur Morgan by the way.”
He extended his hand and you shook it, introducing yourself.
“I got a few errands to run but I could always stop by the ranch this afternoon if that’s ok with you?” Arthur suggested.
“I’d really appreciate that, thank you Mr Morgan.”
He smiled at you now and his face changed, he looked lighter, younger, eyes crinkled at the corners. You smiled back.
“Then I’ll see you this afternoon.”
You picked up a few things from the store before leaving. Once outside you packed Cash’s saddle bags and fed him a carrot in preparation for the ride back to the ranch.
“Didn't I see you in the hotel the other night?”
The voice made you start and you couldn’t help but gasp and recoil away at the man who stood behind you; he had blood slicked all over his hands, down his jacket and even some flecks on his face. You recognised the face, the ice blue eyes and the straw-like blond hair.
“Didn’t mean t’ startle ya. The name’s Micah Bell, I was in the hotel the other night and remember seein’ ya. You takin’ over the White Bison ranch?”
You nodded hesitantly.
“I’m sorry.” Micah Bell said though he didn’t sound the least bit apologetic, “I’ve been out huntin’ y’see," gesturing to the blood all over him. “That’s the game, huntin’. You saw the bear in the hotel foyer? I killed that one. Supply almost all the meat here in Strawberry, too.”
You nodded again, not sure what to say to him. You unhitched Cash and began to walk him away from the store, towards the north exit of Strawberry. Micah followed.
“So you’re up at White Bison Ranch, huh?” He asked you, speeding up to match your pace.
You nodded a third time.
“How you findin’ it out there on your own?”
Your brows knitted together slightly into a frown, “just fine.” You replied a little bluntly.
“I’m only askin’ because there’s been a few people round these parts sayin’ that there’s something livin’ in the woods. Something that ain’t no animal.”
Your frown grew deeper. “Not an animal..?” You repeated almost to yourself rather than Micah.
“O’ course, I don’t believe that,” Micah chuckled, “you gotta be insane if you think there’s some beast runnin’ around in these woods. Probably a grizzly or a big cat and I’m gonna be there to get it.”
You stopped a little past the sheriff’s office and looked back at Micah. His eyes were piercing and you couldn’t maintain eye contact with him, feeling like he was looking right through you.
“So what’s the fuss about a bear or a big cat?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at Micah. “There’s been predators out in the woods ever since I was a kid and even since before then… What’s so different now?”
Micah’s lips twisted into a smirk, as if he had been waiting for you to ask that. “Real weird things been happenin’.” He said, a tinge of excitement to his tone now, “first it was animals that started goin’ missin’ a few years back - a chicken here and there or maybe a family dog and everyone just assumed it was coyotes. Then some little housewife over past Diablo Ridge said she saw something a-sneakin’ into the barn one night, took her husband’s shotgun and went to see what it was… She swore it was a monster, at least eight feet tall and covered in thick black hair with glowing red eyes.” Micah laughed at the expression on your face. “Horse shit, of course! But since then, everyone wants to see this creature. Plenty of people claimin’ they have but I’ll believe it when I see it stuffed and mounted on my wall.”
“Well it’s been nice talking to you, Mr Bell.” You lied as you pulled yourself up into Cash’s saddle. “I have to be heading back now.”
Micah’s smirk hadn’t faltered throughout your entire conversation. “If you ever get lonely up there, you can always come and find me.” He said, “or if you just want someone who knows how to handle a gun.”
You hesitated before answering. “I’ll bear that in mind, Mr Bell.”
You rode Cash at a leisurely pace, not wanting to rush back because you wanted to think about what Micah Bell had said to you. You were familiar with people in town gossiping, wild stories spinning out of control like Chinese whispers, usually cautionary tales to stop children wandering too far from their mothers or going into the woods alone. You felt better knowing that Mr Morgan would be coming along later with the rifle cartridges.
Kieran was taking a break when you got back. He stood up when he saw you coming up to the house where he was sitting on the steps eating a sandwich Mary-Beth had no doubt made for him. He waved enthusiastically at you.
“How was town?” He asked you, helping you unload Cash.
“It was… Interesting.”
Kieran laughed, “Strawberry? Interestin’?”
You laughed too and carried the groceries into the house with Kieran behind you. He helped you put things away. “Oh!” You started as you remembered, “Mr Morgan will be coming later on today.”
“Arthur Morgan?”
“Yeah.”
“Kinda… Surly lookin’ feller?”
“Yeah.”
“Hmm.”
You turned to look at Kieran who was looking thoughtfully at the can of beans in his hand.
“Is… Is Mr Morgan… Bad?” You asked, feeling a bit silly to ask such a childish question but you didn’t know how else to ask it.
Kieran chuckled. “No. I don’t think so. He’s just… Not a sociable person, is all.”
You were certain that this was true but it wasn’t always fair to judge a book by it’s cover.
Kieran was busying himself with the horses in the stables while you were going through some of daddy’s things in the house. You had asked Kieran if there was anything you could do to help him but he seemed capable enough of doing it all on his own and if anything, you were more of a hindrance.
It was around three o’clock when a silver dapple pinto Missouri foxtrotter made its way up the trail towards the house with Arthur Morgan astride it. You hadn’t forgotten about the handsome stranger who was coming to visit you and went out onto the porch to greet him.
The afternoon had turned colder than the morning despite the sun being high in the sky and Arthur was now wearing a longline olive coloured woollen coat and around his neck, he wore a black neckerchief. As he greeted you, you could see his breath in front of him.
“Mr Morgan, thank you for coming!”
“Of course,” he said to you, he looked a little better than earlier. “Why don’t you show me that rifle again?”
You guided Arthur back into the house, the rifle was lying on the kitchen table. Arthur set a heavy leather satchel down on the table with a clunk and took out a few things - some boxes of cartridges and gun oil.
“It needs a decent clean before you load it up and go shootin’ at muskrats,” Arthur joked and you smiled. He showed you how to take the gun apart and how to clean it. “It needs regular care, think of it like brushin’ your horse.” Arthur pushed the rifle towards you. “Why don’t you try.”
You cleaned the gun carefully and Arthur watched you.
“Heard you met my brother John the other day,” Arthur said.
You hadn’t been sure from the conversation you overheard in the general store whether John was Arthur’s brother or not but this confirmed it. They didn’t look alike at all, John was much leaner compared to Arthur, even their faces were completely different - John had sharp features and suspicious eyes. Arthur, while not the conversationalist had a certain warmth about him that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.
“He really helped me out when I got here,” you replied, “took me to the hotel in Strawberry, otherwise I’d have been stuck at the station all night.”
A smirk tugged at Arthur’s lips, “that sounds like John.”
Once the gun was cleaned, Arthur showed you how to put it back together. “You know how to shoot this thing?”
You felt a faint blush play across your face and you shook your head in response.
Arthur laughed softly, “I got some time before I gotta get back… I could show you, if you wanted?”
“Only if you’re sure.”
There was that smile again. “I’m sure.”
The pair of you walked out to the fields in front of the house.
“You gotta stand straight and hold steady.” Arthur told you, “you gotta focus, breath slow and always pull the trigger on empty lungs.”
“You sound like a seasoned gunman, Mr Morgan.” You said, you felt your heart flutter a little. Were you flirting with him?
“Somethin’ like that,” Arthur murmured. “Here, let me show you how to hold it properly.”
You spent the next hour or so shooting at a few empty bottles that you had found lying around as target practice. You took it in turns, Arthur demonstrating then your turn. By the end of it, you had hit maybe two bottles celebrating each time by hopping around with joy while Arthur chuckled.
The sky had turned a pumpkin orange and the sun had started to dip below the treeline, casting large ominous shadows across the field. Kieran had rounded up the remaining animals into the barn.
Arthur turned to you, blond hair looking golden now in the dwindling sunlight, “I really must be going now.”
“Why- why don’t you stay for dinner?” You found yourself asking and you had no idea why. You had no plans for dinner but you were sure you could rustle something up.
“That’s mighty kind of you but I don’t wanna intrude on your hospitality any longer.”
“You wouldn’t be intruding at all, Mr Morgan. I insist.”
“My brother will be expectin’ me back. I should go but thank you all the same.” Arthur said, his voice soft but also firm.
You suddenly felt very silly very quickly, a hot wave of embarrassment washed over you and you wished you could evaporate.
“Well... Thank you for today. You’ve been very kind and I appreciate it.”
He tipped his hat to you and went to his horse. You watched him mount it, swiftly kick his heels into its side and trot away towards the trail.
You didn’t know how long Kieran had been watching but he smiled weakly at you as you walked dejectedly back towards the house with the gun slung under your arm.
“He ain’t the most sociable,” Kieran said with a hint of ’I told you so’, “but he ain’t a bad man.
You sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”
Soon enough Kieran was telling you that it was time for him to get home, too and you were left to spend another sleepless night in the ranch house.
Completed fic on AO3
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