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zialltops · 7 months

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honeysuckle’s & huckleberry’s

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“In just—“ His eyes slip closed when his mouth connect with the inside of your wrist. His lips are warm and so tender you fight down a soft whimper at the intoxicating sensation. When they open again, dangerous amber irises peer back at you like you’re their salvation. “-my cowboy hat.”

Oh—fuck.

a/n: this chapter was so fun to write, I accidentally made it 9.5k words lol, but it was such a relief (ish) to write. Some new warning apply to this chapter, so please be advised of those. We get to see a whole new side to Joel this chapter and we’ll get to see some “in the making of” this chapter in the following one. A little bit of context on why Joel changes so abruptly and the reasoning behind his decisions. I hope you all know how much i love love love you guys for being here for me while i struggle to find time to write. I’m working on getting back on my feet every day and this is the one safe place I have to escape and indulge in my favorite coping mechanism. Much love, H 🤍

Chapter 7–You Don’t Want That Smoke

Your birthday falls on Friday this year, (lucky you) but it also means the First Friday dance falls on your birthday this year as well. It’s the first community event after the cold winter months and by that time, most people are itching to get out of their snow-buried homes. The town usually puts on the event to celebrate the coming spring, hosting venders of all sorts and games for the families. Growing up, your parents would take you to the petting zoo and let you ride the ponies, like you didn’t have a horse at home, like there wasn’t a whole ranch to attend to, animals to raise up and sell, like you could just for a moment, be a normal little girl from a quiet street who’d never sat in a saddle in her life.

If only that had been the case, ever. If only you’d had parents who pursued safe, reliable careers, where they had pensions and retirement, insurance and benefits, instead of breaking their backs for a ranch that had been dying long before it was left to your mother by her parents. Was it obligation that kept them here, or was it something else? Was it the same thing that got you through years of college, all in an attempt to keep your parents' dream alive for a little while longer?

It’s Wednesday, which means you have two more days before your birthday and Melly’s plane lands in a few hours from Colorado, but so far your morning has taken you five rounds in the octagon and is currently coming back for more.

“—No! The statements I just got in the mail yesterday said we have ninety days to come up with three months worth of the mortgage before the property faces foreclosure.”

The woman on the other end of the phone sighs at you and you can hear the way her hands hit her keyboard. “I know that, ma’am, but that was a month and a half ago and we still have not received any payments. The bank sent another letter, requesting that the entire six month worth of back payments be received by the end of the ninety days or the property will be foreclosed on.”

The routinely scripted response feels like an open handed slap to the face, white hot pain snapping through your veins like lightning on the Wyoming plains. You sink down into the dining room chair and let it soak in all the way.

“How many days do we have left?” You hear yourself whisper into the phone but it’s not you speaking, not really—its a absent reflex like blinking or breathing.

“That's…51 days, ma’am. We’ll contact you again in thirty days if we have not received the entire amount by that time.”

Your eyes burn and blur, tears for the years of your life wasted on a useless education, until they surge past the dam and plummet to the paper below. When you look down at the document, your tears are stained red by the ink on the foreclosure notice. “How much will it be, again?” Defeated, Inadequate and Doomed.

“Fourteen thousand, three hundred and forty dollars, for six months worth of the Mortgage and late fees accumulated.” She sounds annoyed when she reads off the obscene number, like she isn’t sealing the fate of your family home, the dream your parents have worked their whole lives for to pass down to you—all wasted on a backed mortgage that your parents took out on the farm when you were born.

The full circle indicates that losing your family’s livelihood was your fault, from start to finish. You didn’t make it in time. All your hard work, and you’re still going to lose it.

“Is that everything, ma’am?”

Click

You drop the phone and sob into your arms, your whole body shaking and heaving with every sharp inhale. In your best attempt to keep quiet, you attract the attention of the one person you long to keep this from, your sweet, well meaning mom.

She’s soft spoken when she soothes you, rubs your back while you dry up your tears against her chest and she doesn’t ask why, just kisses your forehead and smiles one of those sweet sweet smiles at you and says, “We’ll get through this, Honey, don’t you worry about that. We’ll figure this out together.”

And you believe her, enough to reel in your hiccups, enough to ease your searing tears. “Why don’t you take a break from work, Melly gets here soon, yeah? You got everything you girls need?”

You smile at her, thankful for her ability to distract you from the things that keep you up at night. She knows you better than anyone, she’s your best friend. “Maybe we can stop at the store after we get her, but we gotta leave soon—“ you check the time, one hour until her plane touches down in Jackson and it takes forty five minutes to get there alone.

“Actually Honey, about that…I can't go with you. I’m not feeling up to it and I thought I would whip up dinner for you girls. But I got someone to go with you,”

You stand up from the chair and put the papers back into the envelope. “Mom, I really can go alone, I drove all the way here—“ she stops you with a quiet scuff. “You got stuck in the snow and Joel had to pull you out.” Joel, that son of a bitch…that big, sexy cowboy son of a bitch who left you in the snow. Who huffs and puffs and walks around like the sweatiest, filthiest, most delicious version of every nasty fantasy you’ve ever had. Of course she would drag him into this, maybe she’s the one who’s after the help.

“Speak of the devil,” she has this knowing look when her gaze travels past you to the doorway of the dining room. You glance over your shoulder to find yourself smack dab in the middle of one of those filthy dreams, dressed in green plaid and his brown Carhartt jacket, his black cowboy hat resting atop his head with curls peeking out of the sides, kissing the tips of his ears. His beard has grown out a tad too, making him look soft all over, scruffy and curly with a dimpled smile. The sight of him comes with a sudden rush of soothing comfort, warm eyes that make you feel safe, hidden in the shadows of his hat.

“Heard I was takin’ you somewhere?” He’s broad and sturdy, with a slight sheen of sweat on the peaks of his collarbones under his shirt. Under his beard, his neck is taught and his muscles are strained, his pulse visible beneath his skin despite his cool composure. If you know Joel, he did a days worth of work this morning to clear his schedule for the rest of the afternoon. He probably smells like sweat and dirt, like horses and leather under all that damn southern charm he possesses.

Actually, you can take me anywhere. On the couch, in my room, hell—in the glow of a fridge light.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip to bite off your involuntary groan, shooting your mom a sharp look. She may play coy, might act like she's this innocent and sweet, cookie baking, laundry folding, house making mom who knows no better, but you see what she’s really up to. How she hides behind her little false oblivion, a facade she usually only uses for good. This doesn’t feel like it was for the greater good.

“You—“ you sneer at her quietly and she smiles with a “Not sure what you mean dear, but you better get a move on. I have to get dinner in the oven!” She scurries out of the room and into the next, letting the door swing closed behind her. Joel remains in the same spot, one shoulder pressed against the white wood frame of the old door, his muddy boots on the dark hardwood floors. Your eyes drag up the rest of him, his pants are tight in the middle, hugging his hips and probably just barely restraining what lays below the dark blue denim. There's a soft curve to his belly, made apparent when his arms cross over his chest and pull his shirt tight against his front.

His belly looks so damn soft. So fucking round and bite-able. A few more clicks up, his chest nearly bulging out of the buttons of the flannel. The buttons hang on for dear life, but you’re afraid if he flexes, they will scatter to the floor with your resolve.

He clears his throat and you finally meet his eyes. “Doin’ alright there, darlin’?” If his presence wasn’t enough, the bourbony southern drawl and the way he cocks his hip makes your thighs squeeze together involuntarily. “Yeah—Yep, just need to get dressed and I’ll be ready.” You’re still in a big sleep shirt, have been all morning because work for you doesn’t require pants half of the time. When you start to breeze past, his eyes drop to the exposed skin of your thighs.

“Been wonderin’…” he stops you with a big hand, pressed against your sternum when you try to pass by his solid form. He’s still faced the opposite direction than your body, only his head turns to look down at you, gone still beneath his stern fingertips. “If you always walk around naked under these shirts, or if you’re wearin’ somethin’ under there when mom and dad are ‘round?”

His eyes flick back to the door leading into the kitchen, where your mother is currently hiding from your scowl, then back down to the hem of your oversized shirt. The hand on your ribs shifts when you haul in a deep, stuttering breath. It slips a few inches lower, the tips of his thick fingers dipping into the flesh of your stomach, just below your belly button. He’s so close and so fucking firm where he holds you in place.

“Why don’t you have a look for yourself, Cowboy?”

You challenge him back and you swear he stops breathing beside you. He meets your dare with a low growl, reverberating inside his rib cage like a shout in a vast canyon. What the hell is happening right now, did he hit his head or something? Is he finally getting the fucking hint? How desperately you want him to have his way with you? Then again, the last time he saw you dressed like this, you were bent over, knowingly showing off everything you had to offer, the place you wanted him most, while you listened to the guttural sounds leaving the unsuspecting man behind you. You aren’t going to complain about the sudden shift in his attention, hell no—you’ll soak in what you can get from the leery cowboy.

You hardly register the way he moves until he leans forward and warm fingertips graze the skin just under your ass. He’s looking when he lifts the shirt all the way up to your tailbone slowly, covered by smooth black satin, a thong that hugs your hips but leaves your cheeks exposed to his greedy sight. His eyes are everywhere, your thighs and the curve of your bare behind. His fingers dip just under the black satin band on your hip, his expression is just shy of a devoted man as he drinks in the contrasting sensation of your smooth skin and the silky material.

“Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, letting his hand slip from your panties to travel back down, unsure fingers tracing along the crease of your ass, curling under your cheek when he gets to the bottom. It’s the softest touch you’ve ever felt, full of admiration and barely restrained desire. It sets your skin on fire, radiating behind your eyelids. “Those are…damn pretty, sugar…but you better go get yourself ready, before you’re late.” His hands slip away from you completely and he turns in the direction of the door, already on his way out before you even fully process what just happened. What flipped inside of Joel on a random Wednesday afternoon in late February?

He leaves with a satisfied smirk with intentions of starting the truck while you stammer against the doorway and remind yourself to breathe. When the front door closes behind him, you lean against the wood he was just propped against, hoping his heat will still linger there. He instigated something, a secret whisper of want, the thought makes a grin break out from one side of your face to the other, pulling your cheeks tight. He wants you.

You get dressed with that same stupid grin plastered on your face. You shift through your closet a few times, but you keep falling back on the same outfit. A pair of flared jeans, light in color with stitch work on the sides. With a pair of boots, they make your ass look like a dream—just what you are going for, just so you can rile Joel further. You find a tight top and a thick wool flannel to throw over it, before tracking back down the stairs to the front door.

It’s the rush of adrenaline that shocks the agony from your brain, but the moment you bound down the front steps to his waiting truck, the door already propped open, you pause.

You stop at the foot of the stairs and turn, looking up the steps you’ve known your entire life, the screen door you’ve spent numerous summers swinging in and out of. The porch you’ve watched storms roll in from, the porch swing where you had your first kiss. All this and…your heart sinks. When you turn back towards the running chevy, Joel is staring back at you, his once knowing smirk traded in for a furrow of concern on his handsome features.

You climb into the passenger seat and fasten your seatbelt while Joel puts the truck in gear and pulls away from the house.

There’s a long stretch of road that passes in near silence, before it’s you who just can’t take it anymore. Joel, sweet fucking Joel sat beside you, respecting your emotions and your boundaries once again. “Ranch is ‘bout to be foreclosed.” You tell him. Once it’s spoken aloud, you realize just how imminent your family’s demise really is. How quickly you are going to lose everything, watch your parents walk away with no retirement and nothing to show for themselves, for generations of hard work.

You expect something, questions about how you know, how long you have, if there's anything he can do to help you, but the questions never come. Instead, Joel reaches over and presses his fingers into the latch on your buckle, pulling it off of you with one click.

“C’mere, sweet girl.” His tone is low, soft enough to not interrupt your thoughts, but enough to have you drawing across the bench seat and slipping under his sturdy arm while he drives. He keeps you tucked in close beside him, his hand trailing up and down your arm to ease out the pain residing in your veins. He takes one glance down at you and leans forward, his lips connecting with the crown of your head. “We’ll get through it. We ain’t goin’ down without a hell of a fight.”

Because after the years you’ve spent away from this place, Joel has come to think of the Rising Sun ranch as his home just as much as it is yours. He’d raised every one of the cattle on that ranch, he’s worked day and night to ensure its survival, he’s lost sleep and nearly limbs fighting to keep them afloat while you were gone. This is his home, his fight right alongside yours. Finally, the weight seems to ease up, shouldered by Joel's sense of responsibility for your family’s livelihood.

Beside you, he’s solid and warm, he’s alive and overflowing with strength, enough to spare, for something to cling to. You turn your head and bury your face in his shoulder, covering yourself in the shield of protection he has to offer, sturdy, devoted support that makes you feel lightheaded with security. He doesn’t push you further, doesn’t prod you for details. He just hangs on, keeps your body tucked in close to his while he drives into town. At some point, the rattling of the old truck along patchy highway roads lulls you into sleep with your head against his shoulder and one leg across his lap.

Joel, with all the strength he can muster—holds on tight.

“Hey,” your senses come rushing back when the truck comes to a stop and your warm pillow jostles under your head. You lift up off his weight a little and glance at him through a sleepy gaze, a soft smile present on his lips. “As much as I like you droolin’ all over me…” he gestures to wet stain on his flannel. “Think your friends plane lands soon, don’t want you to miss it.”

You get yourself together enough to look out the window. Joel parked right outside of baggage claim at Jacksons little airport and his arm still sits tightly around your shoulders. A deep sigh sets in to your bones and you lean against him for just a moment longer to soak in the warmth. “Hey, look at me, darlin’,” his hand wraps around your chin gently, coaxing your eyes up to his. “Don’t think about the ranch, at least till the week is over. Ain’t nothin’ you can do right now, so don’t let it ruin your birthday. Everythin’s gonna be alright.” His words trail off when a broad thumb swipes across the underside of your bottom lip, his gaze caught in yours so tightly you’re half sure the jaws of life couldn’t draw you apart. He breaks out into a grin and heaves a shallow laugh. “Had a little drool there.”

The little laugh that bubbles up in you breaks the eye contact and Joel shuts off the truck, untucking you from his arm. You check the time for safe measures, there's still a few more minutes before the plane lands and she still has to make it out the gates.

“Joel?” He’s fiddling with his key chain, adjusting a few backwards keys. “Hmm?” He barely makes eye contact—is he embarrassed? From holding you while you slept? “Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me—for my family while I’ve been gone. I can't think of a way to…repay you for everything.”

Joel glances over at you and something flashes in his brown eyes, something that looks like discomfort and shame. He takes a sharp breath in and squeezes his knuckles around the keys. “I didn’t do it all selflessly…please don’t take this wrong. I haven’t felt a sense of belonging in years. Me and Tommy have been drifting since I was twenty eight, working on one ranch after another. We’d stick around a town for six months and he’d get antsy, stir up trouble and we’d have to hit the road again.”

He brings his hand up to his mouth and chews on the corner of his thumb. He’s anxious, you can tell by the way his eyes flitter to you then away quickly. “I’ve covered his ass more times than I can count because I don’t know if I’ll be the same if I have to leave here. It feels fuckin—selfish, like I’m usin’ your folks. M’gettin’ old, my bones are tired and all I want is to…stop. Slow down for once in my life. I’ve never been more at peace than I am here, with your parents and the ranch. I was doin’ so good, gettin’ my mind right, hatin’ myself a little less and then—“ he trails off with a distant look in his eyes.

And then…what? What’s caused Joel to lose that sense of peace and stability? “What happened?” You sink back in the bench seat, run your fingers along the stitched pattern of color adorning the warn padding. “S’big snow storm came in…I was comin’ back from town because I took Tommy to pick up flowers. He’d been a real asshole to a sweet lady who didn’t deserve it. Was pissed off he was smokin’ in the truck, pissed he was jeopardizin’ our home again, when we see this little car stuck in the embankment, met this—real pretty girl, and she…” he sneaks a glance over at you, but he’s doing his best to find anywhere, anything else to look at. Cars passing by, the sun reflecting off the bright white paint on the cross walk. The older woman in-front of you, helping what looks like her daughter, load her luggage into the trunk.

“She got under my skin and I was flustered for the first time in a really long time. Kinda freaked me out—and then I left here there—‘cuz I was scared shitless and nothin’s ever been the same since. Sorta think she hates my guts half the time for it.”

There's this unsettling silence in the cab, Joel's nerves and his admission hanging in the air between you. He’s never ever been this vulnerable and honest with you before. You’ve talked to him more times than you can count now, a meaningless little conversation where you found everything you needed to change your mind about him. But he’s never opened himself up like he was right now, in the damn pick up line of the Jackson airport.

“Joel I…I already forgave you for that.” You forgave him for that when he gave you your necklace for Christmas. You forgave him when he carried a newborn calf half a mile through a snowstorm for you. You forgave him when you came down the stairs to him in that damn cowboy hat.

You forgave him when he came back for you and looked at you with those pretty brown eyes.

“What?” He looks over at you and you hold onto the eye contact for as long as you possibly can. “I don’t hate you. Furthest thing from it actually—I do hate how much you avoid me. Like I’m going to bite your head off any second—“ he snorts, cracks a white smile at you and his eyes crinkle at the sides, making your stomach flutter, little blue butterflies soaring through your abdomen. “You do bite my head off—often.”

Okay—maybe he’s a little right, maybe you let it get too far a few times, spent too many afternoons angry at his distaste for you, when all you wanted was a taste of him. “Well, I’m sorry…for all the things I’ve said to you, the things I’ve called you. But I’m not upset about that anymore. I forgave you for that a long time ago. You’ve already made up for it a million times, Joel.”

He’s grinning at you like you just told him he won the fucking lottery, his nervous hands drumming a absent tune against the steering wheel. He’s looking at you like it’s the first time you’ve ever met him, his eyes shining with mirth and admiration. “Think…you could give this ol’ cowboy another shot?” That nervous little shake of his jaw, the tick in his voice and the hopefulness in his eyes is enough to break anyone, but you? You’re so lost on him you never want to find your way back. Throw away the maps, toss the keys somewhere you’ll never find them again—you never want to go anywhere else in the world. Another shot? You’d give him all of them.

“Pretend you’ve never met me before.”

He blinks, cocks an eyebrow and makes a face of confusion at you. “I’ve never met you?” You nod, turn your whole body to face him on the bench seat of his old beat up chevy. “Like it’s the first time we’ve met. I’m Hank's daughter and you’re picking me up from the airport to take me home for the first time in years. We’ve never met. Try again, shoot your shot, cowboy.”

You’d like to imagine that's how it went—your mom and dad were too busy to come get you and you decided to fly because you knew your little car wouldn’t make it. They send Joel, because he’s trustworthy and punctual. They know he’ll treat their daughter with respect, they trust that he’ll use his better judgment, because they know he’s a good man. You know that under that rough, hard exterior is an anxious man searching for belonging, a good man.

Joel takes a deep breath, lets his mind drift out the window before he turns it back to you with a charming smile, one you’ve never been on the receiving end of. It’s smoldering, flirtatious—everything you imagined Joel to be after all those years of pinning after a man you’ve never laid eyes on. A Joel you’ve never met and desperately need to get to know better. “Prodigy daughter finally returns,” his drawl is thick and his eyes rake over you once, twice, before settling on your own. “I’m Joel.”

You giggle—rightfully so, because this Joel? This Joel is all quick wit and chivalry. You fake introduce yourself back, your grin mirroring his own. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Joel.”

“Pleasure is…all mine, darlin’.”

You could stare at him forever with that damn goofy smile on his face. “Anyone ever tell you—you look good in this?” You tell him, reaching up to flick the brim of his hat, but it stays firmly in place despite your efforts. He snorts and snaps up to catch your wrist, holding onto it tightly in his big hand. “S’funny, I was just thinkin’ about how good you’d look in my hat.” His thumb circles the inside of your wrist slowly,’ pushing down the fabric of your sleeve with the effort. Slowly, he draws your appendage closer, till his mouth hovers just above your skin. His eyes are like witnessing something tragic, so devastating you can't bring yourself to look away.

“In just—“ His eyes slip closed when his lips connect with the inside of your wrist. His lips are warm and so tender you fight down a soft whimper at the intoxicating sensation. When they open again, dangerous amber irises peer back at you like you’re their salvation. “-my cowboy hat.”

Oh—fuck. There’s an image you’ll never get out of your mind—your hands on his sweaty chest, the brim of his hat falling in front of your eyes while you try to keep it in place, despite the way you ride him—

“Joel—Jesus, you can’t just—“

He breaks out into a chest filled laugh, his eyes slip close and his head falls back. His whole body responds to the way he laughs, his legs kick up, his chest heaves and his belly bounces. He’s a menace, a damn trouble starter—he makes you see hearts around his head and a sparkle in his eyes you’re sure you’re imagining. He calms his laugh down with a few deep breaths, a grin still plastered on his handsome face. “What can I say? I’m really bad at first impressions.”

He is, but it doesn’t bother you like it used to. Joel isn’t and never will be the perfect man you’d envisioned. He’ll never be the Joel you’d made up in your head for so long, because that Joel was made solely for you, from your interpretation of a man who’s perfect for you in every way. But that Joel and the one in front of you are two vastly different people—this Joel is gruff at times, opinionated and flawed. He wasn’t made perfect for you, but you find that the things that make him the least like the Joel in your mind—are the things that you like most about him. He’s gruff, but he’s punctual and takes no shit. He’s opinionated, but he’s wise about life, he’s earned the right to voice his beliefs. He’s flawed—he has crows feet by his kind eyes, graying curls and weathered hands—but it’s his flaws that entice you to learn more about him. They make him real in front of you instead of a made up, faceless man in your dreams.

Your phone chimes in your pocket and it sucks you from the void in the cab of this old truck, away from Joel's charming smile and his burning hand on your wrist. He pulls away and the moment dissipates into dust on the dashboard.

Melly: I just got my bag, headed out now!

“Be right back,” you slip out the door with a firm shut and try your hardest not to glance back at the man in the cab of that blue and white truck.

Finding Melly is easy, she sticks out like a sore thumb with her blonde hair and too-blessed chest. What did she do in a past life for tits like that, anyways?

She comes out the double doors and jogs to you with a grin your wearing on your own face. “Oh my gosh!” She squeals, finally getting close enough to throw your arms around each other. It’s been months since you’ve seen each other after spending everyday together for the last two years. You tumble around together in your hug for a few minutes before she pulls back to look you over, in a pair of flared jeans and boots. “Oh man, the country got you.” She jokes, faking a deflated sigh. “Would you fuck off?” She laughs menacingly, slinging her bag over her shoulder for more security. “Let me guess, you’re still trying to drive that cowboy crazy, right?”

With a deep eye roll, you finally look back at the truck. He’s looking right back at you, an easy smile on his lips when your eyes connect. You look back to your best friend and make a face. “He uhm…he actually drove me…to come get you. He’s in the truck, please be nice to him, okay?” She sneers and you know she means trouble when you help her with her things on her way to the truck.

“Please don’t fucking embarrass me, I swear dude—“ Mel gives you a little shove and huffs a laugh when you put her suitcase in the bed of the pickup. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ruin your shot with the old dude.” She looks around you, eyeing him from outside of the truck without his knowledge. “Holy shit, dude he’s hot. He’s like, stupid hot.”

You look over at him too and like he can feel your eyes on him, he looks over his shoulder, smiles warmly and you know it—

Know you’re fucked.

“Not a word.” Mel throws her hands up innocently and follows your lead when you open the door of the truck and climb in the middle, sliding in right beside Joel, reclaiming the space you’d taken up on your way here.

The whole drive back to the ranch, your body is on fire along the parts that connect to Joel, pressed so close you’re afraid you might melt into him.

Two days pass in a blur.

You spend a lot of time with Mel, catching up on how she's been doing since graduating, how she likes work—she’s a wildlife biologist in Colorado, who’s still learning the ropes of the job but she’s never been more excited to be a part of something. You don’t tell her about the ranch for a good reason, but she still asks and doesn’t say anything if she notices the look on your face when you lie to her.

We’ll get through it

You love spending time with her, but you don’t see a lot of Joel besides meals. He’s pleasant and soft, smiling at you like he’s never worn a frown on that handsome face. He sits too close at dinner, draws your gaze in far too many times for it to be an accident. It’s not anymore but it’s still so damn hard to make yourself believe that this isn’t just a fleeting moment—temptation breathing life into you for the first time in years, teasing you with possibilities.

He makes you burn but he doesn’t push further, doesn’t chase that desire down its narrowing path. It’s so close—you’re so close to finally making him yours.

When your birthday rolls around, he’s nowhere to be seen at breakfast. When you head out to the stables, the horses have already been fed and there's no trace of the man who plagues your every waking moment. The truck is gone and the tire-tracks in the driveway look old, like he’s been gone for hours. It’s not that he’s required to see you on your birthday, but you thought things were going to change. You thought that re-meeting him in the truck at the airport would restart everything, he’d realize you want him around more than the ranch hand who got under your skin and made you desperate for his attention. It feels naive, to watch out the window for his truck for most of the morning, pining after that faded powder blue and rust.

“This is depressing to watch from the outside, you know that right?” Comes Mel’s voice from the other side of your room when you check the window for the first time in the last half hour. She's painting her nails on the chair in your room while you peer through the blinds like he might appear out of thin air without you hearing the rumble of his old chevy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You do your best to defend yourself, stepping away and crossing your arms as you trudge to your bed.

“Don’t play dumb with me, I know you. You’re pacing your room wondering when you’ll see him. You know everyone can see the way you guys look at each other right? When are you guys going to like…kick it up a notch, get in his pants?”

You toss yourself on the fluffy sheets and close your eyes tight, letting your mind wander for a moment. “I don’t know…” what are you going to do, if you cant even see him long enough to get him alone? Tonight is the dance and you were hoping he’d be there, maybe he’d ask you for a dance. You’ve never told a boy in your hometown yes to a dance at this thing, but you’d change that for Joel. If he asked, you’d let him spin you around all night long.

Only problem is, he can’t do that if he’s still avoiding you like you're an illness he can’t afford to catch. “He’s so confusing. One second he acts like…he wants me, the next he’s hiding from me, probably—ugh, I just wish I could get him out of my head if he wants nothing to do with me!”

The room is silent, still for all of five glorious seconds before Mel breaks it. “Does he still run away to jerk off?” You snap your eyes over to her with a sharp glare. “Yes! And he drives me up the fucking wall, dude! All I want is to get my hands on that delicious man and he runs away every time. How am I ever supposed to accomplish anything if I can't even get him alone for five minutes. And every time I do, something happens and ruins it all.”

You can't seem to get a second with him no matter how hard you try. The last two days, he hasn’t been around aside from his work in the morning, a few meals he makes it to in between. If you’re being honest, it's painful to think about the way he’d smiled at you a few days ago and the way he doesn’t have the time of day now.

“If he shows up at that dance tonight, I’m making sure you get your second alone. Now come on, let me help you pick out your dress. He won't know what he’s missing out on.”

By the time you’re headed out the door for town, Joel is still nowhere in sight. You thought you’d heard his truck for a moment earlier, but when you’d peered out the window a few minutes later, there was no blue chevy in the driveway. No cowboy waiting out front for you.

You trudged to the car in your black dress, two slits up the sides where your thighs peak out and a back so low your half afraid your ass is going to fall out of the damn thing. You do your best to hold it up when you walk through the dirt, a pair of knee high red cowgirl boots are the only thing saving you from the mud right now.

Melly isn’t far behind, but she's not dressed in anything nearly as revealing as you. She’s making friends with Tommy who surprisingly hasn’t tried to flirt yet and claims to have no idea where his older brother has disappeared to. He’s endearing, but you know he’s playing for both sides here, hiding something for his brother.

On the drive into town, your parents take your dads truck, leaving you, Mel and Tommy in your car. When you get about half way, you finally break and ask if Tommy has seen Joel, if he knows if he’s coming. Tommy shrugs in the rearview mirror with a smile.

“I’m sure we’ll see ‘em.” Is the only answer you get.

It doesn’t happen for hours.

Hours of forcing a smile through mind numbing conversation with people you haven’t seen in years. The same old how have you been in the big city? and you tell them it was hard work and commitment. They ask no plans for the future? like you’re doomed without a ring on your hand at your age. You keep your head up through every comment, back handed compliment and pick up line that passes you by for a whole fucking hour on the dance floor alone.

“I think I want to go home soon. I’m having the worst fucking time, my feet are killing me and I think my eyelash is falling off.” Your whining and limping, faking distress and discomfort for any shot to get the fuck out of here, go home and maybe you can chance a run in with Joel.

Maybe he’s coming in from the north pasture where he’s probably been hiding all day. He’d be covered in muck and sweat, dirt clinging to the creases in his face. He’d be tired and worn out, vulnerable to the way you’d take advantage of his weakened restraint. “You sure you don’t want to stay a few minutes longer?” Melly muses beside you sipping on a tall glass of tequila on ice, watching the small town’s people converse and dance, laugh and gather together under the low string lighting.

You take a long drag of the drink in your own hand, your third of the night that's finally starting to warm your insides. It’s not enough to ease the ache of wishing Joel would appear. You know he won't, there's only a few hours left and people are starting to get tipsy. “I think you might want to rethink that…the devil himself just walked in, twelve o’clock.”

You look up at her, in a pretty green dress with curly hair framing her face. She’s smirking over your shoulder at something—or someone behind you. You turn the rest of the way around and swear you’re in the middle of one of those movie scenes.

The ones where the love interest walks in and sexy rock plays while they walk in slow motion. With wind blowing this hair back even though they are inside. Joel fucking Miller was doing exactly that at this very minute, striding through the hall in his cowboy hat and a black button down, dark wash jeans and his boots. He looks like a wet dream standing there, looking a little bit lost and so damn handsome. Under his hat, you can see that his hair is slicked back and he looks clean like he’d gone home and gotten ready.

He’s here.

“Oh he looks…if you don’t ask him to dance, I will. He’s hot.” You wish you could explain to her that Joel is more than that, that he’s funny and endearing, that he’s honorable and loyal to a fault. He’s so many more things than just hot. You swivel around as he makes his way through the crowd, he’s bound to find you and you don’t want him to spot you gawking at him. “Do I look okay? Fuck he looks so good—is my hair alright?” You try to do a quick pat down but Melly grabs your hand with a smile. “You look fine. He’s not going to know what hit him, I promise—but he’s coming this way so whatever you do, chill out.”

She sets her drink on the tall table, the ones that adorn the outside of the dance floor for people who want to mingle. You take a long drink of yours and move to set it down when someone clears their throat behind you. The drink hits the table and you turn slowly, till you rotate around to face him completely. He’s even more devastating up close with pearl snap buttons on his shirt, his arms nearly bulging out of the damn thing. His facial hair looks shorter, his eyes shimmering with reflected light.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’, standin’ here all by herself on her birthday?” He grins at you and takes another step forward. “Guess I’m just waiting for the right cowboy to ask me for a dance.” You tease back, reaching out for him once he’s close enough for you to touch. You start at his stomach, soft under his dress shirt. When your hands make contact, a visible shiver runs through Joel.

There’s suddenly two more hands to join the party, one high up on your waist while the other curves around low on your hip, his digits digging into the top of your ass. “I’ll be real’ honest with you here, doll—askin’ you for a dance is the only reason I came tonight.” He smells good for once, usually you catch a hint of his shower under the smell of dirt and manure, a faintness of his once clean skin. Now, it’s all you can focus on—how he’d taste like his soap, smooth and clean, every part of him reachable by your watering mouth. “Well, Cowboy…go on.” Your hands slip up his chest and over his broad shoulders, like you’ve imagined yourself doing a thousand times. He’s responsive, lowers his shoulders so you fit along him perfectly.

“Would ya make this old man's day, let me have a dance?” His hand drops lower, along the side of your thigh until he can dig them into the curve under your ass. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was trying to hoist you up, drag you into that vice-like grip you want to be at the mercy of every day of your life. “Can’t get me any closer, Joel.” You giggle, hiding your face against his neck. He smells like after shave and a little like whiskey. “I thought you were giving up drinking?” You nip at his jaw lightly, just to listen to the way he rumbles against you.

“I’m—tryin’ to keep my cool here, but you look fucking incredible tonight. Needed a little courage to walk up to you, s’all.” He leans back slightly, looking down at the way your dress squeezes your tits together, nearly pouring out of the black satin. “Fucking…gorgeous in this thing, you know that? You knew how sexy this little thing was, didn’t you?” He pulls at the slit that exposes your thighs, raking it up a little higher, until he can get a handful of bare skin. He’s not wrong—you’d put the dress on and thought about all the ways it would drive Joel crazy if he saw you in it.

“You better take me dancing before you take this off of me.” The dance around you has started to fade away. Melly took her cue to go and has started to make conversation elsewhere. “With pleasure, darlin’.”

Joel all but carries you to the middle of the dance floor before you notice his obvious nervous ticks, the shake of his hands and the way he’s fighting the urge to gnaw on his thumb. He’s anxious despite his obvious attempt at faking composure. When you wrap your arms around his shoulders again, he stammers. “Need to tell you somethin’.” His voice is a little shaky on the inhale when his hands find your waist again. “I went into town last week, there’s this dance studio on sixth street and I thought, maybe I could trade work for someone to…teach me how to use my damn feet.” For added flair, he reels away from you and spins you once before drawing you back into his chest as he moves. “So, I take it someone taught you?”

The song changes, something slow, romantic and sweet that couples join in around you, swaying together around the dance floor. “Lady said she’d been lookin’ for someone to replace the dance floor. Told her I just wanted to learn to dance, so I’d stand a chance against the other schmucks askin’ you.” He dances you around for a few more moments, pulling out all the stops—every new move he learned. Was that why he was gone so much, disappearing every time you turned around? He was replacing a damn floor and learning how to dance, all for you?

“Joel—“ you start, trying to grab ahold of him for long enough to make him still. “There's somethin’ else,” he dips you back and your insides flutter, looking up at him with those big brown hopeful eyes. He stands you up right again and the dancing slows to a stop, right there in the middle of the dance hall. You’re sure the towns eyes are on you, your mom and dad, friends from high school, older people you’ve been around your entire life. “She wouldn’t let me leave without payin’ me for it, said dancin’ lessons don’t cost that much after all.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a envelope, sealed tight with a number written on the front.

“Ranch needs it a whole hell of a lot more than I do. S’just two grand, but I’ve found a few other odd jobs, so there will be more comin’, but it’s a start—“ your hand clasps over his clutching the envelope. You push his hand down, stepping forward until you're nearly standing on his own feet. “Joel Miller…are you going to stand there all night running your mouth, or are you going to kiss me?” This endearing man, this big, expressive cowboy who can’t seem to get anything right in his own eyes, but everything right in yours.

He chuckles, the hand not holding the envelope finds the side of your face, sliding his thumb along the apple of your cheek. He’s not the one to make the first move after all—after all the leading him towards it, the teasing and the showmanship. It’s you that stands up high on your tiptoes and drags him the rest of the way in, until his mouth finds yours in the lull of the dance hall, surrounded by swaying bodies and sweet music.

He sucks in a breath through his nose and his mouth opens, slots your lips between his when he finally, fucking finally gives all the way in. It’s sweet, chaste while you stand there, smack dab in the middle of the floor. Joel stuffs the envelope back into his pocket and his other hand finds your body again, yanking until you're flushed against him, digging your hands into his shoulders when his tongue licks along the seam of your mouth, begging to be let into the slick heat. What was slow and steady, soon becomes frantic, hot and needy. Your fingers tug at the buttons of his shirt and someone shoots off a whistle from across the room, enough to have you reeling apart. Joel's mouth is red, his lips swollen and shiny from your spit.

“You want to get out of here?”

Yes. Fucking hell yes you wanted to, you’ve wanted to all damn night, but with Joel standing in front of you, a strained tent in his dark jeans, it’s all you can think about. Instead of a response, you grab him by his hand and all but drag him out the back doors towards the parking lot. It's quiet, dark—the dance isn’t even close to being over so there’s next to no one in the parking lot.

You never stood a chance, looking back on this moment right here. You never would have stood a chance, with Joel’s ragged breathing behind you when he closes the door tight behind him.

One look at his wild eyes and parted lips, you should have known how this night was going to end.

Joel was desperate. He needed you, needed to touch you every second of his day. He thought about you every second he spent awake and he dreamt of you all night long. When he’d heard about the dance, he wanted to kick himself for not learning sooner. Finding the dance studio was a fluke, learning to dance was a damn nightmare and the floor wasn’t much better, but he’d do it all again for another opportunity to press you up against the brick wall with your thighs pressed apart and his hips slotted between them while he all but devoured your mouth.

He’s ruthless, relentless as he drags your bottom lip between his teeth. You—you can't keep your sounds to yourself, hiking your legs up higher around his waist when he presses in closer. He can feel himself straining through his jeans, can feel the heat of your core against his painfully hard cock. He’d take you right fucking here if you let him. “Joel—Joel,” your hips roll down to meet his uncontrollable press forward. “I know—fuck, baby, I know.” His movements are hurried and frantic, like this might be the only shot he has to get his hands on you. His mouth finds your jaw and he bites down on your flesh, relishing in the salty taste of sweat from dancing, the tang of your perfume and the sweet taste of your skin. It’s your sharp whine that gets him in motion again, his stilled teeth still hanging on to your delicate jaw. “Touch me, please—please, touch me.”

In a scurry, he drops his hand between your bodies, pushing the fabric of your dress to the side so his fingertips can work under the elastic of your panties, past the soaked material to the place he’s always longed to touch, always wondered what it would feel like.

And you are fucking drenched under his exploring digits. He slips them through your lips, your slick already dripping down his knuckles when he finds your clit and presses the pad of his thumb to it, swirling it around in a swift motion. Your head falls back and your mouth hangs open, a silent scream on your parted lips.

“There it is, huh? S’what finally gets you quiet? Just needed me to touch your pussy, didn’t you?” He groans when your thighs tremble against him, trying to tighten up around his waist where he has you pinned to the cold wall. His thumb keeps its rhythm while his fingers dip lower, making him breathless at how easily your body draws those fingers in. You come apart like you were meant to do just that, your body rapidly chasing him towards the brink. If he hadn’t gotten himself off twice today, he’s sure he’d already have cum in his pants from just this. “Yes-Yes, Joel—make me cum, please!” Your voice is wrecked.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, your chest heaving in that pretty little dress—your tits are about to bust out of the damn thing. He picks up the pace, slams his fingers into your heat and curls them while his thumb makes quick work of your clit. It’s been so long since he touched a woman, but he’ll never forget the signs.

You are dangerously, furiously close in mere minutes alone. “That’s it, pretty girl—cum on these fingers, let me feel her squeeze me.” You cry out sharply and he nearly covers your mouth with his other hand, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he revels in the pulse of your pussy on his fingers, the way you grind down against him while your body grasps for release. It comes to you with a whole body shake, a ragged gasp of his name and his tongue on your jugular.

When he pulls his hand free, it’s with a wet sound that makes his gut tighten and his knees weak. He has to get you somewhere more secluded, away from the prying eyes of the town folks. “Wunna taste you,” he growls lowly, dragging you away from the building despite the way you stumble, the lightheadedness from cuming on his fingers.

His truck is parked in the back for lack of a better spot, due to his tardiness. He’ll thank his lucky stars for it later, if he can remind himself of it. Now, he slings the door open and nearly throws you down on the bench seat. “C’mere, girl.” He’s running out of will power and common sense, the only thing driving his mind right now is sheer want, carnal desire to get his mouth all over what he’s already ruined. He’s lucky for the part of his brain that slips off his hat and sets it on the dashboard. “Lemme see that fuckin’ pussy.”

His hands find the backs of your knees and he yanks you to the edge of the seat. At this angle, he can spread you out and kneel beside the truck, let you use the door jam to rest your foot on. When your eyes find him, he thinks you’re just as far gone as he is, blinded to the world unfolding around you, to rubber hitting asphalt nearby.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you, babygirl. Only word you’ll know is my name when I’m finished with you.” He pushes your dress up with your hurried help, both of you desperately trying to rid you of your clothes as quickly as possible. The second he has your panties dangling between his finger tips, he pushes his head between your spread legs and buries himself under your dress.

The thing about Joel is, he’s always been too good at this. Half the time, it's the only reason women stick around. It must have been the only reason he got his ex wife to marry him.

He’s abandoned his shame and better judgment. He’s starved, famished for a taste of you. This man, this unhinged version of Joel eats pussy like he’s going to die without it. From the very second his mouth finds your center, he’s lost to your immodest cries, your mindless begging for him to keep going, never stop, never stop, Joel—please. He opens his mouth wide, slops his tongue through your folds like he’s trying to lick every drop from your sensitive skin. He pulls away for a breath and his eyes bounce up to meet yours, transfixed on his relentless attack. “Wunna split this little pussy open on me,” he says, muffled against your soft mound. He takes another long lap and moans at the heady taste of you on his greedy tongue.

“I’ve been practicing—I got, oh, fuck Joel, like that,” your head tips back and he pulls his mouth away completely. “You got what, baby, use your words.”

Your body clenches on nothing and his eyes track the movement with a low rumble. “Got a toy that’s as big as you so I could practice. So I'd be able to take you.”

You’d thought about this, about him. You’d thought about him while fucking yourself on a toy you’d bought to train yourself.

He doesn’t have the words to express the way it makes his chest tighten, so he presses his face between your thighs again and gets back to work, drawing out every secret you can no longer hold onto, how good he makes you feel, how hot and devastating his tongue is—how the sound of a car pulling up doesn’t even register until—

“Jackson Police department, step away from the vehicle!”

You should have known.

281 notes · View notes

cowboydisaster · 9 months

Text

* ˚ ✦ Compass * ˚ ✦

chapter one: La Belle Fleur Sauvage

pairing: arthur morgan x f! reader

word count: 7.9k

summary: modern au; Living out your dreams on a ranch in Colorado; Arthur finally proposes.

a/n: This is a little gift for @margowritesthings. I originally wrote this for you a year ago, but I've rewritten it for you for this christmas. xx

Arthur is nervous, his palms clammy as he pulls a Carharrt t-shirt over his head. The dark hardwood floor is cold against his bare feet as he slowly pulls his clothes on, layering up to defend against the harsh weather. You sleep comfortably in his bed, unaware of Arthur's absence from your side. He slowly approaches, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. You smile in your sleep.

"Gonna be a good day, darlin'.” He murmurs, pulling the white, fluffy blanket up over your shoulders before stepping out of the room, trying to keep his footsteps quiet.

The coffee machine beeps twice, notifying Arthur that the morning pick me up is finished. Two mugs sit by the machine, as always. But today Arthur doesn't grab his usual, opting instead for a travel mug. It's an old one. One that he'd gotten from some random bank event a while ago, "Strauss Financing" it read.

He'd used that bank to get a loan for the house and the barn. God– nearly ten years ago now, Arthur realizes.

The coffee is black and hot, steaming as it's poured into the mug. Arthur leaves the pot on for you before opening the door, and whistling in the direction of the bedroom. He can hear Copper jumping down off the bed, and then he rounds the corner, trotting towards Arthur and out the door.

"Hey there boy!" Arthur laughs and gives Copper a few pats. He's had the old vizsla about as long as he's had the ranch. Copper follows Arthur outside, happily trotting after the man. Everything outside is coated in a dusting of white. It's the kind of snow that looks like diamonds, where ice clings to the trees and rooftops, but the sun shines down, making everything sparkle.

When Arthur gets about a hundred feet from the house, with Copper circling around him, he stops and turns around. The log cabin stands proud before him, even after all these years. Arthur had built the place with his bare hands, just him and Copper.

The Colorado mountains stand proud behind the house, hues of purple and blue painting their cliffs, the morning rays of sunlight reflecting off of the snow on their peaks. When he looks at the slowly aging wood of the house, and the warm glow of the porch lights he can't help but smile. It's not the house itself that he is so fond of, it is what you have made the house– a home.

When the walls were bare, and the house was empty, save for the few pieces of furniture that Arthur could afford, it was incredibly lonely. He tended to the animals and worked on the ranch all day to avoid sitting alone in the house. He spent his evenings at the only bar in town, Pearson's Pub, drinking to forget and to ignore the empty house.

Things got better once you moved to town, working as a bartender. You warmed the man's cold heart. You were like a breath of fresh air in this old town. You still are. You managed to take his frozen, barely beating heart and melt it in the grip of your soft hands.

Arthur began to chat with you while you worked. After only a few interactions, he started coming in on the days he knew you would be there.

Then, one day, he offered to cook you dinner, and you accepted. Now, you lie in his bed, cozy and happy while he plans for the future. Funny, how things work out like that. All those years when Arthur was young, he'd hoped for someone to love. As an adult, he was content with his solitude, until you came along, of course. Divine intervention, you are.

Copper barks, stomping his paws in the snow, pulling Arthurs attention back to the present. The poor dog is probably cold. The nip in the air makes Arthur's cheeks and nose red, and his breath lingers in the air like a morning fog.

The truck isn’t far, sitting halfway between the house and the barn. Arthur shoves his hands in his pockets, shaking some snow off of his hat as he makes his way towards the old rust bucket. Snow and ice fall from the door frame as Arthur swings it open, leaning in.

He reaches across the steering wheel, jamming the key into the dash and turning it. He mutters a small prayer when the engine starts to stutter and hiss, but after a few seconds, it turns over. Once the engine is running, Arthur turns the heat the entire way up, setting the knob towards the windshield.

“Should be right as rain, now, huh, boy?” Arthur smirks, stepping down from the truck, shutting the door. Copper barks, running into the wooden barn where Arthur is heading, stalking the chickens, as Arthur slides through the wooden door.

He shakes the snow off of his hat, boots clicking on the floor as he grabs a few scoops of feed and dumps them into each horse's trough. Arthur greets each one, scratching behind their ears, patting their necks. He feeds, avoiding stepping on loose hens, until he reaches Boadicea's stall. A warm smile graces Arthur's face at the sight of the old chestnut mare. She brightens up at the man's arrival, and not just because of the feed he carries. Her head tosses as she whinnies for him..

“There's my girl." Arthur hums, dumping the feed, soothed by the sound of her chewing. Arthur scratches the underside of Boadicea's jaw, earning a slight whinny from the older mare.

"S’a big day today, y'know." Arthur releases a shaky breath as he strokes the mare's neck. Boadicea lips at Arthur's jacket, searching for treats that he doesn't have.

"I'm gonna ask her to marry me."

He huffs through his nostrils then, smiling as he pats the mare one last time.

"You're gonna be a part of it. I'm countin' on you, girl."

He then looks to the black quarter horse in the stall beside Boadicea. The horse has a star on his forehead, and a thick dark forelock that covers his eyes. When Arthur had gifted you the gelding, you'd named him Whiskey. It was both an homage to the bar where you met Arthur, and your preferred poison.

"Hey there boy. You better be good for the lady today, ya hear?"

He pats the horse who is hungrily lapping up his grain and then brings his wrist up to check his watch. The watch ticks quietly, showing the time as being 6:17am.

Arthur decides that the truck has had plenty long enough to heat up as he makes his way out of the barn, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. Copper has gone off, probably chasing birds in the woods, or attempting to play with the cattle. Once he's done playing he will come into the barn for shelter, at least until you wake up and let him back in.

Arthur's hands are tinted pink with cold as he opens the truck door, sliding in and shutting the cold out. The heat from inside the cab is nothing short of cathartic as it begins to thaw his frozen features, slowly melting away the ice and causing his nose to turn pale again.

Arthur turns the radio up a bit, driving down the long road towards the city. He tries to avoid Denver as much as possible. The tall, leering buildings are suffocating, reminding him of a very dark time in his life.

When Arthur's ma and pa died, he was placed into foster care. When he was twelve, he fought with the other kids, even beat a few nasty boys that were older than him. Arthur learned quickly that anger and aggression were the best ways to protect himself.

He ran from every foster home he was placed into, never having anywhere to go, just running. Arthur slept outside many nights, surrounded by vermin– both rats and people. He was spat on, cursed at, and kicked down by many of the people he encountered. It wasn't until he was fifteen that he found shelter- a home.

— — —

Arthur's feet pound against the pavement as he runs. The door remains open, swinging, as Arthur barrels down the driveway without shoes. The blacktop is rough on Arthur's feet, scraping and cutting into his heels as he scrambles, but he pushes through, determined to get away from the outskirts of Denver.

He follows the driveway until it meets gravel, avoiding it by running through the grass, into the forest. Tears stream down his cheeks, rough gasps for breath mixed with raspy sobs erupting from his chest.

Arthur bolts from yet another foster home– another abuser. He can barely see as the street lights get farther away, but he pushes on faster at the sounds of sirens. Sticks and rocks dig into the soles of his feet, but he continues, terrified.

In his hand, Arthur clutches a small bag, carrying the few things that remain of Arthur's childhood: his momma's ring, and a photo of her when she was young. His knuckles are white in their grip.

Horror trickles up his spine, sickness twisting his guts and making him sick. Tears prick at his eyes, threatening to send him to the ground

Did he just kill a man?

Disgust bubbles up in Arthur's throat as he searches around in the dark forest, looking for somewhere to hide for the night. Not far in the distance is a building with a light on outside, it appears to be a barn. Arthur tries not to think about anything as he stumbles towards the barn, feeling like he may collapse at any second. His arms are wrapped around himself, and he shivers as he parts the barn doors, stepping inside, sheltered from the cold winds.

A few animals grumble at the intrusion, but Arthur can barely hear them. His vision is blurry, breaths coming in quick pants as he trips. He makes it a few steps to a pile of hay, mind fuzzy and body cold. Arthur is exhausted and unable to breathe.

Suddenly his feet are falling away from him and he collapses. The impact is made softer by the pile of hay, but it still knocks the wind out of him. Arthur stares at his blood stained hands as they clutch his mother's things.

—

There is a shuffle. A door? Footsteps? They stop.

"My, my… What on earth do we have here?" A man says, his timbre deep enough to rattle the barn walls. Arthur's eyes flutter but he is not able to open them.

"Christ, Dutch– the poor boy's covered in blood, he can't be more than sixteen." A second voice chimes in.

Then Arthur is being hoisted into the air. He tries to fight, but slowly begins to lose consciousness again.

"Well take him inside, have Bessie and Annabelle fix him up… Once he's awake, we'll find out who he is, and.. what he needs."

— — —

Arthur thinks back on that time with distaste as his truck rumbles loudly through the crowded streets of Denver. Things got better after he found Dutch and Hosea. He stayed with them, working on their ranch for many, many years, and once he turned twenty-five the two gentlemen gifted him one hundred acres, enough to start a small ranch of his own.

Arthur sits at a red light, not far from his targeted destination. His fingertips tap the steering wheel impatiently as he thinks of that bag, his mothers contents inside. His stomach twists with anxiety. He hasn't been down this street in fifteen years. Muscle memory tightens his lungs as he pulls his truck along the street parking, brakes squealing before he pushes it into park.

Arthur sighs, eyes glancing up to the ornate, tall buildings before him. It makes his stomach turn. All this money poured into concrete structures when kids are starving in the streets.

He gets out the truck, straightening his shirt and jacket out of habit, before approaching the golden gate outside of the apartment building.

It's not long before he's in the elevator.

Arthur goes to knock on the ornate door, knuckles hesitating for a moment before rapping on the wood twice. It's the only barrier between him and the penthouse.

Arthur plans to make the trip as quick as possible. He’d vowed not to come here ever since the verbal assault had been thrown at him during an expensive dinner. He’d left in shambles, still young and naive. Arthur places his hands behind his back and pushes his shoulders back out of habit when the door swings open.

"Mary." Arthur acknowledges.

Her voice is soft, her southern accent spilling from her lips, "Arthur?” She seems worried, shocked. Her eyes scan him quickly, identifying that he's not hurt, “Is everything okay? Dutch? Hosea?"

"Yes Mary, everyone's fine."

Arthur takes note that Mary's father mustn't be home, and he instantly relaxes. His shoulders come down and his hands rest at his sides.

“Come in.” Mary says, opening the door, gesturing to the white couch in the middle of the living room.

Arthur hesitates at the door, but complies when she starts leading the way. Nothing has changed in all the years that he's avoided this place. The carpet feels the same as he walks across it. The couch dips under Arthur as it used to when he sits.

Mary sits on a chair across from him. The couch he's sitting on is far more comfortable than the one at home, but he prefers the quiet oak house compared to this busy modern apartment.

She looks to Arthur, her eyes curious. He hesitates, eyes unsure where to land– dancing between Mary's eyes and the floor.

"I-” He starts speaking and then stops a few times, before taking a breath, getting the words out, “I've met a woman…”

A pang hits Mary right in the chest, but she hides it well.

“Happened a few years ago." Arthur speaks low and quiet, his timbre is deep as he explains. Mary remains quiet and allows him to continue, eyes drifting towards the windows, mind caught up in memories that threatens to pull her under.

"She's a fine woman Mary, and… Well, I'm gonna ask her to marry me."

Arthur looks up to Mary then, her dark eyes contrasting his own. She has a puzzled look on her face as she replies,

"Arthur, I'm happy for you, but I’m afraid I don't understand…? Did you come all this way just to tell me–”

“Mary…” Arthur whispers, cutting off her snowballing thoughts, redirecting her to the point that he is trying to get across without being harsh. Without demanding.

She stops in her tracks then, realization dawning upon her, “Oh. I see.” She smiles, bittersweet. Arthur can see the regret in her eyes. He is quick to ease the tension, leaning forward, trying to soothe the old wounds that Mary has yet to heal.

"I'm sorry, Mary, I am– that things didn't work out between you and I, but– it means a lot to me, and there's no other-”

Arthur is stopped in his tracks as Mary raises her hand to stop him, “It belongs to you, Arthur. She should have it, really.” Mary smiles sincerely.

She loves Arthur, though she'll never admit it. She loves him enough to let him go, to let him be loved by someone he deserves. Mary doesn't know you, but she knows that since he came here, for this– you must be deserving of his love.

Mary places her pale hand up, signaling Arthur to wait as she stands and disappears into the doorway towards her room.

Arthur fiddles with his hands, emotion bubbling up as he waits. This is the final obstacle. Once he has his this item back he will be able to give you what you deserve, and if you accept, Arthur will be the happiest man alive.

Mary rounds the corner, her lips pulling into a bittersweet smile, a few tears dripping down her cheeks. There is a small black box in her hand, extended out to Arthur.

His green eyes transfix on the box. The one he hasn’t seen in almost fifteen years. Arthur places his hands on his knees to push himself off of the couch, staring in disbelief at the old thing.

It is carefully placed in his hands, and he slowly creaks the lid open, staring. It's a gold band, with a ruby placed in the center, and intricately placed diamonds on either side of the gemstone. It’s the one thing he has that ties the man he is now, to the happy young boy he used to be- when he was good. It was his momma's. One of the only things he has left of her. Arthur closes the box, tucking it away into his pocket.

“Best of luck to you, Arthur.” Mary whispers, a sad smile on her lips.

“Thank you, Mary.”

The ride home is quiet, for the first half anyway. As soon as Arthur is out of the city, back on dirt roads, he switches the old truck stereo on. A familiar song is playing, one that's been bringing him quite a bit of comfort in the past weeks.

“Now I know the only compass that I need”

He smiles. One of his hands rests on the steering wheel, the other rests on his jean pocket. He palms at the box as he drives, making sure it doesn’t slip away.

“Oh, is the one that leads back to you”

His voice is deep, rumbling in his chest as he taps his left foot against the floorboards of his truck. He thinks of you, riding your horse, smiling, of your hair in a messy bun and you in his too-big t-shirts. He thinks of how you love him, with a passion and a fervor.

“Now I know the only compass that I need Oh, is the one that leads back to you”

He thinks of when you met for the first time, your fates tying together in ways you never could have imagined.

— — —

Arthur enters the old bar, same as he does most every night. It's the same bar he's been going to for fifteen years now. Contrary to some of the other fools here, he doesn’t always drink when he comes here. Sometimes, he just sits at one of the tables, drawing the scenery.

Arthur comes here to drown out the silence of the house, to get away from the loneliness that he refuses to admit is swallowing him whole.

Tonight, he walks around the tables that adorn the small place, straight up to the bar, sitting down in his usual seat. The place is busy tonight. Arthur assumes there's a game being played, or a rodeo on the tv, but he doesn’t ask. Plenty of patrons sit around the bar, most with women or men in their clutches. Laughter and the sound of glasses being slammed on the bar fill the air, and a neon light flickers on the wall.

Arthur is all too aware of the familiar atmosphere around him, and yet somehow, he misses the new bartender serving tonight. Typically Pearson himself is behind the bar, but tonight someone else is handing out drinks.

Arthur knocks on the bar once, eyes watching the TV in front of him, a bulldogging competition. Suddenly, a form slides in front of him, blocking his view of the television. He adverts his attention to the person blocking his view, and his eyes go wide.

You stand in front of him, smiling and whipping a bar towel over your shoulder.

“What can I get for you, mister?” You ask, wiping your hands against each other.

Your eyes twinkle like they're among stars, and Arthur is sure that he’s never seen a smile so bright. He doesn’t respond for a few seconds, basking in your beauty. Your hair is not tied up, and it falls down, cascading over your shoulders.

Your black long sleeved shirt is tight, clinging to your figure, but Arthur is caught up in your eyes. He shakes his head lightly before responding.

“Yeah, uh… Sorry– just get me the strongest drink ya got. Make it neat.”

Arthur's typical order is a bourbon on ice, or a beer, but tonight he's going to need something stronger. Everyone knows everyone in this small town, but you're a new face, and Arthur can already feel the singe of the hot brand, burning you into his memory.

“Coming right up.” You raise a curious eyebrow, wondering about this man’s choice of drink. With your interest piqued, you grab a rocks glass and a bottle of patrón, pouring a few fingers of golden liquid into the glass, sliding it across the bar.

“Have one for ya’self too.” Arthur tosses a bundle of cash onto the bar.

“Thank you, mister.” You smile, pouring yourself the same drink.

You eye the mysterious cowboy curiously, noticing the softness hidden behind his rough features. He is attractive, very attractive, with dirty blonde hair, and a five o’clock shadow that exaggerates the scars on his lip and chin. His eyes are hidden from you by a dark cowboy hat, until he peers up and you are met with the most strikingly beautiful, bright, blue-green eyes you've ever seen.

You have to look down to hide the blush that creeps up on your cheeks from being caught in the act of staring. If he notices your gaze, he doesn’t say anything. Both of your crystal glasses are set on the bar as you lean onto it with your elbows.

“You ain't from around here, are ya?” Arthur asks. You smirk. The ruckus from the bar seems to die down in your ears. Even your busy mind quietens as you focus on the peculiar man before you.

“Is it that obvious?” You laugh, “No, I'm not from here, just moved.”

Arthur hums, content. There's an amused sparkle in his eyes.

“How'd you know?” You ask, wondering what gave it away. What's making you an outsider? You moved here to get away, to blend in. Anxiety curls in your stomach at the thought of being found.

“Well, miss, you’re far kinder, n’ far prettier than anyone in this old town… Don't help that everyone knows everyone here. We don't come by new faces much.”

Your anxiety quells, cheeks blushing a deep crimson, and after a moment, you raise your glass slightly, angling it towards his.

“Well thank you kindly, mister.” You hum.

“Arthur.” He corrects, clinking his glass against yours, swallowing down a swig of the burning liquid. You cock your head, not tracking at first.

“My name's Arthur. Arthur Morgan.” He reiterates, and you smile.

“Pleasure to meet you, Arthur Morgan.”

— — —

Your eyes flutter open slowly. The first thing that meets your eyes is the vase of purple flowers on your bedside table. The morning light hits them beautifully, reflecting off of their vase, refracting on the deep purple petals.

A wave of realization dawns over you.

Sunlight? What time is it??

You sit straight up in bed, eyes immediately seeking the alarm clock on Arthur’s nightstand. It reads 9:25am and your heart leaps into your throat.

“Shit!” You curse, swinging your legs out of bed, body barely covered by your cotton shorts and cami.

You feed the horses at 6am every day. Today your alarm mustn't have gone off. You feel terribly, knowing that the horses must be starving. You frown, hair messily falling around your shoulders as you hurry to your dresser.

A piece of paper sits on the mahogany, and you hesitate in your rush, placing your pointer finger on the paper and reading its contents.

Fed the horses so you could sleep in. I had to run into town real quick. Should be back before lunch. Call if ya need anything, Sweetheart. Coffee is hot in the pot for you and Copper is outside. - A

The panic leaves your chest, replaced with warmth as you pocket the note, pulling your slippers on as you move towards the kitchen.

Arthur is always doing this for you, taking on little tasks to remove some weight from your shoulders. Doing anything he can to ease your troubles. He knows that you've been crazy busy with work lately, as horse training always picks up in the winter, and he's been doing everything he can to help.

You hum a tune as you round the corner, hand trailing along the smooth oak wall. Your slippers are soft and quiet against the floor as you enter the kitchen, eyes trained to where the black coffee pot rests on the counter top.

You grab your clay mug, the one you'd made back when you were taking pottery classes, and you fill it with black coffee and a splash of cream.

Wrapping one arm around your torso, you move to the glass french doors in the kitchen, overlooking the barn and the pastures. You sip at your coffee, eyes slipping closed as the coffee wakes you up, the warm liquid heating down your cold bones. Your eyes trail over your farm, the brown and black cattle, starkly contrasting the snow. Snowflakes flutter past the glass as you watch the sun peeking behind a few pine trees in the yard.

Copper runs through one of the pastures, throwing a stick up into the air and then grabbing it in his maw. You can’t help the smile that graces your lips.

You head back towards your room, pulling out a pair of jeans. They hug your hips and waist, but leave room for your boots to lay under your pants at the hem. You pull on a long sleeved black shirt and your beige ranch coat before leaving your room and pulling your boots over your socks.

With one last swig, you finish the last sip of your coffee and set it in the otherwise empty sink before opening the glass door and stepping out into the elements.

You expect the cold to wind-whip your face, but it doesn’t. Instead, the sun shines down, adding some resistance to the cold weather. It causes the snow and ice to sparkle like diamonds as your boots crunch through the snow.

You push the barn door aside, heart humming at the warm sound of nickering horses.

“Alright. Who's up first?” You hum, looking to the chalkboard on the wall. It's outlined with feeding schedules, medication times and dosages, and your training schedule.

You find the designated box for today, seeing that today you'll be getting your work cut out for you. You're working with Doob, a seal brown thoroughbred, off the track, with more energy than he knows what to do with. His owners had brought him in for a bucking problem, one that you're already beginning to curb.

You make your way down the aisle until you find his stall, promptly grabbing his dark green halter and slipping it over his head.

“C'mon, boy.” You whisper, petting behind his ears, “You're just a big sweetheart, aren't you?” You chuckle as he nuzzles your palm. Of all the client horses, he's definitely carved a home in your heart. He’s a funny little horse, a character. You'll be a bit sad to send him back when you’re finished, but you know his owners will treat him right.

A short walk through the snow leads you both to the round pen. You leave him loose in the small pen, and he immediately starts running.

“Yeah, here we go.” You hum, cold biting your nose. You grab a green lasso from the fence post, moving him up with it, pushing him forward as he runs around the pen.

“Good boy.” You call, “Easy does it.”

Doob gets his energy out, running to his heart's content, wind flying through his long black mane. You just let him run, only correcting when he tosses a buck or kicks. After a long while of working, he eventually becomes tired out.

“That's a good boy, whoa now.” You cue, and he stops on a dime, turning towards you, walking into the center of the circle. Your head turns at the sound of a rumbling truck, and your eyes brighten at the familiar sight of Arthur coming down the lane.

“Good job, Doob. That's all for today. You go on and play now.” You smile, handing a treat out to the thoroughbred. He takes it happily before you remove his halter, letting him out into the pasture with the other client horses. He'll surely run off more steam out there.

A few snowflakes are stuck in your hair, and your nose is already turning red as Arthur steps down from his truck. You make your way to him, ignoring the chill in your bones, and leaning towards the warmth before you.

“Hey, baby.” You smile as he turns to you, shutting the door to his truck. Arthur smiles back, his hands extending as he grabs your waist, pulling you in for a kiss. Your lips are cold compared to his, and he runs his hand up and down your arms to warm you up.

“Shit darlin’, you’re froze. I was gonna ask if ya wanted to go for a ride but-”

His eyes go wide as you jump a little, gripping at his coat with your cold hands, interrupting him.

“No, I wanna go for a ride! I'm not too cold, I've got more clothes in the barn.”

He chuckles, his warm breath creating a fog in the air as he hugs you tightly. You've never turned down a trail ride, not in all the time you've known him.

“Alright, why don’t you start tackin’ up the horses. I gotta run in the house quick. I'll grab some food too. We can have a picnic.” His deep voice rumbles against your ear as he holds you in his embrace.

“Okay, I'll grab the horses. Oh- grab the chocolate, okay? The good kind. There's some in the cupboard above the sink.”

Arthur chuckles, “Sure thing, darlin’.”

You go to pull away from Arthur, but before you're fully released from his grasp, he gently pulls you back by the chin, catching you in another kiss. He hums against your lips, and you relax into him, allowing him into your mouth. He chases after the taste of you.

After a few seconds, another light peck– or two– you pull away from each other. When your eyes slowly flutter upwards, you see intense emotion in Arthur's eyes. Love.

Arthur loves you, and he always makes sure to display it, but he's being extra affectionate today, which has your eyebrow raising in curiosity.

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that?” you chuckle, hands resting on the thick blue fabric of his wool coat. You look up at him with those sparkling eyes, and he falls in love with you all over again. The snow has made your nose pink and cold, and Arthur leans down to kiss it.

“Cause I love you,” Arthur pulls away, “Now, go tack up those horses. I'll grab us a snack.” you peel away from him then, shaking your head.

One whistle for Copper, and the orange flash is running down from the pasture. Then, he's at your feet, whining happily. The snow crunches and creaks against your boots as you lean to pet the dog, and you both look at Arthur’s back as he opens the door to the house.

“Your daddy’s actin’ weird today.” You whisper, curiously eyeing the blue coat that moves through the door. Copper barks, as if he is trying to explain, but Arthur had sworn the dog to secrecy.

You pet Copper before standing up and brushing the snow off of your knees. When you step into the barn,you’re immediately surrounded by the soothing smell of oats and hay. The warm scents envelop you, and wrap you up like the warmth of the barn.

By the time you have both Boadicea and Whiskey fully tacked up, Arthur is walking through the front barn doors. He pushes the door open wide enough for your horses to step through.

“So where are we ridin’ to today? Maybe we could trail down to the creek? It's beautiful this time of year.” You ask, pulling yourself up into the saddle. The cold leather sends a chill down your spine as you rub at your thigh in an attempt to make warmth.

Arthur shakes his head lightly as he climbs up into the saddle, “Actually I was thinkin’ we’d go on up to the overlook today…”

The overlook? You hum. Typically you and Arthur only go to the overlook for special occasions. The last time you'd gone up there was about a year ago. It's a special place.

You both had said your first admissions of love there, let the words pour down into the plains below. Your first kiss with Arthur was at the overlook.

But the overlook doesn’t just house good memories. You and Arthur had split up, briefly, a few years ago. The separation took place there. It’s a place of much love and heartache, it's you and Arthur’s spot.

“Okay, sure… It’s been quite a while since we’ve been up there.” You respond quietly, curiously. Anxiety swirls in your stomach, but you push it down.

You and Arthur trot beside one another, carried by your mounts. The air is chilly, but your heart is toasty warm as you and Arthur chat, laughing and smiling as you go. The ride to Horseshoe Overlook is a long one, and you make the most of the time as you and Arthur ride through the bright snow.

“I'll race ya cross’ this hill up here.” Arthur drawls, his lips ticking up in a smile as he looks at you from under the brim of his hat.

You eye the hill in front of you. It's open, probably over one hundred yards. The snow isn’t deep over the grass and it doesn’t appear to be slippery. Adrenaline seeps through your veins as you eye it, swirling and pumping through your heart, flicking the hairs on your neck up like static electricity.

“Alright then…” You adjust yourself on Whiskey, preparing to run.

“Get ready…get set–” You are cut off as the wind whips your hair and Boadicea starts charging forward. Your jaw drops and you watch Arthur barrel ahead of you. Quickly, you spur Whiskey and kiss and cluck to move him forward.

“You cheated!!” You scream loudly, trumping the sound of pounding hooves.

Determination sets in your bones then, and you lean forward, spurring the horse forward with every ounce of might in your body. Whiskey shoots forward until he is running side by side with Arthur’s mare.

“I don't play dirty, mister!” You yell in Arthur’s direction. Hooves are pounding loudly against the snow. The two horses are breathing heavily, each determined to win their own races. You see Arthur laugh, but he stops when you spur Whiskey, charging forward.

Arthur curses as you shoot ahead of him and Bo. Whiskey's hooves kick up snow as he passes, sending it flying into Arthur's face. It slows him down, giving you the advantage.

You and Whiskey run hard until you reach the top of the hill, and Whiskey slides into a deep stop right before reaching the tree line. After ten seconds, Arthur and Boadicea are at the top as well, stopping hard and breathing heavily.

“Dammit woman, you can ride, I'll give ya that.” Arthur pants, face wind-whipped as you ride up beside him and lean over your saddle to kiss him.

His lips are cold, as are yours, but the kiss is still alight with warmth. You grip onto the collar of his shirt, not releasing when your lips pull away from one another. If anything, your grip tightens on his collar as you eye him.

“I know.” You smirk, winking at Arthur as you pull away and canter your horse away from him, and towards the entrance to the overhang.

He watches you canter on, shaking his head.

“You are somethin’.” He jests, trotting after you.

When the trees break, you nearly gasp. Though you have been here a handful of times, it always steals your breath away. You can see the house and barn in the distance, separated from you by miles and miles of white snow. Evergreens stand tall, dusted white, with a few herds of elk at their trunks. You can see for miles, past the house and to the tall blue mountains far in the distance.

“So beautiful.” You murmur, eyes bright with wonder.

“Sure is…” Arthur whispers, eyes not on the landscape, but on you.

You hop down from Whiskey, patting him for his good work, and offering him the same treats that you'd offered Doob earlier. You always keep a few extra in your pocket.

You walk towards the cliff, keeping a safe distance from the drop. Your eyes flutter over the rolling hills and plains before you. Everything seems so quiet up here. Troubles seem so far away. Unique snowflakes slowly drop from the sky, dusting your hair and coat with white diamonds.

Boots crunch in the snow behind you, stopping just a foot from your back. You smile, but don't turn around when Arthur's chest presses against your back. One of his hands wraps around your middle while the other, unbeknownst to you, rests on the small black box in his coat pocket.

The serenity of the overlook envelopes your senses as you breathe in deeply. The cold air carries notes of pine and sap, familiar scents that comfort you.

“Love you, y'know.” Arthur hums, leaning down, pulling your hair away from your neck, kissing the soft skin under your ear. Blood rushes to your cheeks, and you turn in his embrace, chest to chest.

“You’re actin’ strange, Arthur. Are you feelin’ okay?” You chuckle.

Arthur exhales sharply, otherwise ignoring your question. Instead, he pulls you up onto your tiptoes, your boots on top of his as he kisses you.

You melt under his touch, kissing Arthur feels like your muscles relaxing after a long day’s work, like rain after a drought. Kissing Arthur feels like coming home. He's been kissing you all day, unable to pull himself away from you.

You pull away only for a quick breath before your lips meet again. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, straining on your toes to remain in contact with his lips. Arthur pulls away with a bite to your lip, smiling when he sees how yours are plump and swollen.

The wind brushes Arthur’s hair into his face as he backs up, pulling you by your hand. He has placed a thick wool blanket on the snow for you two to sit on. You plop down on the blanket beside Arthur, your head resting on his shoulder. Your head rests on his shoulder. Heat radiates from the man, and you are glad for the extra protection from the cold.

“So what snacks did you bring, baby?” you ask, curiously peaking into the bag that Arthur has laid on the blanket.

“Alcohol.” He says plainly. You laugh, smacking Arthur in the arm as he chuckles.

“And your chocolates.”

“Arthur!” You chide as he hands you a bottle of golden liquid. You peer at the label.

It's patrón. You quirk a brow at the drink of choice. Arthur rarely buys the expensive tequila. Curiously, you pull the round cork out from the neck of the bottle and take a small swig. The alcohol burns its way down your throat, warming you from the inside.

You don't mind the burn, watching as a pair of pronghorn bucks fight in the hills below you. Their hooves slip in the snow as they each attempt to win their battle. Your hands numbly grip the neck of the bottle as you pass it back to Arthur.

You huff before you speak, “I can’t believe we’re here Arthur. After everything we’ve been through we can just… live now…” You pull your knees up, curling more into his chest. Your past hangs over you, haunting you like a dark cloud. Bit by bit, Arthur has been helping you to push it away, to heal and move on. Today is a good reminder of that progress.

His hands place the tequila in yours, and you down a swig.

“S’ like your readin’ my mind, sweetheart.”

You smile up at Arthur then, placing your hand on his stubble.

“Y’know this is the first place you told me you loved me…” Arthur says, low and quiet. You smile, the good memories filling your heart as Arthur continues,

“Also the first place I kissed ya… a lot ‘a memories up here.”

Your stomach flutters at his words, your brain is flooded with warm memories of Arthur and you in the overlook.

“C'mere.” Arthur whispers, smiling, taking a shaky breath. Your eyebrows furrow together. but as he stands and extends his hand, you take it. Arthur pulls you up, hands in his own.

The overlook is beautiful in front of you, serene and perfect. A moment he'd capture with a camera if he had one with. Whiskey and Boadicea watch on from the treeline, ears perked up. They know what's about to happen. Arthur's been telling them about it every day for months.

“I love you.” Arthur whispers, deep and serious. His eyes soften, and your heart begins to pump loudly in your ears. A delicious red flushes into your cheeks.

“I love you too, Arthur… but why are you.. what's going on?” Your voice is higher than usual, eyes sparkling bright with wonder, reflecting the sun and the white snow.

It isn’t unusual for Arthur to admit his feelings to you, but there are too many factors for this to be a coincidence. Arthur was ‘shopping in town’ all morning, but had come home empty handed. He brought you out to your special spot, bought you your favorite expensive tequila– and is treating you with such delicacy, and love, that butterflies flutter in your stomach.

Arthur huffs, letting out a humorous chuckle and looking up to the sky, projecting a short prayer, before he holds your hands a little tighter and begins.

“I love you more than I ever thought possible.” He looks away from you for a split second, staring at the ground, before anchoring himself in your eyes again, and continuing, “I didn’t think my life was goin’ nowhere before I met you… I gave up in my twenties, said I wasn’t gettin’ attached to anyone.” Arthur admits, and you frown. You know about his past. You've talked about it, and now you're trying to show him how much he deserves to be loved.

“I stood by that for a long time…” Arthur's lips crack into a beautiful smile, a chuckle falling over them, “And then you stumbled along.” A single tear drips down his cheek, and landing in the snow below. Your eyes are threatening to overflow with tears of your own.

“Arthur…?” You whisper, voice cracking. He squeezes your hands reassuringly.

“You showed me what it felt like to be loved. And love ain't somethin’ I've felt in many a years.” Arthur pauses, gathering his words. A few tears trail down your cheeks, and Arthur’s thumb wipes them away.

“You make me want so much more outta life. You make me wanna wake up every day and work on this ranch, take care of these animals. You make me want a family. I wanna wake up n’ watch our kids playin’ from the window.”

“But what I want most in life? More than anything…?” A pause ensues, his loving, green eyes locked onto yours, “I want to be with you, every day, for the rest of my life.”

Arthur thinks back to the song he had been listening to earlier on the way home from the city.

“As long as my compass keeps pointin’ to you, I’ll be where I belong… I’ll be home.”

Tears flow freely from your eyes, and you gasp as Arthur reaches into his pocket, kneeling down on one knee in the snow.

He looks up at you, one hand still intertwined with yours, the other extending out the black box. Arthur snaps the ring box open, presenting a stunning gold ring to you. The band is adorned with a ruby, and several small diamonds decorate the sides of the gem. Your hands come up to your mouth, as Arthur looks up to you, smiling.

“This was my Momma's…” Arthur explains, and your eyes flicker down to his, “You’ve already made me the happiest man alive… and I wanna spend the rest of my life with you… So, would you do me the honor–” Arthur chokes up, “Would you marry me?”

He looks into your teary eyes, holding the ring box a little higher as he asks the question. You wipe the tears away from your eyes, sight locking onto the scene, wishing you could etch it into your memory forever.

Your head frantically nods, tears flowing down your cheeks as you cry tears of joy, “Yes, Oh, Arthur–of course. Yes, yes!”

Arthur smiles the brightest that you’ve ever seen, standing before you and slipping his mother’s ring onto your ring finger. The band fits you perfectly, and you marvel at it for a second before Arthur’s arms wrap around your waist. He lifts you up into the air, and you wrap your legs around his waist, laughing and crying, overcome with a happiness unlike any other. Your heart leaps with love and passion for the man in front of you.

His lips crash against your, wet tears dripping down your face as you kiss him. Your hands entangle into the hair at the back of Arthur’s neck as you both kiss, pulling apart only to breathe or to laugh. The kiss is deep, bodies singing with love, energy overflowing from the both of you. He keeps kissing you, over and over again, never wanting to leave the taste of your lips.

You pull apart, foreheads pressing against eachother's, his hands on your thighs, keeping you off the ground.

“I love you so much darlin’.”

“I love you too.” You whisper against him, the happiest you have ever been.

The ring rests on your finger as you kiss Arthur again, senselessly. The band of rubies and diamonds holds promises of a future, of a marriage and a life with him.

As the wind rustles through your hair, carrying your joy so far down the mountains that it can be felt radiating even miles away, you can’t think of anything you could ever want more than that promise.

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow @holyratrimony @twola

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two #arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 arthur

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yourmomxx · 11 months

Note

hii, i saw you were asking for some cm requests and i always have cm on my mind so, i was wondering if you could do something with a nurse!reader and spencer or hotch?? maybe just both of them coming home after a long day (a 12 hr shift for reader, probably a closed case for him) and domestic-y cosy comfort vibes. maybe some late night talks that don’t really make sense or lead to anything

thank u!! 🫶🫶 (as always with every request, no pressure)

a/n: oh, that’s such a sweet request, I just had to do it for both of them! I hope you like what I did with it, I love domestic vibes

ᴬᴬᴿᴼᴺ

Sharing a home with Aaron Hotchner was a difficult thing to manage. Maybe, because the two of you weren’t home as much as a regular person would mostly be, but maybe because you had always been the proud owner of the ability to care - sometimes too much - about other people, and Aaron tended to go as far as to care not enough for himself.

So, after you both moved in together, it became sort of an unspoken contest between the two of you of who came home first, because it would inevitably set the tone for the rest of the night.

Aaron liked to spoil you senselessly when he came home before you, cuddling with you, making sure you relax, drink enough water, the whole deal.

And if you arrived home first, then, well - you did the things for him that he definitely missed out while he was away on a case.

You were standing near the stove, frying small slices of potatoes when the significant sound of turning keys and the front door opening rang through the halls.

When Aaron noticed your shoes standing out front, and the smell of freshly cooked food, a sigh escaped his lips that came close to a chuckle.

You just turned off the heat, when two strong arms were wrapped around you from behind, the feeling of soft lips pressing against the back of your head.

The warmth of a strong body was pressed against your backside. A content sigh slipped past your lips.

Everything safe and secure, you turned in Aaron’s hold and pecked his lips in a greeting kiss.

“Hello, handsome,” you smiled up at him. “Fancy seeing you again.”

Aaron let out a low grumble, corners of his mouth twitching upwards before he leaned down and kissed you again.

The feeling of him against you, in whatever way, was something you’d missed for the past three days that he had been away in - Nevada? Colorado? You didn’t know anymore.

“Hey.” The word came as a gentle murmur past Aaron’a lips as he broke away from you.

His eyes trailed over your shoulder and he craned his neck a bit.

“Are those fried potato slices?”

You nodded and pointed toward a bowl on the counter.

“With self made ranch, jalapeños and leek.” You dipped your head.

“Well, the jalapeños and the leek aren’t self made, but you know what I mean.”

Aaron smiled at you. “Yes, I do.” He kissed you again. God, it was so nice having him back.

Eating dinner with Aaron was also something that you had missed dearly, you did every time.

You would sit opposite each other on the old, but modern wooden table, and share stories about the recent cases you had worked, or patients you had treated, and you would spill the occasional - every single detail - about new gossip at work to your boyfriend.

Aaron didn’t always tell you everything about the cases he’s worked while he was away.

Some things simply were classified, some he just didn’t want you to be a part of, not in any way.

The warm light of the kitchen lamp illuminated his cheekbones beautifully.

Occasionally, the one or the other car would drive by the house.

Aaron dropped his go-bag on the floor next to your shared bed and pulled himself out of his work clothes to get ready for a shower.

You bent down to sort through the stuffed things of his duffle.

“These are all worn, right?” You asked him.

Aaron looked up at your question, but was as quick to wave you off.

“You don’t have to do that now, sweetheart,” He argued.

“You shower, and I’ll just do the simplest things in that time. Alright?”

Aaron weighed his head, and, after a few seconds of inner conflicting, agreed. “Alright. Thank you,” he said, and made his way to the bathroom.

You carefully sorted through his belongings, mentally patting yourself on the shoulder for choosing a partner that was as neat and organized as Aaron was, because that way, you didn’t have to inevitably wash and iron every single one of his shirts whenever he came home from work.

You pulled a dark t shirt from the bottom of the bag and folded it up. It was a simple cut, one-colored.

You held your nose against the fabric. It smelled like Aaron’s perfume, as probably the whole batch of clothes from the bag did, but not like it had been worn by him all that often.

Short-handedly, you changed out of your Pyjama top and pulled Aaron’s shirt over your head instead.

You smiled as you adjusted the soft material. It was a much better option, anyway.

You were tossing the dirty pieces in the laundry basket just as Aaron came into the room again, sweatpants and a tshirt on, rubbing his black hair dry with a small towel.

He halted in his movements when he noticed what you were wearing. A tilt of his lips, almost like a smirk grew visible on his face.

He stepped the few feet closer to you and drew you into a loving kiss. All his feelings were poured into the small point were your lips met his, were you both were connected, for the break of a lifetime, but as beautiful it could last eternally.

He didn't distance himself much from you, your noises were still touching, and you could feel the wavering in his breath as he spoke.

"Looks comfortable, what you're wearing there."

You smiled quietly.

Aaron drew the towel over his hair one last time, before folding it and tossing it over the heating neatly.

You were already waiting for him under the warm covers when he crawled into bed.

His head sinking onto the pillow, Aaron closed his eyes and drew out a long sigh. "This feels good," He whispered.

Your fingers found their way into his hair naturally, combing through the short strands carefully.

Aaron didn't open his eyes, but you felt the light push as he leaned into your touch.

"Missed this bed," He murmured. And he looked at you.

"Missed you."

You leaned forward and brushed your lips with his. The sheets rustled.

"I missed you, too."

You fell asleep that night, warmed by the heavy down blanket, fingers resting against the stubbly jaw of the man you loved, feet tangled together somewhere under the sheets, basking in everything that was Aaron Hotchner.

ˁᴾᴱᴺᶜᴱᴿ

The warm breath of Spencer was slowly ghosting over your skin, where his head was tucked safely in your neck.

You felt his even breathing rhythm as his chest lifted up and down under your fingertips, which drew nonsense patterns over his light blue shirt.

Spencer and you had gotten home around the same time tonight, as much of a rare occurence that was.

The cold stone of the kitchen counter under your naked thighs was a nice cool in contrast to your heated skin.

When Spencer had entered the apartment, before the door had even clicked shut behind him, he had made his way over to you and pulled himself into you.

He had not let you go since.

The fingers of your one hand found themselves tangled in his dark curls.

Spencer was still leaning his weight against you, thumbs circling over the short sweatpants covering your hips, and tickling the sensitive skin there.

"Did you not sleep well, baby?" You hushed into his ear.

The only response to your question were indecipherable mumbles that Spencer gave from himself.

He had not been home for the past five days, being away on a case in another state kept him from that.

You knew about the way your boyfriend had difficulties with rest, sleep did not come easily to someone plagued by the images that he was every day on the job.

Your hand strayed down to his neck as Spencer ever so slightly leaned away, just the smallest bit to have your features in his view.

"I strongly dislike hotel beds," He clarified.

You hummed softly, straightening out his wrinkled brow with the tip of your thumb.

"Maybe we should get you those melatonin gummies at the store if you have more trouble sleeping, baby."

Spencer scrunched his nose, bottom lip circling into another frown.

"Can't you just heal me back to sleep?" He grumbled.

The soft shiver of a chuckle left your throat.

When Spencer was tired, he got grumpy. But not old man grumpy, more five year old child who didn't get his sweets-grumpy.

Pouty, if you want.

Though you would endure him either way, old man grumpy or child grumpy, out of the two options, you did prefer this one.

You ran your hands up and down his upper arms. “You know it doesn’t work like that, baby.”

Spencer groaned lowly into your neck.

You sighed and leaned slightly back, your hands immediately coming up to support your boyfriend’s head as if it would fall off from its sheer weight.

Maybe, with the way that Spencer wasn’t about to tense one muscle, it would.

You cupped his cheeks and stared lovingly into your boyfriend’s sleepy, dark brown eyes.

“Come on,” you urged him quietly.

“Let’s get this off of you,” Your fingers slid to the buttons of his shirt. “-and get you to sleep.”

Spencer whined. You grinned and shook your head.

You kept unbuttoning him slowly, until you reached the lowest one.

Your hands, warmed up by your boyfriend’s body, slid under the thin material and over his bare skin.

There was a tenderness in your touch, when you slipped the shirt off his shoulders. Spencer just stood there and let you work.

He didn’t take his eyes off you once.

But you didn’t see that.

“Come on,” you repeated, hushed, thumb slowly stroking over his slightly parted lips.

“Let’s go to sleep. I know you need it.”

Spencer’s eyes slid closed.

He nodded.

You leaned forward and touched his mouth with yours slowly, softly.

Spencer sighed. You felt his breath tickle the lower half of your face.

His hand was gripped in yours as you led him to the bedroom.

When Spencer shuffled to the bathroom, you let him.

He couldn’t go a day without cleaning his teeth. There was no way he would fall asleep, you had learned that a while ago.

You pulled your silk nightgown out from under the covers, and, for your part, changed your clothes.

When it was a few minutes later and Spencer still hadn’t come back from the bathroom, you threw a look to check in on him.

Your boyfriend was standing over the sink, head bowed and hair ruffled, toothbrush stroking over his teeth in slow, tired motions.

Slowly, you came up behind him and wrapped yourself carefully around his body.

Your fingertips were gliding over the skin of his chest like feathery touches, your lips breathed kisses along his upper back.

You felt Spencer’s muscles shiver when you trailed lower, feeling the hem of his pants and opening them.

You let them slide off his legs and pool on the heated floors.

Spencer lightly bended over to wash out his mouth. Water still dripping from his chin, he turned around to face you.

You were gazing up at him.

Spencer leaned his forehead against yours. You closed your eyes in content.

Spencer hummed lowly.

You breathed out. “Yeah,” you said.

You let your hand slide down his lower arm and grabbed his hand in yours. Spencer followed you when you somehow pulled him into the bedroom.

He noticed too late that he'd been cold, only when the warmth of the thick blanket wrapped around him, he realized.

He felt a radiate of heat close to him, you had slipped under the covers as well. Spencer automatically drew closer to you, and the comfort you had to spare.

It was a routine, a studied motion, when he cuddled up to your chest, and your hands found his hair again, and his thumb stroked over the naked skin where his hand had slipped beneath the material of your nightgown.

There was nothing sexual to it, just his touch, that was grounding you as well as reminding him that you were real and that you were here, and that you liked to be.

Spencer liked to think that the way you were scratching at the roots of his hair, that it dimmed his migraines.

He was a man of logic, of course, so, in theory, it wasn't really possible.

But that was maybe the one situation where his logical mind had surrendered to his emotional one without putting up much of a fight.

Your soft and carefull voice glid over his ears like the softest lullaby.

You were telling him about your day.

About work, about the nice employee at the coffee shop, at the young daughter you got to reunite with her injured daddy.

Spencer liked when you told him about your day. In-between his life of death, and destruction and manipulation, he enjoyed hearing about the good that happened to the bad he witnessed.

It was an anchor, a proof of what the world had to offer that were not brutally murdered victims.

He didn't notice when he fell asleep, carried away by the tunes of your words, at some point you just felt the heavings of his chest turn more slow and even.

You didn't stop talking, though. Not until the muscles in your jaw weighed heavy, and the words didn't come as smoothly anymore, and you, as well, drifted away into the dark, but comforting arms of slumber.

You would wake up the next day with your back pressed against Spencer's chest, his arm slung tightly over your middle, and nose buried in your bed-tousled hair.

And you would smile as you felt him before you had even opened your eyes, and turn in his arms and kiss him softly good morning.

And you would love it just in the same way that you had the countless mornings that had been before.

357 notes · View notes

mrs-dr-reid · 5 months

Text

Betting on the Right Horse

Chapter One: A Goodbye Brings A Hello

Chapter Summary: Reader goes back to Horseshoe Ridge, Colorado after many years away for her uncle Jason Gideon’s funeral, and she learns that while she is the main beneficiary and inheritor of his horse ranch, she has shared ownership with Spencer Reid: her uncle’s protegée, and she’s PISSED.

Word Count: 4013

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, tw death/funerals, tw grief, tw food/eating/drinking, Spencer Reid being a little bit of an OOC asswagon (unless you're familiar with the dilaudid arc), Reader being a teensy bit entitled

A/N: Ayyyyy, welcome to my first slow burn AU series! A big shout out to all my fellow writers in the discord server I’m in for helping me outline this series and figure out the plot (and also letting me yell at them about this fic in general)!

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I honestly couldn’t believe it when I got the call. I was just getting home from work when a number I didn’t recognize showed up on my screen, and when I answered, it was my Uncle Jason’s friend Dave (who I vaguely remembered from when I was younger) telling me that he passed away the night prior due to heart failure. I almost dropped everything onto the floor of my apartment, because I hadn’t talked to Uncle Jason in a while, and now he’s gone and I’ll never get another chance.

Dave told me all of the details for Uncle Jason’s funeral, then offered his condolences before hanging up, and I had to go sit down and collect my thoughts and feelings. I practically grew up on Uncle Jason’s horse ranch, Sparrow Creek, and it was one of my favorite places in the whole world, especially the little town of Horseshoe Ridge, Colorado where it was located and all the people in it, and now I regret not going to visit as much once I went off to college.

I immediately called my boss and told her I’d be taking the next few days off to go to the funeral, even though it was VERY last minute. Thankfully, she was very understanding and told me to take as much time as I needed (something about a bereavement period, I honestly don’t know what she said after she told me it was okay for me to take off work because I couldn’t hear her over the blood rushing in my ears). After I hung up, I dragged my suitcase out of the hallway closet and started packing while simultaneously booking the first flight out to Colorado I could find on my laptop. I dug around in my closet and found my old riding boots, and was happy to discover that they still fit, so I stuck them in my suitcase just in case there was an opportunity to go riding while I was out there.

Once my suitcase and my carry-on bag were packed, I grabbed my keys, shut off my lights, and then headed back out to my car and to the airport, where I was thankfully able to get some work done on my laptop while waiting for my flight so I wasn’t atrociously behind once I got back. Once I landed at the Denver airport, I ordered an Uber to take me to the ranch, and after I was dropped off, a wave of nostalgia washed over me as I looked up at the wrought iron gate with the logo of a sparrow flying over a babbling brook branded into it.

A taller Asian man in a cowboy hat, worn-out jeans, scuffed-up boots, and a button-up shirt rolled up to his elbows saw me standing there as he walked by and called out, “Can I help you, Ma’am?”, so I snapped out of my reverie and said, “Oh! Yeah, sorry. I’m Y/N L/N, Jason Gideon’s niece. I’m here for the funeral this weekend?”, which made him say, “Wait, Y/N/N? It’s me, Matt!”, as he walked over to me. My jaw dropped open and I said, “Matt Simmons?! No way, how are you?”, as I let him pull me into a hug (I taught him how to ride equestrian style when we were kids).

He said, “I’m good! Gideon hired me as a ranch hand a few years ago, I got married a little bit after that, and we’ve got two boys with twin girls on the way,” which made my eyebrows fly up to my hairline before I said, “Wow. You’ve been busy,” making him chuckle and say, “Yeah, I guess I have. Anyways, I’m sorry for your loss. Gideon was a good man, and it was an honor working for him,” the conversation suddenly turning serious.

I let out a melancholy sigh and said, “Yeah, he was the best. A teensy bit eccentric, but I’m gonna miss him. I regret not coming to visit for so long now that he’s gone,” tears starting to well up in my eyes. Matt rubbed my arm comfortingly, then said, “Well, I should probably bring your stuff to your old room, then maybe I can give you a tour? A lot of stuff has changed since the last time you were in town,” so I wiped my eyes, put on the closest thing to a smile I could muster, and said, “Yeah, I’d like that,” before following him up the path to the ranch house.

Once my stuff was situated in the room I always stayed in when I came to visit (it hadn’t changed at all since I was here last), Matt showed me around the ranch and pointed out everything that had changed, and I had to admit it looked amazing. The stables had been extended within the last year to make room for more horses, a horseshoe of cabins had been added to the west side of the property to accommodate dude ranch guests, the training arena and paddock had doubled in size, and the stalls themselves had been updated to be a bit bigger and more comfortable for the horses.

We circled back to the stables just as another darker-skinned man (also in a cowboy hat) came trotting over to us on a beautiful Tovero Paint, and he said, “Hey, Matt! Who’s the lady?”, as he dismounted. Matt said, “Hey, Luke. This is Y/N L/N, Gideon’s niece. Y/N, this is Luke Alvez, one of the ranch hands, and this is Raven, one of our newer mares,” while gesturing to each of them. I stroked her nose and said, “She’s beautiful. Are all of the horses still named after birds?”, so Luke chuckled and replied, “Oh yeah, that’s never going to change. And I don’t know if you remember the town lawyer Hotch, but he just inherited his dad’s old ranch a couple of years ago, and his wife secretly named all of the horses after fictional lawyers,” which made me burst out laughing before I said, “Oh my god, really?!”

Matt let out a snort before he said, “Yup. And he only figured it out a month ago, because Emily’s horse misbehaved and she accidentally said, ‘Miss Elle Woods, you should be ashamed of yourself!’, in front of him,” which only made me laugh harder. Luke said, “At least we don’t name them after different types of pasta like Rossi does,” making me say, “Oh, I would constantly be hungry if I was over there,” earning nods of agreement from the men and a whinny from Raven. I turned to Matt and said, “Are Nelson and Chickadee still around? They were my favorites when I was younger,” so he nodded and said, “Yep. They mostly do trail rides for the less experienced riders nowadays, but they’re still here. Wanna go see them?”, which made a giant grin spread across my face before I said, “Yes!”, and Matt lead me to their stalls after we bid our goodbyes to Luke and Raven.

I approached Nelson first, and I said, “Hey, Big Guy! I’m not sure if you remember me, but I certainly remember you!”, while holding out my hand for him to sniff. He snorted happily and nuzzled against my hand once I started scratching his nose, and Matt said, “I think he remembers you,” which made me smile while I continued stroking him. Chickadee huffed indignantly from her stall, so I walked over to her and said, “Oh, I’d never forget about you, Pretty Girl!”, as she nuzzled my hand in a very self-satisfied manner.

Matt said, “There are a couple more horses that weren’t here last time if you wanted to meet them too,” which made me shoot him a look before I jokingly said, “I can’t believe you’d ever think I didn’t want to meet a new horse,” earning me a playful eye-roll from Matt before I was introduced to his horse, Robin the Clydesdale, and the rest of the trail horses: Puffin the Norwegian Fjord, Starling the Tennessee Walking Horse, Eagle the Off The Track Thoroughbred, and Falcon the Hanoverian. We exited the stables, and Matt said, “Well, you probably want to try and settle in before the funeral tomorrow, so I’m gonna get back to work,” so I nodded and said, “Yeah, yeah, definitely. See you tomorrow, and thanks again for the tour,” which made him tip his hat at me with a wink before walking off.

When I made it back to my room, I flopped onto the bed and had to take a breather. I tried to settle my mind by unpacking my bags and hanging my clothes up in the closet to get some of the wrinkles out (fingers crossed), but then I saw a picture of me at age 11 sitting on Nelson’s back and Uncle Jason holding the reigns and smiling up at me proudly, and tears instantly came to my eyes. I grabbed the picture frame off of the dresser, and I whispered, “I’m gonna miss you, Uncle Jason. I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch,” before setting it back down and getting out my phone to order dinner. I quickly figured out DoorDash wasn’t really a thing in Horseshoe Ridge, but thankfully I remembered that Uncle Jason kept a whole drawer of delivery menus next to the fridge. Once that was squared away, I got into my pajamas, ate my dinner once it arrived, and then called it a night.

At the funeral, I sat next to Matt and his family since I didn’t know anybody else there, and listened with tears in my eyes as Dave gave the eulogy. I was invited up to say a few words, so I kept it short and sweet (mostly to avoid crying in front of a room full of strangers) and said, “My Uncle Jason was one of the best people I’ve ever known. As Dave said, he was selfless, intelligent, and had one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever seen. He’ll be dearly missed, and I sincerely regret not coming to visit more often,” before nodding in thanks and sitting back down, Matt rubbing my shoulder encouragingly as I did so.

At the reception, I was making small talk with the perky blonde woman Luke introduced to me as his girlfriend Penelope when Matt came up to us and said, “Hey, Y/N/N! I wanted to introduce you to Dr. Spencer Reid. Spencer, this is Y/N L/N, Gideon’s niece,” and then I looked at who he’d gestured to, and my heart skipped a beat because I was looking at a man at least 6 inches taller than me in a well-tailored suit with wild brown curls, stubble decorating his jaw in a way that somehow didn’t look disheveled, and honey brown eyes that made me feel like I was going to melt into the floor. I was broken out of my reverie when the man said, “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. Gideon talked about you a lot,” but he didn’t stick out a hand to shake.

I shrugged it off as some germaphobe thing, then I said, “It’s nice to meet you as well, Spencer. How did you know my uncle?”, and he replied, “He guest lectured at my university a lot, and I’d always wanted to be a cowboy growing up, so once I graduated, he took me under his wing and showed me the ins and outs of running a ranch. He even made me the foreman a couple of years back,” making me nod understandingly. A thought occurred to me, and I said, “I’m sorry, Matt said you were a doctor, but you don’t look that much older than me. Are you some kind of genius or something?”, which made him shove his hands into his pockets and say, “I have three Ph.D’s in mathematics, chemistry, and engineering. I also have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and I can read 20,000 words per minute, so yes, I guess I’m what is considered to be a genius,” in a tone that could be easily interpreted as nonchalant or arrogant.

I decided to go with the first option and say, “Impressive. Anyways, it was really nice to meet you, but you’ll have to excuse me. I need a refill and a snack,” while holding up my nearly empty wine glass in a pointed way. The corner of his mouth quirked up, and he said, “Likewise,” before nodding and wandering off. I smiled in a confused manner as I watched him go, then said, “He’s… peculiar. I can see why Uncle Jason liked him,” which made Matt let out a snort and say, “He’s one of the only people who could beat him at chess. Besides you and Rossi, of course,” earning an eye roll and a playful shoulder shove from me.

After I’d obtained my second glass of wine (or maybe third? I’m not 100% sure), a tall dark-haired man approached me and said, “Miss L/N? Could I borrow a few minutes of your time?”, so I nodded and said, “Of course,” while quickly scouting out a place to set my glass. The man continued, “My name is Aaron Hotchner, but most people call me Hotch. I’m the town lawyer here in Horseshoe Ridge, and I worked very closely with your uncle for many years,” and held out a hand to shake. I fought to contain a snort when I remembered what Luke and Matt told me about the horses at his ranch, and I shook his hand while saying, “Nice to put a face to the name,” which made him crack a smile before saying, “I was wondering if you’d be able to come by my office tomorrow morning for the reading of your uncle’s will,” and a chill ran down my spine momentarily before I nodded curtly and said, “Yeah, absolutely,” hoping Hotch didn’t notice.

He eyed me with a touch of concern for a few seconds, then reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a business card, and handed it to me while saying “I’ll see you tomorrow then. Ten thirty. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to locate the partners in crime that are my wife and son,” before nodding and trotting into the other room, and I could barely hear him call, “Emily! Jack!”, as he disappeared. I tucked the card into my purse after looking it over for a moment, then wandered back to where Matt was sitting with his (very pregnant) wife, Kristy, and their two sons, David and Jake. I said, “I’m gonna head back to the ranch, okay?”, while gesturing towards the door of the funeral home, so Matt nodded and said, “Do you need a ride?”, which made me shake my head and say, “No, Luke gave me the keys for the truck because he’s riding back with Penelope. Thank you, though,” before smiling at him, extending a quick “nice to meet you” to Kristy and the boys, and leaving.

The next day, I arrived at Hotch’s office at the same time as Spencer, and I started to ask, “What are you do-...?”, but then it hit me and I smacked myself on the head before saying, “I’m such an idiot. Of course Uncle Jason would have left you something, you worked with him for how many years?”, which made Spencer chuckle slightly and say, “Five years, three months, and fourteen days. But who’s keeping track? And I totally get your confusion. You’ve known him your whole life, it makes barely any sense for me to be here,” relief flooding through my body that he wasn’t offended.

He opened the door to the building for me, and I went up to the front desk to talk to the receptionist. I said, “Hi, we’re here for a meeting with Hotch?”, so the woman typed something on her computer and said, “Yep, he’ll be ready for you in about fifteen minutes,” with a big smile on her face. I thanked her quietly, then sat down in the waiting room next to Spencer, and it was quiet for a while, him fiddling with his jacket sleeves and me tapping on my legs to the tune of “Sweet Caroline”.

I finally broke the silence and asked, “Where are you from?”, which startled him before he cleared his throat and said, “Vegas. I moved out here the second I turned eighteen, though. You?”, so I replied, “Boulder, about an hour west of here. I moved to Chicago for college, though, then got a full-time job a little while after I graduated, so I didn’t get the chance to come visit as often as I would have liked,” making him nod understandingly. He asked, “What was your major?”, and I said, “Finance with a hospitality minor. I’ve been an accountant for about four years now,” earning an impressed nod from him. I almost said something else, but the receptionist called out, “Dr. Reid and Miss L/N?”, so the two of us stood up, and she led us back to Hotch’s office.

The receptionist poked her head in the door and said, “Your ten-thirty is here, Hotch,” and I heard his deep voice reply, “Thank you, Elle. Send them in,” before she opened the door a bit more, smiled at us, then trotted back to the front desk, where I could vaguely hear the phone ringing. Hotch adjusted his reading glasses, then gestured for us to sit down, so I took a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk, Spencer following suit. Hotch folded his hands on his desk, then said, “Thank you both for coming. Shall we get started?”, making Spencer and I look at each other before looking back at Hotch and nodding our assent.

Hotch pulled a fairly small packet of paper out of a manilla envelope, then began to read out loud: “The last will and testament of Jason Benjamin Gideon. I, Jason Gideon, hereby bequeath Chickadee the Appaloosa horse to my beloved niece, Ms. Y/N M/N L/N, for she was always her favorite,” which made me smile, because Chickadee was, in fact, my favorite horse at Sparrow Creek. Hotch continued reading, “I also bequeath Nelson the American Quarter Horse to my protegée, Dr. Spencer Walter Tristan Reid, so that he may continue to work on his horse riding skills with a trusted partner,” and the corner of Spencer’s mouth quirked up at that sentiment.

Then Hotch got to the part I was most interested in; namely, who got the ranch. He read, “Now, the subject of my most beloved estate, Sparrow Creek, and its accompanying businesses and assets,” then he hesitated and looked up at the two of us with what I swear was nervousness in his eyes, but I disregarded it and leaned forward in my seat slightly. Hotch took a deep breath, then continued, “I, Jason Gideon, hereby leave Sparrow Creek and all equity involved to my beloved niece, Ms. Y/N M/N L/N, but only under these conditions,” which made me wrinkle my eyebrows and make eye contact with Spencer, who looked just as confused as I did.

Then Hotch said what was probably the worst thing I’ve heard since I was informed of Uncle Jason’s passing: “Ms. L/N must remain at Sparrow Creek full-time for an entire year, and work alongside Dr. Reid on a day-to-day basis to ensure the prosperity of the ranch. If these conditions are not met, Sparrow Creek and all its equity will pass in full to my protegée, Dr. Spencer Walter Tristan Reid,” and my jaw just about hit the floor in indignance. Hotch set the packet of paper on his desk and looked up at us without saying anything, and all I could hear was my own heartbeat pounding in my ear. Spencer said, “That’s it?”, and Hotch confirmed, “That’s it. Anything you need me to clarify?”, which made me stand up and storm out of his office, steam practically pouring out of my ears.

Once I made it outside, I started pacing back and forth on the sidewalk, and I’m sure it was quite the scene for any pedestrians who happened to be walking by. A stream of obscenities came out of my mouth in an enraged mutter as I attempted to calm myself down, but when Spencer emerged from the building, my rage boiled over and before he could finish saying, “What happened back there?”, I screamed, “What in the actual FUCK WAS HE THINKING?!?!”, which made him fall silent and stare at me like I’d just grown two extra heads.

I rambled, “My entire life, Uncle Jason told me that one day I’d be in charge of Sparrow Creek, and that it would be the greatest joy of his life to hand it down to someone who truly loved the family business. Now he decides that some random city boy he’s only known for five years gets the whole kit and caboodle if I screw the pooch?! WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!”, getting angrier and angrier until it exploded out of me and I kicked the first solid object I saw (which happened to be a metal trash can that made a loud reverberating sound like a gong when the reinforced toe of my boot made contact with it) before I continued pacing.

Spencer’s face hardened, and then he said, “Maybe he thought since you weren’t around enough, you wouldn’t be able to handle it. Maybe he was giving you one last chance to prove yourself, and he was making sure the ranch would pass on to someone who knew what they were doing in case you couldn’t take the heat,” which made me stop dead in my tracks, and slowly turn towards him while saying, “What the hell did you just say to me?”, a deadly chill in my voice that even scared me a little.

Spencer stiffened a little bit, then leaned forward slightly so he was all up in my face (asshole) and said, “Gideon put safeguards in place to make sure someone competent gets the ranch if you fuck up, Princess,” which made my nostrils flare before I snapped, “Don’t call me that,” and glared at him. After a momentary stare-down between the two of us, I rolled my eyes and said, “Whatever. I have to go, I gotta make a few calls before my flight back to Chicago tomorrow night,” while starting to walk back to the pick-up truck I borrowed from the ranch.

Spencer called out, “Awww, throwing in the towel before you even start the race, Princess?”, and the holier-than-thou tone of his voice made me want to punch his lights out, but I composed myself, plastered on a sickly sweet smile, then turned around to face him before saying, “Oh no. I hate to disappoint you, but I’m only going back to pack up my stuff, sublet my apartment, and put in a request for indefinite remote assignments from my accounting firm before renting a U-Haul and coming right back here. If you think for even one millisecond that I’m not gonna fight tooth and nail for something I’ve been waiting my entire life for? Then you better hold onto your ass with both hands, Einstein,” and if only I had a photographic memory to keep the way his smug smile dropped off his face in my brain forever.

I scrunched my nose at him the way the mean girls did in early 2000s movies, then said, “Better get a calendar and pen ready, Doc,” before sarcastically blowing him a kiss, climbing into the truck, and starting the drive back to the ranch. I caught a glimpse of him standing dumbfounded on the sidewalk in the rearview mirror, and I couldn’t help but laugh out loud, because I was going to make Dr. Spencer Reid regret ever underestimating me, and have a smile on my face the entire time I did so.

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