#Chrysalis and Whips | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

merakiui · 7 months ago

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LONELY ESTATE.

sunday x (female) reader cw: nsfw, marking (hickeys), slight possessiveness from sunday, alcohol/intoxication, toxic exes, adultery, background marriage of convenience, an au wherein most of the canon is ignored in favor of plotless smut, all you really need to know is that sunday is still hopelessly whipped for you note - you and sunday are over—have been for many years. all it takes is one drunken mistake to rekindle a dangerous flame that should have been extinguished long ago. or: sunday invites his ex to his wedding. that goes about as pleasantly as you can imagine. // listen to cailin russo's 'lonely estate' if you would like extra vibes!! :D

If there’s one thing that trumps Sunday’s detestation of you, it’s his unshakable sense of duty towards his station. He takes immense care to craft a respectable image for the public, meticulously weaving words and actions together to become a pristine and untouchable chrysalis. Almost like a marble statue, perfection sculpted in his likeness. When you were dating, he used to echo the same advice: “A pleasant impression impacts one’s reputation and, by extension, the organization, occupation, and company one chooses to keep. You would do well to remember that.”

And remember you have.

It’s been eight years since you broke it off with him, but even now you hear his voice ringing loud and clear whenever you aren’t up to par with the standards you set for yourself. What can be worse than the voice of your own harsh critic? A voice that sounds remarkably like your ex-boyfriend, much to the consternation of your peace, and he’s so very keen to scrutinize every detail of your life.

You were hoping to save yourself a run-in with him, but the world (and Sunday) hates you. By the good grace of an invitation, you find yourself attending his wedding as a mostly unwilling guest. And it’s only because you’re doing the same thing he does: save face, lift your reputation, network—a brutal cycle.

That birdbrain was your initial thought when you skimmed the words cordially invite you to the wedding of Sunday Oak, and you immediately felt scammed somehow. He went and got married before I could, and now I have to sit in the audience and congratulate him. Gross.

So now you’re here, having sat through the ceremony and an obnoxious amount of platitudes, artfully dodging questions of, “You look familiar. Where do I remember you from?” You’re wearing a skin that’s only semi-immune to self-importance and schemes: a strapless black dress that wraps around your body like a smothering embrace. A matching choker is fastened around your throat. You don’t have glittering gems and pretty pearls, so costume jewelry fills in for what’s deceptive enough to pass as opulent authenticity.

This is the type of wedding that makes the headlines. Massive news for a massive event! Powerful people strut about and mingle in the ballroom beneath a coruscating chandelier, preening like peacocks when their feathers are smoothed out with obsequious flattery. You don’t fit in with anyone here. It’s another world—a world you’re relieved to have left behind all those years ago.

That was always the crux of your dynamic with Sunday. The imbalance. Different worlds. Different values. Different, different, different. And not the kind in which you make it work, fitting together like imperfect puzzle pieces in spite of difficulty—that love conquers all nonsense. Rather, it was the type of difficulty that’s reminiscent of oil and water. An impossible mixture.

No matter what, nothing seemed to blend. You’d melt into each other, but the physical and emotional amalgamation wouldn’t stick.

The fact of the matter? Sunday was primed for success ever since his and Robin’s adoption into the illustrious Oak Family. On the other side of the coin, you were primed for struggle and survival. For a litany of temporary work, a galactic hole wrenched open in your heart since your first failure, and as a result you continue to climb an unsteady ladder in search of a way to slice that pesky prefix off. Steady. You want to know what that’s like. At one point, you thought you wanted to know that bliss with Sunday. Not anymore, though.

This world is suffocating and reeks of too-expensive colognes that cloy like rot, and it’s bright in here—a blinding sort of light that sears through your eyelids to chisel away at your irises. You can’t endure another minute here.

I’ve played my part, you think, performing a sly sweep of the room. I applauded with the audience, I left my gift with the rest, and I’m telepathically sending good vibes. Time to make my grand escape.

You weave around a marble pillar, confident in the curtain call, only to stop short at the sight of an old nuisance standing just beyond the cluster of people cluttered between you—literally and symbolically, forever worlds apart. And grand your escape would have surely been had he not had the conscience to look your way at that exact moment. You watch as he excuses himself from his previous conversation, and then he’s maneuvering seamlessly around the crowd like a shark fin cutting through deep blue. They part with ease, offering him smiles and congratulations in succession.

Before you can think of running, he’s standing right in front of you.

“Miss (Name), good evening.”

“If it isn’t the man of the hour!” You flash more teeth than lip when you smile, the worst fake you’ve ever tried to force. “Congrats.”

Amusement crinkles the corners of eyes. “Are you enjoying the party? I must say it’s an unexpected surprise to see you here.”

“Coming from the guy who put me on the list, I highly doubt that.” You pluck a champagne flute from a passing waiter and school your temper into rehearsed refinement. “But it’s a very nice event, yes. I’m enjoying myself.” And then because you can’t help it, “The most handsome man in Penacony—married. Wow! Big news. What a dream. So happy for you.”

Every word is spoken with great strain.

Lifting the glass to meet ruby-red lips, you hold his aureate stare and take a long sip from the fizzy beverage. It crackles at the back of your throat in an explosion of aromatic alcohol. Sunday studies this display with a strange intensity, his gaze flicking from your face to your mouth, and then he settles on the lipstick staining the rim of the glass. Despite his phlegmatic placidity, a mask measured to muddle the manipulation lying just beneath the surface, you’re trained in Sunday’s tactics. If there’s anyone who can navigate these sides of him—the control and coercion, every unsavory facet—it’s you.

He breathes out a gentle laugh. “You’ve never possessed a penchant for dishonesty, especially not the successful sort.”

And if there’s anyone who can see through to your very soul, perceptive to a point, it’s your ex. He knows all of your best and worst qualities just as you know all of his, and much like the symbolism in wearing all black to a wedding celebration you’re a stain on his past.

It was a first relationship that was swiftly swept under dozens of metaphorical rugs. And if you’re ever brought up in conversation it’s always the angelic, can-never-do-anything-wrong Family head with his undesirable ex-girlfriend.

“Look, this has been cute—all of this.” You gesture with your glass. Liquid gold almost sloshes over the rim. If any speckles your outfit, you can’t tell. The droplets are devoured by the dark void of your dress. “But I have places to be. Congrats again on the wedding.”

With a casual wave of your hand, you swivel around on your heel and take one step forward. His next words freeze you in place.

“Sardonic as usual. How could your most lovable trait slip my mind?” There’s a catty edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. Childish, almost, as if your very existence brings out the immaturity from all those years ago. Perhaps it’s still there and, rather than maturing, he just learned how to hide it. “How keenly you flee.”

Your fingers tighten around the slim stem of your glass, and for a beautiful moment you picture Sunday’s neck in its place. And then the spell breaks and you’re left to pivot sharply, a monstrous sneer cutting into your cheeks.

“Funny. If I recall, someone once said it’s what I do best. I guess I’m living up to the legend, huh, Sunday?”

“Nothing if not predictable, even at your most troublesome. It is as endearing as it is frustrating.”

“Ugh. Don’t you have a new wife to cozy up to? Or people to let stroke your ego? Go bother one of them. I’m not in the mood.”

“I couldn’t possibly do that. As host, it would be poor manners on my part to neglect a guest.”

The way he pronounces guest makes you think he wants to swap the word for a more fitting title, one that rhymes, but he refrains from doing so. Still, the hidden description brands itself onto your brain. Pest. Pest. Pest.

That’s all you really are to one another nowadays. A pest from the past. Thankfully, the feeling is mutual.

“Aren’t you oh-so-considerate?”

His smile does not add any shine to his already lightless eyes. To stave off the awkward, near-nuclear tension, you down the rest of your champagne. Sunday’s focus drifts once more, lingering squarely on your tongue as it darts out to wet your lips. You take notice of this and level him with a stern frown.

“Don’t jeopardize your marriage by being so obvious, or you might find yourself in the early stages of divorce. Be careful, birdbrain.”

As you brush past him, you catch his mumblings.

“As if I would fall for such blatant temptation. It’s simply unbecoming. Reckless behavior befitting that of utter fools.”

With that, Sunday flattens nonexistent wrinkles on his perfect suit and steps back into the crowd. You beeline right for the refreshments. If it’s a party on the Oak Family’s Credits, you’re determined to depart with a stomach full of fancy food and bubbly beverages.

No harm in letting loose tonight, you think. No work, no worries, no obligations. It’s a Sunday. Make the most of it before Monday.

Hours later, clutching a plate piled high with tiny cakes and skewers of cheese and fruit, you sway out of the ballroom. Diffidence cast aside, your body warm and wired with a giggly sort of inebriation, you stagger-walk until the music and thunderous din of too many conversations flushes out into a distant muffle. It takes a few more turns and a silly moment of mistaking your left from your right before you realize you are not nearing the exit. Instead, you’re just putting more space between the outside and yourself.

It’s quiet and cold in this hall, peaceful like the grave. Shadows settle in corners and beneath curtains. Maybe you’d find yourself unsettled if it weren’t for the snacks in hand. They distract you from any encroaching haunts.

The Oak Family Manor is more labyrinthine than you remember, but then it’s been years since you stepped foot in these walls.

“Damn. Where the fuck is the exit?” you mutter, licking buttercream from your fingers. “This stupid house…”

Your surroundings tilt and blur in a dizzying splotch of color and shapes. You set your plate down on a half-moon table and grab at the wall for support. The motion of the world seems to settle momentarily like aquarium gravel sinking in a fishbowl.

And then a gentle voice slices through eerie tranquility: “Miss (Name), you’re lost.”

Forcing your eyes open, you cast your gaze over your shoulder. He looks like pure light in his white suit, a comparison that instantly sours in your stomach and darkens the drunken innocence scrawled on your face.

I must be in Hell if this is what they’re calling an angel.

“Oh, it’s just you.”

“I’m flattered by your heartwarming greeting. Even when you’re three sheets to the wind, you always captivate me with your…unique ways of interaction, to put it lightly.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.” Straightening yourself out, you cover the distance to reach him, heels clicking in time with your heartbeat, and jab a manicured finger at his chest. “You…”

With the tattered remains of your pride on the line, you refuse to admit your tipsy brain led you to who-knows-where inside your ex’s house. So instead you stare until the beginnings of a wry smile play at the corners of his mouth. He seems thoroughly entertained with your ineffective attempt at feisty intimidation. Wobbly as your legs are, you stand your ground and poke at his chest. The right words will come to you eventually. You’re sure of it.

Sunday’s slender fingers wrap around your wrist, preventing you from barraging his pristine suit with your immature prodding.

“Well?” he encourages. “You were saying?”

You examine his features for a long time—longer than what would be considered normal if you had your wits about you—and throw your head back to groan.

“You’re so irritating and you never shut up.”

“And you are stubborn to the core, hopelessly so. Shall I continue listing more of your flaws just as you have demonstrated them, or would you like a chance to defend yourself? I’m certain eight years is more than enough time for adequate self-improvement, but judging by your current state it appears nothing’s changed.”

He cuts you down with such a soft, matter-of-fact tone. You understand better than anyone why the absurdity of marriage could never apply to you and him.

Now properly irked, you try to pull your wrist free. Mischief curls his smile into that of a self-satisfied smirk. He holds firm—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to keep you still. If you weren’t so drunk, you’d realize he’s not really trapping you at all. It’s the type of grasp that would loosen immediately if you put just a smidge of force into ripping yourself free, and even then that would make your non-struggle appear laughable and feeble.

“Shouldn’t you be nicer to your guests? As a guest, this sort of behavior is simply unbecoming from the host,” you complain, mimicking him to the best of your ability.

“Well, I find it’s similarly unbecoming for a guest to carelessly overindulge and wander aimlessly in areas she doesn’t belong. That is to say, Miss (Name), it’s not very nice to explore a house without the homeowner’s permission. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Not my fault your house is dumb and big!” Puffing your cheeks out in a petulant pout, you finally tear your arm away. There’s no resistance on his part. “Just show me the exit and I’ll be out of your life for good, and we’ll never have to put up with each other again.”

With a tut, Sunday shakes his head at you like you’re a particularly stupid child who’s missed the lesson in a lecture. It’d be worse if he waggled his finger in your face and left you with an equally pettish, “Nuh-uh.”

“Or I could resolve to leave you here, disoriented as you are, to wander my house like a little lost, liquor-addled mouse.”

“Oh, please. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Sadistic…” The rest of your grumbling dies on your tongue. “Whatever. I don’t need your help.”

You intend to storm off and search for the exit on your own, but vertigo catches up to you and drags you back to a more humble stage. Again, you cling to the wall to steady yourself. Only unlike before you can’t bear to stay on your feet and so you slide slowly down the wall to sit on the ground, your legs folding up into your chest. With a defeated moan, you rest your forehead on your knees and pray for the world to stop twirling.

“Go back to your hoity-toity party and your pretty wife and your fancy food. I’ll find my way out.” You shoo him away with a limp hand motion.

Sunday remains silent, but you know he’s still there. You can feel his presence like a splinter wedged under your skin.

“You can hardly walk, let alone lift yourself off the ground. You’re about as stable as a baby bird learning to fly. Where exactly do you think you’re going to go in this state?”

“Home,” is your flat reply. And then you lift your head to peer at him through your lashes. “What do you care whether I can walk or not?”

Sunday crouches to your height to closely observe your glazed eyes, the part of your lips, the rise and fall of your chest. A cautious calculation passes over his face, waltzing elegantly through gold hues to form a pinched frown beneath his nose. A stagnant beat stretches between you and him. You know that blank slate of a look, inscrutable to even the most experienced detective. He’s practicing his words in his head, deciding which is an appropriate response. As his former partner, you’ve got a leg up on anyone hoping to solve the enigmatic Sunday. It’s a blessing and a curse.

“I don’t care. Not particularly. But it would be irresponsible to leave a guest—my ex-girlfriend—dead on her feet in a dark hallway. It wouldn’t look very good for me or the Oak Family.”

“Riiight. How could I forget? Always reputation first for the oh-so-flawless Head of the Oak Family.” A smirk sits slanted on your face. You tilt your head at him, coy. “No one’s gonna care about me. I’m not famous or rich or part of some influential family. Don’t pretend like it matters.”

I don’t matter. Not here.

Having taken umbrage at your remark and all that is left unsaid, he draws back. There’s a noticeable shift in his demeanor. Gloomy, maybe. Brooding? You can’t place it, but somehow you’ve nudged a sensitive subject.

“Perhaps my initial assessment of your character was lacking. You’ve an infuriating proclivity for getting under my skin. You always have—even now when you’re at your most vulnerable, you remain a perpetual pain in my side.”

“You sure don’t mince your words.”

His wings rustle, feathers and feelings ruffled. “I should commend your talent.”

“Gee, how nice. Hollow words from a hollow man. I’m honored.” But then you turn serious—or about as serious as you can get when you’re stupid-drunk—and lower your voice conspiratorially. “You should get back to your party. Won’t look very good if someone catches prim and proper, married-man Sunday with his ex in a dark hallway, all alone. Think of the ruuumors.”

You giggle because it’s funny. Not really, but it kind of is. Just a little.

What is funny, though, is the way Sunday stiffens, his jaw clenched tightly in disapproval. There’s only so much pushing he can take before he falls, a perfect statue chipped away and crumbling.

He kneels directly in front of you. “Do you intend to start a needless disagreement, or is the alcohol doing that for you?”

“Dunno.” You lean in closer without thinking and challenge him with a grin. “Wanna find out?”

Inches apart now, this newfound proximity doesn’t immediately dawn on you. Sunday hesitates, very obviously working out the underlying meaning to your snark.

“You would be ill-advised to play inane games with me, Miss (Name). I’m inclined to be merciless on account of the trouble you’ve caused and will inevitably cause should you continue this charade.”

“That makes two of us,” you whisper, shrugging off the thorny threat twined through his words. “Because I play to win.”

Acting purely on inebriated impulse, you grab hold of his suit and yank him towards you. Sunday stumbles and reaches out with his palms to catch himself against the wall. You close the gap and smash your mouth against his, leaving Sunday so stunned, in fact, that he can’t seem to function for a flickering moment. As if something in his brain was rewired when you touched him. There’s a sliver of hesitation, a brief separation, but then his hands peel away from the wall to seize your hips. The rest of your startled gasp is swallowed when he drags you closer, his reciprocation feverish and fervent, as if he’s waited ages to fulfill this fantasy.

Surprise slides into sensuality. You grab at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him, your lips meshing sloppily. Your lipstick smears in the process, but the messy state you must surely be in doesn’t cross your mind then. Nothing truly does when your teeth click together and he licks into your mouth like he’s trying to taste the syrupy secrets at the back of your throat.

In an effort to have an iota of control over the situation, half-mad with barely suppressed desire, Sunday hitches one of your legs around his waist and presses inward, his body caging you against the wall. The sudden shift in position leaves you scrabbling for a new handhold, and your fingers dig into his previously smooth suit coat, now half-shucked, his shirt wrinkled and coming untucked. You jerk away to catch your breath.

Neither of you says anything, choosing to challenge the other with a scary amount of vehemence. Yours is notably dazed, drifting down to the way your clothed bodies connect. Sunday’s attention is pinned solely on your bedraggled appearance—your mouth, to be precise, and then your eyes. Your fascinating, fervor-glazed eyes.

Sunday snaps back to himself when you palm at the tent in his trousers. His wings fold in front of his face, as if to obscure his flushed expression. An impish grin blossoms on your lips.

“This is a first. You didn’t cum right away. With your weak dick, I would’ve thought you’d be a mess already.”

He looks at you, unimpressed by your vulgarity. “That was many years ago. I do believe I’m due for some level of leniency.”

“You’re the only guy I’ve ever known who cums from kissing. So easy,” you tease, hooking your arms around his neck to coax him closer. “It’s cute. The only part of you that’s honest.”

He does not deign to offer any sort of defense. Instead his hands wander over your thighs, hiking your dress further up to expose the plush, bare skin beneath.

“Troublesome,” he chides and rocks against you, to which you respond in kind by grinding down against him. The friction leaves both of you shuddering. So close, yet still so cavernous. “Quite the corrupting influence.”

“Am I the best corrupting influence you’ve ever had?” you ask around a giggle.

Sunday exhales through his nose. “The worst. But also the most tempting.”

Somehow that sends a bolt of giddy energy through you, and you lean up to kiss the corner of his mouth. In your wake, a faint lipstick print is stamped onto pale skin. Sunday’s mouth falls open in silent protest. Something seems to register in his brain then because his awe slithers away into a stormy sort of disapproval. As if this mark is somehow worse than everything else the two of you have done.

“Messy. Always so messy,” he gripes.

“Oops. Sorryyy,” you whine, drawing the empty apology out. Gently, you take hold of his face and scrub it away with your thumb. Enticed by the smudges on your own lips, Sunday stares.

“Don’t apologize. I’m certain it looks quite striking on me.”

“Does it? I think it looks better on me. Red’s not really your color.”

He parts from you only momentarily to slide his gloves from his hands. Like the tide, he returns to meet your shore. The heat of your bodies is volcanic, and his hands sear your skin when he roams with ravenous fingertips. As if this is the only opportunity he’ll have to explore territory that was once charted. As if you might slip between his fingers like crystal-clear water in an oasis. Like you’re nothing more than a fleeting dream.

His mouth at your ear, he murmurs his taunt, “You’re right. The color of passion suits you well.”

“Less passion and more anger whenever I think of you.”

Laughter rattles in his chest. The snipe isn’t nearly as backhanded as you wanted it to sound. The syllables and semantics are slurred, scattered like raindrops fogging a windowpane.

“I ought to do something about that messy, misbehaving mouth of yours…”

“Yeah? And what’re you gonna do?”

“A few things come to mind. Care to guess?”

“Surprise me.”

His hands settle above your waist, almost folding over the expanse of your stomach. If he wasn’t so shackled to his restraint, you’d think he’d grab hold of your dress and yank it down to reveal your braless breasts for his starving eyes. Somehow he manages to reel himself in and chooses to greedily explore the slope of your neck and shoulder instead. One of his hands reaches up so that he can hook his fingers around your choker.

“There is beauty in simplicity. A pity it seems to decorate you so naturally. I could offer you a far more exquisite collar and then you would be unmistakably mine,” he murmurs, mouthing at sensitive skin like it’s an old habit he can’t shake. Maybe you’d tug his wings in admonishment for remembering all of your weak zones, for the mewl that’s ripped from your throat is so pornographic it has both of you taking pause.

“Stop… Stop talking.”

Sunday hums and consoles you with a playful nip to your neck. Warm, moist kisses trail along the length of it until he locates another spot—the same one he once lavished with love many years ago when you were both young and dumb and exorbitantly affectionate in private. You turn your head to offer more of your exposed neck. While he sucks at your bare shoulder, moving steadily over to your collarbone once he’s pleased with the bruise bitten into a previously unmarked canvas, you grab at his jacket. Sunday shrugs out of it with minimal difficulty, and the article is cast on the glossy floor in a forgotten heap.

Your breathing grows shallow, spotted with the occasional moan. They’re soft in Sunday’s ears, tickling like the very feathers protruding from behind his ears.

“More… Keep going,” you whine, hooking your other leg around his waist and yanking him closer. You grind against him, desperate to feel more of him. “Please, Sunday…”

His hands halt beneath your dress, and he lifts his head to study you, caught off-guard by your pleading. And then his features smooth out with surprising fondness.

“Of course,” he whispers around a gentle chuckle. “For you, my dear, I would do anything.”

Your legs are adjusted so that he can lean over you with ease, and when he captures your waiting lips in another hedonistic kiss you drag him down so that he can melt into you on the floor. Something sticks then. A sentiment unearthed. You’re not sure what it is.

You don’t get to find out, for the night and its pleasures finally catch up to you and the intoxication pulls you deeper into the shadows of unconsciousness.

The afternoon sun is high in the sky when you finally emerge from dreamless slumber, your body tacky and gross. Rubbing the crust from your eyes, you roll over onto your back and glance at the ceiling. Crapulence drapes itself over your heavy form like a shroud. In fact, you feel dead as you lie there on the bed, in an unfamiliar room that feels more like a morgue despite its homely furnishings.

And then the realization sinks into the marrow of your bones.

The ceiling. The bed. The silken sheets. The room. None of this is in your home and it wouldn’t be.

This isn’t your home.

Slowly, you sit up and feel the cushy mattress beneath your palm. Despite the fog clouding last night’s events, you manage to wade through most of it to reach a worrying conclusion.

Calm down. It could be worse.

You got drunk. That’s an easily proven fact, if the hangover currently kicking your ass is worth anything.

You tried to leave the party, but you took too many wrong turns and found yourself lost. You remember that because the journey filled you with so much irritation. So many memories etched onto the walls of that mansion—memories you were hoping to never revisit.

You ran into your ex-boyfriend, and he said something about mice or mazes… It’s so hazy, but whatever it was you’re sure it was nonsense.

And then…Sunday.

And then Sunday.

Sunday.

In a panicked rush, you pat yourself all over in search of any sign—an imprint or a mark or a scratch. Hell, even a scent! You sniff at your wrist and arm as if you’re going to find him there. Evidence of something very, very bad. You’re still wearing your panties and your dress isn’t in tatters on the floor. That’s a good sign.

“Fuuuck!” you hiss, grabbing at your face.

I hooked up with my ex. With my married-man ex!

It could be worse? Correction: It is worse.

Before you can wallow in your internal self-flagellation any longer, a knock at the door breaks your concentration. Your heart drops down to your stomach. Scrambling like a headless chicken, you gather bunches of the duvet and hold them protectively in front of you. Fluffy defense.

Should I pretend to be asleep? Dead? Should I jump out this window and make a run for it?

“Come—” you cringe at the rustiness of your voice and clear your throat— “C-Come in!”

Please don’t be Sunday. Please don’t be Sunday. It’s a Monday, so it can’t be Sunday. Please, please, please.

The knob twists and the door opens, revealing the last man you want to see right now.

He stands in the doorway, simply watching you, after which he steps inside and shuts it behind him. His unsmiling features are much too impassive for you to discern anything other than perfect neutrality. Silence thickens in the room, and if it could take on the characteristics of smog you’re sure it would choke you. Awkwardly, you curl your fingers into the blankets and meet his cloudy stare.

You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat, or maybe that’s his heartbeat. Maybe both of your hearts are going at speeds so wild their resonance is an echo of a war drum. You’ve no idea what to say. Should you feign ignorance, pretend none of this happened even though it so clearly did?

This is bad. This is so bad.

Seconds stretch into minutes. You think you might have to break this ridiculous staring contest, but Sunday beats you to it.

“You’re finally awake. I was beginning to wonder how long you’d stay bundled up in bed.”

There’s a trace of exasperation. You understand what he’s really trying to say: You’ve overstayed your welcome. Make yourself scarce.

And he doesn’t need to be cordial anymore. Not when you’re both accustomed to the other. You’re not a guest anymore. The party has ended. Now you’re more like a trespasser or a particularly stubborn stain.

“You demon,” you snap, scowling at him.

His eyes narrow. If looks could kill, you’d be dead, revived, double-dead, and then reincarnated all so he could do it again.

“You seemed to think otherwise last night.”

Your flinch betrays your oblivious nature. Steeling yourself, you attempt to plead your case. “That… About that. It was a mistake. Obviously. It shouldn’t have happened. I won’t tell if you won’t, okay? I was drunk and…” You decide right then that you can’t do this, so you throw the covers off, hastily pull your dress down to its appropriate length, and reach for your purse and heels—both sitting patiently near the vanity desk. “I should go.”

Sunday’s eyes follow you like an immovable, haunted portrait. Just before you can stuff your feet into your heels, he reaches out. His hand falls upon your shoulder, and for a single second you think you should just log out of life.

“One moment. We have something to discuss.”

Not a suggestion. A command, spoken in that deceptively patient intonation.

“Right… No, yeah. You’re right. Okay.”

You peel his hand off of you and return to the bed, lowering to sit on the very edge. He steps in front of you and blocks your view of the door.

He gives you a stoic once-over before asking, “How much do you remember from last night? You must speak honestly. I’ll know if you lie.”

Like I’m in any position to lie right now, you birdbrain.

Shame bubbles in your heart like molten magma. You cringe all the way through the confession. “I drank too much and wandered off in search of an exit, but I got lost and then you were there. I think we talked. I don’t know. All I know is that one thing led to another and we kissed. And you…” You catch your reflection in the mirror then and notice the kaleidoscope of marks on your neck. Immediately, courage flaring up, you round on him. “You!”

Springing up from the bed, you point an accusatory finger at his chest. “What the fuck were you thinking?! You’re a married man! Freshly married. Not even twenty-four hours married!”

The clouds in his eyes shift into impenetrable murkiness. “If I recall, you were the one to kiss me. I’m hardly deserving of all the blame.”

“That’s great, but one tiny detail. I was drunk. And furthermore you didn’t have to reciprocate!” The horror from before returns. You feel along your body. “We didn’t. We… We didn’t, right? Go all the way, I mean. Tell me we didn’t.”

It takes him a second too long to utter a single word. You don’t like that.

“No,” he replies, but you’re not convinced. “We didn’t go all the way.”

“You’re sure?”

“Verily.”

You regard him dubiously for another moment, but eventually the doubt ebbs away and you heave a relieved sigh. “All right. Good to know. Let’s take our part of the blame, apologize, and put this mess behind us.”

“You make a valid point. Seeing as we’re both equally at fault, shall we resolve to forgive and forget?”

“Yes. Exactly that.” You stand from the bed, but this time it’s the stabbing pain in your head that stops you. “Fuck, this hangover sucks!”

“Don’t push yourself. You should take it one step at a time. You’re likely dehydrated, hungry, and still clinging to the vestiges of whatever remains from last night. Be careful not to trip over yourself.”

“Gee, thanks for your insincerity.”

Sunday rolls his eyes. “My sincerest apologies if I’m not falling to my knees with sympathy.” He folds his arms over his chest and frowns at you. “It seems you never do learn. Once more I’m left to put up with your antics.”

“I’m not asking you to. I can take care of myself,” you mutter, forcing your feet into your heels. “Just show me the way out of your labyrinth home and you’ll never have to ‘put up with my antics’ ever again.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Well, I’m not staying. You’ve lost your mind if you think that’s what I’m gonna do. No way am I gonna be a homewrecker. Fuck that!”

“You’re not staying, but I refuse to let you stumble out of here looking a right mess in your current state. Until you can comport yourself properly, you’re not leaving.”

“Oh my—geez, you’re insufferable! How does anyone put up with you? How did I put up with you?” You smack your hand to your forehead and groan. “I can’t believe out of everyone—of all the ex-boyfriends it had to be you.”

“Ah, I understand. This is quite the inconvenience for you, is it? The fault lies with me for being such an insufferable wretch.” Sarcasm drips from every syllable like venom. “Perhaps you should choose a less insufferable ex-boyfriend to sink your teeth into.”

You send him a foul look. “So glad we’re on the same page.”

“Gracious…” He sighs. “To think it was possible to forget just how much work you are.”

“And I forgot how much of an ass you were. Oh, sorry. Still are.” You rake your hands through your hair. “I can’t believe I actually kissed you. What was I thinking? I wasn’t! Ugh… This is the worst.”

“You should learn not to overindulge at formal events. Conduct yourself accordingly next time.”

“And you should learn not to kiss your ex-girlfriend back! Who was it who said I was the ‘most tempting’ influence?”

“You…” He scoffs and tries again. “You initiated it. I merely did my duty as a good host and reciprocated.”

“You were the one who put my legs around your waist! What was that about?”

Sunday bristles at that. His cheeks flare with heat and his wings shudder. “That—” He stops himself to string together a coherent excuse. “That was a natural reaction to your… Ahem. It was nothing more than a rash move on my part.”

“I’m not gonna argue and play the blame game with you. Whatever it was, it happened and there’s not going to be a repeat.”

Upon hearing that, a half-smirk settles on his face. “There won’t be a repeat. I’m a married man now.”

You gaze at him, unamused. “My condolences.”

His smirk widens. “I assure you my delightful wife is happy and content. She will want for nothing.”

“Good for you. Both of you, in fact. Congrats,” you grind out. “And when Wifey makes a little mistake and cheats, it’ll all cancel out. That two-negatives-make-a-positive shit. She kisses someone and you tongued it with me. You’ll be even and free of guilt.”

Sunday scoffs. “Your irreverent reasoning is not appreciated. Do not trivialize a serious situation.”

“What? You want me to make it harder than it already is? Is that it?”

“It’s not nearly as simple as ‘canceling out,’ as you’ve put it. A kiss holds a certain level of significance. You shouldn’t dismiss it so flippantly.”

“You should if you’re drunk and there weren’t any feelings and—right, how could I forget?—when it’s with your ex!”

“It’s not that easy,” he asserts, his voice straining.

“Why? What makes it so difficult? Enlighten me.”

“There are feelings involved… Emotions.”

“Lust is the only valid emotion in this situation. What else could there be? What other emotions?”

“It’s…complicated. You were drunk and I was swept up in the moment. That’s all.”

“Doesn’t sound all that complicated when you phrase it like that.”

“We were both slightly under the influence.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why do you care so much?” he asks, turning the verbal knife on you.

“I don’t care.”

“You clearly do. A fraction of you does, at least, considering you’re so hellbent on pushing this matter.”

“It was a stupid mistake and it’s never happening again. You’re married, and I’m going to go back to my life and pretend all of this—” you gesture between him and yourself— “never happened. End of story. I��m done pushing.”

“You intend to move on?” he questions, a scintilla of skepticism hiding within those words. “Just like that?”

“Precisely like that.” You scowl at your face in the mirror and wipe at the lipstick smudged on your jaw. Dragging your purse onto the desk, you fish through it for the tube to reapply a fresh coat.

Sunday affords you a few precious seconds of silence and then he opens his mouth.

“You’re an appalling liar.”

“Brilliant deduction, detective.”

You twist the tube shut and retrieve a bottle of concealer to dress the marks from last night. Leaning towards the mirror, you work hastily to apply layer after layer. Enough to put them out of your mind for the commute home.

“It won’t take a detective to understand that your attempt at feigning nonchalance is not working in your favor.”

“Obviously! It pisses me off that it had to be you.” You tilt your head to examine the stretch of your neck. “You just had to mark me all over… Damn devil.”

In the mirror Sunday watches you carefully, enchanted by the way you stroke the little brush along your skin and blot out every bad lust bite. Because you can’t call them love bites when they weren’t put there with love and care. Or maybe they were. You’ll never know and you don’t want to.

The gloom dissipates in his gaze once you’ve covered all of them. But then the breath sticks in his throat when you, without warning, lift your dress to check for more. His eyes are drawn to your inner thighs like a hawk is to a mouse, and then he turns away with a rather loud cough. One of his wings folds over his face to shield you from his view.

“Don’t you think you’re being a touch too…thorough?”

“Oh, grow up. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” Finding no marks, bruises, or fingerprints, you drop your dress and exhale noisily.

“You’re acting as if you’re inspecting a crime scene.” Peeking out at you through a veil of feathers, Sunday allows his shoulders to droop. “Are the dramatic theatrics really necessary?”

“Sorry. Did you wanna inspect it for yourself since you’re the criminal who left me like this?!” you exclaim through grit teeth, turning on him with a frigid scowl.

Sunday meets you halfway with a glare of his own. Gold hues rake over the area where his marks lie in wait beneath a thick coat of makeup. Classified in the most thrilling, disturbing way.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Look, I don’t care what you do to get off. If you wanna fuck your wife and pretend it’s me, you do that. Oh, but then that wouldn’t be very perfect-and-loyal-married-man of you, would it?”

He stays on your crimson lips for a drawn-out breath. “I was right,” he mumbles. “You are the worst.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” Shouldering your purse, you stride past him. “I should get going.”

He hesitates, fingers twitching at his side, but he quickly folds them under his arms. Back to prim and proper, sharp as a needle, full of abhorrence for you.

“Yes, you should. Run along and put this encounter out of your mind, if you would be so kind.”

“I intend to.” You flash him a nasty sneer.

On your way out, though, you stop. Maybe you want to play at being the bigger, better person. Or maybe you genuinely are grateful. Either way, you soften the animosity in your voice enough to get the admission out.

“And…thank you. For looking after me.”

You flee from the room before he can say anything. With daylight brightening the mansion’s maze-like halls and your sobriety, you’re able to recall the path to the front door.

All of this, you think, stepping out into the sunny afternoon, your arms wrapped around yourself in a self-soothing hug, was not worth the hangover.

From the window, Sunday watches you depart until you’re officially gone. Sighing, he allows the curtain to fall into place and glances at the unkempt bed.

“Of course,” he murmurs, smoothing his hand over the wrinkled sheets. “You’re welcome.”

#sunday x reader #sunday hsr x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #n/sfw

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curlysgirl0202 · 1 year ago

Text

Request for a Story:

(reader) Searching for A Social Group Outside of Her Friends... Despite the Earps Repeated Warning About the Cowboys, the Reader Persists, Much to the Shock and Astonishment of The Cowboys and Everyone Else in Town...Is the Reader Up For the Challenge?

The Arizona wind whipped through town in the early afternoon. Dust flooded the area for a moment, the townspeople taking refuge in saloons or in their homes. The Cowboys, who's been on a number of dust infested cattle drives endured it with little effort. They simply played cards, visited the parlors or drank their loneliness away at one of the many whiskey houses.

After a few days, the wind died down and the residents of Tombstone once again flooded the streets and many establishments the up and coming boom town had to offer. Among other things, Tombstone residents boasted of a public library, theater, art museum, stationary, several liveries, two grocery stores that sold fresh fruit and vegetables, a wine and beer shop and several custom tailors and custom dress making. In addition, there were several parlors where men could drown their loneliness in booze and a meaningless yet pleasurable encounter.

One Saturday afternoon, the stage stops at the Grand Hotel, a favorite spot for the Cowboys. A few people exit the stage.

Then you emerge like a butterfly from her chrysalis; beautiful and delicate with just a touch of roughness.

Johnny Ringo takes a drag of his cigarette before his eyes fall over you and your wonderful curves. His eyes, usually full of brooding turn softer. He tosses the cigarette and takes his hat off, hoping to get a better look at you.

"Well, ain't she a sight for sore eyes," Curly Bill remarks, leaning against a post.

A few other cowboys gather.

"Maybe she's with the theater," Stilwell adds. "Pretty. Real pretty." He goes back to sharpening his knife while he sits on the sidewalk, his legs crossed while he leans against the wall.

Ringo says nothing, he just allows himself to soak up your beauty as beautiful things were uncommon in the town too tough to die. In Tombstone, women were as scarce as daisies in winter and until now, Josephine Marcus was considered the most beautiful woman in town.

That's about to change... Ringo says in his mind. Still in somewhat of a trance, Johnny watches you.

Ike Clanton nudges his younger brother. "Ain't she something. A ramera maybe?" Both brothers laugh.

Ringo, a gentleman flashes them both a look. Ringo holds women in such high regard, he considers them angelic beings who can save a man's soul.

"Nah, she ain't no whore," Curly Bill answers. "I can tell. What do you think, Ringo?" When Ringo doesn't answer because he's distracted by you, Curly Bill chuckles.

"I think Johnny might be a wee smitten with this newcomer!"

Johnny turns and looks at Curly. "She's alone. Unless she's meeting someone here. This is a dangerous place for a woman."

"Hell, Juanito. Guess we got ourselves a mystery here," Curly drawls.

The Cowboys watch while you gather a few things and head to the hotel.

Johnny Ringo instinctively tips his hat to you, but maintains his gunfighter persona. He's got a reputation as a feared outlaw and won't let his guard down.

The other Cowboys watch, nodding their heads.

"Howdy, ma'am," Ike Clanton says. You smile and move past them, your perfume intoxicating. The blue and white dress you're wearing hugs your figure just right and your hair is unbound and flows past your shoulders.

During the war, you lost your parents and your sisters and brothers became scattered around Missouri and Kansas, trying to evade the Yankees that still pursued Confederates and like the Cowboys, you're a proud rebel. Your decision to come to Tombstone was not an easy one to make. You could stay near Lars, close to your brothers or move to Liberty, Mission to be close to your sisters. You wanted to free yourself from the memories of the harsh war, just like the Cowboys. No reminder of any kind that everything has been taken from you by the dirty Yankees.

You walk up the steps to the hotel and explain you sent a telegram a few days prior to secure a room until you could find more suitable housing.

John Behan strolls up to you and removes his hat.

"You must be new here. Allow me to introduce myself. John Behan, town sheriff." He smiles, his eyes dancing. "What brings a lovely lady like yourself here?"

"I'm in need of a fresh start," you respond.

"Fresh start?" Behan chuckles a bit. People come to Tombstone to get rich, work as miners or gamble their time away. "And where's your husband?" He asks, taking a drag of his cigar.

You shake your head. "I'm alone."

Behan's dancing eyes grow wide with concern.

"Alone in a town like this? Not wise, ma'am. Whatever you need, you can find me at the sheriff's office. I'll help you become acquainted with some of the more decent folks here," Behan suggests, eyeing the Cowboys.

You pick up your suitcase.

"Here, let me help you with that," Behan suggests, putting his hat back on.

"No, I can manage," you answer with a half smile. You head up the stairs and pour some water into the basin near the bed. You wash your face and change your clothes. Although it's the afternoon, you're exhausted from your trip. You took the train from Missouri to Tucson and then rode the stage to Tombstone.

You fall onto the bed and settle into a secret dream.

When you awake, you gaze out at the night life in town. You can hear the hooting and hollering from men riding up and down Allen Street, their pistols blazing. You pull your blanket tight around you. Fear creeps into your heart and you grow increasingly concerned for your own well being.

Your exhaustion prevents you from heading downstairs. You fall back to sleep and awake the following morning.

The sounds of patrons sitting in the hotel restaurant for breakfast stirs you in your sleep. The walls are so thin, you can hear the clinking of silverware and the murmuring of the people downstairs. You quickly get yourself together, putting on a pink and cream colored dress. You're not one for bonnets or hats, you prefer to keep your hair down.

"Good morning!" The hotel owner announces. "Please sit and have some breakfast!" He heads to the kitchen and then back to the front desk. You can hear the cook singing in the kitchen. The old fellow comes out, mopping his sweaty face with his apron.

"Fatty, the cook gathers some dishes of the patrons who have finished their meals.

"Why do you pay them when I do most of the work?" Fatty barks at the hotel owner.

Emmett Steele, the hotel owner folds his arms as he doesn't like Fatty making scenes or complaining to the customers.

"Help out Fatty, Big Nellie," Steele says to a waitress who's flirting with some of the male customers. Nellie, a woman with considerable girth begins collecting dishes. She takes a half eaten biscuit and shoves it in her mouth while walking to the kitchen. You can hear her and Fatty talking, but you can't make out their words.

Big Nellie approaches your table, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Yes?" She asks.

"Eggs, bacon and biscuits," you order.

Nellie nods without a word and heads to the kitchen. She returns with a coffee cup and pours coffee in the cup.

"I'd like some cream and sugar, please," you request. Nellie nods and returns to the kitchen. She emerges in a few moments, carrying your meal on a tray along with a small cream pitcher and a sugar bowl. She places your breakfast in front of you. You eat quickly, hungrier than you realize. You sip the strong coffee and finish eating, sopping the last of your eggs up with a biscuit. You lick your fingers and then look around. Some folks stare, wondering why a woman would be in such a place alone. You smile as a gesture of your friendliness.

After finishing up the rest of your coffee, you place a dollar bill on the table. Big Nellie quickly grabs the money along with your empty plate. As you walk to the door, Curly Bill and Ringo walk in for breakfast.

Johnny Ringo stands, his demeanor one of intimidation while Curly Bill is a little more jovial.

"Well, good mornin'," Curly says, tipping his hat. He and Ringo find a table and order a large breakfast of hot cakes, eggs, bacon and steak. Pony Diel, who usually runs the chuck wagon didn't prepare breakfast that morning as he was sleeping off his barrel fever. And the fact that both Ringo and Curly got lucky at poker the night before and wanted to spend their winnings in town.

They both ate their breakfast without talking. They sipped coffee in between bites and Big Nellie couldn't keep their coffee cups full. After eating, Curly Bill lights up a cigar and blows the smoke slowly, almost methodically. Big Nellie came to collect their empty plates, looking disappointed that they didn't save any leftovers for her.

"Sorry, Big Nellie," Curly drawls. "Maybe next time. Sides, you know Fatty always serves up free chuck. Beans and tortillas! Everyday!" Curly Bill chuckles. He'd seen Big Nellie stuff herself with two, sometimes three helpings from the chuck Fatty provided. Looking as happy as a pig in mud, Big Nellie indignantly fed herself. And yet, she still got requests for after hour services she provided upstairs.

Big Nellie turns and heads to the kitchen.

While Curly Bill and Ringo walk through Tombstone with their bellies and pockets full, you are walking by the ice cream parlor and you notice a help needed sign. You enter the shop and walk to the counter.

"Well, stranger, what can I whip up for you? We got strawberry, chocolate and vanilla of course. We also have lemon and-."

"I saw your sign and I'll take that job!" The man behind the counter pauses for a moment. He twists the ends of his blonde, curled mustache.

"When can you start?" He asks.

"Now," you reply.

"Name's Jim. Jim Bonney. No relation to William Bonney."

You smile. "YN," you answer.

"Let's get you an apron. Job pays a dollar a day."

"Perfect," you answer. You want to save as much as you can so you can rent a small cottage outside of town. You think about growing a vegetable garden and enjoying the fresh air and peace, away from the bustling boom town. The hotel charges twenty five cents per day so you can easily save up.

Jim shows you where the supplies are, gives you a short tour of the place and trains you on the register. You pick up everything like a champ, learning quickly. You grew up on a farm so you're accustomed to hard work and long hours.

Then the war hit.

You snap out of your momentarily lapse and begin taking orders. The ice cream parlor is always packed, a long line sometimes reaches the door. But you keep working, much to the amazement of Jim who sees you as a fast learner.

At the end of the day, Jim tells you your shift is over. Big Nellie helps with clean up in exchange for the free scoop of ice cream Jim offers in exchange.

As time goes on, you begin to notice some regular customers. Even a few Cowboys come in. They're surprised to see you working there, but then they realize they have more reasons to enjoy ice cream.

"You know that little cutie we saw coming off the stage?" Barnes asks.

Ringo lifts his head, knowing Barnes is referring to you.

"Who could forget that little girl?" Curly Bill drawls, adjusting his hat. "She's got a face that could stop a stampede."

"She's working at the ice cream parlor now."

Ringo, who's usually quiet, ponders the possibility of getting to know you by becoming a regular customer. Besides, ice cream is wonderful on the hottest days.

"Guess we're gonna have to go get ourselves some ice cream, boys!" Curly guffaws. He looks to Ringo who seems lost in thought.

"Whaydya say, Johnny?"

"Sure," Ringo responds.

On this Wednesday afternoon, the crowd died down and you work on odd jobs such as sweeping or cleaning or checking on supplies. You hear the sound of spurs echoing on the wooden sidewalk and you turn your head to see Curly Bill swagger in, he winks at you. Johnny follows. When he sees you, you appear more beautiful than he recalls.

"Well, there's that ray of sunshine," Curly Bill chuckles. You smile, enjoying his charm.

Curly Bill stands tall, exerting his authority and strength. He knows most folks are afraid of him and to his delight, he sees some fear in your demeanor. He wears two gunbelts, one pistol resting on each hip, only adding to the ferocity of his appearance. The only other gunslinger you heard of that sported two pistols like that was Billy the Kid, an active participant in the Lincoln County War between John Tunstall and the Murphy Dolan faction. After Tunstall was shot to death by Murphy men, Tunstall's regulators, led by Bonney sought revenge.

Curly Bill enjoys the intimidation he evokes in you, knowing his presence is threatening. He folds his arms, taking in the flattery he's receiving from your fear.

Johnny Ringo stands tall and silent. He tips his hat to you and you nod.

"What...What can I get you, you ask, your voice shaking.

Curly Bill winks at you. "Well now, let's see," Curly mumbles. "First, what's your name?"

"YN," you respond.

"Mighty nice to meet you. I'm..."

"Curly Bill Brocius," you finish. He smiles wide, knowing you're aware of who he is.

"And this here is Johnny Ringo." Curly says.

Your eyes grow wide with fear. Johnny Ringo, fearless gunfighter with better aim than John Wesley Harding and Billy the Kid. A brooding man with a darkness that swelled inside of him. A darkness so intense, he felt choked by it often. When he fell into the depths of his own madness and marriage of guilt and shame that swirled in him, only a woman could pull him out of it.

Ringo sees your apprehension and curses himself. He was a gentleman born, he treated women with such dignity and respect, that his cowboys knew never to disrespect women if Ringo was within earshot. Like the time Ike Clanton remarked, "You boys see that little cunt from-"

"Damnit, Ike!" Ringo growled. "You keep talking like that, I'll bust you up!"

"Sorry, Ringo. I forgot how sensitive you are about that. Women and all " Ike answered.

From then on, no one dared speak poorly about women.

"We heard there was a lovely lady working here. And the talk around town is true." Curly Bill says.

Johnny nods.

"How about two chocolates," Curly suggests.

"Of course. Would you like a cone or would you prefer scoops in a bowl?"

Curly Bill looks around. Many patrons are enjoying their rich dessert while some are leaving, licking their cones.

"Two cones," Curly answers.

"That's twenty five cents," you tell them, your voice shaking a bit. Curly Bill chuckles to himself. Ringo enjoys dominating other men, but was awe struck when it came to the softer sex.

You give them their treats and Curly Bill gives you a crisp one dollar bill. Since his luck came through the previous evening, he felt it was only fitting to enjoy the town.

"Keep the change," Curly Bill tells you. He winks and walks out of the parlor.

"Thank you," you say to Ringo, your voice barely above a whisper.

Curly Bill devours his ice cream in just a few bites while Ringo savors his a bit longer. His mind goes back to your face and that there's something wildly different about you. It's more than your spirit of desiring some sense of independence in the changing new world since the Yankees won the war. Boom towns seemed to be the last place in the country where lawlessness ruled and for a single woman to make a living in a boom town seemed unusual. Especially one so beautiful.

You lust for adventure; you saw your whole world fall apart during the war. Your brother, Franklin died at Gettysburg and your parents were shot to death by Yankee squatters. You heard stories of Confederate women being forced to set their own houses on fire. The rebels all over the South revolted. Jesse James was one of the more formidable enemies of the Union. He, his brother Frank and the Younger brothers formed a gang of guerillas once ruled by Charlie Quantrill. You heard about how Quantrill and the James Younger gang rode into Lars, Kansas, sporting a black flag. They killed hundreds of Jayhawks that day. The war left the South broken with little opportunities. Unless you wanted to surrender to the dirty Yankees.

You decided you didn't have much else to lose so you may as well see for yourself what all the buzz meant regarding these up and coming towns. And Tombstone was more docile than Dodge or towns in Abilene, but still contained its fair share of violence. Now with the Cowboys and the Earps at odds with each other, it only added to the constant conflict.

But here you are, taking orders for ice cream cones and scoops, using it as an opportunity to meet some of the residents of the boom town.

After Johnny and Curly Bill finish the cold and rich dessert, they head off to the Dead End saloon, located at the end of Allen Street. It stood as one of the oldest saloons in the area, but drinks were cheap and the Cowboys weren't picky about the rameras.

"Women sure are beautiful!" Curly Bill declares, slapping Ringo on the back while they sit at the bar.

Johnny can't get your face out of mind. He sips his whiskey slowly, almost methodically while Curly and a few other cowboys flirt with the whores who gladly showed their merchandise.

Ike Clanton downs his drink and pulls a few bills out of his pocket. Ellen, one of the older prostitutes moves towards Ike who follows her upstairs, watching her hips sway. He wipes his beard and heads inside one of the rooms for Ellen's special treatment.

Curly Bill, Stilwell and a few others continue drinking and talking for a little longer. Then they took, followed the women upstairs.

Annie, one of the other whores was wiping down the mahogany bar and she glances over at Johnny. He motions for another whiskey and she brings him the bottle. He downs two shots and then stares out the window as if waiting for something.

"You alright, cowboy?" She asks.

"Please don't call me that," Ringo requests gently.

Annie nods. "You just look as though you forgot what women are for," Annie remarks.

Ringo looks at her.

"Ever think about someone special?" He asks.

"If I did, I wouldn't be doing this job!" Annie answers, laughing in an unlady-like manner.

"Come on upstairs, Johnny. Let me remind you what women are for."

Ringo is tempted. He values women and is nothing without their touch. But he can't get your face out of his mind.

"Maybe some other time." He remarks.

"Well, if all you're gonna do is drink hootch, you should take it somewhere else, Johnny." Annie reminds him.

Johnny takes one last shot and heads to the door. He goes to the livery where Amos, a kid from New Mexico is practicing with his shiny new pistol.

"Saddle her for me, Amos," Ringo requests.

Amos puts his gun back in the holster. "Hey, Mr. Ringo? Did Curly Bill really ride with Billy the Kid like he said? You think I'll ever be that fast?" Amos' eyes light up. Ringo chuckles at the site of the awkward kid who had dreams of being a gunfighter.

"Hell, I don't know when Curly is spinning yarn or telling the truth. He's a damn good storyteller though. I'll give him that."

Amos secures the saddle and Ringo inspects the cinch out of habit. "You've done good, Amos." Ringo gives the kid fifty cents.

"Well! Much obliged, Mr. Ringo!" Amos declares.

Ringo heads back to camp to spend some time alone. Your face in his brain and with every step, his heart aches more. He cannot understand the intense hold you have over him. He's seen pretty faces before. But something about you seemed strange and mysterious. He wonders what losses you endured under the Yankee oppression. His thoughts go back to the farm he grew up on. How his mother, so strong and beautiful picked up the pieces of their shattered lives after the death of Johnny's father. His mother often sat, a Bible in her lap and she would recite silent prayers. Time showed kindness to her; she maintained her beauty even though she worked tirelessly.

Ringo admired his mother and her strength. She expected all of her children to attend church every Sunday and Bible studies during the week. The scriptures tore at Johnny's aching heart that longed for life beyond the confinements of farm life.

Then he had a chance to attend a few semesters at a college in Kansas. His journey to the school seemed so long and lonely and he almost missed the farm. He studied for long hours, the sciences proved more difficult than literature. When not studying for the next chemistry exam, he would read. He blew through Shakespeare's plays and sonnets and also enjoyed Homer's work. He recalls reading about Sirens; beautiful women who presented themselves like angelic beings before they devoured unsuspecting sailors. He entertains the idea that you possess the qualities of a Siren. His mind spins when he thinks of you and can feel weakness creep into his soul. He shakes his head.

"Come on, old cowboy," he tells himself.

His thoughts return to the present. He pickets his horse and grabs a bottle of whiskey and lets the strong, burning drink move down to his belly. Two things he can't seem to live without: women and whiskey. He leans against a few rocks and sips his drink. A few Cowboys return, looking to get some sleep. The hot Arizona sun begins to melt behind the mountains in the distance. Ringo closes his eyes and falls into a dream.

In his dream, the sun's almost blinding light surrounds him in a blanket of warmth. He feels his heart lighten. In a soft breeze, he can hear your voice..."Johnny," just above a whisper. He looks at the large boulders and the trees that frame the spot he's in. He follows your voice to find you.

"Johnny, I'm here and everything is alright," you say, brushing the hair away from his face. Standing so close, he pulls you towards him and when he moves to kiss you, you disappear, leaving him with an ache in his heart. Dark clouds swell around him and cold rain begins to beat down on him. He wakes up panting.

"Holy Father of sinners," he says softly. He retrieves a pencil and some paper he's been collecting. He writes an entry in a new journal.

YN came to Tombstone and changed everything. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen and I can't get her out of my racing mind. I resolve to have her. One way or another...

He tries to continue writing, but the words don't come to mind. His thoughts are like leaves in the wind that cannot settle. He wonders what you're doing and every time he closes his eyes, he's tormented by your sweet face and adventurous spirit.

He continues drinking, hoping it will numb his feelings.

You finish up your shift, collect your earnings and head to the hotel restaurant. They're still serving supper and you take a small table for yourself. Not in the mood to socialize, you eat by yourself, another trait not seen in many people. Your comfort with yourself seems odd and unusual, but inspiring all at the same time. You simply enjoy your meal while reading a book or the Tombstone Newspaper.

Big Nellie collects your plate and you give her twenty five cents which she grabs with her greedy fingers. You let out a sigh and head upstairs to bed. You fall asleep while reading. When you wake up the following morning, you realize you don't work that day so you decide to spend some time seeing the sites of the town.

You purchase a new dress; a plain brown skirt with a pink shirt with ruffles. "You look lovely, Mrs. Trask, the dress shop owner says. "We also have material if you want to make your own dresses. Can I show you?"

You shake your head and smile. "Just another shirt maybe."

"Certainly, dear." She returns with two blouses; one periwinkle blue and the other a plain beige. You purchase the items and then head to the stationary to look around and at the small music shop. After that, you decide to treat yourself to a drink. You enter a saloon and all eyes turn to you. A woman alone in a saloon usually meant she provided special services, but many folks have come to know you from the ice cream parlor.

You can hear the jingle of spurs and you turn to see Johnny Ringo walking in, following Curly Bill.

"Well, ain't this real nice, Johnny," Curly Bill nudges Johnny who sees you and can feel his face grow red. You turn and your heart skips a beat, partly from the fear they evoke and partly because you find yourself drawn to the Byronic Johnny Ringo.

"What's a pretty lady like you doin' here?" Curly Bill asks.

You stumble over your words and Curly Bill winks at your vulnerability.

Johnny Ringo leans in and asks, "please let me buy you a drink." He immediately regrets asking, but to his surprise, you say yes by nodding your head. Curly Bill, seeing Johnny's feelings, heads to the bar, leaving Johnny alone with you.

"This isn't the safest place for a lady," Johnny says in a low voice. "Not one like you. You should allow me to escort you. It would be my honor." He swallows hard, hoping you don't reject his concern.

You smile at him. "I appreciate that, Johnny." You answer.

While you sit through an awkward silence, you ask him where he's from.

"Texas," he answers. "You?"

"Missouri. Lost our farm when Yankees came through."

Johnny nods, understanding full well the loss the war created. "Us too," he says softly. "It seems so long ago, but it also feels like it just happened," you admit. Ringo nods.

"What are you drinking?" He asks.

"Maybe a glass of red wine." You answer.

Johnny motions for the bartender and asks for the best red wine in town. A few moments later, a waitress returns with a glass of red and a bottle of whiskey for Johnny. He looks over at Curly Bill z who's practicing his charm on the saloon girls.

"Old Curly thinks he's a lady's man," Ringo chuckles to himself.

While enjoying the company of Ringo, Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday walks in, their eyes narrowing in on you.

Wyatt comes to the ice cream parlor often so you're already acquainted, but you haven't met Doc Holliday.

"What do you think you're doing, Ringo?" Wyatt grunts.

He feels a hot redness move from his belly to his head.

"Earp," Ringo responds.

"Maybe you should take it somewhere else, Mr. Ringo," Doc drawls, taking a drag of his cigarette. His dark eyes look sunken against his pale, almost gray skin.

"He's here because I asked him to join me," you respond, doing the best to keep your cool.

"Ringo?" Wyatt demands. "You think I believe that?"

You understand the dilemma of the moment and because you like Johnny, you want to defend him.

"It's true, Wyatt," you answer, your voice with more confidence.

"I'll be watching, cowboy," Wyatt remarks before heading to the bar for a beer.

Ringo feels a rage swelling in him and humiliation he just endured proves too much.

"I should go. You should go." He says, his voice full of sadness. "You shouldn't be seen with me. It could give people the wrong impression."

His eyes, so full of confusion look down in shame. His guilt bubbles to the surface, reminding him he cannot ever be with someone like you.

He turns and leaves...

You let out a sigh. Curly Bill heads upstairs with one of the whores just as Wyatt and Doc approach you.

"YN, don't you know who that is? That's Johnny Ringo and if you're smart, you'll stay away from him. Trust me, that man is nothing but trouble. Nothing..."

"You need to ponder the consequences of such an association, my dear," Doc coughs, his blood shot eyes taking you in. "Not that I blame that worthless gunfighter. You're as lovely as a Georgia peach."

You move past Wyatt and Doc.

"YN!" Wyatt calls. "Stay away from him!" Wyatt catches up with you. Doc trails behind, his sickness making it difficult to walk quickly.

You turn to face Wyatt. "You don't know him!"

"I know the type. I've dealt with them long before my time in Kansas! He's nothing but trouble and you'll regret ever associating yourself with him. Take my word for it! I've locked up plenty of men like Ringo!" Wyatt grunts.

Doc Holliday finally reaches them. "Forgive my pace. As a Southern gentleman, I am quite lazy." Doc begins coughing, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket and covers his mouth. He notices a small drop of blood on the handkerchief. He crumbles it up and puts it away.

"Wyatt is correct in his assessment of your gunfighter friend," Doc agrees.

"Why can't I judge for myself?" You demand.

"That's a sharp tongue you got there. You'd best stay out of trouble!" Wyatt demands.

You turn to see if you can find Johnny. He's leaning against a post, lighting a cigarette. He sees you coming closer and he puts the cigarette out.

"Johnny," you beg. "Why did you just run off like that?" You're almost out of breath.

"You shouldn't be seen with me," he tells you, his eyes full of shame and sorrow. "You're too special for this town. You should go back to where you came from!" You can hear the pain in his voice. He tips his hat to you.

"Good day, ma'am."

"Johnny! Wait!" You exclaim. A few townspeople look at the scene in shock, shaking their heads.

"Johnny!"

Johnny Ringo turns to you. "YN, you can't just run up to me like that. Don't you know how dangerous this place is? Besides, reputation is everything around here. I'd hate to see you branded with a reputation because of your association with me." He takes his hat off. "Trust me, I'm not worth your trouble." He looks intently into your eyes as if waiting for something.

"Can we just take a walk?" You suggest. "Just talk?"

He shakes his head. "I don't want anyone to think you're with me. It won't go well for either of us. That I can promise." You watch a tormented Johnny Ringo walk to the Silver Palace saloon.

You can feel your heart swell with defeat and sadness. You know what he's telling you is true; Tombstone was a town where reputation meant everything and once you've been branded it ain't easy to change what people think.

Ringo doesn't want anyone associating you with the red light district. He feels the special spirit that flows from you is too beautiful. Too important and he knows he could never forgive himself if anything happened to you.

You slowly walk back to the hotel. You decide to count what you've earned and start looking for a more permanent residence.

You head to the local real estate office. Bob Miller, an investor puffs on his cigar while shuffling through papers. He was a short and heavy set man who was always wiping his sweaty head with a handkerchief. You enter and he looks up and puts the papers aside.

"What can I do for you, ma'am?" He asks, surprised to see a woman standing before him without a man.

"I want to see about renting a small cottage. Just one bedroom."

Bob stands, puffs his cigar and pulls his pants up as they're always hanging below his large belly.

"Your husband isn't here with you?" He asks.

"No. I'm not married. It's just for me."

He glances at you, his eyes wide. "Well, the bank doesn't loan money to women and well, we never had a woman renting anything here by herself. You fixin' to stay here for a while?"

"Yes. My business is my own. I-"

"Hold on, little lady. You plan on starting a sporting house? With one bedroom?"

You give him a confused look as he is implying you're a prostitute looking to rent a house and convert it to a house of ill repute.

"No. I work at the ice cream parlor. I just don't want to stay in town. That's all!" You clarify.

He continues puffing his cigar, looking a bit restless. "I've got a few little cottages open. But for me to take you without a husband... Well, I just don't know about that."

"Just tell me where it is! I can meet you there."

He looks over at you. He sees your desperation.

"Four fifty a month. I'll need the first month's rent in advance. Place hasn't been properly cleaned yet."

You open your purse and hand him a ten dollar bill. Since you began working, you've managed to save forty five dollars.

Bob checks the bill and puts his hat on.

"Ride past Oak Hill, I'll meet you at the pond." He tells you.

"I don't have a horse yet," you tell him. "Haven't had the need just yet."

"Well, Jack Pierce owns the livery. You can ask him to show you a few good animals. He's got a few geldings you might be interested in."

"Alright," you answer. "Thank you. I'll meet you at the pond."

Once you secure a home, you decide you'll purchase a horse and a good saddle.

Johnny Ringo stands at the bar and orders whiskey. He downs two shots and then pours another, wanting to sip it slowly. He feels like a fool for letting you go. His protective side showed itself; he's a pure gentleman and would do anything to feel the comfort of a woman's touch. And for her to show any signs of concern ignites a fire in him so strong, even Wyatt's icy blue stare could melt it.

At the Silver Palace saloon, Johnny is drowning his sorrows with whiskey and poker. He'd been lucky so far; a full house, two pairs of Jacks and three of a kind. He downs his last shot, collects his winnings and moves towards the door. Before he can exit, Wyatt, Morgan and Virgil walk in. Ringo Ringo tips his hat and moves past them.

"Not so fast, cowboy," Virgil warns.

"A man can't drink and play poker around here?" Ringo barks back. He's drunk, stumbling around.

"You can play all the poker you want and drink yourself into the grave for all we care," Morgan interjects.

"Stay away from YN," Wyatt demands.

"I told her already! You self righteous sons of bitches!" Ringo's head is spinning.

"Good. We have enough trouble around here with your kind!" Virgil groans.

"What about your kind?" Ringo asks indignantly.

"Sober up, cowboy!" Wyatt warns.

At that moment, Doc Holliday strolls in.

"Well, Mr. Ringo. Evidently you have succeeded in the task of making a complete fool of yourself."

"Damn you to hell, lunger!" Ringo spews.

"I reckon I just might," Holiday answers sarcastically.

Wyatt takes a hold of Ringo and tosses him aside. Ringo stumbles and hits the floor, an intense rage burning inside of him. He desperately wants to fight Holliday, but even in his drunken state, he has enough sense to know he's slower and Doc's hands were steady even after he's downed enough whiskey to kill a horse.

Ringo pulls himself to his feet. He turns and leaves quickly, not wanting to get into a shootout. In his frustration and anger, he can see your face and it fills him with a mixture of joy and sadness. Joy that he knows you and sadness in the reality that he can never have you.

He kicks the dirt while he goes to find Curly Bill who's enjoying moonshine with Claudia, the ramera he was with.

"Juanito!" Curly Bill bellows when Ringo enters the place.

"Meet Claudia," Curly says, tapping the woman on the behind. "She'll take real good care of you! Won't you, sweetheart?" Curly Bill winks at her.

"Of course, Johnny. Tell me what I can do for you."

Ringo looks away and heads to the bar.

"Aw, come on, son!" Curly Bill grunts, taking a shot of moonshine. "It ain't nothing!"

"Maybe next time," he says.

Curly Bill knows not to push Johnny. He watches his friend suck back shots at the bar.

"What's gotten into you, Ringo?" Curly inquires, motioning for the bartender.

"Don't ask, Curly. My head ain't straight."

"Of course it ain't! All them books you're always reading. I sure as hell wouldn't waste my time reading!" Curly Bill declares, guffawing loudly.

Johnny smirks. "It wouldn't hurt for you to spend a little time learning," he groans.

"I know all I need to know, Johnny! My game is rustling cows and horses too. Hell, I don't need to read old Willy Shakespeare for that. You may be smarter and well better lookin' than Old Curly, but I'm as tough as they come." Curly Bill sucks back his drink.

"You ain't still thinking about that little lady from the ice cream parlor?" Curly asks inquisitively.

Johnny turns and gives Curly a look. "You wouldn't understand," Johnny says.

"Johnny, I understand that women like Claudia over there are the best it's ever gonna get for us. May as well enjoy it while you can!"

Ringo stares Curly Bill down, knowing the big rustler was right.

"Ringo, Tombstone is a dangerous place and it ain't no place for a lady like that. You'd be doin' nothing but protecting her. What would folks around here say? You'd have those damn Earps breathing down your neck all the time and everyone here would assume she's a chippie. If you care about her, you won't get involved with her. She'd just break your heart anyhow."

"Enough, Curly." Ringo groans.

"Alright, son. Just giving ya some friendly advice is all." Curly turns and looks at the saloon and the patrons filling up the place. "Women are wonderful, ain't they Johnny?" Curly laughs.

"Yes. They are, Curly. They sure are." Ringo takes the bottle and heads to the door. He moves through the batwings and heads to the livery. Amos is, as usual practicing with his pistol.

"Saddle her, Amos," Ringo says calmly.

Amos replaces the gun in the holster. "Sure thing, Mr. Ringo!" The kid answers. "I'm gettin' real good with this here pistol! I might be faster than Charlie Quantrill someday!" Amos looks confused for a moment. "Hey, was Jesse James as fast as Quantrill?" Amos asks.

Ringo shakes his head while checking the saddle.

"I don't know, kid. I used to think I knew. Keep practicing. You never know when you're gonna up against someone real fast." Ringo tips his hat and spurs his horse along. "Come on, girl. Take this old cowboy home." He laughs. "Home?" The only home he ever had was in Texas. He headed back to camp. A few Cowboys were there, firing shots at empty whiskey bottles. They nod at Ringo, acknowledging his presence. Johnny takes the bottle of whiskey and sneaks away into his tent where he can experience solitude. He begins to write in his journal...

She doesn't know how dangerous it is around here. She's naive and lovely. I'm not sure why I can't stop thinking about her. I want to be the man that protects her. Perhaps I could take a walk with her...

Ringo closes his journal and tosses it aside. He holds his head in his hands, unable to shake the intense hold you seem to have over him.

He falls asleep and enters into another dream. This time he feels the oppression of the Union in his heart. He can see a house on fire. He covers his mouth to avoid the smoke and moves towards the house. Then he sees you...

"Johnny!" You scream. "Help me!" You run towards the front door, but it collapses before Johnny can save you. He awakes, gasping for air.

"YN!" He looks around. Then he realizes his reality.

Johnny rubs his temples while he sits up. He wishes he never saw you set foot off that stage...

You and Bob plan to meet at the cottage that afternoon so you gather a few things together and walk to the pond located just south of Oak Hill. When you arrive, the cottage looks somewhat new and there's room in the front for a small vegetable garden. You envision yourself pulling weeds out in between small rows of potatoes, zucchini, carrots and onions. You smile to yourself. With a location outside of town, you keep your fingers crossed that Johnny Ringo will come see you. You know he cares for you and you feel a rush of warmth and excitement flow through your body when you see him. If you could just break through those walls he hides behind...

"Ah, there you are." Bob pulls in the reins on the horse pulling his small, black carriage. He hops down, almost losing his balance and you can't help but laugh at the scene. He wipes his head with a handkerchief and grabs a small stack of papers. He pulls a key out of his pocket and leads you up the small stairs to the front door. The heavy door swings open and you both walk in, the door creaking.

It's perfect! You smile to yourself.

A round throw rug with dark patterns lays on the wooden floor and the kitchen is to your left. A small vase of silk flowers rests on a small table with four chairs and just past a small hallway lies the bedroom. A well furnished room with a twin bed decorated with a white and blue bedspread and a bookshelf is located on the wall near the door.

"Well, like I said, it's small. Perfect for a person alone. Oh, he says, let's go over everything."

You both sit at the table, you move the vase to the small wooden counter. Bob takes a pen out of his pocket and shuffles through the paperwork.

"I can rent it to you for a one year lease. After one year, rent usually goes up a bit. But not much around here. Most folks stay in town."

After you sign the lease, Bob gives you a copy of the agreement and a receipt for the first month's rent.

"You can move in now." Bob tells you. He puts his hat back on. He fiddles with the reins of his horse. "I'd give you a ride back into town, but uh... Reputation is very important around these parts. Would hate to see a lovely lady like yourself the center of town gossip."

"I understand," you answer. Johnny already informed you about the importance of reputation in a town like Tombstone.

You enter the home and put away a few things. You didn't bring much with you because you figured you could purchase whatever items you needed. The place looks clean and well managed. No dust lies on the bedspread and some dishes occupy the modest cupboard. You check for silverware and find a few random spoons and forks. You pump some water into the sink and feel pleased you have water. You glance outside at the soil in the front and sides of the house. You decide to go into town in a bit to purchase some grub at the general store; some fruit, fresh vegetables, bread, fresh eggs, a small side of bacon and coffee. Then your next goal involves purchasing a reasonable horse. You know you'll need a carriage or little buckboard. You refused a side saddle some time ago and you fear what people will think of they see you riding without your knees touching.

You pour some water into a basin and wash your hands and face. While you're wiping your face with a towel, you think of Johnny and wonder what the cowboy is up to.

Johnny sits outside his tent, leaning on the chuck wagon. He sips his whiskey slowly and listens to the slow cackling of the fire. He tosses stones into the fire. His thoughts return to you and the day you ran up to him in the middle of the street. His eyes fall to the ground. He fears for your safety and also desires you; he can't remember when he wanted something so badly.

A part of him wants to go to the hotel, break your door down and take you, making wild love to you. Then when he allows his mind to imagine you struggling under him, he's filled with guilt and shame. He sips more whiskey and stares into the fire. Pony Diel is on the other side of the chuck wagon rolling dough into biscuits. He whistles to himself, singing in between:

"I'm a good old rebel and that's just what I am...I'm glad we fought against it, only wish we'd won." He continues whistling.

Johnny finishes the last line for Pony..."I don't need no pardon for anything I done..."

Johnny lights up a cigarette, using his boot to strike the match. He lets the smoke billow from his mouth in a small funnel. "What's for supper, Pony?" Johnny asks.

Pony chuckling. "Biscuits, bacon and beans. You expectin' something better? Go into town. Out here, it's cowboy grub. Take it or leave it. Should be ready in a little spell." Pony goes back to whistling while Johnny finds his Bowie knife. His toenails have grown to the point where his feet feel cramped in his leather boots.

He removes his boots and then his socks. He wiggles his toes and begins to slice each toenail carefully. Each cut reminds him of the different events he'd been through. He can hear Curly Bill's loud guffawing and the sound of Curly's horse trotting into the camp

"Hey, Billy!" Curly calls Billy Clanton.

"Yeah, Curly?" Billy asks.

"Picket my horse, will you? But don't ride him. Just walk him over."

Billy complies and takes Curly's horse to the picket line and removes the saddle.

"Well, look at that?" Curly chuckles. "Johnny Ringo, feared outlaw tendin' to his toenails!"

"Gotta do some grooming, Bill. Makes me remember I'm still human. Johnny looks down at his calloused feet, the balls and heels are dirty with deep cracks in the callouses. He finishes up.

"You got competition in the ugly feet department," Curly laughs. "I gotta tend to my own doggies soon. Your feet ain't as ugly as mine!" Curly grunts.

Johnny continues his work. "Nobody alive has feet as ugly as yours," Ringo reminds Curly Bill.

"I reckon so." Curly answers. "But hell, gotta tend to those little things. Even us outlaws gotta take care of certain things."

Johnny finishes up and puts his socks back on, then his boots. Curly Bill sighs and can feel his own overgrown toenails.

"Well, it's my turn, I reckon."

Johnny lights up a cigarette. Curly Bill takes his knife and then removes his boots. He shakes them out and then takes his socks off.

"Damn, Bill," Johnny remarks, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Make it quick before you stink up this whole place."

Curly Bill guffaws loudly while he begins the task of cutting his toenails. Scars from riding in rough terrain showed in the sunset. Curly wiggles his toes for emphasis. "These feet have been through a lot. They ain't tender, that's for sure."

"Ain't seen my own toes for a spell." His evens his jagged toenails so they don't snag his socks.

"Well, they ain't pretty, but they'll do."

"They're downright awful," Johnny answers, taking one last drag of his cigarette.

Curly Bill chuckles and skips his feet back into his boots, the familiar feeling of leather bringing him a hint of comfort.

"Juanito, you still thinkin' about that little lady? Not that I blame you. She's beautiful."

Johnny feels a pang in his heart. "Bill, she's gonna get me killed."

"I reckon. You start daydreaming about her when we're out rustling cows, you could lose your head real fast. You won't be fast no more."

"I know that," Johnny answers. "My hands aren't steady when I'm thinking about her. And that damn Doc Holliday. He can down enough rot gut to kill a damn horse and I've never seen hands so steady." Johnny shakes his head.

At that moment, Pony rings the chuck wagon iron. "Chuck's on! Come and get it!"

"Let's eat, Johnny." Curly Bill says.

The Arizona sun begins to set and the air feels still with the occasional breeze filtering through town. You walk quickly to the livery where Amos is sharpening a knife. When he sees you, he quickly puts the weapon away and tips his hat. His awkwardness due to his youth is endearing to you.

"Afternoon, ma'am? I don't have your horse. Least I don't remember putting up any horse for ya."

You shake your head. "I'm looking for Mr. Pierce. Id like to purchase a good quarter horse if you got one."

Amos shifts a little. "Yes, ma'am. We gotta a few quarter horses. I'll get Pierce for you. He's over at the assay office! I'll fetch him for ya."

When Amos returns, he follows Jack Pierce. Pierce, a tall man with dark features and wearing a new suit walks towards you. He tips his hat. You acknowledge him with a nod.

"We got a quarter horse, she just came in last week. You're just in time. You need a saddle too? I got a few used side saddles -"

"I want to purchase a small carriage and a traditional saddle."

"You plan on riding without a side saddle?" Pierce inquires, raising his eyebrows.

"I would like to ride the small carriage into town. There's a small area around the back of the ice cream parlor."

"Well, iffin' you ride in on your saddle, you can leave her here at the livery. Ten cents a day."

"Ten cents..." You ponder. With rent being $4.50 per month and another forty cents for the livery, you believe you can afford it. Since you plan on growing a vegetable garden, you wouldn't need to purchase too much grub in town. If you need, you can help yourself to the free chuck Fatty provides during the day.

"Do you have a carriage?" You inquire.

"Certainly, young lady. Come to the office here, we'll get everything in order for you."

Amos tips his hat to you as you leave. "Ma'am," he drawls.

"Get Daisy ready, boy," Pierce orders. "Get a saddle too. Check to make sure it's sturdy with a good cinch."

"Yes, sir," Amos responds. While Amos is busy with the horse and saddle, you follow Pierce to his small office. Pictures of Appaloosas and Arabians decorate the wall.

"Alright," Pierce begins. "Daisy is a reliable quarter. She won't give you any trouble. But I wouldn't enter her in any races anytime."

You chuckle under your breath. Pierce fills out a contract. You give him the money for the horse and agree to rent the carriage for five cents a day.

Everything is coming together. You say to yourself.

When you return, Daisy is secured to the carriage which only seats two people. It's a light brown color with beige trim. Nothing fancy, but good enough for you.

"Thank you!" You tell Amos, who blushes at your compliment.

"Sure thing, ma'am. Happy to help!"

You brush Daisy with your hands and she whinnies softly. "Come on, girl!" You mount the carriage and drive yourself home. Once you arrive, you unhitch Daisy and secure her in the small stable provided. The stable was built to house only one horse. You ensure she has oats and water before you massage her with a brush, talking softly to her. "We're gonna be friends, Daisy. You're going to help me win his heart, aren't you?" You smile to yourself. Johnny will see you as capable and independent now. And he won't have the fear of being together in town; he can easily ride out to your place to avoid public scrutiny. Your determination to secure a relationship with Johnny Ringo grows more intensely now.

You kiss Daisy good night and head inside. While in town, you picked up some grub so you fix yourself a little stew and tea and then get into bed, ready to start your day in the morning.

When you wake up, you can feel a soft breeze flow into the open window. You can hear Daisy neighing in the stable. The sky reflects in a bowl of blue with a few clouds moving slowly through the dying wind.

You rise, make yourself some coffee and prepare for your day. You ride your new carriage into town and unhitch Daisy, taking her to the livery.

"Ma'am!" Amos declares. "Nice to see you today! I'll take care of Daisy for ya."

You give Amos twenty five cents to pay for a few days and then give him a five cent tip.

"Much obliged, ma'am!" Amos says.

"Thank, Amos!"

While walking to the ice cream parlor, you see a help needed sign at the hotel restaurant. You decide to talk to Steele and Fatty while on your break to see if the job pays more than a dollar a day.

While scooping ice cream for patrons looking for relief from the heat, you hope Johnny Ringo comes in. Throughout the morning, you don't see him. You sigh, remove your apron and tell Bob you're taking your break.

You head to the hotel restaurant for lunch. Big Nellie is sitting at the counter, sopping up beans with a tortilla. She ignores you and continues eating, licking her fingers indignantly.

Fatty comes out of the kitchen, mopping his sweaty face with his apron. "Oh, Nellie! You keep eating, you ain't gonna be able to see your feet no more!"

"You should talk!" Big Nellie answers with her mouth full.

"You see?" Fatty tells you. "Stuffs herself all the time while I do most of the work!"

"Get a table ready for YN," Steele orders Fatty.

"Of course." Fatty answers. He brings you to a small table. "Special today, roast with mashed potatoes."

You gaze at the paper menu. "Light lunch, please."

"Of course! A special vegetable soup and a little salad. Sound good to you?" You nod.

After you finish your meal, you walk over to Steele.

"You're looking for help?"

"Yes," Steele answers. This place is getting busy and Big Nellie can't keep up with the demands. We need some assistance."

"What's the pay?" You inquire.

"Pay a buck fifty per day plus tips." Steele scratches his head and asks, "Beg your pardon, but aren't you working for Bonney at the ice cream parlor? You're looking for a change?"

"Something like that." You respond.

"Well, give Bonney a notice," Steele suggests. "He won't mind. Big Nellie is always available."

"Sounds reasonable." You say. "I'll let him know today. When can I start?"

Steele looks at you. "How about the first of next month?"

"Looks like I'll be seeing you next month," you say.

You walk back to the parlor full of excitement and a bit of apprehension.

You keep watching to see if Johnny comes in, but to your disappointment, he never shows. You hear plenty of commotion coming from the street and you can hear Curly Bill's loud guffawing while he struts down the street, baiting law enforcement officers to take his pistols.

At the end of your shift, Big Nellie comes in to help clean and get her free scoop of ice cream.

After you give Big Nellie a heaping scoop of vanilla ice cream, you remove your apron and go to where Bonney is counting receipts.

"Mr. Bonney, I have to give my notice. I've been offered a job at the restaurant."

Bonney removes his glasses and looks at you.

"Well, it sure was nice having you. But there's always Big Nellie and there's a couple of ladies from the sporting house that can help. Not as pretty as you, but I understand you need to earn a little more."

You nod. Nothing will stop you from positioning yourself in line so you can talk to Johnny Ringo. You know the Cowboys eat at the restaurant often so it's the perfect place for you to work.

"Thank you, Mr. Bonney." You tell him.

Bonney puts his glasses back on and returns to the business of counting receipts. He clears his throat.

"This is a growing town, there will be plenty of people looking for work. How about you give me one more week?"

"Yes, of course!" You respond with delight. You hang up your apron and head out the door.

It's all coming together! You say to yourself.

Your last week drags on, but your determination keeps you going. With each scoop, each end of your shift, you become closer to serving Curly Bill, Johnny Ringo and the other Cowboys that dine at the restaurant. You chuckle to yourself while working.

Johnny Ringo and Curly Bill head to the Oriental to play a few rounds of poker, hoping to get lucky.

Wyatt sits at the Faro table while Doc and Morgan stand around, watching.

Curly Bill and Ringo sit at the poker table with a few other patrons and start playing. The first round, Curly wins with a full house and the second round, Johnny gets three of a kind. Wyatt quietly observes the Cowboys, ensuring they don't start any trouble.

Curly Bill tips his hat to Wyatt.

Curly Bill's luck continues so he plays a few more rounds before lighting up a cigar.

"Well, guess I'm good at this game." Curly declares. Both Ringo and Curly head to the bar to order more whiskey. Curly looks around at the few sporting ladies.

"What are ya thinkin', Johnny?" Curly bellows curiously.

"How bout spending some of our ill gotten gains on some lady fun? Little taste of home sweet home?"

Ringo feels tempted and imagines holding you close. Every other woman would remind him of you and although he's desperate for a woman's touch, his throbbing masculinity is almost unbearable, he decides against it.

"Oh, come on, Johnny. Women are beautiful. Women make everything better, don't they?" Curly says low. Johnny nods and decides his bodily functions won't relent and with the mounting pressure laying on his mind, he knows a woman can release the rage that consumes him. He follows Curly Bill up the stairs. Curly guffaws while tapping the behind of the woman he chose to lay with.

Johnny knocks on a closed door and a Mexican ramera opens it.

"He follows her curves and although the room fills him with a rare sense of tranquility, he feels saddened that he cannot make love to you. He also hopes you do not learn of his tendencies towards prostitutes; the only women who seem pleased to see him. Even when he reeks of whiskey, they offer smiles and kind words. Women were the only people he knew that ever showed him concern; even if that concern comes with a price, he doesn't care that much. A woman who tells him to stay careful fills him with inexplicable joy and comfort.

"I'm Maria. Tell me what I can do for you."

Johnny takes his hat off and she moves closer. They fall into a passionate kiss and Ringo holds her with the intensity he would if you were in his arms.

After his rage is released through her affection, she lays her head on his chest.

"I need you, YN..." Johnny whispers.

Maria sits up and looks at him.

"She must be something special if I can't distract you from her." She tells him, her accent thick and barely recognizable.

"Si," Johnny says softly.

Maria returns to her position, enjoying the gentleman gunfighter. He strokes her hair and she moves her hand to touch his face and she feels tears at his temples.

"You are ok, senor?" She asks.

Johnny wants to believe she genuinely cares. He knows you would...But he embraces the illusion anyway.

Instead of answering her, he makes love to her again, wanting to experience the passion of a woman. The only passion worth risking everything for.

Johnny Ringo falls asleep while Maria rests her head on his chest. His dreams bring him little relief; he imagines you on top of him, your strong thighs keeping you well balanced. He brushes the hair away from your face and you look at him with desire. You throw your head back and let out a sigh of passion. He moves his hands on your body; cupping and caressing your breasts while you ride him delicately with just enough strength and pressure to drive him wild. You smile down at him before throwing him over so he's on top of you. He slowly removes the little clothing you still wear, licking the space between your bossom. He gently laughs while you enjoy the moment too. He spreads your legs apart and uses his strength to keep you still. While you lay in helpless delight, he gently tickles your flower until you burst with pure ecstasy.

When he awakes from his peaceful and amazing dream, he feels his heart pounding with intensity so great, he needs to stand up to shake it out of him. He moves to wash his face, splashing water on himself from the basin that's available. He glances into the small mirror provided and only sees the sadness in his eyes. The longing for the true love of a good woman. And the only woman he can dream of is you.

"Senor Ringo," Maria says.

"Can I bring you more pleasure? Can I help you forget YN?"

Johnny flashes her a look of anger. She backs away and Johnny softens his approach.

"Lo siento..." Johnny says, taking her hand and kisses it.

"Esta Bien," Johnny tells her, his eyes growing intensely sad, full of guilt and shame. He always carried a space of shame when he indulged in the pleasures of women.

Ringo allows her to pleasure him again. While she mounts him and brings him to the moment when he's fully released from his rage, he feels his heart swell with sadness. He allows his tears to flow. He closes his eyes and falls into a fantasy that his moment of ecstasy is brought on by your touch.

Ringo generously pays her and gives her a little extra for her discretion. He leaves, feeling less full of rage and frustration, but guilt and shame creep around his heart. He lets out a sigh and composes himself. He walks with his signature gait back to the livery.

Amos was sitting down reading a dime novel. When he sees Ringo, he immediately stands, adjusting his hat.

"Says here Billy the Kid shot a man from fifty yards away! You think I'll ever do that?"

Ringo smiles at the naive boy, who has dreams of becoming a gunfighter. "I don't know, kid. I used to think I knew a lot of things. But remember, people don't choose to become gunslingers. The gunslinger life chooses us."

Amos looks confused. "Whatchu mean, Mr. Ringo?"

Ringo shakes his head. Amos saddles the horse for Johnny.

"Nice quarter horse," Johnny remarks. "When she get here?"

Amos shrugs. "Little over a week ago. YN from the ice cream parlor is keeping her here."

"Is that so?" Johnny asks, his voice just above a whisper.

"Matter of fact, I reckon," Amos responds. "She sure is a sweet lady, ain't she?"

Ringo looks to the ground. "She is that," he answers.

"Well, she told me she's gonna be working at the hotel restaurant."

"When?" Ringo inquires.

"Day she bought Daisy. Sure is a nice horse."

"I wonder why she..." Ringo begins thinking. He and the Cowboys enjoy dinner at th toe hotel restaurant often. His heart skips a beat thinking about seeing her more regularly.

"What's that, Mr. Ringo?" Amos asks.

"Nothing." As always, he checks the cinch. After he mounts his horse he heads to camp.

The following morning, you wake up early, eager to start your first day at the restaurant. You make yourself a small breakfast and some coffee. Once ready, you go to the stable to retrieve Daisy. She whinnies and seems happy to see you. You talk to her while hitching her to the carriage.

"It's coming together, girl. I won't give up. Don't let me give up, girl!" You kiss Daisy in the nose. You decide to pick up some carrots for her after your shift ends. You enter the carriage.

"Giddyap, girl!" You say, your voice is full of enthusiasm. You ride into the busy town and you're a few minutes early. You survey the area, hoping to see Johnny Ringo. To your disappointment, he's not at the restaurant. You shake off your doubts and take Daisy to the livery.

"Mornin', ma'am!" Amos declares happily.

"Good morning, Amos." You give him a quarter tip.

"Thanks, ma'am! Come on, Daisy!"

You let out a sigh while hurrying to the hotel restaurant. When you enter, Steele walks over

"It's going to be real nice having you work here with us. Head into the kitchen, Fatty will show you the ropes. I reckon you'll learn quick."

Steele's prediction came true; you picked up everything quickly and after a few days, you were taking orders and ensuring patrons got their meals quickly. You and Fatty sometimes joke a bit and you appreciate the camaraderie.

At the end of the week during the lunch rush, Johnny Ringo, Curly Bill and a few other cowboys enter the restaurant. Their presence commands the attention of everyone in the area and Curly Bill soaks up the flattery he feels from the fear he evokes in people.

Your heart races with excitement and you head into the kitchen to catch your breath. You reach into your pocket and pull out a small tube of lipstick. You put a bit of color on your lips, fluff your hair and head to where the Cowboys are sitting.

Curly Bill asserts his dominance and authority, hoping you too show signs of fear, especially in the presence of his cowboys.

"Well, ain't you a sight," he drawls.

Your eyes show gratitude and you feel overwhelmed by your nervousness. Curly Bill smiles almost deviously. He nods, expecting your obedience.

"What can I bring you gentleman?" You ask, your voice shaking a bit. You try your best to maintain control, but the sight of Johnny Ringo along with the Cowboys fills you with a gear you weren't quite prepared for. You can see now why so many folks are truly intimidated by these men.

"Most folks don't have the guts to talk to us. Usually Fatty takes our orders," Curly Bill declares.

You feel your heart sink at Curly Bill's comment.

"I'm here to help Fatty," you answer, showing a smile.

Curly Bill folds his arms and sits back, enjoying the exchange. "That so?" He asks rhetorically.

You nod.

"Bill," Ringo begins.

"It's alright, son," Curly drawls. "Just making sure she knows who's in charge around here." Curly still sits with his arms folded. He can understand why Johnny is so smitten with you.

You look around the restaurant and notice other patrons waiting for your service.

"Why don't you look at the menu and I'll come back," you answer, your voice shaking.

Curly Bill nods. "But don't think we're friends." He growls.

"Bill," Johnny begins. "Let her be," Johnny says. Johnny understands Curly's need to dominate people and the need to maintain his reputation as a feared outlaw. Any sign of weakness could bring trouble to men like the Cowboys.

"Look at her smiling like she ain't got no care in the world," Curly continues. "Folks ain't nice lessen they want somethin'," Curly reminds Johnny.

Curly Bill already sucked back several whiskey shots before they came to the restaurant and the effects of the rot gut caused him to grow impatient and sometimes down right mean. Ringo hopes Curly Bill doesn't cause a scene and he also hopes you don't get your feelings hurt as that is a reflection on him.

Ringo feels torn; he understands the position he and the gang are facing by letting their guard down too quickly. He also cannot stand to see you afraid of him.

You return with a smile and a tray of coffee cups. You head to the kitchen and return with a pot of coffee and begin pouring coffee for the Cowboys.

"Thank you," Johnny says softly.

"Much obliged," Ike Clanton grunts.

The other Cowboys murmur their mild gratitude, still skeptical of your kind demeanor.

"You're very welcome," you say smiling.

Curly Bill leans forward. "You think you're better than us? Just going about like you ain't scared of anything?" He grumbles.

"I'm just here to serve you. Give you the best service I can." You continue smiling, hoping it will soften the rough exterior of this wild and dangerous group of gunfighters. But their skepticism of kindness towards them bubbles under the surface.

"As long as you know who's in charge around here and it ain't the law," Curly growls.

You nod your head and manage a smile, still trying to hide your fear.

"You got guts. I'll give you that," Curly Bill observes. "Most folks would have run for the door by now."

"Well then you would lose the opportunity for me to serve you," you respond doing the best you can to keep your emotions from flowing.

Curly Bill grins mischievously, hoping his reputation and larger than life personality is working on you.

Curly Bill sits back and looks you up and down.

"I reckon so. But we ain't friends," Curly declares.

"Is there anything else I can get for you, gentleman?" You ask, smiling as best as you can.

"You're nothing but a pretty face!" Curly Bill drawls. "You think you can stand here and not be afraid? Do you have any idea who we are?"

You nod your head. You suck back your tears. You also understand that Johnny doesn't want to start a situation he wouldn't be able to undo.

"Good," Curly says. "See? You ain't as fearless as you think you are!" Curly Bill slurs.

Your heart sinks.

"Come on, Bill," Ringo interjects.

"Alright," Curly Bill responds. He looks at you. "But this ain't over." He gulps his coffee and wipes his mouth with his large hand.

You return to the kitchen and burst into tears. Fatty comes over and puts a hand on your shoulder.

"I guess I shoulda warned you about those Cowboys," Fatty says with regret in his voice. "A pretty lady like you don't deserve that."

You resolve to regain your composure and your strength. You suck back your tears and run your hands through your hair. You nod. And the realization of the dangers of living in a boom town becomes clear. Far from the farm you grew up on you find yourself almost regretting coming here. But you see Johnny's face and you decide to keep going. In your defeat, you find the courage to face Curly Bill and the Cowboys.

You take a deep breath. Fatty gives you a reassuring hug and a pot of coffee. "Go refill their coffee, sweet lady." Fatty winks at you and mops his head with his apron.

You return to the dining area to refill their coffee.

"Your meals should be right out," you say softly.

Curly Bill, feeling pleased he's intimidated you, sits with his arms folded. He nods. "Good. You just walk around here without a care, is that it?"

"Mr. Brocius, is there anything I can get for you?" You ask. You look at Johnny, whose eyes glisten with concern.

"Thank you for your service to us," Johnny says.

Your heart skips a beat and you smile at Johnny.

"Well, ain't that real nice," Curly Bill responds with a hint of envy in his voice.

"You're welcome," you respond and with trembling hands, you pour their coffee.

"Not as tough as you think you are," Curly Bill grunts.

"Mr. Brocius, I'm not here to upset you." You say, a hint of fear in your voice.

"Then why are you here?" Curly Bill leans forward. "Just flash that pretty smile and serve people?"

"I'm just here to do my job."

"As long as you understand I'm the one in charge around here and iffin' you don't understand that real quick, you'll be walking a fine line."

Johnny looks at you and then back at Curly Bill. He doesn't want the scene to escalate with you getting hurt and he knows he needs to maintain his loyalty to Curly Bill and the Cowboys.

"You've been real nice and we appreciate it." He tells you. He puts his head down and then sips his coffee. You return to the kitchen and are able to carry four dishes at once. You walk over to their table, ensuring you serve Curly Bill first.

"Well, look at that," Ike Clanton mutters. "Carrying all them plates."

Curly Bill and the Cowboys begin eating and you return with two more plates for Stillwell and Barnes.

"Is there anything else I can bring you," you ask.

"Keep that coffee coming," Curly Bill answers, without looking at her.

"Of course, Mr. Brocius," you respond. You head back to the kitchen, tears welling in your eyes. The weight of the feeling of defeat lays upon you like a dark cloud. Fatty comes over with a cup of tea for you. "I'm really sorry, YN. Them boys...Well Curly Bill Brocius... he's a feared man. He don't trust easy.

You nod.

"There's somethin' else," Fatty continues. "Curly Bill has earned the respect of his men and he's earned the respect of everyone who's crossed him." Fatty wipes his head with his apron.

"But..they got heart." Fatty wipes his head again. He rubs his tired eyes.

"Curly Bill has a soft spot. Trust me. I know. You may already know how important reputation is around here."

"I saw nothing soft about him," you say. "He looks like someone I would never want to upset or..." You lower your eyes.

"I reckon you didn't..." Fatty replies. "Curly Bill went through some bad stuff after the war." Fatty places his hands on his hips.

"Almost got eaten alive by insects at a makeshift prison at a Texas Rangers camp. 'Those sons a bitches tied Curly Bill to a stake and left him there half the night! Old Curly had insect bites on him from head to toe." Fatty shakes his head. "You can understand why he's so cautious. And that ain't all. He and Dutch Martin were arrested in '79 by Texas Rangers. In the dead of winter, he and Dutch were tied up with their arms behind their backs so they couldn't warm themselves. Ringo was apprehended by a Union group and they tied him to a fence post and whipped him until he almost passed out." Fatty shakes his head. "Those Yankees took everything. They just kept coming, marching all over the South."

You nod your head slowly. You lost family during the war and your family is scattered. You never endured the torture Curly Bill and Ringo did. The Union was especially cruel to Confederate outlaws.

You gather yourself, run your hands through your hair and take a deep breath. "I'm not giving up," you tell Fatty. "I left everything behind to come here. I'm getting a taste of the west."

Fatty grins. He puts a supportive hand on your shoulder. "I reckon you are. Just keep up the good work. Curly Bill will soften a bit. He ain't all bad. You're a lovely lady and well, that's..."Fatty pauses. "Gives folks a reason to wonder. But I reckon you working here will help. You'll be able to meet folks around here."

You nod. You take the coffee pot and return to the dining room.

With a trembling hand, you pour coffee into the cups of the Cowboys.

"Much obliged, ma'am," Ike Clanton tells you.

You show an appreciative smile. "Of course."

Ringo hates seeing you in such a state of fear and knowing one of his own caused it, rips at his heart. "Thank you, YN. We all appreciate your fine service."

"Thank you, Mr. Ringo, you say, your voice low and your eyes to the ground.

"Johnny," he tells you.

Curly Bill smirks. "Well ain't that a fine how do you do?"

You return to the kitchen and come back with fresh, hot biscuits. Curly Bill eats without acknowledging anyone. Then he looks at you.

"Alright," he grunts, shoving food in his mouth. Johnny eats slowly in a more refined manner. Although his mother came from a farming background, she carried herself in such a way, she appeared sophisticated and elegant. She always enjoyed her meals slowly. And in some ways, you remind Johnny of his mother; underneath her delicate appearance, lived a woman of formidable strength and courage with beauty time couldn't alter.

You bring the Cowboys their tab; it comes out to $2.50. Curly Bill hands you a ten dollar bill and tells you to keep the change. A stark contrast from his behavior earlier. You wonder if perhaps Fatty was right and that a softer side of the big rustler would reveal itself. When your shift ends, you enjoy some soup before you go to the livery to retrieve Daisy. Your heart still aches from the harshness you endured under Curly Bill Brocius, but you know you cannot quit and allow him to push you out of town.

When you arrive at the livery, you see Johnny Ringo talking to Amos.

Johnny sees you and feels his face grow red. Your hair flows freely and your beautiful eyes seem to sparkle even through the dying sun. Johnny straightens up and tips his hat.

"Take care of her first, Amos," Johnny orders. "I'll get my horse after."

"Sure thing, Mr. Ringo!" Amos obliges. He heads in to retrieve Daisy. Seeing her brings you unexpected comfort and relief.

"Hey, girl," you whisper, kissing her on the nose. You hold back your tears that want to burst through your tired eyes. Seeing Daisy makes you feel like you're seeing an old friend who can offer some relaxation and relief from your stressful first day working at the hotel restaurant.

"Mighty nice horse," Johnny comments. "She really seems to like you, YN." He smiles a genuine smile at you.

"She's my only friend so far," you reply, regretting your comment. "I mean, I haven't had a chance to really make any friends yet."

"You've been busy since you arrived," Johnny comments. "First working at the ice cream parlor, buying a border and buggy and then putting up with the Cowboys during lunch today." He looks down at the ground and shuffles his feet as he does when he's feeling nervous.

"Yeah, I reckon so," you tell him. You let out a sigh and run your hand through your hair. Johnny fights his internal urges. The throbbing manliness of his body weakens his knees. He knows his face must be red and he's grateful for a shadow that stretches across his form, hopefully hiding his flushed demeanor.

Johnny clears his throat. "It's real dangerous here, YN. Keep your head about you. This town ain't fit for a woman like you. Big Nellie is one thing; she can handle herself well. But you... You're... Different," he finally manages to say.

"After the war, my family just scattered throughout the country, trying to repair their lives. Our farm is...Gone."

Johnny nods sympathetically. "I'm sorry to hear that," he offers a half smile.

"I guess I wanted a fresh start and I couldn't stay in Kansas. Everything reminded me of..." You pause.

"Yankee oppression?" Johnny finishes.

You nod. "Yeah. I would walk through town and see most of the buildings leveled. I wasn't going to stay there and try to rebuild. I needed to get away from all of it."

"And you chose the town too tough to die," Ringo says, forcing a smile. Johnny squints from the sunlight. "Trust me, Dodge is worse."

"That's what I've heard. I was never near Dodge City," you reply. "I'm hoping to find my way here." You tell him.

"I'm sure you will," Ringo responds. He looks around to ensure nobody is watching him interact with you.

"Well, I should get home. I'm doing breakfast and lunch tomorrow. I really need to get some rest."

"I thought you were staying at the hotel?" Johnny inquires.

"I was. I am renting a small cottage just about a half a mile from here."

Johnny raises his eyebrows. "Really?"

You stand a little taller, feeling confident that you're independent.

"Yes. I didn't want to stay in town. Where do you stay, Johnny?"

Johnny Ringo felt a lump in his throat. He doesn't want to tell you that he sleeps in a tent at the Cowboy camp and he's too ashamed to admit he can't usually afford to stay in town. He feels flushed again and anxious to be elsewhere before someone sees the two of you together and makes trouble for you.

"We got a shack about a mile from here. It's not so bad." He feels himself growing embarrassed. You don't push the issue since you understand how secretive Johnny Ringo can be.

"I should get home," you say to Johnny. "I just need to hitch Daisy."

"Let me help you with that," Johnny offers.

"Oh, Johnny! You don't have to!"

"It's alright. I've hitched plenty of horses." You walk together and Johnny hitches Daisy and then helps you into the carriage. He hands you the reigns.

"You take care of yourself, YN," Johnny tells you.

"Thank you, Johnny," you smile, feeling a little lighter and less stressed. "You're welcome. Get home safe."

You watch Johnny with his signature hair back to the livery. Your heart skips a beat while you relive the moment in your mind and your heart.

When you return to your modest house, you unhitch Daisy, ensuring she has water and grains. You brush Daisy and talk to her.

"This was a tough first day...I really like Johnny Ringo. I think he likes me too. I just don't know. Curly Bill treated me so badly and I am so afraid of that man! But then he gave me a very generous tip. I don't know, Daisy!" You start to cry a little.

Daisy brings you home and you unhitch the carriage, ensure Daisy has grain and water and head back to your modest home.

After a modest supper of meat and vegetables, you clean up a little, make yourself some tea and get ready for bed.

Johnny Ringo heads back to camp with a smile on his face. He relives the moment he shared with you. Seeing your beautiful eyes gazing up at him with concern and your clear devotion to him. He feels guilty over the scene with Curly Bill. He lets out a sigh and continues riding slowly. If he tries to intervene, Curly Bill with his unpredictable nature and dangerous tendencies could have caused further harm to you. The last thing Johnny Ringo wants is for you to leave.

He dismounts and tells Ike to picket his horse. Ike begrudgingly obliges. Johnny takes his saddle and rests it near his tent. He can smell the familiar aroma of beans, bacon and biscuits.

Ringo enjoys his food slowly, sipping coffee in between bites. He notices the sun falling behind the mountains and he laughs to himself that he rarely allows himself to delight in nature's wonders. He can still feel your presence and the aroma of your perfume still lingers in his nostrils. He takes a bite of biscuit and notices his mood starts moving in an upward direction. Normally, be would finish eating, grab a bottle of rotgut and retreat to his tent to either write his sorrows in his journal or escape them through old Willy Shakespeare. But on this early evening, he feels a renewed sense of peace. He looks over at Curly Bill, still a little annoyed for the way the big rustler treated you. Curly Bill could demonstrate charm and charisma at times and other times he feels an overwhelming need to assert his authority and throw his weight around. In Curly's mind, places like Tombstone don't suffer fools and if a person can't handle the harshness of such territory, they should head east where life is more predictable and safe.

Curly Bill viewed women in a way that usually included indifference; a means to an end. Women cured a man's loneliness and longing for human connection. In the end, Curly Bill possessed more of an unromantic view. Johnny figured it stemmed from Curly's past, present and his fierce reputation. Curly often pointed out that women cause a man weakness and if she's a beauty, the memory of her could make a man daydream and he could lose his cool, his mind...And his life.

And much truth came from Curly Bill's perception. Their line of work came with dangers such as rival gangs, Apaches or vengeful Commanches, grizzlies and other wild animals, rattlers and trigger happy bounty hunters. So, in a sense Johnny could appreciate Curly's perspective on women. He also feels Curly Bill can take it too far, especially if he perceives someone in a light that shows they lack fear of him or don't seem intimidated. He also possesses a side capable of strong feelings and Curly's loyalty was unshakable. Johnny knows eventually Curly Bill will give you a chance to show your own loyalty.

Johnny finishes his meal and lights up a new cigar, blowing the smoke in billows of tiny clouds that swirl through the stiff air. He can't help but feel a renewed sense of happiness. For the first time in a very long time, Johnny Ringo allowed himself to feel the warmth of happiness and he embraces this vulnerability with slow and steady steps.

"Juanito!" Curly Bill bellows, awakening Johnny from his peaceful moment.

"Curly," Johnny responds.

Curly Bill sits next to Johnny, holding a coffee cup full of whiskey. Curly sips it and grimaces. "Not sure where Pony found this rot gut."

Johnny looks forward, almost ignoring Curly's presence which poses a serious challenge; Curly Bill wasn't easy to ignore.

"Well, I reckon I took it a little too far with that lovely lady."

Ringo flashes a look at the big rustler sitting next to him, a look of disbelief.

"You always want people afraid of you. And most people are, Bill." Johnny speaks softly, enjoying his cigar.

"Too much damn tornado juice," Curly answers, trying to find an excuse for his obnoxious behavior. "Hits my head hard." Curly Bill let's out a sigh. He feels disgusted with himself when he's had so much and can't leave the damn fire water alone.

"Well, maybe you owe her the apology," Ringo suggests.

Curly Bill frowns. "Well, I guess."

"You ain't afraid, are you?"

"Me? Afraid of some pretty little thing like that?" Curly guffaws. Internally, he struggles with the idea of offering a genuine apology which would create a rare moment of vulnerability the big cowboy isn't used to.

"That'd be real fine, but not in front of any of you boys," Curly grunts. Ringo chuckles seeing a softer almost fearful side of Curly Bill Brocius.

The morning sun bathes your room with its welcoming of a new day. You push the covers off and let your bare feet hit the wood floor. You stretch and yawn while moving to your basin so you can wash up. You hear Daisy neighing a little. After a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs and a biscuit, you dress yourself in a modest beige skirt with a pink and white blouse. After brushing your hair, you head out to hitch Daisy.

"Good morning, girl!" You announce. You kiss her nose and she puts her head on your shoulder. "Today's gonna be better!" Once hitched, you ride into town and put your buckboard behind the hotel and walk Daisy to the livery.

Amos is sitting on the ground with his legs out and crossed at the ankles. He stands up and adjusts his hat.

"Mornin', ma'am," he says with enthusiasm. "I'll take real good care of her!"

"I know, Amos," you answer. Amos has been one of the few people in town who makes you smile.

When you enter the restaurant, Curly Bill is talking to Fatty while the Cowboys are outside, talking and puffing their cigars.

You pause in mid step at the site of the rustler. You lower your head.

"Good morning, Mr. Brocius," is all you manage to say.

Curly Bill pats Fatty on the back and moves towards you, your heart racing. You look around for Johnny, but you don't see him. You can hear the Cowboys laughing and talking outside. The restaurant isn't open for breakfast yet and you're wondering what Curly Bill wants from you. You fear he'll advise you to stay away from Johnny and then start mocking your fear.

He takes his hat off and looks around.

"Good morning," Curly responds, his voice low.

"Can I start an order for you?" You ask, your voice shaking a bit.

Curly Bill can't help but feel a pang of guilt for making you fear him so much, especially since you have shown kindness to him and his Cowboys.

"No, that's alright. I just wanted to say I owe you an apology for the way I acted the other day. I guess I ain't used to someone being so nice, especially someone as pretty as you." Curly Bill can feel his chest tighten at his vulnerability; he's not used to letting his guard down.

He's pleased when you smile and then look at the floor.

"I appreciate that, Mr. Brocius," you answer, the trembling in your voice diminishing.

"Call me Curly Bill! I think you earned that right, puttin' up with me and all."

You manage a smile and Curly Bill feels a sense of envy towards Ringo and perhaps that motivated his harshness towards you. You want Johnny Ringo and Curly, along with the other Cowboys can't help but feel a sense of jealousy. That Ringo can charm you, but they cannot.

"I...." You begin.

"You don't owe me nothin'," Curly Bill tells you.

You nod to show you understand. He puts his hat on and brushes a hair behind your ear. Your first instinct is to move away, but his presence commands respect and authority in a way unfamiliar to you.

"Johnny sure is lucky," Curly says.

"Johnny?" You ask, your face turning red. You didn't realize your affection for Ringo showed in your face.

"It's alright. I know Johnny likes you and well, you like him too, flaws and all. We should all be so lucky, huh?" Curly drawls.

You smile and Curly Bill winks at you before stepping out, the sound of his jingling spurs echoing on the wood floor.

Your heart feels lighter, but you still experience a sense of uncertainty. You watch Curly Bill meet up with his cowboys and they head down the street. You glance around, but don't see Johnny and your heart sinks.

Johnny Ringo sleeps soundly in his tent, letting the warm sun and soft breeze bathe him like a peaceful embrace. He opens his eyes and looks around. He can hear some cowboys talking or laughing while others do odd jobs such as gathering fire wood for their campfire, checking the shoes of their horses or boiling water to do some laundry. He exits his tent and stretches, feeling aches from sleeping on the hard ground all night. He moves slowly to the chuck wagon and sees Pony greasing one of the wheels.

"Mornin', Ringo!" Pony declares. "My hands ain't right for making no chuck right now, but there's some biscuits left. Got some jerky too."

Johnny pours himself a cup of coffee and grimaces. "It's damn cold, Pony," Ringo complains.

"Yeah, sorry," Pony answers, spitting on the ground. "Forgot. There's a little fire left there. You can heat it."

Johnny places his cold coffee near the dying fire. He uses a small washcloth to hold the handle that grew hot from sitting near the fire. He sips it and then grabs a couple of biscuits.

"Where's Curly?" Johnny asks, without looking at Pony.

"Said he had to take care of something in town." Pony answers, shaking some grease off his hand.

""Damn, ain't got no washin' water!" Pony growls. "Hey, Claireborne!" Pony shouts. Billy Claireborne looks up. "Fetch some washin' water!"

Claireborne puts his coffee cup down, grabs the bucket for washing water and heads to the river that flows near the camp.

"Hurry up boy!" Pony grunts. Claireborne looks back and then shakes his head.

When Claireborne returns, he places the bucket of water near Pony.

"About time!" Pony frowns.

"Shoulda fetched the water before you started greasin' that damn wheel!" Claireborne answers.

"You wanna eat, adjust your attitude, son!" Pony shouts.

"You overheat the coffee and the biscuits are like rocks sometimes!" Billy Claireborne fires back.

"I reckon you'd be a better cook?" Pony challenges Claireborne.

"Calm down, Pony," Ringo commands, sipping his coffee and chewing on a biscuit. "Sometimes your biscuits could break a man's teeth, Pony." Johnny dips the stale biscuit in his coffee to soften it. He laughs to himself while he enjoys the improvisation of dunking a stale biscuit into warm coffee. It seems something you would do.

"Curly's in town, you say?" Ringo inquires, squinting from the morning sun.

"Yep," Pony says, washing the grease off his hands. To Ringo's disgust, Pony takes the greasy water and throws some on his face. Ringo shakes his head at the level of how uncivilized his comrades are.

"Well, I'll be damned," Ringo whispers.

"What's that?" Pony asks.

"Nothing. I'm going into town to get some breakfast," Ringo smiles, thinking about enjoying a meal at the hotel restaurant.

Ringo saddles his horse and spurs him into town. He rode fast, enjoying the wind against his face and the feeling of a strong horse between his legs. This carefree and often lawless life became the only existence he knew. An untamed way of living without the restrictions of law and order. And his brotherhood with his cowboys gave him a sense of belonging, a part of something that wouldn't condemn or admonish him in the way society and even his family did.

Johnny slows his gelding and walks to the livery. He sees Daisy and relief floods through him; it was the proof you're waiting tables at the restaurant.

"Well, howdy, Mr. Ringo!" Amos announces, holstering his shiny pistol.

"Good morning, kid," Ringo answers, a hint of excitement in his voice. Excited to see you.

Amos takes the saddle off the horse and watches Ringo cross the street with his signature gait.

Ringo looks around and sees a few of his red sash companions scattered throughout town. Some of them were lounging near one of the hotels while others chatted with prostitutes, some lighting up cigars. He doesn't see Curly Bill, but can hear his loud guffawing coming from one of the saloons. Johnny decides to let his companions be while he gets some breakfast and a moment or two with you.

Johnny Ringo walks into the restaurant and waits to be seated. Fatty, who is making bacon and biscuits and frying eggs winks at you.

"There's fresh coffee!" Fatty announces. "You take some coffee to Johnny." Fatty returns to cooking and calling out orders. Big Nellie helps out when she can, taking orders and serving up plates. She considered leftovers a reasonable tip most of the time, but also grabbed change with her fat, greedy fingers.

"Good morning, Johnny," you say kindly, pouring coffee into his cup.

"Good morning to you," Johnny responds with a playful tone in his voice.

"It's wonderful to see you," you answer, suddenly feeling foolish. Johnny notices your apprehension and puts his hand on your arm. "I feel the same way about you," Johnny tells you.

"Johnny..." You whisper softly.

"What time do you get through working?" Johnny asks, his eyes meeting yours.

"I'm off after lunch," you tell Johnny, your voice is low.

Johnny takes your hand much to your surprise. "Take a ride with me later," he entreats.

"Really?" You ask, your beautiful eyes full of wonder.

Johnny smiles.

"Take Daisy home. I'll meet you there so no one sees us leaving together."

You nod to show you understand his need for discretion. He tips his hat and walks across the street to find Curly Bill.

You rush to the restaurant, your heart pounding with anticipation and delight. You serve the hotel guests and other patrons with a renewed spring in your step. Finally, you will gain the opportunity to spend time with Johnny Ringo.

Fatty looks over at you and wonders what caused your sudden shift in demeanor. You always exchange pleasantries and smile often, but today that smile seems like a door to a secret world. In a town like Tombstone, people didn't smile unless they greeted another resident and even then, people usually nodded, tipped their hats or said, "how do you do?" But your smile was contagious today and Fatty couldn't help but wonder.

Big Nellie clears plates, sopping up gravy with leftover biscuits, in such an indignant manner, you feel tempted to learn of her upbringing. She hardly spoke and often took breaks. She and Fatty talked in the kitchen, sometimes laughing, but you could never make out the conversation. Tombstone was a lonely place and people looked for relief from it any way they could.

Nothing happening in town can bring you down today. You move quickly and happily through the restaurant, taking orders, clearing tables and even helping out in the kitchen washing dishes.

You take a break while waiting for Emmett to open again for lunch. The day moves slower than you'd like; your mind goes to Johnny Ringo whose company you will get to enjoy later. The clock seems still and barely moving.

When the oil cloth table cloths are wiped down and Fatty is preparing meals for lunch, your heart swells with so much anticipation, you can hardly contain your smile.

Several people enter the restaurant when Emmett reopens for lunch. You quickly move to the door, seating the guests and offering menus.

The menu features beef stew with biscuits, fried chicken served with mashed potatoes, gravy, biscuits and green beans, rice and beans were usually on the menu everyday and there's also fresh fish served with vegetables. Quite often, oysters are featured on the menu also.

While you kept yourself busy serving lunch, Johnny went to a bath house. He paid for his hot water, towel and soap while thinking of you and how he loves having a reason to indulge in a hot bath. Ringo smiles while he scrubs his feet and toes, wanting to present himself in a way he feels you deserve. Johnny soaps up his arms and chest, throwing the small bar of soap in the air and catching it like he's a young boy again. The young boy girls at church would gawk at; Johnny Ringo, the mysterious boy who seemed under a spell of darkness that wouldn't relent. A man who struggled with his faith, guilt and shame that seemed to wrestle constantly with neither side winning; just a constant struggle. He lets out a sigh before rising out of the wooden tub, taking a hold of a towel. After he washes up, he puts on clean clothes and heads to the barber for a shave.

You continue glancing at the clock that sits in the corner. Time still moves slow, but steady. When your shift ends, you, like Johnny, take a bath in town, put on a new dress; a pink and black simple skirt with a matching blouse. You put some color on your lips, your heart racing and head to the livery. Amos tips his hat.

"Well, howdy, ma'am! You sure look nice today."

"Afternoon, Amos." You smile, handing him fifty cents for a tip.

Amos retrieves Daisy for you.

"Real fine horse," Amos says, leading Daisy over to you.

"She really is!" You answer, bringing Daisy to your small carriage.

"See you tomorrow, Amos," you tell him before heading to your cottage to wait for Johnny Ringo.

You race towards your cottage, the wind blowing through your hair. Daisy whinnies and gallops gracefully. The moment you reach your home, you get busy ensuring Daisy is unhitched and has grain to eat. You wipe her down with a brush, kiss her on the nose and rush into your house to get yourself ready. You choose a royal blue blouse with a light brown skirt. After applying some color to your lips and brushing your lovely locks, you gaze out the window to check if you see Johnny riding over.

You hear the distant sound of a horse galloping and when you look out your window, you see Johnny Ringo riding at full gallup towards your cottage.

You hold your heart while you lean against the wall, letting a deep breath out. You do your best to remain calm, despite your excitement. You take a few deep breaths while listening to the horse approaching. The footsteps of the heavy hooves begin to slow as Johnny approaches you.

You check yourself in the mirror near the water basin and smile to yourself.

Your heart skips a beat when his knuckles knock on your door.

You open the door to find Johnny Ringo, the deadliest pistoleer since William Bonney and Charlie Quantrill."

Johnny takes his hat off the moment he sees you. He looks down and then back at you. An overwhelming sensation of passion and shame start to wash over him. Your soft hair, the way the sun hits your eyes and creates a heavenly glow...

Johnny feels his neck grow hot and flushed at the sight of you. He slowly exhales, allowing himself to gain control over himself.

"Johnny!" You exclaim.

Ringo looks to the ground,still holding his hat. Your excitement upon seeing him fills him with a sense of warmth and comfort with a hint of excitement.

"Well, howdy, YN," Johnny finally says.

Your heart pumps so lively inside you that you fear Johnny may hear it. You open the door further to allow Johnny into your house.

"Thank you," he says. He looks out the window, sighs and then looks back at you. He feels foolish for not bringing something for you, even if just a bouquet of flowers. He came empty handed and he suddenly feels flushed and embarrassed.

"What's wrong, Johnny?" You ask with sincere concern.

Johnny Ringo shakes his head and smiles. One of the elements about you that he loves involves your sweetness, gratitude and how easy you are to please.

Johnny looks at the floor. In his rush to see you, he forgot to bring something for you to show his growing affection.

"It's just that uh...well," he rocks back and forth on his feet.

You move close and hug him tight. His bodily functions betray him and he experiences a throbbing he can't control and hopes to God you don't notice his sudden loss of self control. He takes a deep breath and sighs, absorbing the wonderful sensation holding you brings him.

Your body aligns with his and for a moment, no violence or war or oppression can separate your dedication to each other.

"I should have brought you something... Flowers...I guess I couldn't wait to get here," Johnny answers.

"Then it would have taken you longer to get here!" You answer with enthusiasm.

Johnny pauses and then smiles a warm and genuine smile. Your words wash over him like a sweet rain storm.

"You sure got a way with words, YN," he tells you. "Makes a fella feel appreciated.

You chuckle softly, the realization of Johnny Ringo in your home causes your heart to burst.

"Well, how about a ride?" He suggests.

"Perfect!" You answer. " Then you can take your time picking me some lovely wildflowers!" You grin mischievously.

Johnny, without thinking, cups your face. He moves to kiss you, hoping he's not being too forward. He pauses and simply looks into your eyes.

"Only the prettiest flowers for the prettiest lady!" He answers, guiding you by your hand.

Johnny mounts his horse and then pulls you up so you sit comfortably behind him. You lay your head against his back and you seem to fit perfectly. He loves the softness of your form against him.

The light trot turns to a gallop and the feel of the wind against your face, blowing your unbound hair wildly around your head.

The warm breeze and aroma of wildflowers that are framed by Palo Verde trees paints a landscape so oddly different from the bustling town.

Johnny Ringo turns to check on you. "You're awful quiet back there, YN. You doing alright?"

You squeeze Johnny tight, kissing his ear which causes him to flinch and then chuckle softly.

"I take that as a yes," he smiles, finding your vulnerability irresistible.

"Oh yeah, cowboy!" You answer. "Let's keep going!"

"Yes, ma'am," Johnny replies, spurring his horse who breaks into a run. The air feels sweet and the wind blows past the both of you and dkr that moment, you and Johnny feel more than just a connection; an interloping journey of love seeking and a release of all the pain that stirs in the hearts of those brave enough to pull through the war. Ringo's heart swells with pride and fascination at the wonder he's sharing with you. No admonishes or harsh words flow from you. Only the admiration and wild attraction the two of you share.

Johnny slows the horse to a slow gallup and then the horse fades into slow gait until Johnny pulls the reigns in.

"Well, my lady, here we are."

You look around and see a small body of water; beads sparkle and dance on the surface while the leaves on the trees shake to the ground. The warm sun feels like a friendly hug rather than the impending heat that's usually felt in the hotter months.

Johnny gets down and instinctively helps you off. You stumble a bit, holding onto him for balance. He holds you close, giving you reassurance.

"You alright, there?" He asks.

You look up at him, his eyes wide with amazement and a touch of apprehension and shyness. Johnny never encountered these feelings when laying with the calico queens, but something about your smile awakens something in him he cannot reconcile. The stark contrast of his rough and dangerous life to holding a beautiful woman who's shown incredible perseverance and loyalty just to get close to him. He feels a mix of excitement and a sense that he doesn't deserve you.

Your eyes stay fixed on his and he can feel his throbbing masculinity grow more intense. He wants to back away from you in shame that he couldn't control himself. But when your blouse falls off your shoulder and reveals a hint of skin, Johnny's demeanor grows weak and he almost stumbles. Before you can say anything, he cups your face and kisses you so gently, it even surprises him.

Your lips feel soft, the way he imagined they would. He can taste hints of strawberry and mint on your lucios lips.

When he pulls away, you see the vulnerability in his eyes; the vulnerability he tries so desperately to conceal behind his dark and brooding demeanor. But today, he feels that dark cloak fall from his strained mind. He takes your hands and kisses them passionately.

Johnny Ringo looks down at you and he feels your body trembling. He kisses your head. He then moves and gets a blanket from his saddle bag.

Johnny puts the blanket down and then pulls you close. He lays down near you, your body still shaking from receiving a kiss from Tombstone's deadliest man.

While you lay on your back, he slowly, but carefully begins to undue the buttons on your blouse. To your own surprise, you allow him to continue, knowing how primal a man like Ringo can be. While he caresses your breast, he kisses you again, sending spasms through your body. You gasp in delight and he smiles. The weakness enveloping your body prohibits you from moving. Johnny whispers in your ear, "you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." He continues caressing your breast, moving his hands in a surprisingly delicate motion.

"Johnny," you whisper. You try to sit up so you can kiss him, but a spell of pure love embraces you will not allow you to surrender to your desire.

"Shh," he whispers, kissing your trembling lips. He wonders if fear stirs within your heart; fear that his dangerous and unpredictable personality will surface and perhaps take you against your will. That he may dominate you in the heat of ecstasy and hold you down while he explores your body.

He takes your hand and kisses it reassuringly.

"I'll stop..." He whispers, feeling his body throbbing.

Johnny Ringo composes himself, taking a deep breath. "I just want to feel close to you," you tell him, your heart suddenly swelling at your own weakness and fear. Johnny could easily become lost in a woman like you; lose his grip on himself and without focusing on the consequences of his haste to have you.

Johnny sits up and sighs. He slowly and sweetly buttons your blouse, his hands shaking from the intense interaction he just shared with you.

You regain your composure and touch his back. He takes your hand and holds it, turning his face away from you in shame and guilt.

"Johnny," you say, your voice barely a whisper.

Ringo takes his jacket and wraps it around you in a loving way, like he's shielding you from the world. You touch his face and notice the tears in his eyes. His inner conflict speaks so loudly, you shiver.

"You deserve better than this," Johnny says, his voice almost breaking with emotion. "Better than a roll on an old blanket with some dumb cowboy who could never be good enough for you!"

You finally sit all the way up and can feel your heart sink in defeat. But you also understand the complexities of a man like Ringo. He can't bring himself to treat you in any other way, but in the way he feels you deserve.

Johnny composes himself and puts his arm around you while you lay your head on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, YN. Sorry for bringing you out here like you're some damn ramera!"

"Johnny, I was...Am overwhelmed. That's all." You reassure him.

"All the more reason to take better care of you. I won't ever let anyone think bad of you. They can think what they want about me! They already do." He tightens his grip on you, but in a soft way. " But you...To have yourself caught up in a...a.."

"Wonderful man?"

His eyes dart towards yours. "You say that because you don't know. You don't know me. Don't know who I rode with!"

"Johnny," you begin. "Please let me care for you."

"Why? So you can be disappointed like everyone else in my life?" He looks down and shakes his head. "I'm so damn stupid, I almost..."He looks at you, his bottom lip trembling, almost unnoticeably, but you understand he's a conflicted man.

"And to think I actually contemplated just touching you," he says softly.

"Johnny..." You whisper again.

Johnny stands and lifts you by your hand so you can stand. He folds up the blanket and puts it away. Then he lifts you up and carries you to his horse, feeling he needs to make it up to you...Show you he's more than some worthless gunfighter and outlaw. But a man you could be proud of.

He rides back to your place in silence. When you arrive at your cottage, he walks you to the front door. You almost ask if he wants to come in, but you can see the apprehension in his eyes.

Ringo takes his hat off and holds it in his hands.

The only thing you can say falls from your lips and fades into the late afternoon air, "Johnny..."

Johnny Ringo touches your face, caressing your chin with his large and calloused hand.

"Thank you, YN," he finally says.

You stand before him, tears welling up in your large, expressive eyes. Johnny feels a deeper sense of inner conflict over seeing what he's done to you.

"Johnny!" You finally manage to say. "Please can I see you again? Please?!" You try not to beg, but to reassure him you care about him. He's too much of a gentleman to dare answer right away.

He looks at the ground. He can't understand why you have such a hold on him.

Johnny takes a step forward. He moves your hair away from your face. "Well, I sure would like that," he says.

"Johnny! What's got you so upset?"

"I would never forgive myself if anything ever happened to you," he responds while he strokes your face with his large hand.

You nod to show you understand.

You watch the Shakespearen quoting gunfighter mount his horse. He tips his hat to you and rides off. You lower your head and cannot stop the tears flooding from them. You understand why Johnny didn't want to make love to you on a blanket outside, but why did he grow so cold towards you? How he wrapped his jacket around you...His silence on the ride home, his tears.

You open your door and slam it shut, causing the vase on the small table to fall over. You fall onto your bed, releasing the passion that resides in you. Tears stream down your face and you slowly fall asleep.

Ringo heads to town and goes to the Dead End where Annie works. He doesn't intend to pay for any services, but needs to vent to someone familiar, someone from home.

"Howdy, there, Johnny!" Annie exclaims, seeing the gunfighter move through the batwings. The jingle of his spurs echo on the wood floor. He slowly walks to the bar, looking like a wolf without a pack.

"You look like you were hit by a train, Johnny," Annie says, pouring whiskey for him.

Johnny down the shot and takes another.

"I know something of what you're feeling -" Annie begins.

"No. You don't." He answers without emotion in his voice. He takes his hat off and puts it next to the full bottle of whiskey.

"Well, no matter, Cowboy! You're here so let Annie take care of you." She leans in closer. "Twice...One on the house, remember?" She asks, recalling moments they shared together.

Ringo smiles. A roll with a whore feels more natural to him than to make love to the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. He shakes his head at that realization. He knows he could never become aroused with Annie and maybe not any other woman. He desires you above all else and his passion for women seems to be dying through the birth of the relationship he has found with you.

"What's with you, Johnny?" Annie inquires, wiping the bar with a towel. She lifts his chin to look at him. He's tempted to slap her hand away, but the gentleman side of him wins over and he simply turns away.

"You wouldn't understand," Johnny drawls, taking another shot.

"In my business, I hear everything!" She brags.

"Yeah, business. That's all women like you understand." Johnny stares into his empty shot glass.

"That's why I'm here! Same as you, cowboy. Business. There's no other reason to be here." Annie tilts her head and studies Ringo. She tosses the towel aside and shakes her hands out.

"What?" She mocks his indifference to her. "You're looking for love? Is that it? You know how many times I heard men talking about how they'd give up everything for a loving wife! A beautiful woman who wants to save you from yourself and spend her life dedicated to you, right?" She rolls her eyes.

Ringo holds back from banging his fists on the bar. He knows her words ring true; it's a lonely life he led. A life that could never give you what he feels you deserve. He curses under his breath. He tosses money at Annie. She takes it and throws it back to him.

"Save it for a poke, Johnny! When you get lonely enough, you'll be back!"

Ringo takes the cash, the bottle and leaves the bar. Annie takes a shot glass and throws it on the floor, wiping sweat off of her head.

"Damn cowboys!" Annie grumbles under her breath. "They're the worst when it comes to love dreams!" She grabs a broom and begins sweeping up the glass. "That man!" Annie shakes her head.

A few patrons head to the bar, slapping cash on the bar.

Annie nods her head and puts her hands on her hips. "I like men who know what they want!" She declares and pours herself a shot.

You awaken with a start. You run your hands through your hair and toss the covers aside. While stumbling towards the basin near the sink. After splashing cool water on your face, you wipe it clean and toss the towel aside. You let out a sigh and put your boots on so you can check on Daisy. When Johnny dropped you off, you forgot about everything. Your heart still sinks with the heaviness of Ringo's latest joust with his guilt and shame; neither one falls to defeat.

Daisy whinnies when seeing you, clearly excited by your presence.

"Hey, girl," you whisper, tears falling from your eyes. "This is tougher than I ever thought!" With teary eyes, you take care of Daisy, ensuring she's clean and has fresh water and grains. You kiss her goodnight and return to sleep, exhausted from your day.

Johnny gets his horse from the livery without acknowledging Amos, who could sense tension from the older gunfighter. Amos knew not to probe Ringo for any information; when Ringo grows quiet, it's always best to leave him be. Johnny tips his hat to Amos who nods in return. Johnny rides back to camp, the image of your tear filled eyes, the only thing he can see.

Ringo rides into camp. He can hear Curly Bill guffawing and telling his stories, adding to them each time he tells them. Other Cowboys busy themselves by shooting empty whiskey bottles or other chores. Pony mixes flour and milk and prepares biscuits, along with bacon and beans. The familiar aroma of horse shit, intense body odor and bacon flood the camp while Johnny retreats into his safe place.

He slowly drinks the rotgut he purchased. He takes his journal and begins to write:

I can't get her face out of my mind. I wish to the Devil in Hell and to the God in Heaven that I never saw her! Johnny crumples the paper and tosses it. Then he recalls his time with Charlie Quantrill and the Youngers. While slaughtering Jayhawks in Liberty, one of Quantrill's men was shot in the face at close range and his teeth blew out the sides of his head. Another met his maker by shotgun so violently, his arm was blown off.

Ringo recalls the lack of emotions shown by Quantrill, who instead of shouting or cursing his enemies, he sat, sharpening his Bowie knife with a stone. He slowly and methodically worked on the instrument of death, not saying a word. Ringo himself recalls how he fell to his knees at the sight of the deaths and swore he would never take a human life...He almost laughs loudly at the irony of it all. The death He experienced and the torture he endured at the hands of those damn Jayhawks!He tosses his journal, feeling the weight of the world's troubles on him.

He dozes off for a few moments.

The following morning, you realize you get the day off and you rise out of bed with a renewed sense of determination. After enjoying tea and a biscuit, you wash up, put on a cream colored skirt with a royal blue blouse, brush your hair and add color to your lips. Pleased with how you look, you quickly head to the stable, where Daisy whinnies with delight.

"Today is the day, girl! I did not come here to just walk away!" You saddle Daisy instead of hitching her to the wagon. You mount up and ride like the wind. Daisy moves from a quick trot to a gallop until she's running at full speed. The wind blows through your unbound hair and the air seems warm and sweet.

You keep riding until you can see...

The Cowboys camp.

Your determined spirit pushes you to ride close enough to the camp that the Cowboys can see you. Some of the horses at the picket line rear up. Curly Bill springs to his feet. "What in the hell is this?!" He shouts. Curly Bill runs over to you.

"What do you think you're doing? Ain't no women belong here!"

You dismount and refuse to back down.

"Hold on a minute now!" Curly Bill bellows. "You can't just ride in here! This ain't no place for you, woman!"

Curly Bill Brocius stands, looking larger than life, his loud voice booming. "You can't just ride in here like that!" Curly says firmly.

"I need to see him, Curly Bill! I rode all the way out here!"

Curly Bill can see the determination in your eyes. He takes his hat off and does the best he can to maintain his composure as he certainly isn't going to admonish or curse her.

"Well, I ain't one to interfere like that. Hold on there. I'll get Johnny for ya. Stay here." Curly orders. He walks to Johnny Ringo's tent.

"Juanito," Curly groans. "Come out, boy! Reckon you got a visitor!"

Ringo rubs his eyes and looks at Curly Bill and believes he's dreaming. "What the hell, Curly!" Johnny grunts.

"Johnny. She's here."

Johnny sits up with a start. "She... When... What? I ain't in the mood, Bill!"

"Johnny! She's here! Came riding through here like it's her damn place! You know no woman belongs here, but she ain't leaving lessen she talks to you first!"

Johnny Ringo peeks out his tent and gets a clear view of you. His heart skips a beat and he runs his hands through his hair. He sits for a moment in an attempt to process the scene before him. Curly Bill chuckles and closes the tent flap. "I wouldn't keep a beauty like that waitin'!" He guffaws loudly, not thinking or caring if you hear it.

"He'll be right with you," Curly Bill tells you, trying to keep himself composed while he notices your unique appearance.

"Thank you," you answer, standing next to Daisy.

A few other cowboys take their hats off to get a better view, while others share glances and shrugs. Curly Bill sits back down and lights up a cigar and uncorks a bottle of fire water. He can't help but feel a bit envious; he can't imagine a beautiful woman wanting him so much, she's willing to risk her own safety and reputation just to be close to him.

"Women..." Curly Bill whispers to himself. "They bring a man to misery. And when they're beautiful like that..." Curly Bill shakes his head.

Johnny gets himself together and emerges from his tent, blocking the sun with his hand as he's holding his hat. He stumbles for a moment and staggers to his feet. He looks at you with shame and you return the look with one of love and encouragement.

"Johnny Ringo!" You shout much to the surprise and shock of the Cowboys watching. Some of them hoot and holler while others exchange glances and smile or nod.

Johnny exits his tent and sees you standing there, your hair flowing in the breeze. He walks closer to you, still processing the reality before him. He whispers your name and his eyes grow wide with wonder and awe.

"Why... How'd you... What are you..." He stammers over his words.

You stand, your arms crossed, your eyes full of determination and a resistance to any intimidation. "I'm not leaving until you tell me why you just left! No explanation! Nothing!"

Johnny moves closer to you. "Please keep your voice down," he says, looking over at Curly Bill and the other Cowboys.

You sigh. "Alright. But I'm not leaving until you talk to me! Why did you leave?"

Johnny's mouth falls open; women don't fight like this and they especially wouldn't risk their safety and reputation just for him. The emotions that strain his heart seem so unfamiliar and raw.

"I don't know," he whispers. "I've always been this way. You don't know me. I already told you not to waste your time with me!"

He turns to walk away, but you move in front of him. "You're NOT going to walk away from me again!" You say, your voice is rising again.

Johnny stands in shock at your boldness. He opens his mouth to speak, but can't find the words. The darkness inside of him begins to stir, but seems to blow slowly away, revealing a light he rarely experiences. He almost smiles, but maintains his cool. He brushes a hair away from your face. He says your name and then in an awkward manner, he removes his hat and stands like a child would stand, waiting for an admonishment.

"Johnny," you say softly. "Stop! Stop this!"

"I can't," he answers. "I am what I am and you just don't understand -,"

"Don't tell me I don't understand!" You say, your voice rises to the point, some of the Cowboys look over.

"YN," Johnny starts. "Find yourself a better man. I'll never be good enough for you!" Johnny turns to leave and you move so quickly, he can't avoid you. The part of Ringo that no one cares enough about to search for begins to awaken and that terrifies him more than any gunfight ever could.

"Johnny Ringo!" You say loudly. "I don't care who's watching! And I'm still not leaving!"

Curly Bill stands up and gazes at Johnny. Ringo signals Curly Bill need not worry.

"YN...I... Don't know what to say." Johnny puts his head down in shame.

You take his face in your delicate hands. He pulls away, feeling ashamed that you're seeing him in such a vulnerable way. Your hands feel soft and cool, a reminder of what the world could someday offer him.

"I..." He begins.

Your fiery eyes grow wide with concern and something unfamiliar; a sweet softness that demonstrates your unwavering commitment to him. He toys with the idea that love flutters in your heart. Love for him... Something he gave up on years ago when the war took everything. And the war brought a flood of sorrows through loss, sickness and death. Ringo saw the cruelty the human spirit can impose. Watching his family lose everything, his mother's disappointment in him, his father's death...How his family barely tolerated him now because of how he chose to cope with his loss. The way his sisters scowled at him when he returned to see them. He can still recall their harsh admonishments:

"Just look at yourself! You could have been anything and you chose to be a thief and a killer!"

"How Papa would feel if he saw you now! He was a good man, a lawyer! You're nothing and you have nothing! Even the clothes you're wearing were probably stolen!"

And after that, he never saw his family again.

Now you stand before him like a beacon of hope and light, nothing but concern in your eyes. And not the insincere concern of a ramera; real, genuine care for him. A warm feeling rushes through his chest.

"If you knew about me, you'd know to stay away from me," he tells you.

"Johnny!" You beg, practically falling on your knees. You suck back your tears and look him in his eyes. Your strength begins to betray you and your eyes glisten with tears.

"Johnny," your voice a whisper. "Why won't you talk to me?"

Johnny sees your pain and curses himself for causing it. He turns away so he doesn't have to see that sadness in your expression.

You take a deep breath, pulling yourself together. The idea of losing control of yourself or bursting into tears in front of a bunch of surly cowboys causes you to regain your strength.

You see Curly Bill and a few others glance over and then return to their tasks.

"You know where I live! Come this afternoon, please, Johnny!"

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