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anonymooseforever007 · 1 year

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His Aunt's Stories

(Platonic Arthur Shelby x Female reader)

Summary: In which we learn about the irony in a friendship Arthur made during the war, and why he came back with so many unheard of stories. But are they really that unheard of....

A/N: Hi, y’all! Warnings for Fluff and Angst! So this is literally just a repost of the old version except it's edited and I had to repost it because tumblr was being evil and turned off the replies with out telling me and it won't let me turn it back on. But yeah! I think this is still one of my favourite things I've written just because of the idea behind it! I hope y'all enjoy it! ❤️

WC-1.8k Main Masterlist

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-Arthur Shelby met a nurse during the war and they became great friends.

-And only friends because she was married, but even still, somehow Arthur never learned her last name, only the nickname given to her by the people around camp.

-They all called her Angel, because that’s what everyone who she fixed up saw her as, an Angel sent to come to make them better. And so they were never more than great friends but they still grew close enough to the point of writing to their families about each other.

-She would write to her husband about the great Arthur Shelby, who could draw well and made her laugh, reminding her of her brother in law. She also wrote to her husband about how Arthur would always make sure she was safe from the more “needy” patients. The ones who didn’t care about the ring she wore around her neck to keep it from getting dirty. One “friendly reminder” from him and she was treated with respect from any man who dared cross that boundary. Angel always told Arthur that her husband was grateful for that bit, for keeping his beloved safe while he was fighting somewhere else.

-And in turn, Arthur would write about her to his family, about the nurse who reminded him of Ada and had a spark in her eye that he hadn’t seen since his mother was alive. The nurse with the husband who Arthur never met (as he himself was fighting far away) but who Arthur admired for catching such a woman. A man who he never caught the last name of, and was only referred to by the nurse as, “My husband” or “My Ally”

-Arthur would also write to his family of the stories that the Angel nurse would tell him. Stories of her own making, fantastical tales that she apparently told her own nephew before the war.

-Now why would a grown woman be telling a grown man children’s stories? Because a story was a story of course, and during a time when the world surrounding seemed to be full of violence and chaos, it was nice to have something a little childish to hold on to.

-And so for months this went on, nearly a full year with the two friends growing closer and the nurse often telling Arthur new stories and helping him write them out, so his Aunt Polly could read then to his little brother.

-In fact, His littlest brother (in age not height) still had these stories today, as Finn kept all the letters his brothers sent to him during the war, even if he couldn’t read them. Because during the war, for a young boy who hadn’t seen his brothers in years, holding the letters were the closest he could get to hugging the men themselves when he was sacred during the time they were gone. And many years later, for one of Finn’s brothers, holding the the letters would be the closest he could get to being with his brother ever again. But that’s a story for another time.

-So time went by as Arthur and the nurse became great friends who enjoyed spending time together and comforting each other after a hard day (or one that was harder than most during a war as they were all hard now). And it was likely with the way things were going, the two would be friends even after the war was over, as the bond they built was deeper than the trenches they often took cover in.…

-At least until the day the smoke drowned the moon in the crest of the night.

-It was an enemy attack which none had anticipated, and fewer were ready for. Bombs had been set off by the camp, leading the enemy to enter the boundaries in the cover of grey air and choking smoke.

-But many thought Lady Luck must have been generous that night, as even though they were unprepared and outnumbered, Arthur’s Unit managed to fend off the attack with little injury to their own men. They called it a miracle…

-It wasn’t until later when he saw the hands of his beloved nurse friend (sister), covered in blood. Which wouldn’t have been unusual, except for the fact the blood didn’t belong to another person this time. She wasn’t lying on the ground because she was trying to stitch up a wounded man…

-The blood was her own.

-And while Arthur never truly learned what happened that night, with so sudden the chaos of the attack, he always knew it was never directly his fault.

-But there would always be a little piece of him in the back of his mind, telling him it was his fault it ended this way, it was his fault no one was there to protect her.

-Even if she quietly told him otherwise, as he kneeled down beside her, his blood now mixing with her own,as he desperately tried to slow the flow coming out a woman he considered another sister. Even if she was weakly smiling at him trying to make a joke about what her husband would do to Arthur if he saw where the man’s hands laid now. Even if the gentle way she was barely squeezing his hand, as she told him he’d have to finish the newest story for his brother on his own, told otherwise.

-And sometimes even years later after the war ended, Arthur would close his eyes at night and be greeted by the same spark he watched fade so long ago.

-Because nurses were sent to the front to patch those who were dying. But when the nurse is the one that’s dying, who does the patching…

-After the war Arthur was a different man, far different than who he was before, but that didn’t stop some things from being the same. He still smoked and drank and slept around. And he still did “business” as Shelby family grew its reach, often finding his hands covered in blood and who knows what else. He still loved his family to the ends of the earth, and because of his ability to do fun voices he was still always the first his many nieces and nephews would come to for a story.

-And maybe now after the war he had some new stories, ones nobody had heard before because they were original stories, that came from an author long since lost.

-Stories that the kids loved to hear over and over as the imaginative tales brought dreams to their head that would make anyone smile. And so it was because of the joys the tales brought to the children that Arthur kept telling them too.

-Because he knew how happy their creator would be to know her stories still helped children smile. That was her favorite part of making her stories. Using them to makes others forget their troubles and smile… even if Arthur often wanted to cry after telling them these days.

-Though that part, the children never knew… for Arthur telling the stories was a way for his head to retell her story. The one of the friendship the between them. The story of a woman who many thought deserved the whole world. Who deserved the life she would have had…. if it weren’t cut short. The story of a woman who was one of the kindest Arthur had ever met and even now he considered one of his closest friends.

-And as close as they were Arthur rarely liked being reminded of her story together, because he never liked the ending… not one bit.

Bonus (maybe): (I.e. me trying to to back the original idea)

So for years Arthur would tell the stories that the Angel told him, sometimes with Finn chiming in to help too. Finn knew the stories by heart, having made Polly read them over and over in the time it took between his brothers letters for a new one to arrive while they were far away. Finn didn’t know how the nurse’s story ended either, and so to him they really were just stories his brother Arthur learned during the war.

And a few times, when Arthur was gone Finn would be the one to tell the tales to his brothers’ children, even dragging Bonnie and Isaiah into to help him act the words out to better distract the kids from the business occurring in the next room.

One time when the Shelby’s were on more friendly terms with the Solomons, the boys even tried to drag Goliath into the stories while the older men talked in the other room.

They had noticed the giant standing close by, as he heard them speak with a frown on his face, one that didn’t quite show anger, but rather confusion as if he was remembering something he had heard long ago. He didn’t join of course, but he still stood there, listening as Finn and the others sat by the children telling the old stories.

He stood listening, even as he prayed his uncle didn’t in fact hear the stories, as Goliath didn’t know how he’d react. Goliath wasn’t sure where Finn learned the stories, but he knew how his uncle felt about them. Goliath knew how his uncle felt about her, even all these years later. He knew how his uncle felt about what happened to her, and even suspected it played into his feeling towards a certain eldest Shelby, but never brought it up. No,…bringing it up would reveal to many cards, too many weaknesses.

But still, Goliath listened to the stories now told by Finn, praying his uncle wouldn’t hear them. Stories, Goliath himself actually knew already the ending of, even if he hadn’t heard a Shelby tell them before.

He knew how these stories ended, even if he wasn’t sure how the one about the author herself ended. He had heard them when he was young, her stories, made just for him, as he sat on the lap of a woman he hadn’t seen since before the war. A woman who he never saw after the war. A woman whose story only one man truly knew the ending of.

Because as far as anyone was knew, no one was there when she got hurt. No one was there for her in the midst of the fighting, on the night the smoke drowned out the moon….But one man was there only a few minutes after.

One man was a few minutes too late…

One man was there trying to stop the blood from flowing, with tears in his eyes as she made a joke about where he was putting his hands. One man was there, kneeling in a growing puddle of blood, his mixing with her own, as she gently squeezed his hand and told him it wasn’t his fault. One man was there as she weakly smiled up at him, encouraging him to finish the newest story for his brother by himself. She knew he could do it, he just had to believe he could do it too.

One man was there…

Only one. And it was not the one who wished he was there the most…

Goliath knew how the stories themselves ended but he wasn’t exactly sure how the one about their author did.

In the end, only one man was there the night the breath left her chest and the blood left her heart. On the night when the Angel became an Angel, only one man was there, holding his friend close. Only one man was certain how her story ended. That was the night the spark finally faded in the eyes of Goliath’s late aunt.

A/N: Ok that’s it… :) I was thinking one night and decided that I really liked the idea of Arthur making friends with a nurse who loved stories and died during the war (and he couldn’t save her), not realizing (until possibly later) that the nurse was in fact Alfie’s late wife and that’s kinda why Alfie dislikes Arthur more than the others…but I didn’t know how to write the full story and here we are!

#Arthur Shelby x reader #Peaky Blinders x reader #arthur shelby headcanon #arthur shelby imagine #alfie Solomons x reader #Arthur shelby #alfie Solomons #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders headcannon

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purplekiwis · 2 years

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Summary: The story of a hopelessly romantic saloon girl, her long lost lover and very stubborn horse.

Genre: Wild West AU | Different Time Period | Forbidden Love

Prompt: “you’re really cute when you start rambling like that”

Warnings: Smut, Cursing and General Cowboy rowdy behaviour 🤠

Wordcount: 28K (total) 11K ( this part)

A/N: I'm reposting this because I just noticed the original post is all fucked up and tumblr won't let me edit 😒

P.S: This story goes a bit back and forth at the beggining, so mind the dates and locations as you read, otherwise it might get a bit confusing.

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Gravefort, Texas. 3rd of August, 1890

Thursday nights at the Mystery Galore Saloon were always busy.

It was Gravefort’s cowboys favorite place to rest their feet at the end of a long day of working on the ranch or down the mines.

It’s facade’s warped clapboards matched the ones from the rest of the street’s woody, meager buildings... that only differenciated themselves by the color of the lettering painted on their fronts. And still, Mystery Galore still managed to be the worst looking building. It didn't help that it was situated right next to Gravefort’s bank, whose facade besides monumental, was also kept in immaculate shape.

Any visitor who dared walking through the Saloon’s swinging doors, would most likely be met with groups of men of all kinds - from the most prestigious lawmen to the most wanted outlaws.

The saloon was the place where they’d all come together. Conversing over glasses of whiskey, downing shots of Tequila by the counter or playing Poker or Monte while they bitched about their bosses and nogotiated over cattle work.

Unfortunately, most often than not these congregations ended up resulting in beating scenes and sometimes, even shootings... much to Bathilda’s desmay.

Bathilda was the owner of the saloon.

She was a large woman in her fifties, but she carried her weight well - mostly on her large breasts and strong hips, that she made sure to accentuate with a bustle, a tight leather corset and one of her characteristic long frilled skirts, that she liked to sway to the sound of piano played by Bill, the rounded looking player with permanent red stained cheeks, ebony hair and an enviable walrus moustache.

However, on this particular Thursday there was another sound echoing inside the thin walls of the Saloon...

Coming all the way from the dressing room.

“What in the tarnation is going on in here?” Sally, the new girl, asked as she walked through the door in a hurry, pushing it shut behind her. “The costumers are complaining about the noise.”

Sally wasn’t really new anymore. She’d gotten the job two years ago, but to the rest of the dance hall girls, she was still a baby. Her looks didn’t help that fact. – With full, rosy cheeks, a cute little button nose and frizzy blonde strands curling around her ears in an almost perfect arc.

“Oh no, what happened?” The blonde questioned once she was met with a scene that startled her out of her disgruntled state.

There was one of her confreres, Valerie, sitting on her vanity bowling her eyes out. Her characteristic rouge blush was running down her cheeks, along with the black mascara that she was still trying to apply in front of the mirror in between sobs.

“She’s got engaged...” Bathilda, who was standing in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips informed with a heavy sigh.

In Gravefort and it’s surroundings, Bathilda had a reputation for being tough as nails, as the cowboys usually said. Even the bravest of them knew better than to mess with her or one of her girls... but deep down, under the dark clothing and heavy make-up, rested a big heart of gold. Bathilda’s workers knew so, especially Valerie...

Ever since her mother had passed away from tuberculosis, Bathilda had been taking care of her almost as if she were her own daughter. Valerie still had her dad, old sheriff Monty, although their relationship had seen better days…

“Oh! That’s amazing news Valerie... you must be delighted!” Sally hooted with genuine excitement. What surprisingly only caused Valerie’s sobs to intensify as she let her head fall over her hands. “Aw…” The newbie cooed, patting Valerie's back. “I can’t wait until the day comes when someone makes me cry happy tears like that.”

Bathilda scoffed, with a shake of her head.

“You really are new here…” Said Agnes in a taunting tone from the floor, where she was kneeling next to Valerie’s stool trying to comfort her.

“What? You don’t think I’ll find a husband someday?” Sally asked with a scoff, causing Bathilda and Agnes to snort at her. “Is it a crime for a woman to believe in love in times like these?”

“It’s not that, mush-head...” Agnes replied sharply, and with another sigh, Bathilda opened the cubbord she kept her stack of spirits at.

“Will one of you just tell the newby? She’s bound to figure it out sooner or later...” Bathilda's question was directed at Agnes and Judith, making both girls exchange a knowing look between them before their attention focused on Valerie again, who was still crying as Bathilda moved around the room. She'd collected two shot glasses that she placed harshly on top of Valerie's vanity, right next to where her head still rested over her forearms.

“W-what is that?” The girl questioned in a whimper, lifting her face at the sound of glass smashing against the wooden surface.

“Tequila.” Bathilda grunted as she filled up the glasses to the brim. She pushed one in Valerie’s direction. She shook her head ‘no’, but the stern look she got from the motherly figure had her picking up the drink and taking it to her frowny lips. “Stop that crying right now.” Bathilda menaced, pointing a large finger at the girl’s face. “I won't tolerate you wasting the house's embellishments crying over that bastard anymore. If I see one more single tear, the next face powder and rouge is being cut off your salary.”

Valerie nodded, hastily wiping her face despite knowing Bathilda didn’t really mean it. “What bastard?” Sally inquired, prompting all the women in the room to share looks between them again, still unsure of what to do. “Can someone please just tell me what's going on already?” She demanded in a pleading tone.

Agnes looked at Valerie, who was still struggling to speak due to the lump in her throat. “Valerie's not crying because she’s happy... in fact, I think she couldn’t be sadder.”

“Oh.” Sally voiced with surprise. “So what happened? Don’t tell me he cheated on you with one of those calico queens working at Myrtle’s…”

The mention brought a snarl to Bathilda's lips. Myrtle’s Sapphires. The house of ill fame situated just a couple estabelishments down the street... and naturally Mystery Galore’s biggest competitor. The conflict between the places was more than just rivalry over alcohol sales and costumer frequency, however. It went as deep as blood, since it’s owner Myrtle, was Bathilda’s gruesome half-sister.

It was no secret that ever since childhood, the two had done nothing but bump heads and go at each other’s throats. Bathilda was no saint, but Myrtle was mean enough to eat off the same plate with a snake.

“It’s not that he cheated...” Judith disclosed hesitantly. “It’s just that Valerie, well... she’s not in love with the chap.”

“Blimey…” Sally mumbled lowly. “Is he ill-favored?”

Judith shruged in reply to the question. “He’s alright. You’ve probably seen him before... he comes to see Valerie sometimes.” Sally looked a little lost, for she didn’t remember ever seeing Valerie paying extra attention to any of the men that came to the hall. “...His name is Otis Montgomery,” Judith continued. “He’s a rancher. His dad owns a big cattle farm in Vernon.”

“A cattle farm?! Sounds like a good deal to me!” Sally mused, before her gaze fell on her unconsolable work partner again. “Well… Don’t worry, Valerie…” She said, pulling a stool and sitting by the vanity. “Maybe it will go like it did with my great-aunt Sylvia. She absolutely dispised my uncle, and fairly so - the guy was a nightmare. He was a heavy drinker and one time even tried to hit her... poor guy... ended up with a cracked head and two broken fingers... but anyway,” The blonde halted, realizing that she was getting carried away with her rambling. “They ended up warming up to each other after all. If you asked her now, she’d say he was the biggest love of her life.” Sally sighed. “What I’m trying to say is that maybe you’ll end up warming up to that Otis guy after all, who knows… he might be the one true love of your life!”

To Sally’s surprise, her motivational words only ended up bringing a fresh wave of tears to Valerie’s swollen eyes. Prompting Bathilda to squeeze the bridge of her nose, whist Judith rushed to join Agnes, who had resumed to caress Valerie’s back soothingly.

“That’s the problem, can’t you see?” Judith's agitated voice asked, “Valerie has already met the love of her life.”

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Skeleton Trails, Missisipi. 16th of April, 1892

“C'mooon...!” Harry hissed, pulling at the reigns tightened around his horse’s head.

Unsuccessfully, once again... since it kept refusing to move. Instead it kept pulling backwords and dragging Harry across the floor by the heels of his boots. “You heavy- stubborn- bronco!” The boy hissed between gritted teeth, pulling at the reigns as hard as he physically could.

His force prompted the mustang to give two steps forwards, leading Harry to believe that he had finally managed to get it to do what he wanted. “Yeah, that’s it… c'mon, that’s a good boy, Kiwi.” He praised, but suddently the horse stopped in his tracks.

It snorted. Projecting multiple strings of blabber directly onto Harry’s already dirty and sweaty face.

He sighed heavily, closing his eyes and pursing his lips in defeat. “You know, I really thought we were already past that attitude, my friend.” He complained, loosening his grip on the caveson, in order to wipe his face on the sleeve of his shirt.

He rested his hands over the leather belt that secured his mud stained, corduroy flares in place and decided to take a breather as he tried to work out the best way of getting the horse to do as he pleased... preferably without getting kicked in the nuts in the process.

“Why do you always have to be so rowdy?” He asked the hoofed creature, that had resumed to feed on the tall, dried-up grass underneath their feet. “Guess it's just your nature, ain't that so?” He mumbled as he affectionately patted the horse’s back where its heavy saddle was usually placed, before his attention was brought to his rear, at the sound of whistling at distance. He turned around, being immediately met with the sight of one of his accomplices, Niall, waving his hands in the air and calling his name.

“Hurry up, heh?!” The youngster urged. “Don’t wanna miss our train, do we?”

“I’ll be down in a minute.” Harry shouted back at the boy before turning to face his horse again. “Don’t think I’ll forget about it...” He said, pointing his finger directly at the stallion’s muzzle, that was now standing right in front of his face again, since Kiwi had lifted his head at the distant voice as well. “We’re still trimming and changing those horseshoes today.” Harry warned. “We’ve got a long journey ahead of us tomorrow,” In cue with his words, the horse pinned his ears back and tightened his muzzle, a sign that he was getting irritated. Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest and clicked his tongue at the attitude. “You know, I’ve heard they’re paying good for horse steak lately...” As if he could understand his owner’s empty threat, Kiwi snorted again, coating his face with a fresh layer of slobber. “Fucking hell...” The cowboy cursed, untying the red bandana from around his neck and wiping his face with it. “You my friend, are as crooked as a Virginia’s fence...”

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Gravefort, Texas. 22nd of June 1886

“He can’t keep his eyes away from you.” Judith commented, leaning against the counter Valerie was behind of, wiping cups dry.

“Nonsense.” She babbled, taking a stealthly peek towards the stranger sitting in one of the gambling tables before she turned around and began stacking the cups in one of the cupboards behind her. He was staring at her, just like he had been the last three times she checked.

He was good looking… tall, with sun kissed skin and messy pecan locks that poured from under his bone colored cowboy hat and curled around his ears. His eyes were light and bright, and Valerie couldn’t deny the way her insides twisted everytime their gazes met for brief seconds. One of those times, he even dared to flash her a smile, which she rebated by looking away and swabbing a cloth over the counter, just so that he couldn’t spot the flush taking over her cheeks at the interaction.

“It’s the forth night in a row that he comes by…” Agnes joined in on the conversation as she walked over from the other end of the counter with a tray in hand. She passed behind Valerie and placed the empty cups she had been collecting from the tables inside a water bowl before she began to wash them lazily. As she did, she stared directly at the gambling table, not even bothering to hide her gawking. “I wonder what his business here is…” In queue with her sentence, the other two girls also turned their heads to take a better look at the guy, who was luckily distracted by the deck in his hand.

“I bet he’s a gunslinger…” Judith guessed. “I haven’t seen him around before, and those are the ones that always come and go…”

“I don’t know...” Agnes hummed apprehensively. “He’s got more of a railroad worker fit. Slim with a broad back, strong arms… I’ve heard they’ve started building the new railroads for the coal mine last week, and Bill was saying they’ve hired some outsiders as well… ain’t that right Bill?” She questioned, tilting her head towards the pianist, but he didn’t descry her question - too delirious over the music and the large quantity of alcohol he'd already ingested.

“I’d say he’s an entertainer.” Judith ventued further. “Notice how he’s managed to capture the attention of the whole table…” She said as she leaned over the counter. “Plus, his trousers are too clean for someone who’s been laying tracks all day.”

“Why don’t you just go over there and ask him?” Valerie suggested with feign indifference, picking up the discarded cloth and vigorously wiping the gin splatters a group of regulars had left over the counter on their way out. “I’m sure he would enjoy the company... and I would thoroughly enjoy not having both of you knocking around my ears.”

“Thought we’d pass you the chance, you fool.” Agnes spat back, forging an offended expression. “He’s clearly trying to make a mash on you.”

“You know I don’t get with passengers…” Valerie acknowledged. “They’re nothing but trouble.”

“Nor with locals…” Agnes added on. “Swear that if your skirt was any less short I’d take you for a nun in disguise...”

Valerie decided to ignore her teasing, tightening her grip around the cloth and submerging it inside a bowl of water and vinegar before she began scrubbing the already clean counter in petulant silence. “There’s enough dirt around my name as it is, I don’t need a heavy conscience on top of it.” She fretted, finally throwing the cloth back inside the bowl. “Call me old fashioned but I would like my first to be the man I end up marrying.”

“Valerie…” Agnes breathed out with a chuckle, placing her hand over her coworker’s forearm. “That would be an awful mistake.”

“I'll have to agree with Agnes on that one. It’s good for a woman to get some experience before she gets married...” Judith started, taking a seat on one of the tall stools and resting her chin over her hand. “Some say that's the secret to a happy marriage and I believe them. Whether you like it or not, when it comes to men, it’s always easier to keep ‘em in line when you know how to please ‘em in bed.”

“That sure is…” A curly wolf sitting alone at the counter intervened. His hair was grey and moderately long, just like the hook moustache that curled over his upper lip. His eyes were cloaked by consequence of the wide brim of his hat.

He lifted his glass in the air in a single-handed toast and downed the golden liquid inside it in a swift motion before dropping the cup with a loud clink. “I suppose none of you birds would like to join an old rag like me for a dance, would you?” He inquired, flashing his big yellow grin at the girls.

“Maybe so…” Judith disclosed with a charming smile. “Might need a refreshment to get me going though, I’m getting quite hot under all these flares…” She waved her fan in front of her exposed chest and battened her eyes at him. Contrary to Valerie, Judith was a natural in the art of flirting with the cowboys - alluring them into blowing their wages in games and overpriced alcohol.

“What do you fancy, petal?” The man asked, adjusting himself in his seat. “Perhaps some Rye Whisky?”

“I reckon that’ll do just fine.” The blue-eyed beauty agreed, nodding her head to Valerie who was already pouring both of them a drink. She grabbed it from the counter with her right hand and extended her left to the man, who wasted no time in taking it and leading her across the room to demand his promised dance.

“Unbelievable…” Valerie shook her head, watching a series of younger cowboys pushing eachother around as they desperatly tried to steal Judith away from the old man. “Can’t these fools pick on the fact that dances must be patronized?”

“They’ll figure it out eventually…” Agnes concluded. “All I know is that as long as none of them pulls out a gun, I’m going to keep looking the other way…” Both of the girls sighed in silent agreement. “Do you think he would like to dance?” She asked, nodding her head towards the handsome stranger.

Valerie shrugged lightly. “I don’t know… doesn’t look like the kind to loosen his strings for female attention...”

“Maybe he’s just shy…” Agnes ventured, shifting in the counter so that she was directly facing Valerie again. “I bet you could get him to pay for way more than just a drink, though…”

“Don’t be vulgar!” Valerie scolded. “I’m no prostitute.”

“If he was making those eyes at me I would’ve given it to him for free…” Agnes carried on, much to Valerie’s dismay.

“I’ve told you already, I don’t do that sort of thing.” Valerie insisted, and Agnes gave her a long, scrutinizing look.

“Judith’s right, you know?” She leaned over the counter, what made her dress ride up her leg a few more inches. Something that caught the attention of the quarrelsome group of boys, who were still partially wrestling for Judith's attention. “Look…” Agnes called in a hushed tone. “If you’re scared of getting knocked up, there are other things you can do without putting it up there… and even if you do, as long as he doesn’t finish ins-”

“Watch that foul mouth!” Valerie snapped, grabbing the smelly cloth she'd been wiping with and throwing it at the girl bent over the counter. She hadn’t meant for it to actually hit her, let alone smack the front of her dress… but it did, and Valerie couldn’t stop the cackle that escaped her at Agnes’s scandalized expression.

“How dare you?” She wailed. “This bodice was gifted to me by Mother Myrtle back when I worked for her!” She hissed, so that Bathilda didn’t hear her.

“Good, now it smells just like her as well.” Valerie bickered, causing Agnes to fly of the handle and jump further over the counter, trying to smack Valerie and consequentely flashing the whole room with her underwear.

“Get off of me, you snake!” Valerie retaliated, grabbing another cloth and repeatedly smacking Agnes with it.

The girls were so immersed in their discussion that they didn’t even notice that they were being loud and disturbing the costumers... at least not until Bathilda came rushedly walking from the back room and surprised them both with a splash of cold water over their heads.

“What’s all this fuss about?” The boss reprimanded, as both girls let out a squeal and cut apart immediately.

“Valerie has an admirer!” Agnes tattled bitterly, nodding her head towards the table with a mischievious smile. “But apparently she prefers to be hauling off on me rather than doing her job...”

“What are you waiting for, young lady?” Bathilda questioned as Valerie began stammering excuses at her. “I don’t care, convince him.” The woman interrupted, once she finally had enough of Valerie’s same old tell tale. “You’re a saloon girl, not a barmaid.” She said, placing her large palms on Valerie’s shoulders and pushing her from behind the counter. “Speaking of, where’s that godforsaken bartender I hired?” The woman inquired, moving her head from side to side as she looked for the redheaded, spot faced, half-grown boy.

“Probably in the back…” Agnes disclosed. “Poor thing... he told me he has been having caughing issues...” She sighed with fake sympathy. “Must be from all of the tobacco he has been chewing lately…” At Agnes’s announcement, Bathilda practically ran through the back door, yelling for Armand and leaving the girls alone again.

“You’re a rancorous weasel.” Valerie accused with a raise of her eyebrows, realizing that Agnes was just trying to put a flea in Bathilda’s ear that Armand was the one who had been stealing her tobacco. “No wonder they kicked you out of Myrtle’s… only a truly desperate cowboy could enjoy your company.” Said Valerie, making half a turn in order to dry her hands and put her gloves back on before stepping out from behind the counter.

She moved pompously around the room, flaunting her hips the way she’d learn to over the past two years she’d worked at Mystery Galore. “Howdy gentlemen.” Valerie approached the inebriated looking men sitting at gambling table with a smile. Strategically placing her body so that she didn’t have to face the nobby cowboy she had been trading looks with all throughout the evening. “How are the odds today?” She asked, leaning against one of the empty chairs.

Their cackling stopped at the surprise intervention, all of the men darting their eyes and heads up to look at the beautiful girl standing before them, with her hands behind her back and a slightly flustered appearance. One of them burst into laughter at Valerie’s question. At his odd behaviour, some of the others let out a couple of nervous cackles, clearly unsure of what they should be laughing about.

“Come on sweetheart, you know women can’t play.” The man proclaimed. He was a greasy looking big guy, with dirty and smelly clothes, thin and fragile hair strands cascading down his back and eyes so wide and souless that, if Valerie wasn’t looking directly into them, she would’ve believed belonged to a dead man. “Would be surprised if she could tell a king from a jack, heh?” He spoke to the man beside him, elbowing him on the arm and still choking on his own laughter.

Valerie stuck her nose up at the offensive comment. “I can assure you I can… and if you must know, I also consider myself quite a decent gambler...”

The man whistled mockingly at her stance. “Do me a favor, sweetheart…” He started, taking a hand to the pocket of his vest and pulling out a couple of coins that he let fall over the tabletop for Valerie to collect. “Why don’t you leave the gambling for the men and go get me a glass of Red Eye instead?”

Valerie exhaled through her nose in frustration, but decided to collect the coins from the table anyway… figuring that it wouldn’t be wise not to keep her mouth shut to avoid causing a scene and upsetting Bathilda any further. “How much for a tit squeeze?” The man asked, with his eyes locked onto Valerie’s heart-shaped cleavage as she bent down to wipe the coins off the table.

“You’re detestable.” Valerie yelped, covering her chest and spinning around to head back to the counter. Except when she did, she heard a throathy mumble of a slur directed at her, immediately followed by the sound of a gun clicking behind her. She froze, withholding from making a single move or noise. Her mouth gasped, figuring that there was a gun barrel pointed at her back. Out of all the men in the room, if there was one who would have the audacity to shoot a woman from the back, it would’ve been a mad-looking, mannerless man like this.

“Apologize to the lady.” A gravely voice demanded in a calm tone, prompting Valerie to turn hesitantly. Harry was leaning back in his chair, right arm firmly stretched over the round table. On his hand, stood a beautifully engraved Colt Revolver, pointed directly at the offender’s heart.

“Easy boy…” The man said with nervous snigger. “Don’t be foolish,” He advised. “A piece of Eve’s meat ain’t worth a noose around your neck. Put that gun down.”

Harry’s patience was growing thinner by the second, and judging by the way his index was placed over the trigger, he’d done this before. “One more disrespectful word towards the girl and I’ll fire a bullet right through that pea you call a brain.” He warned, smile fading into a hard line. “Apologize… and leave.”

The man’s lips drew back into a snarl, but the persistence of the aim towards his chest had him pushing himself off his chair. He patted the revolver on his belt as he did so. “Sorry, miss.” He apologized with a wry smile. Valerie didn’t comment on it, only stared at the man as he stepped outside. Once he did, he loudly pulled spit into his mouth and spewed on the floor with his gaze set on her. Then his eyes searched for Harry’s again. “I’ll see you around… cowboy.” He said, straightening his back and puffing out his chest before starting to pace towards the corral.

The silence settled for a couple of moments as Harry tucked his revolver back into his belt and those present collected their thoughts on what they’d just witnessed, but it didn’t take long for the spirited and vivacious atmosphere to settle back in. After all, it wasn’t like it was uncommon for gunfights and altercations to start behind the doors of the saloon, with drunk and reckless men pulling out their guns for all and for nothing.

It was the first time, however, that someone had pulled out their gun in Valerie’s defence, and although the knife she kept in her stocking had always served her just fine, she couldn’t help the contented feeling that erupted in her chest at the handsome fella’s chivalry.

She glanced towards him, only to find him already staring at her with an exquisite gleam in his eyes. “Thank you, sir.” She expressed her gratitude sheepishly. “That was very kind of you.”

The cowboy extended his hand in greeting. “Anytime, miss.” Falteringly, Valerie placed her satin covered fingers over his hard work blemished palm, and leaning down, he placed a gente kiss right over her knuckles. The shudder that flared up her spine at the impact made her feel dizzier than the tightness of her corset did, while simultaneously making her feel sorry for deciding to put her gloves on before heading over. “If that bloke ever adresses you like that in front of me I’ll make sure he won’t live to tell the story.”

“I appreciate your worriment, sir... but I believe that won’t be necessary. I've always managed to take care of myself, it's not a crude man who's going to scare me.” With a smile and a grateful curtsy, Valerie anticipated her departure.

Harry couldn’t deviate his eyes away from the girl as she left. Eager eyes unsure of whether to focus on the long dangling over her narrow waistline or on the bright colored plumage of her outrageously short garment, that did little to conceal her stockings.

“Hey miss!” The cowboy called, making Valerie tilt her head over her shoulder to look at him. There was an effortless smile on both of their lips as their eyes met one more time. “Has anyone ever told ya you have the prettiest eyes in the whole West?” Valerie let out a nervous giggle, fixing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes focused on the frills of Harry’s brown leather jacket, that swang around as he sat back down. “Know what they remind me of?”

His question had her bashfully shaking her head ‘no’, trying to conceal her reddish brown eyes from him while simultaneously covering up the heat spreading over her face and neck at the compliment. “Cherries,” He answered his own question, and slowly, Valerie picked up her head and stared into the boy’s equally beautiful green ones. “They’re my favorite.”

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Gravefort, Texas. 4th of July 1886

As the yearly warmest days arrived to Gravefort, so did the the annual holiday festivities and exhibitions.

This year, Gravefort’s dwellers were in particular great luck and awe, since they would be able to witness Bill Irving’s outstanding skills in the flesh. Irving was one of the greatest bronco riders of the whole West, known for his familiarity with the legendary Buffalo Bill and Miss Annie Oakley herself.

Therefore, contrary to what happened during the traditional modest festivities, the whole town and residents of it’s surroundings had came out to see the show. Resulting into the whole site being jam-packed with families, cowboys, lawmen and even land workers. It wasn’t usual for the bosses to give free afternoons to their employees on the national holidays, but quite frankly, not even the sternest big bugs could overlook this year’s truly special guest. It was an unmissable event for any western… Including Harry.

“Got anything to cool down a man’s gut?” The young cowboy heaved exasperately, rolling up his sleeves and waving his already half unbottoned shirt.

“Here you go.” The bartender announced, placing a cooled down beer bottle in the small counter as Harry took his hand to the pocket of his trousers, picking out a couple of pennies and handing them down directly to his hand.

Without further hesitation, the cowboy took the bottle to his lips, chugging almost half of it in one go. It god rid of his dry throat, but the temptation to down the other half was proving to be hard to resist, so he decided to focus his attention on the ring for the time being, where a team of boys were currently trying to rope a snoozy calf.

He was just hoping the distraction would make the drink in his hand last a little longer... but that’s when he saw the beautiful girl he’d met at the Saloon standing there, with her arm tangled with a tall, handsome belvidere. The sight caused Harry’s stomach to sink a little further down his body. And Christ, he didn’t know if there was any use in beseeching, but once he noticed the man’s other arm kept the hold of another woman, he couldn’t help but to wish from the recesses of his heart for the beauty in the high-waisted skirt and tucked in blouse to be the unfettered one.

As if she could sense his staring, she peeked over her shoulder, looking away immediately as their gazes met. However, it didn’t take long until Harry spotted her skittishly glancing back at him over again. In a sudden outbreak of bravery, Harry nodded and sparked a rabbity smile at her. She greeted him back the same way. That couldn’t not be a good sign, right? He was pondering on coming over and properly introduce himself to her, when he got interrupted by a unexpected guest.

“Howdy.” Avriel, one of his work mates saluted, taking the available spot next to Harry on the counter. The boys shared a beer and engaged into small conversation for a bit, mostly talking about the venue and having a laugh at the lack of skill of the kids attempting to ride an old goat in the second ring. “Aren’t you from Horse’s Road?” Avriel asked, suddently remembering a previous conversation they’d had.

“Born and raised.” Harry confirmed, taking the last gulp of his beer.

“So you can ride a bull, right?”

Harry pursed his lips, tilting his head from side to side. “Sort of…”

“You should sign up for the contest then,” Avriel good-naturedly suggested. “I would if I could, but my crooked spine won’t let me.” Harry srunched up his nose and shook his head at the suggestion. He was already uncomfortable enough with the heat as it was, didn’t need to add physical activity and dirt to the mix. “They’re paying good money this year. 250$ for the first prize, 75$ for second and third.”

Harry let out a little dumbstruck whistle at the large ammount. “Is the entry free?”

“Completely free.” The bartender butted in on the conversation. “Hey! You two! There’s a gentleman over here that wants to sign up for the contest!” He screamed back at the some cowboys reclining against the barricades, making Harry’s eyes widen.

“I actually hadn’t decided yet...” His face was terror-stricken, once the two men came rushing over. To be fair, Harry was never the most skilled bull rider, matter of fact, he couldn’t even point out the last time he’d riden a bull. Back home, he wouldn’t have hesitated to take the lucky shot, but there was a pretty girl in the audience that he was trying to impress… And he wasn’t so sure this was the best way to go about it.

“What’s your name, son?” The older man inquired, pulling out a sheet of paper and a pencil from his shirt pocket.

“Uh…” Harry stalled, “It’s Harry… Styles.” He mumbled as he watched the man hastily scribble his name in a piece of paper. He ripped it out and handed it to him with a polite nod. Harry took a quick glance at it, folding it in half before saving it inside the pocket of his trousers.

May God be with me, the boy thought as he ordered another beer, hoping the alcohol would help calm the ants in his pants.

He kept on waiting by bar, stomping the heel of his boot against the dry soil and chewing on his fingers impatiently as he heard the riders names being called. With his job, he’d naturally seen cows up close and personal quite often. Howbeit, he couldn’t deny that the large bucking bull before him was giving him the heebie-jeebies, especially since no man had been able to sit on it for longer than 7 seconds without getting launched into the air.

“And finally our last contestant, yet another brave gentleman.” A pounchy, well-groomed cowboy announced. “Give it up for mister…” He held the paper closer to his face and squinted his eyes. “Harry Styles.”

Harry swallowed thickly as the crowd cheered for him with little enthusiasm. Out of all the ways one could die in the west, being projected into the afterlife wasn’t exactly the most unfavorable or disreputable death he could think of… But in case he didn’t happen to die, it would still feel quite humiliating to nose dive into excrement in front of a large crowd and, especially, the beautiful young girl he had been trying to find the guts to court.

But there was nothing he could do about it now, so he mustered up all the courage he had and walked up the ring, climbing over the barricade and sitting on the edge the beast stood under. He couldn’t help running his hand through forehead. There was sweat pooling on his scalp and creeping down his face in thick globules. The cowboy flinched once one of the salted drops slithered inside one of his eyes, but he rubbed it off quickly, knowing he wasn’t in position to afford any distractions.

“All good, cowboy?” One of the men holding the barricade shut asked, and Harry nodded firmly. He breathed heavily through his mouth, trying to calm the nervous pinch he could feel in his stomach as he spreaded his legs and lowered himself until his backside was firmly sat on the bulls back. “Ready?” The same man asked in a compelling tone.

“As ready as I’ll ever be…” Harry granted, adjusting the hat on his head before he grabbed steadily onto the rope tightened around the bull’s torso. He pressed his eyes shut and focused on the countdown. “1… 2…” He tried to ignore the spine-chilling thoughts taking over everytime his eyes landed on the bull’s enormous horns, pointy and positioned right in front of him. “3.” Harry couldn’t help but to yelp out loud once the barricades opened and the bull leaped out, jumping in circles around the arena.

Harry’s brain felt like complete mush. All he could focus on was the fragile looking rope and the few strands of the bull’s rigid fur he was trying to keep a hold on to as it relentlessly reeled and kicked the air. With every wallop, Harry’s back arched forward and his butt jumped further away from place. He kept waving one of his arms in the air, trying to keep a steady balance but quite frankly the bull was relentless.

Harry’s eyes darted at the audience once he noticed Valerie’s figure standing there and cupping her mouth in shock, but unfortunantly he couldn’t even get a good glimpse of her face before the bull gave a powerful jerk and sent Harry’s narrow body off it’s back like it was nothing. Surprisingly though, mainly for Harry, he ended up landing on his feet.

The first thing he did once his soles dropped firmly over the sandy ground was letting out a long and relieved sigh but the bull was still dangerously springing around him, so he quickly backed to the barrel, staring at the time keeper. “6 seconds.” The man announced. “What makes him our forth best timer! Congratulations sir!” Harry shook his head in defeat. Don’t get him wrong, he was more than thankful that he managed to come out of that bull’s back still in perfect health, but he couldn’t deny that not winning a money prize for so little was annoying, to say the least. Especially since the money would’ve honestly done him some good. “Tough luck.” Someone commented from behind him, sympathetically patting his shoulder once before walking off.

“Tell me about it...” Harry mumbled to himself, kicking at the sand with the point of his boot as he did so.

His mood picked up though, once he felt a smaller and notably gentler hand touching his opposite shoulder. “You cut a figure out there, cowboy!” The stunning girl charmed, bending over the barricade to approach him with a dazzling smile on her lips.

Harry’s cheeks warmed at the compliment. “Thank you, miss.” He watched the gentleman next to Valerie bend over the fence and reaching out his hand to help him climb out of the ring. Harry took it as he aped up the bars, although a little begrudgingly. “Pardon my intrusiveness but I don’t think I’ve asked for your name yet…” He said, landing steadily on his feet for the second time that day.

“You haven’t…” The girl confirmed. “My name’s Valerie Bluebell,” She introduced herself. “This is my cousin Noyes… and his spouse Anetta.”

Harry breathed out in relief at the news that the bird was uncompromised after all… or at least not consorting with the handsome man that was Noyes. “Harry Styles.” He introduced himself back, shaking the other man’s hand with cordial grasp, and bowing down to greet Anetta and Valerie. “I take great pleasure in seeing you again, miss.”

Valerie wished he would’ve taken her hand instead, like he did that day at the saloon. But in all fairness, considering they were mere acquaintances, Harry would have to be a very shameless man to take her hand first in front of her relatives. “Indeed, Mr. Styles.”

Harry’s eyes gleamed with obvious infatuation as he timidly beamed at Valerie. “Oh, just call me Harry.”

Anette and Noyes traded a insightful look between them. Only a fool could not notice the way the pair were completely spellbound by one another’s presence. “Um, Noyes.” Anette pointedly cleared her throat. “Why don’t we just go take a look at the other ring and let your cousin and Mr. Styles catch up with a little more privacy?” She suggested, tangling her arm with her husband’s and giving him a little push.

Although Noyes seemed a little more uptight about leaving his cousin’s side, he ended up following his wife’s lead and walking off a couple of meters onwards, just enough to give the pair some elbowroom. “Can I buy you a drink, miss? Are you a beer appreciator?” Harry ventured to ask, after a couple of seconds of shy smiling and lumbering silence.

“Sure, why not?” Valerie smiled. “So… Harry.” She tested the name on her tongue, and Harry loved the way the syllables dripped from her lips with such natural sweetness. “What’s your business in Gravefort?”

“You know, just the usual... A job opportunity came up for the summer.” He said briefly. “Same as most fellas around here, I’m sure.” He dismissed the topic, not wanting to make the focus of the conversation about himself. He’d much rather know all about her. He wanted to know about her childhood, what her favorite season of the year was, but most of all, he wanted to know what she saw when she looked at him.

He wondered if she liked his eyes as much as he liked hers. Women usually always claimed they looked lovely… Either their blueish green color or something about the way they gleamed when he smiled. Harry couldn’t really remember their exact words, especially once the girl asked him another question. “Does that mean you’re working at the new railroad?”

“No, no...” Harry enlighted “I came for a job at that big grange close to the post office... you know, the one with two floors and blue shutters.”

For some reason, his answer made Valerie’s eyes widen and her mouth open in awe. “That’s such a nice property!” The girl cooed out loud. “I’ve always wondered how it looked on the inside...”

Harry let out a chuckle at Valerie’s wishful suspire. “I would love to show you the house, but I’m afraid the best I can do is give you a tour of the cattle barn.”

Harry got distracted, once the bull’s horns collided loudly against the ring fence, preventing him from seeing the indignation taking over Valerie’s features. “I do not appreciate invitations of that nature Mr. Styles, and I certainly believe that I deserve better than a barn lay.”

“Oh no, I didn’t mean…” Harry exclaimed, only now realizing that the words that came out of his mouth sounded an awful lot like a vulgar sex invitation. “Miss Valerie… I didn’t mean…” He placed his drink next to Valerie’s discarded one and reached for her hand instead, making both of their hearts effortlessly skip a beat as their fingertips touched. “I swear I only meant ‘cause the owner doesn’t allow the workers inside the house.”

She didn’t reply to him right away, too blown away by the warm jitters running up her hand and forearm from where Harry’s wrapped fingers were. “Right...” She sounded breathless, voice coming out simultaneously husky and pitchy. “What kind of job do you do at the grange then, Mr. Styles?”

Harry pinched his lips, trying to hide the nervous giggle crawling up his throat. She looked marvelous. Eyes bright like wild cherries and almost as dark as the long strands of hair she’d conservatively tied into an updo today, her nose was straight, yet slightly hooked at the tip, mouth full and pink like cactus flowers and oh, how Harry wished to find out if it tasted as sweet as it looked. “A bit of everything...” He managed to spurt out. “But I have to admit it's not work I enjoy.”

“What type of work do you enjoy then?” She asked with genuine inquiringness.

“I like working with horses...” Harry's cheeks grew slightly pink at the confession. “Especially the wild ones.”

“Like a bronc buster?” Valerie asked excitedly. “It’s why you were so good riding that bull, isn’t it?” Harry didn’t want to put his foot in and ruin his chances with the girl by letting her down two times in a row, so he decided to leave out the fact that he’d just striked it lucky when it came to the bull and focused on the horse part instead.

“I’m just a horse wrangler…” He admitted, feeling a little embarassed that he might have accidentally made himself seem better than he was. “Horses like me and I like them as well…” He shrugged. “I know I could make good money if I invested in my skill, but I believe broncos are wild for a reason, and that’s the way things should stay… I’ve only kept Kiwi because it kept following me around like I was his mare.” Harry snorted at the memory.

“You know,” The girl started, shyly fiddling with her white lace gloves. “I’ve heard indigenous tribes say animals are drawn to good natured people who have healing energy within their hearts…” Valerie’s eyes finally drifted from her gloves to Harry’s face, just in time to catch his lips curling with a touch of bashfulness.

“I don’t know if that’s true, miss Valerie…”

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Sanderson Acres, Dallas. 18th of April, 1892

“What are you thinking about?”

Harry smiled, deviating his eyes away from the blown out moon to look at his friend. “My Cherry.” He admitted coyly, reaching out his hand and pulling at the tall grasses both men were laying over.

“A woman, heh?” Niall asked with a knowing grin that Harry reciprocated a little shyly.

“Not just a woman...” Harry confessed, as he entertained himself with tearing some grasses into smaller pieces and throwing them back carelessly. “She’s my everything.” He disclosed as he threw the last piece away.

Crossing his hands over his stomach, the cowboy focused his gaze on the night sky again, carefully observing the stars shining above his head. He asked himself what Val could be up to at the moment... Could she be staring at the same night sky? Could she be thinking about him too? He wondered what she looked like now… he had no doubt she would still look beautiful…

He pressed his eyes shut and tried his hardest to remember every single detail of her. The collection of dark strands falling perfectly over the bones of her collar and down as she pulled her single braid apart, the way her eyes gleamed and her lips twisted into a smile everytime he pulled her into his lap and called her his lucky charm, the way her breasts rose, compressed by the material of her low-cut corset and that sweet, sweet…

“So when was the last time you saw this girl?” Niall questioned, breaking Harry away from the luscious recollection clouding his mind.

Harry cleared his throat, disquieted with the question. “A while ago…”

“So do you write her letters?” Niall asked another question, mostly out of curiosity.

“Not really, no.” Harry affirmed, his chest filling with remorse at the thought. “We haven’t really spoke since I left…”

The other boy arched his brow questioningly. “So how do you know she hasn’t married someone else in the meantime?” He questioned, sparing a brief look towards Harry before closing his eyes again.

The cowboy huffed, resting his head over his forearms, that were now bent behind his head. “Well, I don’t…” He paused, taking a deep breath of the mountain air. “She wouldn’t do that… not my Cherry… she promised herself to me.” Harry maundered, mainly trying to reassure himself.

“Did you compromise with her old man or something?”

“No, she…” Harry started, but stopped halfway. “We’re different, alright? It's not an arranged marriage...”

Niall’s eyes widened in surprise at his friend’s confession. “Well, no offense Nightingale but... ” He scratched the back of his head apprehensively. “Leaving a woman unattended with just a lick and a promise, that ain’t very smart of you.” Harry remained silent, contemplating over Niall's words. His heart growing heavy and disquiet and a tight knot forming on the tip of his stomach at the thought of someone else having his most cherished treasure.

“Don’t lose your sleep over it…” The other boy advised confidently. “You’re a handsome chap, and I’ve noticed you cut a swell with the ladies… I’m sure you’ll find yourself a nice girl.” Harry forged half a smile, but as soon as he watched hsi friend adjust the sacking behind his head and pull his hat down to shield his eyes from the moonlight, he focused on the starry sky again. Wide eyed and distressed, he allowed for the dark and begrudging thoughts to cloud his mind... What if Niall was right? What if she really found someone new?

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Gravefort, Texas. 9th. of February, 1892

Sitting in and staring at the grange had become sort of a monthly ritual for Valerie.

Each and every second Sunday of the month, she would walk to the post office with the goal of picking up her dad’s mail. She would always stay for a 5 minute chat with the receptionist, Mr. Turner, who had been a family friend for longer than she could remember.

After being handed her monthly mail, she would reach for the doorhandle and twist it open with the intention of leaving, but as soon as she felt the warm dusty wind caress her face, she’d remember him. His hands, his lips, his hold. And then she couldn’t stop herself from asking the pitiful question. “There isn’t any mail for me, is there?” Only to be met with the same heartbreaking answer every time.

Then, she would cross the street and sit on the same hay bale, the one outlooking the grange with the blue shutters. The building was so large that Valerie swore she could find different details in it every time. That day, she noticed the paint in the shutters was peeling around the corners, unsurprisingly overburnt by the western sun. Then, she observed the group of cattle workers ahead of her, attempting to repair a piece of broken fence. Although she’d seen them around, she realized she wasn’t familiar with any of their names, but then again, why would she bother to learn them? The faces changed every summer.

As she walked back home after long minutes, Valerie was surprised to find Bonney browsing outside the house, since her dad was usually never home until a little before dinner time. But what was even more unnusual was that the old mare wasn’t alone... there was another horse keeping her company… a well-groomed coal colored stallion she’d certainly never laid eyes on before.

She didn’t stand for any longer outside, fearing that for once in her life she might have actually lost track of time due to her secret wallowing and missed the 3 o’clock dinner mark. If that was the case, she would probably find Monty sitting at the kitchen table with a very displeased look in his face and an even more unpleasant half-eaten plate of canned goods in front of him.

She pushed the door open, cringing when the hinges made a rusty sounding noise. “What took you so long, girl?” He questioned in jest from the living room once he heard his daughter walk inside.

“Sorry father. I’ll go get the table ready.” Valerie appologized, removing the letters from the lace pocket over her lap and shoving them inside the mail drawer in a jiffy.

“Set the table for three. We'll have company for dinner...” Valerie’s eyes narrowed with consternation. “Actually, why don’t you come over here and say hello to our guest?”

Ever since Valerie turned 15, Monty had made it his mission to assure his daughter married well. With that purpose in mind, throughout the 7 years that passed, he'd been introducing her to any wealthy, polite and lawful gentleman that he assumed she would be partial to marry one day... Tall, short, bald, hairy… He'd tried everything! Assuming she’d eventually take a liking to one of them. She hadn’t. Therefore, when she arrived at the room’s door and saw her dad accompanied by yet another tall, clean-faced gentleman, she wasn’t so surprised.

She knew why he was here.

Just by looking at the collar of his shirt, Valerie could tell he wasn’t the average penny-maker cowboy. His trousers were nicely fitted. The complete opposite of Harry’s, since he always got them made loose, fearing that they wouldn’t fit him the following year…

His boots couldn’t have more than two springs of use and the gold chain dangling from his vest, that had definitely been made by a good tailor, really left no room for doubt. “Valerie, this is Mr. Otis Montgomery.” Monty introduced. “He’s the son of Brokenbrook’s Marshal. I believe you’ve met Mr. Abraham before at last winter’s festivities. If my memory serves me right Otis, you couldn’t make it because you were in a meeting with…”

“I was in a meeting with Mr. Smith, yes.” He finished the sentence. “Houston’s mayor.” He clarified once he realized Valerie’s indifference towards the revelation. Did he really think he was going to win her heart by bragging about some bigwig she didn’t know?

“It was a pleasure to meet you sir.” Valerie curtsied respectfully.

“You can shake his hand, Valerie.” Monty propounded. “It’s not like he’s a stranger, is it?” Valerie knew her dad well enough to discern that his dry laughing was a cloaked admonition for her to show a little more interest. So she swallowed the urge of saying that her greeting manners were her business to decide and extended her hand for Mr. Moneybags to shake.

“With all due respect, I’m delighted to find neither of our dads deceived me…” Otis said, encapsulating Valerie’s hand in both of his. “You truly are a beauty, Miss Valerie.”

“Thank you, Mr. Montgomery.” He wasn’t so bad himself if Valerie was honest. Tall and slim figure, nicely matched outfit, handsome features and smile... if only his black hair was a little longer and his eyes a little kinder, perhaps he could’ve gotten her to consider. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some homemaking to finish in the kitchen.”

“Of course.” The man granted, taking a conspicuous look towards the sheriff, that was attentitively watching the interaction with a hopeful look in his eyes. “I'll be looking forward to getting to know you a little better over dinner.”

“Indeed.” Valerie paltered, mostly out of politeness, excusing herself and moving to the kitchen. If she’d knew her dad was expecting a guest, she would’ve made a proper supper. Perhaps even bake one of them fancy condensed milk pies her dad was so fond of… But now, with an empty pantry and a hungry guest waiting, she truly didn’t know what to do with herself.

Valerie ended up settling for a pot of black bean soup. It was not the best meal she’d ever cooked, but it was quick and filling. And the fresh tomatoes, leeks and bell peppers did wonders to mask the strong taste of the beans. Thankfully, Otis didn’t seem to mind the simple meal, matter of fact, he even complimented the texture of the beans, saying that they were cooked to perfection. Poor guy, little did he know that they had come straight out of a can.

Dinner was going surprisingly smoothly, if Valerie said so herself. Not that she was participating much on the men’s conversation, but she wasn’t feeling completely dreaded hearing about Otis’s family orchard and his details on the house he was planning to build next to it.

Occasionally, when her dad was distracted crumbling pieces of bread and sinking them into his soup, the young man would take a glimpse in Valerie’s direction and wink his eye at her. She would either flash him a cordial smile or pretend not to notice it, mostly the last one. “So, Otis, I trust you’ve heard about the Red Hand Gang?” The sheriff questioned, once he eventually caught Mr. Montgomery staring at his daughter, who swallowed thickly at the mention, incredulous that her dad had decided to bring up what had always been a forbidden topic inside the house.

“Well, certainly.” Otis confirmed, seeming rather unapologetic about his ogling. “Who hasn't?”

“A few of years ago, one of them tried to court my daughter, can you believe it?” Monty let out a humourless chuckle. “If I could get my hands on him, I’d put him to death myself.” He waved his fist in the air to reinforce his anger, but Valerie knew better than to pay no mind to a grumpy 60 year old’s hazarding.

If one thing, she should be worrying about her dad’s health. After all, not only was Monty blind as a bat, he was also apparently naive enough to believe he could come victorious out of a frey with a cowboy in his prime. Of course Valerie trusted Harry would never willingly do anything to harm a spunky old man, but she also believed that his cowboy instincts might speak louder than his solemnity if Monty dared to point his crumbling rifle at him.

“Is that so?” Otis inquired, flashing Valerie a tickling smile from his end of the table, she returned it the best she could, but there was no hiding that the conversation was making her insides feel like they were getting tied in a knot. “And what’s that man’s name, if I may ask.”

“They call him the Nightingale.” Monty clarified, much to Valerie’s dismay. “He sings to distract the passengers while the others do the dirty work.” Monty scooped a piece of soggy bread into his mouth, chewing it as he spoke. “A coward is what he is, nothing but a chiseler. Dares him set foot in Gravefort again, I’ll end him.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that much if I were you, Mr. Bluebell…” Otis carried on, wiping his mouth with the napkin he carried with him. “Word on the street is that they’ve caught ‘em somewhere up east last month. I’m sure they’ve all been wiped out by now.”

Valerie’s expression fell as she put down the spoon she had been eating her soup with. There was a trapping cold taking over the entirety of her frame, biting from the edges of her hair to tips of her toes. “He’s not dead.” She stated firmly, with her mortified gaze locked onto the soup platter placed in the middle of the table.

Her audacious statement made Monty accidentaly drop his own spoon over the table, it ricocheted and fell on the house flooring. The metallic sound echoing loudly inside the four walls of the dining room where a uncomfortably quiet athmosphere had just settled.

“Valerie…” Monty reprimanded, as a warning for the young girl to keep her mouth shut. But Valerie couldn’t listen, all that she could hear were Otis words that kept ringing inside her ears like a haunting Melody.

“No, he can’t be...” She didn’t notice it, but she was trembling in her seat, lip quivering and eyes brimming with tears as she spoke. “You’re a liar!”

“Enough!” Monty censured with a punch on the table, before Valerie could spoil his arrangement any further. “Mr. Montgomery, you’ll have to excuse my daughter’s behaviour. She’s a very sensitive girl.” The sheriff mediated, but Otis didn’t seem too phased or shocked by Valerie’s claims. It was more like he was nettled that he had to watch the situation unfold.

Without further ado, Valerie picked herself up from the table and recoiled inside the house’s single room. But as she suspected, it didn’t take long for her furious dad to break through the door asking for justifications, only fueling Valerie’s distressed state more.

“I will not tolerate that kind of deranged behaviour under my roof, young girl.” He chastised, pointing his finger in Valerie’s direction.

“It was your own fault for bringing him up in the middle of our dinner.” Valerie muttured, staring outside through the window. “You can try all you want, I’m not marrying Mr. Montgomery or any other men of your liking. If all I’m destined for in marriage is cooking supper and sewing socks, I only want that with a man that loves me, not one who's only looking for a wife because he feels he’s at the age to settle down.”

“You think that bandit cared for you, huh? Foolish girl!” Monty spat in a ridiculing tone, making Valerie’s face involuntarily contort into sorrowful scowl. “All he wanted was to get his nasty hands up your skirt. He would’ve left as soon as he deflowered you, had you given him the chance!”

“Well, he did!” She outbursted. “Is that what you wanted to know, father? He did it and I liked it.” Before Valerie could tell it was coming, she watched her dad pull his hand back. She heard the heavy palm jab against her cheek before she felt the burn. “You hit me...” She gasped, cupping the side of her stinging face. Valerie remembered receiving the occasional lash from her parents when she misbehaved as a child, but ever since Monty’s wife had passed away, he’d never raised his hand to his daughter again. Valerie supposes that over her past 22 years of existence she’d never really given him a reason to. “You had no right…” She sniffled, looking straight into her dad’s brooding eyes.

“I didn’t raise a daughter to behave like a whore.” The dad rasped, before the silence settled, only to be broke by him again soon after. “From today on, you’re no longer allowed to work at that foul place. Being around all those men and those… unhinged women has clearly started getting to your head.” With one last look at his daughter’s broken expression, the sheriff left, shutting the room’s door behind him.

Valerie could tell he was already starting to feel remorseful, but she was a grown woman now, certainly too old to accept this sort of rough treatment coming from a man’s hand.

So without further ado, the girl let her own hand drop from her cheek and walked to her dresser, rummaging through her dresses and the few other belongings she owned. She knew that if she gave up her job in order to keep living under her dad’s roof, she’d be bound to marry one of her suitors sooner rather than later. And if she carried on refusing to, he’d probably end up sending her away against her will to marry a complete stranger.

Well, Valerie would rather starve to death!

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You can read part 2 here

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