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shhh-secret-time · 1 month

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Yeah so this is in fact going to be a two part fic! This request came from AO3 and we were able to hash out more on this fic! I pitched the idea of making it a cowboy AU and they seemed to really like that idea! So here we are! Please enjoy and look forward to part 2!

Warning: Strong-Language, Gun Violence, Blood (Minor), Writer doesn't know how guns work!

Pairing: Gunslinger!Kyle x Fem!Reader

Colorado was an untamed lawless wasteland, at least that's what most people out East would tell you. Between talks of untapped land and the rumors of gold mines out that way, people were scrambling to find out there. But not all men had fortune and discovery in their hearts. Some had things to hide, pasts they intend to bury deep in the desert sands.

You were one of those people. As an heir to your family's printing press, it was only natural that from the time you were born a target would be painted on your back. Distant family members, friends of the family, hell even the butler once thought if they got their hands on you, they could use you as leverage. Kidnapping, attempted murder, blackmail, and threats all before the age of sixteen. You'd seen and heard it all. And every time it got harder and harder to want to stick around.

Now here you were twenty something and unwed. Parents long buried having left you everything as they always said they would. You were alone with all the money one person could ever need, and it was so incredibly lonely.

After a while you just kind of became desensitized to the attempt at your life. But no one really gets used to being so alone. How were you supposed to make a connection with people, when all that ever came up was the talk of marriage or your money.

Truly you were grateful for your parents, and you did love them! After all they were good to you, they protected and loved you. That protection morphed and twisted into an overbearing relationship. Up until now you weren't allowed to go out on your own, they decided who you interacted with. Your tutor you had known for years had to go through a background check by the Pinkertons every few months just to remain employed.

So, again, when they passed it was like being thrown out into the ocean and told to swim. If the business was to stay afloat you would have to learn to be sociable and professional. Learn to swim in the shark infested waters of a male dominated field.

Or you could sell the company to the highest bidder and bounce. Which is what you decided to do. Auction out your family’s printing company and try to retire in the lap of luxury. Maybe start your own book using all that tutoring your parents got you.

But it could never be that easy, could it? Once word got out about your plans to sell it all, certain people started plotting against you. It all came ahead one night when you were getting ready for bed. You blew out the candles that kept your bedroom lit, closed your windows, and locked your doors. Double checked them a few times before finally deciding to lay your head down for the night.

A lot of good that did. As soon as you close your eyes, a gloved hand cups your mouth. Another pair goes for your arms and legs, you feel the coarse hemp rope across your skin. Another night, another attempt at your life.

Your attackers must've not heard that the heir to the printing press was no damsel in distress. Quick as they came, your hands shot under the pillow next to you, the side of your bed that lay bare. Except for the .38 derringer that you slept with; two shots loaded in the chamber. Two intruders and still two shots were all you needed.

Click. Bang.

You stand there watching the sheriff and his posse drag the intruders off in their wagon, a blanket thrown over your shoulders by said sheriff. He sits next to you with his badge gleaning off the dull light from the city’s lampposts, a cigar tucked in between his teeth.

"You know this is the third attempted break in this month." He says puffing on the brown tobacco.

"I know." You mumble, bringing the blanket closer to your form.

"And the third time my men had to take in men with bullets in their chests. You're lucky you're a fine shot or I'd have to take you in for murder." He doesn't look at you, but you can hear the danger in his voice. See the way he inspects the cigar, holding it between his fingers.

"Sheriff?" You look up at him with furrowed brows.

A chill runs down your spine when he finally meets your eyes. The smirk that slowly creeps up his lips says it all.

"Now that's not to say I don't believe you. From what I've heard you got quite the record when it comes to things like this." He gestures vaguely with the tip of the cigar before continuing, "just find it kinda odd it keeps happening to you."

"You think I ask for this?" You ask back with a little more frustration in your voice than you should. Could you really be blamed for it though? The sheriff who was supposed to protect you, keep you safe from things like this, was sitting here blaming for the actions of stupid men.

"I don't think you do anything to prevent it. Just strange that a lady in her prime lives alone and isn't going about means of protection besides what...a gun under her pillow?" He blows out smoke that illuminates under the same light that touches his badge, the heavy white smoke lifts from his lips towards the night sky.

You honestly couldn't believe what you were hearing. That shiver that went down your spine spread throughout your body, making your blood run cold. Men breaking into your home you could handle, but a person with actual power? This was a battle you couldn't fight, not alone anyway.

"I'm sorry sheriff." You bite your tongue until you taste blood. "You're right. I should do something about this."

That was the best advice that asshole could have given you. To find someone in your corner. To find someone who can smuggle you out of the state and across the country. Finding someone who you could trust to not immediately shoot you in the back or run off with your money.

After searching around and pushing the word out there as subtly as you could, you finally catch wind of someone who fits the bill. You'd have to push a few dollar bills into the right hands, greasy palms, and all that, but you eventually get a name.

Kyle Broflovski.

That name carried weight, made your tongue feel heavy when you said it. The kind of reputation that he had wasn't one to take lightly. Over thirty bounties turned in alive and done by hand. While the number of bounties he brought in may not have been the largest out there, it was the fact he took down only the worst of the worst. The number on the bounty poster meant nothing to him, it was all about what the target had done. He was exactly what you were looking for, a man who could see past the money.

Now it all came down to arranging a meeting with him. Even a shut in like yourself knew the best place to find what you were looking for was the local saloon. The only thing left to do was dress down and try to convince the famous gunslinger that you desperately needed his help.

The smell of cigarettes and cheap booze was the first to greet you and you hadn't even opened the door yet. You could see boot prints made in the sawdust scattering across the floor. The cheery show tunes being played behind the door almost drowned out the sound of laughter. Before you could push open the door, a man came flying out being thrown by another gentleman. He hits the stairs and slumps down next to your foot. The poor man hit his head pretty hard, enough for it to put him to sleep.

With a little gulp you ignore the shaky feeling in your legs and push the dark wooden doors open. Maybe the thick brown cloak thrown over your form wasn't doing the best job at helping you blend it, but on the other hand most of the people here seemed to be enthralled by the women playing upstage to even care that you walked in. The girls dressed in flashy clothing were dolled up in the brightest makeup you've ever seen. They were gorgeous and the performance they put on brought life to this place, it was no wonder why people could lose themselves.

Your eyes scan the room as you scurry away from the door. People coming in and out, pushing past you like you weren't even there. The entire situation made your anxiety spike, being in such an unfamiliar place.

Somehow your legs carry you over to the bar. Taking a seat at the scuffed wooden counter, you note just how many empty shot glasses are covering the surface. Empty plates that looked like they were dipped in grease. Stained glasses that had thick amber liquid, the kind that burned your throat just looking at it. You tried not to look at the bar too much when you caught sight of faded red stains.

You take a deep breath and steady yourself before trying to flag down the bartender’s attention. A woman with tan skin and dark red hair. The bags under her eyes are so dark you don't think she understands the concept of sleep. Two cross tattoos just under her amber looking eyes lead your own down to her outfit. The light blue vest she's wearing makes her skin pop, somehow her nail polish isn't chipped or scratched in anyway. You watch as she takes a bottle of liquor by slotting it between her index finger and her middle finger.

She must have sensed your eyes on her because she side eyes you for a moment. The woman flips the bottle over and pours a clear liquid into a small shot glass. Once the drink is poured, she slides it down the bar and it lands in the hand of another patron. It takes her but a second to put the bottle down, wipe her hands off, and then approach you with a cigarette dangling from her lips.

"You're new here, aren't you?" She asks like she already knows the answer to that question.

"I... I am. I was just...looking for a drink." Not a complete lie, at this point a drink would help calm your nerves.

"Is that so?" Her brow shoots up. The bartender takes the cigarette from her lips and blows out a thin wisp of smoke. She crosses her arm under her chest and gestures for you to continue.

You look up towards the various brown and orange glass bottles behind her. Brands and names you've never heard of before lined the shelf. It isn't until you get to the higher up shelves that you find something you recognize. A bourbon, darker than most. Something your father used to have from time to time.

You lift your finger and gesture to the bottle. She follows it and lets out a little hum.

"The bourbon? Hm. Color me shocked. Alright."

"Two shots...please."

She stops and looks back at you with the bottle in her hand. A small smirk plays on her lips. "See that's how I know you're not from around here. Most people don't say please. Much less recognize a good brand. Most of these assholes just drink rotgut like it's the end of the world."

"I am a bit out of my element." You run your fingers over the wood, brushing your fingertips over the carvings. Wondering what the story was behind each little chip and groove.

Like before she takes two shot glasses between her fingers and places them down on the bar. The bottle is uncorked with a satisfying thoonk. You watch as the liquid catches the bright lights of the bar, making the amber shimmer with the candlelight.

"No kidding. What brings you here?" Once she's finished pouring your drinks she puts the bottle back under the counter. Her hands make themselves busy by collecting the dirty glasses, putting them off to the side.

"I'm looking for someone. Someone said I could find him here."

Like something straight out of one of your penny and dime novels, she begins cleaning the inside of the glass with a rag. When she doesn't say anything, it makes you shift nervously in your seat, but she eventually nods expecting you to continue.

"He's a gunslinger. Tall from what I've heard. Bright red hair?" You do your best to describe a man you've never met. You make a gesture with your hands by your head of his rumored fluffy red hair.

Before you could continue the woman stops cleaning the crystal-clear glass. She puts it down with a loud thud making the men next to you jump and look away. You hadn't even noticed your conversation was garnering attention. She lets out a sigh and pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Yeah, you really aren't from around here. Let me give you a little advice. The man you're describing has a bit of a reputation around here. Only comes around when he's intending to collect."

You blink up at her.

"Bounties sweetheart." She snuffs out the cigarette with a little chuckle. You must have looked like a newborn dear the way you looked at her. Blushing a bit at the thought, you try to push it down. Suddenly the little glass of alcohol in front of you looks far more interesting.

"But my contact said he'd he here."

"Your contact isn't wrong." She pauses for a moment. "Man at your six- don't look." She hisses as you go to turn your head.

"Sorry." You squeak out, snapping your head back towards her.

"Man at your six is wanted in four different states. Highway robbing, harassment, nasty attitude...a perfect blend of asshole."

"Oh..."

"Men like that bring the gunslinger. Now I don't know what you want with someone like him, and I don't want to know. But if you want his attention, when he gets here you had better work fast." She looks down at you as she rubs her neck.

"Wh... why?"

"Because he'll drag that idiot out to the streets and probably duel him. Win. Tie him up and take him into the sheriff's office. Collect his bounty and move on."

"You talk like you know him." It was time for that liquid courage. You knock back the drink and grimace at the taste. It burns and claws its way down your throat.

The bartender lets out a little laugh at your reaction, or maybe it's your question. "I've been around for a while."

"She's also full of shit. She talks like I'm a gun lovin' nut." The low whispering voice next to you makes you turn in your seat.

He's a bit shorter than described but still pretty tall. His hair is exactly as you imagined it to be, curls sticking out from under his usual green cowboy hat. The way his emerald, green eyes peer down at you makes you shrink in your seat. They widen a bit as you squirm away, so he decides to move his head up towards the bartender who's got a smirk on her face.

"You gonna tell me I'm wrong?" she asks, tilting her head to the side.

"No, no just that you make me sound much more dangerous than I am. Just a simple man tryin' to earn enough to eat." He says with a chuckle.

And when he smiles at her, lips curled up so softly. Every part of this man looks so gentle. Even the green tattered sarape around his body looks warm and inviting. It was hard to believe someone so soft looking had a reputation. On the other hand, it made it easier to approach him, maybe this wouldn't be so hard.

The drink you bought for him would probably help too. You recall all the times your father would pour his business partners a drink before pitching a new idea. So, you take the shot glass and scoot it towards him. He blinks down at it before letting out a little chuckle.

"You've got this backwards ma'am. S'pose to be the other way 'round. Man's supposed to buy a pretty woman a drink." Despite it all he takes the shot, and in his hands, it looks too small. He holds it up to you and downs it without blinking. The corners of his lips twitch and his hooked nose wrinkles a bit, looks like he wasn't expecting the stronger stuff.

His compliment makes your cheeks burn; you twist the material of your cloak in your hands. "Well...nothing says a lady can't buy a gentleman a drink, does it?"

"I reckon not. Just ain't used to it s'all." He puts the glass down with a gentle tap. "But you're sittin' in this here bar all by your lonesome askin' for me. So... here I am. Somethin' I can help ya with?"

How much of your conversation with the bartender had he heard? Enough to make you nervous that other people were listening in. Your hands lowered to the derringer strapped to your thigh, under the long skirt no one knew it was there. You palmed the handle and took a deep breath. There was no real plan to use it, but it brought you a little comfort. Just a reminder that it was there.

"Yes I-"

You're cut off by the sound of screams. From a few of the waitresses and working ladies to be exact. You look over your shoulder, it's coming from your six. Where the bartender told you not to look.

A burly man stands up and when he does, he looms over most of the men in this establishment. Slicked back short black hair tucked inside a crumpled up old bowler. For all the grime and dirt on the man the one thing you could give was that his handlebar mustache looked nice. The rest of him, not so much.

His voice bellows out, bringing an end to upbeat show tunes. "Broflovski! Yous here fer my head ain't ya!"

The man grins like he's proud of the fact that he's garnered such attention. The way he carries himself almost has you fooled if it wasn't for the bead of sweat trailing down the side of his face.

"Not at the moment, no. I was in the middle of havin' a conversation. Rather rude to interrupt a lady Knucklehead." You don't know if Kyle is calling the man a knucklehead or that's just some stupid bandit name.

Either way he sneers and with a flick of his wrist he tosses the gamblers table to the side. Chips and cards go flying up in the air, the poor dealer scrambles to get out of the way.

"I don't care if you was havin' breakfast with the fuckin' Queen of England! You shoulda know better than ta come in 'ere without a lil' backup. See I ain't one fer duelin' so we're gonna have ta do this the ol' fashion way. With yous layin' face down in the dirt bleedin' out ta death!" He whistles and a few more men sitting at other tables stand up.

Couldn't have been more than five or six, every single one of them equipped with some kind of weapon. Rusty nails pushed into wooden boards. Chains being spun around so fast it creates a little breeze. The sounds of their spurs jangling as they start to step closer.

Kyle puts his hands up defensively, the laid-back smile he had on his face falls when they get closer. "Now come on, can't we talk this out. Like I said, I ain't finished my conversation. It'd do you well to learn some manners. Call your men off."

He's not asking. The way he narrows that dark greens at the man makes the room feel cold. For a minute you think you see a spark in those eyes, a glint of something dangerous.

"God damn it..." You almost don't catch the bartender behind you mumbling, but you do hear the rack of a gun clear as day.

It's quiet all except for the way Knucklehead growls, deep and low in his chest. Despite having all these men, he still somehow looks like an animal backed into a corner. The bead of sweat trailing down his face travels lower. Down his cheek, towards his jawline where it hangs. Then...it falls. Drips onto the sawdust covered floor.

Plip

Click. Bang.

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling someone's hands on your shoulder. You're hoisted in the air and thrown over the bar, you can hear the way glass shatters. Another collection of screams, and then nothing but groaning. When you open your eyes, you're in the arms of the bartender, the woman has the both of you pulled down and tucked behind the bar. Safe certainly isn't the word you'd use here, but it was better than being in the crossfire.

She's got another cigarette lit in her mouth; a shot gun pointed up towards the ceiling. You strain your ears, but you think you can hear her counting in Spanish. You can smell the gunpowder in the air, it's almost as thick as the tension. Then there's a different sound. A grunt of pain and the sound of a chair being broken.

"Thought you could really take us all on?! You're fucking daft!"

The gunslinger lets out a strained laugh, wiping the blood off the corner of his mouth. Splinters of the wooden chair catch in his curls. The man took a hit from the gorilla and is still standing. Well, more like leaning over the side of the bar for support, but nevertheless his eyes are still open.

"Daft is a big word for you Knucklehead. Gotta give it to you!" His voice sounds strained and broken. You catch the way he's struggling to breathe yet still has it in him to snap back.

Without thinking you take the shotgun from the bartender and before she can protest you lower the barrel towards the man. He seems surprised to see you jump up from behind the bar, he must have really not cared that you were there. But a loaded gun that can shoot slugs the size of an acorn sings a different tune.

"Now missy...this ain't got nothin' ta do with you. Yous don't wanna get yourself wrapped up in somethin' I don't think you can handle." Knucklehead's eyes lower to the gun in your hand, the gravity of the situation sinks in. Not enough for him to let the gunslinger’s throat go, but enough to where he's contemplating backing away.

"Let him go. Let him go and back away." You keep your voice steady, that nervous air about you slips away and a different mask comes on.

That mask you've had to wear every time you look danger in the eyes. You don't see a man choking a bounty hunter to death, you see a large target. A light you could snuff out with a twitch of your index finger. You can see it in his eyes, the way he looks down at Kyle, whose smirk has returned. Then back up at you, staring down the barrel of the shot gun. It's cold double barrel unblinking eyes.

"Whattya say Knucklehead... feelin' lucky?" Kyle is able to put a little distance between Knucklehead's hands and his throat. Enough to take another gasp of air and spout some cocky one-liner.

It must have pushed the brute over the edge because he went to move again. If you had to guess it would be to lift Kyle up and use him as a shield. But he doesn't get that far. Doesn't even make it past a muscle twitch because your trigger finger is faster. For the second time that night shots ring out, but this time it's only the bandits scream that fill the air. He goes flying back letting the red head go.

If it wasn't for the bartender, you would have gone flying back as well. The force of a shotgun wasn't something you were used to. Compared to your derringer’s little kicks, the shot gun was in a league all on its own. Her hands keep your body steady, holding you by the waist. She lets out a puff of smoke and sighs.

"Nice shot." Once she realizes you're okay to stand on your own, she breaks the silence with praise and lets you go.

"O-oh...um thanks." It makes your face flare up; the fact the entire bar’s attention is now on you. The wondering eyes make you squirm and want to shrink back down behind the bar.

"Shoot a man dead in his chest and ya get a little flustered over a compliment." Kyle laughs in between trying to catch his breath, his coughs sound painful.

You avert your eyes from him, like it will do your blushing face any favors. Trying to ignore the way his laugh makes your body burn. Something about it makes you feel a bit tingly. It's either that or the adrenaline coursing through your veins. They land on the man bleeding out on the floor. He's clutching his sides spouting so much profanity you feel like you need to confess at the church just hearing it.

Just as Kyle finally gets the ability to breath properly again, the sheriff and his men come bursting through the door. The same sheriff who you had a problem with. The same one who put you on this crazy path. Once again, things could never just be simple. Every little fucking thing had to get in your way.

His eyes fall on the man first, then on you. Then on the gun in your hands and you immediately groan. Of course, he had to come in just as you slugged a man. With a scoff, he gestures to his men to round up the other bleeding bandits. Kyle was able to take down the other group by himself. Their leader using the men as bait so he could close the distance.

You push the shotgun back into the bartenders’ hand and sigh. Kyle watches as you lift your skirt and put your foot on the counter. Without a second thought he offers you his hand and helps you down off the bar. You take it and allow yourself a quick smile. One the sheriff is quick to wipe away.

"It's always you. I guess I didn't make myself very clear." He says with a sneer. "I thought you were smarter than this, seems I was the one mistaken."

You shoot him a look, brows furrowed in confusion. "Sheriff, I didn't start this! I was just defending my um..."

Friend? Soon to be employee? Guy I just bought a drink for. Shot another man for?

"I wasn't talking to you woman!" He snaps, eyes flickering between yours and Kyle's. When they land on the man his eyes narrow. "Was talkin' about this one! Coming into my town, causing trouble! Think just because your daddy was a lawyer you're above the law!"

The look the red head gives him would be enough to kill. Death himself would answer that call. You watch a vein pop out from the side of his temple, his hat and hair barely covering it. Kyle didn't even show that much anger towards the man who threatened his life and interrupted his conversation.

"Sheriff Cartman I wouldn't have to come to this town and clean up your mess if you and your men did your fucking job!" Kyle hisses through gritted teeth, emphasizing the word this like he's reminding the sheriff the town doesn't belong to him.

"I should've known better than to think you could be anything but trouble! I should haul you in with the rest of 'em!" Cartman's voice is dangerous, completely immune to the looks he's getting from Kyle.

"On what grounds?!"

"On the grounds that I'm the fucking sheriff and I'm sick and tired of your bullshit!"

"That ain't enough to bring me in you fat son of a bitch!"

"Let's go ahead and tack on threatenin’ a man of the law to that too! Wanna keep going Kyle?!"

Cartman uses his first name so casually. The air grows heavy again as the two men get into each other space. Neither go for their weapons instead fingers curl around the collar of each other's shirt. Kyle looks like a lit fuse ready to blow and Cartman is just adding fuel to an already dangerous fire.

"A-Actually Sheriff! If I may!" You don't know what compelled you to put yourself in between the two bickering men. Guess there was a little left in the old adrenaline tank, taking down a man twice your size will do that to you.

"What?! Get in my way and I'll make sure to slap you with a fine as well! Helping a criminal won't look good on your record!"

"Criminal!?"

"Gentleman! I believe the lady is trying to talk! Now you either let her talk, or you take this shit outside!" The bartender cuts them both off by slamming her hands on her bar. Her voice isn't loud but it's enough to make both men stop.

The sheriff mumbles something under his breath that makes the bartender narrow her eyes. He turns to you giving you the floor.

"Sheriff just...please hear me out." You've dealt with men like the sheriff before. Men who think they're the smartest man in the room, so it's best to just make them think they're right.

"Fine. Go ahead."

"Thank you. Y-you see...I was just following your advice! You told me to find some help and that's what I did!" As you explain yourself Kyle's brows furrow in confusion. "I was looking to hire Mr. Broflovski here."

"Didn't realize you were selling yourself out now Kyle. Bounty hunting too hard for you?" The sound Kyle's teeth makes as they grind together makes your breath hitch.

"If Mr. Broflovski here agrees, I'd like for him to take me out west. If you think about it this is the best outcome. You wouldn't have to deal with me anymore and I'd be taking him with me."

"Now hold on-"

Cartman cuts him off like he's not even there, at this point Kyle's face matches his hair. "You're leaving? Jesus christ why didn't you lead with that!"

"Yeah..." You smile and let out a little sigh, the whole situation would be a lot funnier if it wasn’t you.

"I tell you what...you leave tonight. You and that ginger fuck get out of my town, my state, my side of the country! I'll give you an hour and if you're not out of here. I'll run you down like dogs!" Sheriff Cartman looks pleased with himself and the whole idea, but the more he speaks the more it comes through gritted teeth.

"Two hours."

"One and a half, only because I'm in a good mood." He clicks his tongue and turns on his heel. "Plus, however long it takes for my useless deputy to book these assholes." Cartman turns his back on both of you and walks towards his posse.

Great. You had an hour and a half to get out of town and you hadn't even asked the famous gunslinger if he was even willing to do this.

"Well, I reckon we outta be on our way." Kyle breaks your thoughts with the sound of his voice.

You look up at him with your eyes widened. He smiles down at you and flicks up his hat, moving the brim out of his face.

"No need to look at me like that. You told the Sheriff we'd be outta here so let's get a move on." He speaks.

Kyle makes his way towards the double doors without so much as a goodbye. You go to follow him but stop, turning back towards the woman behind the bar who is just picking up the broken glass scattered around the bar.

"Um...ma'am." When you call out for her, she turns and looks in your direction.

"Hm?"

"Thank you."

".... You’re welcome, now get outta here. You wouldn't last a day behind bars, so go on. Get."

A soft smile plays on your lips. She was right, you had a long road ahead of you.

The bartender looks back over her shoulder when she hears the double doors close again. She let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding. As she stands up with the metal pan filled with broken glass, her head lulls to the side.

"What I wouldn't give to be a tumbleweed following them. Ya got your work cut out for you Broflovski." A smirk plays on her lips.

Kyle leads you out towards the stables where he kept his horse. She was a pretty horse, a blend of brown and whites painting down her back. She doesn't stir much until Kyle gets closer, when he's within reach she bends down and presses her head against his hand.

He smiles and touches the side of her face, petting the sides gently. There was that soft and warm feeling you got when he first sat down next to you. Even after the bar fight and the whirlwind of events that happened, he found a way to go back to being so gentle. When he turns to look back at you, you quickly find something else to look at. Suddenly the saddle on the back of his horse looks so very interesting.

"I don't s'pose you got your own horse, do ya?" he asks as he unhitches his horse from the post.

"No, I don't. I... wouldn’t even know how to go about riding one." That seems to catch him off guard.

"Hm... We’ll have plenty of time to fix that. For now." Kyle walks over to you and whispers a, ‘pardon me'. His gloved hands cup your hips and lift you up. He lifts you like a child would their doll, like you weigh nothing. He sets you down on the back of his horse, guiding your legs over the side of the large creature.

It feels so strange, the way something so powerful just stands there letting him do it. You cling to the saddle for dear life as it takes a few steps forward and then back. If you had to guess she was just as surprised as you were.

Kyle swings himself up onto the horse shortly after. He puts his arms around your waist, being oh so careful on where he lets his arms rest. His hands find the reigns and it forces him to get closer. Close enough to where you can feel his chest against your back.

You can feel his heart beating against his chest, it makes you feel a little better knowing he seems to be just as nervous as you. At the very least that's what you're telling yourself. You can't see his face, unable to move any part of your body out of fear of falling off.

No, you can't see the blush that’s creeping across his freckled face. Can't see the way it trails down his neck, disappearing behind the layers of his clothes. You would never know how much he's mentally screaming at himself to get a grip.

"Gonna be a little uncomfortable at first. Just bear with me for a while. As soon as we hit the next town, we'll see what we can do about gettin' you your own horse." With that he clicks his tongue and snaps the reigns.

You let out the smallest squeak as the horse goes from a gentle little trot to a full-on sprint. Your hands fly out to grab onto Kyle's arms using the cowboy to steady yourself. A part of you thinks about asking him to just go ahead and drop you off at the holding cell. At least then you could die behind bars and never make such embarrassing noises again. The other part of you felt a twinge of excitement when you heard him chuckle. Feeling the way it made his chest vibrate low. It kept you warm against the cold wind that rushed past you.

It doesn't take long before Kyle feels your body go slack. He peers down at you and feels his heart leap up in his throat. You were tucked up against his chest, arms wrapped around your frame fast asleep. He only wishes that he could slow down so he can take off his sarape and bundle you up in it. Instead, he settles for pulling you closer, caging you in his arms. He'd do everything in his power to make sure the ride was at least a smooth one and by the time you'd wake up, hopefully, he'd have you out of town. And hopefully then he can get more details about this job he blindly accepted from you.

For now, he'd let you sleep as he rode out towards the moon. Nothing but the wind at his back and the large pale light to his front.

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