Valentine | B. Barnes x Reader
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Pt 1. Enter, Pursued by a Memory
ongoing 2/8/26
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RDR2!AU x Avengers!AU (Bucky winds up amidst the plot of rdr2 but not the way you think)
genre - western, slow burn, gunslinger vs the civilized world
pairing - cowboy!buckybarnes x rdr2gunslinger!reader
word count - 8k+
! warnings ! drinking, mentions of death, mentions of murder, this is an rdr2 AU there's gonna be some angst and blood and pain, guns, cigarettes, smoking, ect. (i'll be adding warnings individually to chapters)
To be entirely clear this is the work of a crazy person this whole fic was inspired by a marvel rivals skin (I am the crazy person and I am having so much fun)
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It was the first moment in days your mind had actually taken a chance to tune in and slow down, instead of speeding the rot of boredom that the cold had forced on you. The sun was shining on your face, the crisp air of the mountains softening with humidity and birdsong. You leaned back against your knapsack filled with a few extra clothes and keepsakes, the rickety wagon Arthur drove bouncing your hat slowly further down your brow. Arthur and Hosea had been making small talk, while you had been taking in the change in scenery, trying to figure out what it was you felt twisting in your chest.
The mountains surrounding Colter had been unforgiving on the mind, two days in the wagons out in the elements as the storm set in, then three days holed up in the run down town. Houses with failing windows, broken cabinetry, and barely a meager warm corner to curl up in. The gang was spread thin, and worse, some familiar faces were dead or still missing. Five had been lost since the flee from Blackwater, The Callander boys, Jenny, Sean, and John who had miraculously been found before freezing to death. Some you had no idea what happened to.
The gang's arrival in Colter did little to raise hopes. A hovel with naught a pot to piss in (as Sean would have so eloquently described) wasn't able to tear folk from their thoughts. Dutch had tried to rally the team spirit, describing the trials and tribulations as a 'bad couple of days' in a rousing speech, and it had seemed to work for most. But the days in the mountains had been grueling, nothing but time passing and the chill of frost trying to invade the body. Arthur had been lucky to rescue John from the cold, though Davey and Jenny hadn't been so lucky.
Your mind chewed on Dutch, who spoke of 'laying low' and staying out of trouble, while he had been planning a hit on both the O'Driscolls and a passenger train with a private car. Arthur reassured you it had gone well and was clean while helping you finish pack the final wagon in the snow. But part of you wondered silently alongside Hosea why Dutch would put his family at risk like that. There was a premonition brewing in your heart, one that felt like the beginning of the end. This was the mental hangnail you had picked at on the journey.
The sound of rushing water gathered your focus back onto the forested area, Arthur aiming the horses across a river that poured through the valley and went tumbling over rocks into a waterfall. The horses whinnied at the cold water, the wagon dipping into the river. You angled yourself up onto your hands, examining over the side to watch the water rush beneath. There was a sharp clunk of the wagon as the wheels slipped over uneven rocks beneath the surface, the wheel started slipping from the axle arm with an unsteady wobble.
"Get us out the stream." Hosea instructed from the shotgun seat. "You gotta keep us moving, but calm." The wheel wobbled at an unhappy angle before popping off the axel as we pulled out of the water, a sharp jolt and thud as the back left side bottomed out.
"Wheel's gone-" You hollered up to the driver's seat, Arthur slowing the carriage to a stop.
"Aah, shit." Your brother cried out frustratedly.
"Ok, let's take a look." Hosea spoke.
"You alright back there?" Bill shouted from the driver's seat on the wagon ahead of us.
"Does everything look alright?" Arthur shot back, Javier and Charles jumping down from their places on Bill's wagon.
"Well, what's going on?" Javier asked.
"Ah, I broke the goddamn wheel!" Arthur hopped out from driving and moved to collect the wheel, Charles and Hosea moving to lift the wagon up to give the axle an easier angle to slip onto. Arthur motioned his head for your help, heaving it onto the axel and helping him shove it into place on the notched hole. After the weight was settled neatly onto the wheel, the men helped you settle the cargo into their original places.
Repacking the items that had fallen from took only a few moments, and you were readily climbing back into your designated spot between wooden crates of camp items. The men found their places on the wagon and settled back into chatter, Arthur flicking the reins to usher the horses forward to catch up to the rest of the caravan. You adjusted your knapsack to rest your head back, watching the tops of the trees pass as you listened in to the men’s talk.
But your mind still strayed unwillingly back to the mountains you were descending from, your eyes staring down the muddy wagon wheel back the way you had come. The chill of the snowstorm still clung to your bones along with the ache in your chest that had you feeling as if you were leaving Jenny and Davey behind. Two snowy graves that you wondered if you’d ever again get to visit.
The feeling in your chest twisted tighter, fear creeping in at the edges of the coil. It had been many years since you and the gang had ended up this far east. The wildness of the west had fueled the chaotic ride of your life on the lam with your family, but there was a reality quickly settling onto your shoulders. There was no room for further error.
No more chances, one wrong step and the whole of the gang could be swinging in the gallows at the end of the week. And here was Dutch, robbing trains and killing O’Driscolls, putting your brothers and close friends on the line. You shivered at the thought of losing Arthur or John, goosebumps lingering on your skin, even in the warmer weather. Your eyes stayed fixed wide open, staring at the path behind while chewing on the soft skin inside your lip, staring like you were prey that caught the scent of a predator.
Your state had grabbed the attention of Charles, who placed a gentle hand on your shoulder to gain your attention. “You alright?” You snapped your eyes from the trail to his face. His tone was quiet, but full of concern, and upon eye contact, he lifted his hand back off your shoulder. You only +6nodded in response, blinking away the anxiety in your expression as fast as you could before focusing on Hosea and Arthur.
Hosea began explaining the area, the town of Valentine, the local economy thriving off of cattle auctioning. Lots of big open space, with few enough faces that anyone might recognize the gang. Hosea made it sound like the kind of place you were used to, rough and slightly uncivilized around the edges.
Hosea pointed to a fork in the trail, a steeper track of wheel ruts leading up between the rolling hills that lined the small river canyon, and Arthur tugged the reins to lead the horses up into where the trees started to make a forest. There was a patch of burnt area, just a few scorched buildings remained, ruins of wagons and homes alongside the barely standing storefronts. It had disappeared back into the brush as fast as you had seen it while the wagon kept rolling up the hill.
The forest closed in around the trail, a huge oak sending shadows down onto the underbrush. Javier leaning on a large boulder with a cigarette hanging from his mouth marked the entrance to the new camp, and only a few bumpy seconds through the hidden path to camp and the space opened up to a clearing. Tents and tables were already set up, the other wagons set up as storage or for makeshift structures.
"Here we are gentlemen. Home sweet home." Hosea spoke softly, as if overcome with gentle emotion.
"You weren't wrong Hosea, this place is perfect!" Dutch shouted across the camp, emerging from what you assumed was his tent.
You hopped down from the wagon, enjoying the feeling of dirt beneath your boots, relishing that it wasn't snow. You took a moment to stretch out, opening up your chest and shoulders with wide arms as you took in the surroundings. Another moment to catch up, to remember Mac, Davey, and Jenny, wondering what they would be saying alongside you while watching the patriarchs begin to argue among themselves.
"Miss Morgan!" Miss Grimshaw snapped you from your semi-tranquil moment, her sharp voice alerting you that the remaining canvasses and gum blankets were stored on your wagon, and the wheel delay had caused an insurmountable issue.
"Tell Bill to get the damn canvasses, he's the one that packed them!" You snapped back at Grimshaw, hauling your knapsack off the wagon and over to your cot, set up under the same tarp as Arthur, his items already out on tables and a shaving station near the wash bucket.
It took you only a few minutes to unpack what you didn't carry day to day in your satchel, changing from your heavy winter overcoat into a lighter jacket to fend off the evening chill that was beginning to settle.
You helped the last few boxes come off the wagon, until the men took over hauling, and the small sweat you had worked up had left you feeling greasy. You wiped your face with a wet handkerchief to cool off a bit, and there was a light smear of dirt where you had swiped. The soot and grime of days in the snow laid like an extra layer on your skin.
"Alright, everyone put your tools down for a second." Dutch called us to attention, axes and mallets for tent spikes were tossed to the ground as the gang gathered up. "C'mon, quickly now."
"I know things have been tough, but we are safe now, and we are far too poor. So it is time for everyone to get to work." Dutch's voice rang out over the gang, bouncing off the trees.
"Get to work but stay out of trouble. Remember, we are itinerant workers-" Hosea chimed in, adding his piece.
"Laid off when they shut down our factory to the north." Dutch finished Hosea's thoughts for him.
"Now get out there, and see what you can find. It is time for everyone to earn their keep." Dutch emphasized his words, looking over towards Uncle and Reverend Swanson.
"There's a town a little ways down the track by the name of Valentine. Livestock town, all mud and morons if I remember right." Hosea added, "That seems a decent place to start."
"Now, be sensible out there." Dutch finished up the speech, leaving the group to meander around the new camp and finish settling in or start on chores.
After adjusting to the warmer weather, you could feel the grease on your skin. You hadn't seen the town, but you imagine anywhere decent would have a hotel with baths, even a backwater livestock town like Valentine. With a change of trousers and shirt stored in your saddlebag, you mounted your horse and told Hosea you were off to town to check things out. He chimed after you to stay safe, bringing a small smile to your face as you waved a lazy goodbye.
You were off before the sun had hit the mountains, but the afternoon quickly turned into evening while you rode. The breeze was warm on your face, birds fluttering out of trees at the sound of trotting hooves, your horse steady at a canter to enjoy the scenery and memorize the trail. It smelled like spring, petrichor and wildflowers springing from the silty ground. Prairie chickens and deer springing to life at the edges of the dirt road, ducking farther into the brush as you passed on horseback.
The ride was short, but far enough to feel that the camp was a safe distance from town. Following the train tracks led you into town just as Hosea had explained. A post office right off the tracks with fencing and corrals nearby, with town sprawling out behind the buildings. The smell of manure hit you across the face, adjusting to it with a short breath through your coat arm. A few locals said hello as you passed, returning the greeting with a subtle nod of your hat.
Rounding the corner on the auction house, the road led you straight to the heart of town. a saloon to your right with a pointed steeple of a church up the hill a few yards from it, hiding behind a few trees. The main street of the town was a sharp left at the church gate, the Saints Hotel standing at the far end of the muddy road. As you perused the main drag on horseback you made a mental note of the layout of Valentine. The sheriff's building on your right, with a few miscellaneous storefronts and a second saloon, Smithfield’s, with a barbershop within. On the opposite side of the street, a brick bank with power lines with lamps awaiting sunset to flicker alive.
The town was bigger than you had anticipated, contrary to Hosea’s ‘backwater’ title on it, the bustling town was on the edge of the definition. Folk were lounging and relaxing on sidewalks, sharing drinks and cigarettes, their eyes following you as you passed. The hotel grew closer, the town feeling larger with each step you took.
You hitched your horse and entered, paying for the bath and swiftly walking to the designated door. Slipping into the warm water drove out the cold that lingered on you from the mountains. You took your time scrubbing the dirt from every spot it clung on you, specially circling your nails over your scalp, each inch of your hair, rinsing with fresh water in a washbasin next to the tub. You dried your hands and face with a washcloth off the table near you.
You reached for your satchel, pulling the last premium cigarette you had saved through your trials in the mountains to enjoy in a pleasurable moment. Your wet fingers could barely spark the match to light the end of the cigarette, fumbling the first two matches that dropped into the water you sat in.
The smoke settled on your empty stomach, wafting out of your nose and up past a few strands of your hair that dipped onto your forehead. The echo of a small burp reminded you of the smell of warm plates from the saloon you passed on main street and hunger started to ache at the top of your gut. Sinking down into the bubbly water, breathing off of the cigarette in your hand, closing your eyes for a moment of quiet. The noise of the town died down as the sun set, the light fading through the thin curtain covering the window. You were down to the butt of your cigarette by the time the water had gotten too cold for your liking.
You rose from the basin and wiped the remaining suds from your skin with a towel, put on the fresh clothes you had brought and opted to leave the dirtier set there with some money as a cleaning fee.
The night was cool on your fresh skin, the smell of mud and manure with food and smoke from fires wafted up your nose. The smell of Valentine, the smell of people. To be back surrounded by townsfolk was a blessing and a curse. In your life, hiding in plain sight was easy, keeping track of the farce was the hard part.
The rowdy saloon doors almost called your name from across the street, a beacon in the quiet of the night. Your feet were moving before you had made up your mind what you were doing, boots slightly slipping in the mud as you walked across the street.
The swinging gate door pushed open with ease, laughter and loud piano music filled the room, chatter buzzing beneath it all like a beehive. Finally, an ambiance that wasn't folk you had gotten used to. You made a quick adjustment to your hair beneath your hat, walking up and leaning your weight on the wooden countertop. Throwing up two fingers for two shots of liquor at the bartender, who nodded in understanding from the opposite end of the bar.
"Just these for you?" The bartender drawled beneath his moustache, putting the two small glasses of liquid in front of you. "Think you can handle just this?"
You propped up an offended eyebrow at his comment. "You think I'd pay you for liquor I ain't gonna drink?" You threw your words back at him, his mood turning mildly sour before swiping away the coins you left on the bar top. You lifted one of the glasses and took a deep breath, tossing the liquid down your throat.
A feller to your right turned to catch a glance of you from behind his shoulder and under his hat, looming a few inches over you even while leaning on the bar. You were focusing on the menu, small font, handwritten, and pinned to a clipboard in your hands, trying your best to ignore the inquisitive look he had scanned you with. After his initial glance, his gaze lingered, trying to read beneath the skin, but held a look of surprise as your eyes met again. And this time you dared to break the ice.
"Can I ask you something, sir?" You asked, your tone mostly friendly, if somewhat blunt. He turned a bit more, more of his face peeking out from behind his shoulder, to the point you could actually see the man.
Frosted blue eyes caught yours in the lamp light, dark brown, nearly black strands of hair falling from beneath his hat and into his eyes, with thick bushy eyebrows raised with a slightly playful gleam staring you down. He shifted on the bar, standing up a bit from leaning on his elbows.
"Be my guest, ma'am." He nodded his head once, bringing his beer bottle as he turned towards you.
"The food here any good?" You asked him earnestly with a small smile cracking at one side of your mouth. Tapping the clipboard, menu crinkling beneath your fingertip. "Five whole dollars for a plate seems a bit proud."
"Depends, how hungry are you? People eat anything if they're hungry enough." His voice had a gravel, grit of a man who smoked and most likely ran cattle for a living. Based off of the mud smears on his trousers and the wear of his shirt, sun-bleached at the shoulders but away from the collar where his hat would be blocking the midday sun.
"I’ve been living off of cigarettes and venison stew the last few nights, so I'll let you be the judge of what might fix me right, other than a strong drink" You quipped back, finishing off the second shot of liquor with a small hiss through your teeth.
"Sounds like you've made your choice," The blue eyes responded, a smile starting to ignite behind his pupils. "Drinks fill the stomach just as easily, but for food, the lamb in town is some of the best you'll find anywhere."
His suggestion agreed nicely with your palate and grumbling stomach swirling with the hint of alcohol. You hailed down the bartender again and slid enough coinage across the bar to him for the plate.
"And here I thought you were gonna ask me to buy you dinner-" The man spoke partially into his beer, directing his words towards you with a teasing tone. He lowered the glass a bit, hesitating for a split second. "Uh- the name's James Barnes, most people that know me call me Bucky."
There was a turning point in the conversation, where suddenly you realized all at once that there was an intent to his words, a good enough attempt at flattery, something you were almost entirely out of touch with. Apparently something you both were unfamiliar with, considering his eyes suddenly avoiding yours.
"Well James, if you feel the dire need to spend hard earned money on me, I will make it known I am an enjoyer of liquor, not beer." You tapped the rim of the shot glass on the wood counter top, a nervous habit. He grinned down at you with a side-to-side shake of his head, sharing a small moment that seemed to end up where it had started.
"Duly noted, miss..?-"
It was at this point you heard a man behind Bucky start to quietly laugh. His hat dipped with a shake as he kept his giggle as quiet as possible behind the looming figure of Bucky. The blue eyes you had been speaking to turned from warm and friendly to mildly frustrated in an instant, pausing the conversation before turning around to the other man.
"Sam, are you serious?" Bucky harshly whispered to the giggling man.
"Man, hey-" Sam, the laughing brown-eyed man, did his best to catch his breath beneath his laughter. "You know I can't take it when you're trying to-"
"We're having a nice conversation and you're over here giggling like a schoolgirl-" Bucky jabbed his friend in the ribs with a sharp knuckle, fighting back his own smile at his friend's antics.
The blue eyes turned back to you, thoroughly amused at the entire interaction, and presented the friend he had been scolding. "This is Sam Wilson, Sam, say hello to the nice lady, since you so rudely interrupted us." Bucky introduced the two of you to each other.
"Good evening ma'am." Sam smiled warmly, if a tad sheepish for his antics. "My apologies ma'am, my friend here has such a way with ladies, just inspires me-" Sam's lips pursed with another laugh rising in his throat, before he squeezed out of Bucky's grasp on his shoulder and mentioned he was stepping outside for air. He finished the last of his beer with a swig and flicked a coin onto the bar, moving to walk out the back door. "I'll leave you two be."
And that was the last you saw of Sam Wilson that evening.
Bucky sighed and angled himself back towards you, Sam's laughing blending into the background buzz and chatter as he walked away from the bar.
"Don't pay him any mind.." Bucky tried his best to keep the moment light, rubbing the back of his neck with a gloved left hand. An awkward smile played on his lips, his eyes trailing the bar top with glasses on the shelf behind. "He wasn't socialized proper, you know?"
"I have a few brothers like that." You joked with a white lie accompanying it. Here was where the story started, a facade you had to sustain. Damn this life Dutch had cursed you to. "Though, I think they'd say the same about me."
"Oh, I'm sure." Bucky responded with a nod, pausing for a second. "How many brothers have you got?"
Oh. "One or two by blood, a few others by choice. Depends on the day." Was the only response you could come up with in an instant. It was the truth, as close to it as you could manage to explain.
"You have any family living in town?" His blue eyes had a lace of inquisitive silver, curiosity brimming as subtly as one could quietly express. You hesitated for a second, grasping at mental straws for any answer for him.
"We-uh," You wiped your palm over part of your face swiftly, brushing away an invisible strand of hair, anything to focus on a realistic tale. Even after so many falsities and farces you, John and Arthur had done together, it still took everything within you to obey Dutch's rule. "We're passing through town, looking for work while we're here. I'd never set foot in Valentine before today, I think I'm the first one to visit."
Bucky hesitated mid-sip of his drink, taking in the poorly recited storyline Dutch and Hosea had crafted, though the stranger seemed to accept it at face value. But the sliver of his curiosity kept fixating on you. Both of you wanted your words to be true, you watched the peculiarity of his eyes turn from intrigue to the edge of suspicion, your stomach shifting uneasily at the realization.
Bucky nodded slowly, letting the moment pass before hailing down the bartender to order another round of drinks for the both of you. If there was a suspicion, Bucky didn't show if it had truly fazed him. But the quiet said more. Another two shots were placed down onto the bar for you, with a beer for himself to share a drink with each other.
"So.." Your word trailed off, the alcohol slowly bubbling up into your bloodstream making your train of thought stall slightly. "You lived here all your life?"
Bucky nodded, taking a swig of his beer. "Born and raised. The family business is sheep and wool. Barnes' ranch, established 1849-"
In the middle of his elaboration, your dinner arrived, a hearty plate of lamb and beans, with chunks of potato and peas in butter. Bucky let the conversation lull, waiting for you to eat and finish your food without interruption. He sipped his beer, spinning the bottle in a similar way to your own nervous habit.
The food was superb, and you made short work of the meat down to the bone, leaving only a few beans leftover on the plate when the bartender retrieved the dish to be cleaned. You retrieved your pocket watch from the breast pocket of your coat, the hands reading half past 7. A thin frown took over your face, thinking that any later and someone would be sent to retrieve you to ease Hosea's fatherly concern. Or chastise you for essentially sneaking out of camp.
"Running late?" Bucky asked, spinning the beer bottle on the ring of condensation on the bar. He hadn't intended to linger, but felt no pressure to leave either.
You shrugged at his words, unsure how to answer with full honesty. "Later than I should be." You pushed off the bar from where you leaned, wobbling a bit on unsteady feet while finishing off the last round of shots that had ended up in front of you. The burn of the final bit of liquor set the fire in your belly ablaze, the warmth of the bar nearly too much in the moment. You gained the little bit of balance needed to stand fully and put the glass upside down on the bar. You tipped your hat to Bucky, adjusting the collar of your coat up to shield your neck from the cold of the prairie rolling into town before you stepped outside.
"Nice to meet you, James. Thanks for the drinks, I won't forget it." You smiled warmly at him, walking backward to let your eyes study him from a few feet away. He was a good face to remember, especially with circumstances the way they are, he could be of good use to you. There was a sharp pang of guilt in your heart for a moment, and you took the chance to turn tail and walk out the saloon doors before you planted your feet at the bar next to him all night.
The ugly circumstances that brought you to the thought of using him for the good of the gang. He was good folk, and he knew lots about the town. It was a starting point, something Hosea and Dutch would encourage you to follow and see what thread you could unravel. The thought of letting any of the gang sink their teeth into Bucky's business made your ribs ache, though you could also attribute that to the change in temperature.
The fresh air of the night sobered you slightly, a stark change from the warmth inside the building. You were still swaying lightly on your feet, leaning to rest your weight on the red and white striped beam that advertised the barber in the back of the building. The streetlights beamed down, sky spotted thick with stars behind the gleaming bulbs and wires. There was a second squeak of the revolving doors, the sound not entirely registering within your head. The wind picked up enough to evoke goosebumps across your arms and back of your neck.
"Cigarette?" Bucky's voice carried through the night, warm like the sound of pouring water from a hot kettle. You turned your head to see his outstretched left hand, black glove tenderly holding out the cigarette for you to take. "To warm up."
"Appreciate it." You grabbed it at the tip, turning it around to pop between your lips. He struck a match on his boot, closing the small gap to cover the breeze for you to puff your cigarette alive, rushing to light his before flicking it from his right hand to extinguish it. You took a deep drag off the tobacco, letting it smolder in your hand while you sobered a bit.
"I uh-" He puffed on his own, taking his time to choose his words carefully. "I never got your name." His blue eyes turned silver in the mix of moonlight and streetlamps, but the nervousness was obvious, staring with the same amount of curiosity as before.
"Oh, Uh- (y/n), (y/n) McGill-." You hurriedly rushed out the nearest name you could grasp at in your head, not the most graceful or thought out, though anything would suffice, so long as you remembered it. Your eyes avoided him instinctually, an unfortunate tell you picked up from years of losing poker games with Arthur and John.
Bucky nodded, the silver in his eyes flashing with a quick recognition, reading you like a book. He may have accepted your response, but he didn't fully believe it. His look was gone in an instant, his eyes avoiding yours just as easily. He leaned against the opposing pole letting the quiet of the night take over. Neither of you were sure of what to say, but smoking in silence was enough.
A few minutes to finish your cigarette and you flicked the end into the mud, standing from leaning and trying to gain your balance. You took an uneasy step down closer to the muddy street. You worried for a moment if you'd slip in an attempt to get to your horse, who was still hitched at the hotel. You inspected the final step of the stairs that was half buried in muck, and your intoxicated feet disagreed with your mind’s plan to cross.
You turned partially back towards Bucky with a shy and slightly embarrassed smile. “Can I ask a favor?” You pointed across the road to the hitch out in front of the hotel walkway. Your horse chuffed and gently reared his head, the streetlamps reflecting the shine of his coat in the evening light.
Bucky’s mouth curved into a smile, lips pulling a drag off his cigarette before smushing the smoldering end into the beam to extinguish it. "Need me to fetch something for you?" He pushed his shoulder off the beam and walked to the top of the stairs, looking down from above you. "I didn't take you to be the type to be scared of a little mud."
You crossed your arms over your chest, slightly defensive at his comment, brows furrowing a bit. "I'm scared when I'm fresh out of a bath. And that is a hell of a lot of mud. There's no way I'm risking it. So-" Your eyes faltered from his, looking away from his perch on the wooden deck at the top of the small staircase, shy and embarrassed. "Would you be so kind and fetch my horse for me? Please?"
Bucky's boots stepped heavy onto the creaking stairs, wordlessly responding with action. His stride was graceful, this was the note that proved to you he was a Valentine local. Anyone with a bit of alcohol in their system from out of town would end up covered in the muck of main street, most likely yourself included had you given any less thought to it.
You watched the man walk to the opposite sidewalk, the wood planks thudding with his footsteps echoing in the street. He approached your horse slowly, putting out a gentle hand as he reached simultaneously for the reins at the hitch. A few soft touches to the black sheen fur of your horse's neck, and the two deemed each other trustworthy. Bucky untied the reins and turned the large draught horse towards the saloon, presenting the leather lead to you as he made it back to the stairs you stood at.
"Thank you, I appreciate it." You took the lead, not directly from Bucky's outstretched left hand, taking hold of it softly from closer to the bit. "I’m sorry- I've been horrible company this evening- Drinking away all your money, inconveniencing you for Scamper..." Your horse chuffed at the mention of his name, a trait he picked up when you were first bonding with him.
"Not that hard to go out of my way for someone who asked so nice." His blue eyes were brimming, as if overcome with something lingering in his soul. But in the silence of the moment, you saw the honesty in his gaze, the near tangible truth hiding in his irises. "May I ride with you?"
His question wasn't out of the blue, but it still caught you off guard. Your face flushed , feeling caught in a mysterious trap, scared he might see behind the facade you were crafting. His candid gaze shook you, and in a heartbeat you tore your eyes away from his, your hat brim dipping between like a wall put down between you both.
"You're sweet." You muttered to the ground, less for Bucky or anyone else to hear, but as words that escaped from your mouth. "But- I uh, I'm staying a ways out of town. I'd hate to drag your night out any further."
You very slowly pulled the rest of the loop of reins out of his hand, leather snaking limply from his grip that loosened as you tugged. Bucky seemed to shy away equally, taking his gloved hand back from being empty out in the air for a moment. He took a step back on the stairs, giving you breathing room for the blatant shift of energy between. You braved to look back up at him from under your hat, eye contact brief as he gave you a curt nod and tucked his hands into his coat pockets.
"At this hour of the night? I hope I'm not out of place concerning your safety Miss McGill," Bucky's head tilted a bit, he wasn't meaning to push, but any gentleman would escort a lady home in the dark. He meant well, and he wanted to show it. It made you grit your teeth beneath your thinned lips, beginning to accept defeat. "-there ain't always friendly folk on the roads."
With a sigh, you nodded, beginning to chew on the inside of your bottom lip, a nervous habit from your youth brought with you to adulthood. You moved to swing up onto your saddle, hooking a boot into a stirrup and heaving your body up onto the large horse, one hand planted firmly on the horn. "I just- I can't have any of my brothers find out I spoke with you. We ain’t been to town yet all together, I sorta… Snuck off, I suppose."
"I doubt they can blame me for wanting to keep a fine lady safe?" His words came easily, his truth that you were a fine lady at the surface. His words made you scoff, with a tiny smile of genuine flattery hiding beneath it all. Your heart was racing, trying to think of any way to keep this from happening. Having someone from town know the exact location of the camp and we only just finished setting up before sundown? You were worried Dutch would actually tie you up and keep you like Kieran if anyone found the camp. There was no way you could lead Bucky the entire way there, but no way to dismiss him without raising suspicion.
You had been lost in thought long enough for Bucky to have saddled his own horse, a smaller Missouri Fox Trotter with a gray speckle coat, black mane and tail. He had sidled up next to Scamper, watching your expression as closely as he could in the mixed lighting of the night.
"Make a deal with me?" You queried, taking your reins tighter to turn Scamper down the street towards the stables. Bucky tilted his head at you with a thin, mildly confused smile. "To save us the headache of my brothers badgering the both of us, I'll let you ride with me halfway there.”
He looked as if he was going to protest against your statement, but you cut him off. "And we follow the train tracks." You finished speaking, waiting for his agreement before moving. Your words were slightly cryptic, the overt simplicity to them held more than you spoke.
"Been a while since I've walked the tracks." Bucky responded, dipping his head alongside his words in a nod. "You lead the way."
You smiled, teeth bared with an amused and nervous huff of laughter escaping you. You licked and bit at your bottom lip, still chapped from the freezing cold of Colter "Mind if we hustle out of town? I gotta get back before someone notices I'm still gone."
"You have a curfew at your age?" Bucky asked, pulling in his reins to step his mare to the side of you. You gently nudged Scamper to a trot, Bucky keeping pace next to you as you turned the corner of the hotel, the loop of town continuing on.
"It's not like that- They just whip up into a frenzy when something happens, I'm the only girl that works like the men do, I got a spine for independence." You tried to explain, your mildly intoxicated headspace made your words jumbled, anxiety coursing through your chest and arms. Mixed with the risk of slipping up, revealing the Van Der Linde gang to the man you had just nearly befriended, you had to pause to gather your thoughts.
"My father likes to keep close tabs on me. We all had a bad time up north, so we keep the family close now." Your arms erupted in goosebumps, the chill of the losses of your life outweighed the cold spring air rolling in from the prairies to the east. The streetlamp light faded away behind you two, the auction yard you passed was bathed in warmth of oil lamps, two men on guard tipping their hats to Bucky. There was a solemn aura that overtook the space between the two of you, neither of you knew what to fill the silence with. In the repetitive thunder of the two horses, you left the surroundings hazy in your vision as your mind forcefully recollected snippets from your history.
You had been kin to Dutch and Hosea as long as you could remember, but Arthur was a trust carried from long before. Hosea said he found the two of you at the same time, and the rest is history. No one knew if you two were blood, or just so happened to end up keeping each other safe, but to you it didn't matter. Anyone who had been running with the gang long enough was family to you, Arthur just held a higher place in your heart.
As soon as the post office came into and quickly out of view behind your shoulder, you slowed down to let the horses breathe, following the path out of town parallel to the train tracks. The area opened up from the town, aura immediately shifting. The prairie air was cold, adding to the quiet of the lull in the conversation. The air of comfort between you and Bucky had gone near cold, being lost in thought had kept the silence drawn out.
You cleared your throat and aimed to change the subject. "So-" Bucky had opened his mouth at the same instance. "I-"
You both stopped speaking and shared an amused look and a chuckle, horse hooves thudding on the dirt road before a few planks of wood led the transition onto the tracks. Bucky gave you the go ahead to speak first, an amused smile still soft on his face.
"Well- I was wondering where your ranch was." You asked plainly, watching as Bucky turned in his saddle towards the west, craning his neck in an attempt to gather his bearings in the evening darkness. The tracks were behind a line of trees, making the view down into the valley difficult to see in detail.
"The house and the barn are back closer to town. We're just a half mile west out of Valentine, but most of our land is in the valley. We bring the sheep to graze down in Caliban's Seat, closer to the river." He explained, turning back towards you as the horses followed the train tracks instinctively.
"Is that the big rock formation down at the bend in the river?" You asked, curious. "I remember seeing it on the way here, it's beautiful country down there."
"It's beyond lovely, there's a reason I haven't ended up anywhere else." His words held a melancholy to them, as if there had been a long-passed chance he reminisced on. "Hard to bring a place along with you when you leave."
You nodded, accepting the emotion in his voice. You wished you could relate, but most of the places you had wound up you'd rather leave behind you, and the memories to go along. You get nostalgic for the 'good old days', riding and robbing in your twenties with your family, but it's been long since you missed somewhere, not someone.
“I wish I could say I knew the feeling.” You responded, eyes taking in the dark outlines of cacti and tall grasses across the prairie to the east. “We’ve moved around a lot, wherever my brother’s can find work. Never stayed in place too long."
“So, you really ain’t ever called anywhere home?” Bucky asked, his eyes still studying the details on your face available in the moonlight.
You thought for a moment, trying to recall if anywhere you had traveled through had been welcoming and lovely enough to tie yourself to. You looked back at Bucky and shrugged, adjusting the reins in your hand.
"Never had the time, I suppose." Your eyes went back to the prairie, devoid of animal life if an untrained gaze were looking. You caught the details, a group of deer far above on the ridge of the mesa above, an opossum skittering through the grasses just a few yards from where the tracks crossed another path of wagon wheels, a lone owl hooting in the trees to your right. Characteristics of the land that came with you no matter where you roamed, your survival instinct at the ready. Each night the sun fell was a reminiscence on everything Dutch and Hosea had taught you about staying alive by yourself.
Your eyes snapped back to Bucky's in the dark, carrying yourself away from those thoughts. The beauty of the evening had gained an extra attribute, a concerned gentleman helping you home. Making you feel like the belle of a ball, a true damn dame of society. Something brand new to you, terrifying and intriguing all at once, especially with the zing of nerves that struck each time you met Bucky's eyes.
"But I uh-" You hesitated, but the drunk trust that came with the time you had shared with him brought the words out anyway. "I think this time it'll be different. Valentine seems to have caught my eye."
Bucky's face immediately lifted into a wider smile, something soft and warm and inviting. "I'm very glad to hear that, miss McGill." His expression carried pride, and you found yourself smiling alongside him, Bessie always said joy was the most contagious emotion.
The sound of the horses' hooves changed, the gravel crunching turned to wooden thuds, planks placed down for wagons to cross over at the intersection you had left camp from. You could smell the campfires and oil lamps, mixed with the aroma of something Pearson had whipped up in the time you were gone. You pulled your reigns to a stop, Bucky matching you with his mare.
"I'm afraid this is where we'll be parting ways." Speaking away from his gaze, you prayed in a single nervous moment that Bucky wouldn't press any further, but his face held nothing but friendliness. He would keep his word, you two had made a deal after all. You felt guilty for questioning his integrity. There was a strange pause, as if he was building up courage, but with your anxious glances around the brush of the woods, it was especially obvious he was stalling for time.
"You alright?" You asked Bucky, Scamper turning at the sound of your voice in his standing spot on the wooden planks.
Bucky nodded, swallowing whatever it was he had wanted to say. "I enjoyed this evening with you, (y/n). Thank you."
You tipped your hat to him, gracefully accepting his appreciation, a warmth creeping up into your face. "Thank you for the company, I’m lucky to have met you tonight.”
His smile widened at your statement, looking away as he responded. "I'm just glad there's someone I can keep my eye out for." His tone said far more than his words.
You let his words settle in, your smile unwavering. "Have a good night Bucky."
"G'night Miss McGill." With a tip of his hat and a few clicks to urge his horse back towards the town, Bucky took off up the tracks to the soft glow of Valentine in the distance. You watched his figure fade into the greyscale of the moonlight, unsure if it was the alcohol or nerves that stirred your stomach the strangest way.
You tugged Scamper's reign to turn around, guiding him as slowly and quietly into the underbrush as you could. The soft noises of a quieted camp broke through the trees as you came closer, sliding off of your saddle to lead the horse the rest of the way into camp.
As the brush parted to reveal Horseshoe Overlook, the gentle crackle of campfires and snores competed with the noise of the forest sounds behind you. What had still been just barely a camp was now partially settled into, but the foundations had been made. Most everyone was sleeping, save for Javier and Uncle at the fire, the few other faces missing were presumably out on watch somewhere nearby.
"Where the hell you been?" A gruff, but concerned voice sounded out from behind you as you were removing Scamper's saddle. Arthur, returning from his watch duty on the northern side of camp, repeater held tenderly in his hands.
"I went for a bath in town, I told Hosea I would be gone." You responded simply, heaving the saddle over the top of an unused barrel. "It seemed fine, and I kept my head down.
“Well, Hosea didn’t tell anyone else where you went until we were looking for you.” Arthur continued, his tone mildly chastising.
“Well I’m back now, we can alert the media and write to the newspapers if you’d like. I didn’t realize I still had to ask permission to leave camp at my age.” Your answer was laced with sarcasm, and nearly cutting aggression. You were being a brat, with good reason. It was just aimed at the wrong person in the moment.
You were defensive, and lucky you had gone for a bath. Coming back smelling like whiskey and lambs fry with dirt still on your face could have been downright traitorous to the others, sneaking into town for a meal when no one else was allowed to. No one would have been happy with you, least of all Dutch. But Arthur took your words like a brick wall, eyes still on you.
"Dutch made a comment about it, that's all." Arthur shifted his weight and slung the repeater in his hands over his shoulder. Your heart flipped with anxiety, maybe if you were useful enough around camp tomorrow you could avoid Dutch’s lecture.
Arthur studied you in the quiet, brow furrowed and barely lit by light of the campfires at this distance. His suspicion heightened for a second, analyzing you. He could see the difference in your eyes.
"You gonna stand there all night glaring at me?" You teased, though your tone conveyed anything but friendliness.
"You smell like liquor." He pointed out, bluntly. As if you would out the truth at the smallest hint of it.
"And soap." You added for him, sharp and sarcastic and true. Your words made him sigh in frustration and turn to walk into the camp, waking Bill up for his turn to keep watch.
You took a deep breath, grateful to be alone again, patting Scamper at his mane with a tender touch. The breath turned to a yawn, and the wave of fatigue that had been pulling at your strings finally sang a sleepy melody. You walked through camp quietly, a few footpaths already starting to rub into the grass. The oil lamp at your side of the shared shelter burned half lit, moths fluttering around the glass.
You removed your hat and hung it carefully on a nail poking from the wagon, running your fingers over the loose strands as a makeshift comb as you settled into the canvas topped with blankets. Your evening routine wasn't much, but it was certainly enough to wind down your inner machine.
For the first time in days, your head hit the pillow and you felt peace. There was no restless twisting and turning, readjusting of the pillow, or worried thoughts. The warmth of the blankets and the noise of crickets lulled you into sleep, and steel blue eyes echoed in your dreams through the night.
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haii note from author ;33 please please please let me know if y’all like this im gonna keep writing more, but the next chapter is gonna take a while… TRUST it's gonna be peak I just need validation it’s good (I haven’t written anything in a long time so feedback is very appreciated!!)
