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──── ݁ hosea matthews x bonnie ray (fem!oc)

a/n: I've been working on this for a while and finally decided to upload it. It's their first time having sex, so obviously there will be adult content at some point. Hosea deserves more love, and I'm here to fix that ୨୧.

wc: 19.1k ⊱┊ summary: Hosea takes Bonnie on a little trip from which they will not return the same. warnings/tags: 18+ smut & fluff • slow burn • pre-relationship dynamics • dirty talk • oral sex (m) • nipple sucking • previous marks of abuse • praise kink • tears during/after sex • aftercare

The mountains stretched long and green around them, spring mist still clinging to the hollows, sunlight glinting on damp rocks where the streams cut through. Birds sang sharp and bright overhead, and every once in a while, Bonnie joined them, voice soft but steady, carrying an old tune her mama must’ve taught her. A lullaby, maybe. Something simple, sweet, that made the ride feel less like an outlaw’s march and more like something near holy. Hosea kept his eyes forward, one hand on the reins, the other resting loose against his thigh. He should’ve been listening to the land: the wind, the hooves, the crack of a twig that might mean company. Instead he was listening to her.

That voice. Lord. How many nights had he sat awake by the fire, her hum lilting through the camp while she patched coats or soothed Jack to sleep, pretending it didn’t settle into his chest like a brand? Too many. Far too many. He told himself it wasn’t lust. Couldn’t be. He wasn’t like Dutch, prowling after every pretty girl who crossed their path. No, what gnawed at him was softer, crueler. It was love. Real, aching love. And love, at his age, with a girl like her, was its own kind of sin. She belonged with Arthur. That thought bit him the hardest. Arthur was steady, young, could give her years. Not half-broken lungs and bones gone brittle. Not some old thief who coughed blood when the nights got cold. She deserved strong arms and a future, not an old man’s fading heart.

But when he glanced over, Bonnie was turned just enough in her saddle that sunlight caught her braid, set the little flyaway strands alight like a halo. Her freckles were brighter for it, her mouth curved in a smile only the song could’ve put there. She was joy incarnate, his Little Fox, riding beside him like she’d never known another place to be. And Hosea’s heart hurt with it. Hurt and swelled and shook all at once. He wanted to reach out, to brush his fingers over hers where her reins lay slack. He wanted to stop the horses, pull her down into the grass, and confess everything that burned in him. But he didn’t. He only tightened his grip on the reins, eyes hard on the trail, while inside his chest that coil of tension wound tighter and tighter, fed by every note of her song. The mountain air was cool, but Hosea was burning. Bonnie’s mare picked her way easy, ears twitching as birds burst from the underbrush. She sat loose in the saddle, braid swinging over her shoulder, voice humming soft at first, then fading into a smile.

—Where’re you takin’ me, Old Fox? —She asked, nudging her horse closer to his.

Her tone was light, but the words carried more than curiosity. If he’d told her he was bound for the end of the world, she would’ve gone without another question. Hosea adjusted his hat, keeping his gaze forward.

—You’ll see soon enough, Clover. Don’t you trust me?

Her green eyes sparkled as she leaned his way, just enough to tease.

—Course I do, Professor. Just don’t like bein’ kept in the dark.

He chuckled, low and warm, though her voice —Professor— made something hot shift in his chest.

—Trouble, that’s all you are. Pure trouble.

She grinned, pleased, then sang out sweet as sugar.

—Mr. Matthews, you wound me. —Mr. Matthews, —He repeated, rolling it with that silver tongue of his, sharp and fond at once— Careful, young lady, or you’ll find yourself walkin’ back to camp.

Bonnie laughed, head tipped back, freckles catching the light.

—You wouldn’t leave me behind, darlin’.

He swallowed hard at that —darlin’— and forced a smirk.

—Wouldn’t tempt me if I were you, lass.

Her cheeks flushed, but she only leaned back in the saddle, humming again like nothing had happened. Still, Hosea’s pulse hadn’t steadied. The words —young lady, lass, trouble— he’d only meant them as playful, but the way her lips curved at them, the way her eyes lingered just a little too long, told him she liked them. Maybe more than she should. He cleared his throat, focusing on the trail.

—Not much farther now. Thought you might like a quieter place to practice.

Bonnie’s voice softened, affectionate now, her teasing tucked away.

—Silver Fox, I’d like any place so long as you’re the one takin’ me there.

Hosea didn’t answer, couldn’t. His chest ached with it, words piling up unspoken. She deserved youth, strength, a man with years to give. Not him. And yet she rode beside him, calling him Silver Fox, darlin’... naming him like he belonged to her. And God help him, he wanted to.

They’d stopped in a dusty little town for supplies. Nothing grand, just a trading post and a watering trough, a saloon humming lazy in the mid-afternoon. Bonnie had slipped off her mare, leading it toward the hitching post, braid falling forward as she tightened the reins. Hosea swung down slower, joints creaking, eyes scanning out of old habit. That’s when the voice slurred from the saloon porch:

—Well ain’t she a pretty thing.

Hosea’s back went rigid before he even turned. A broad-shouldered man, drunk by the look of him, leaning against the post with a grin too wide. His eyes dragged over Bonnie’s frame in her shirt and suspenders, her trousers cut to fit her better than any man’s.

—She yours, old man? —The stranger barked, smirk widening— Hell, don’t tell me that’s your daughter. Shame to waste a gal like that.

Bonnie’s cheeks flushed crimson, not with modesty, but fury. Her mouth opened sharp, ready to bite back, but Hosea’s hand lifted in the smallest gesture. Not now, Little Fox. He stepped forward, calm, steady, voice smooth as a blade sliding from its sheath.

—Son, you best sober your tongue before it cuts your throat.

The man snorted, swaggering a step closer.

—What, you gonna teach me a lesson, old man?

Bonnie’s green eyes narrowed, fire dancing in them as she edged nearer Hosea, but he didn’t so much as blink. He stood tall, shoulders square despite the years, silver hair catching the sun.

—You’ve no idea who you’re talkin’ to.

The stranger faltered, eyes flicking from Hosea’s calm gaze to Bonnie’s wicked little grin, then back. For a moment, he seemed to sober, realizing maybe this wasn’t the harmless old man he thought. He spat, muttered something under his breath, and stumbled back toward the saloon, the fight bleeding out of him. Bonnie tilted her head, lips curling.

—Silver Fox, I think you just scared him clean sober.

Hosea finally let out a breath, turning to check her—hands steady on her arms, eyes sharper than they’d been in years.

—You all right, Clover?

She smiled up at him, fierce and tender at once.

—Better’n all right. Never seen anyone put a man in his place so fast. —She paused, teasing soft— Not bad for my old man.

His jaw clenched, the words landing deep, heavy. Not bad for her old man. She’d meant it as a joke, he knew, but oh, it burned. Burned and warmed and scared him all at once.

The horses’ hooves drummed soft against the dirt road as they left the town behind, the clap of saloon doors and drunken laughter fading into the trees. Bonnie shifted in her saddle, patting the small parcel tied to her bag: a little tin soldier for Jack, painted red and blue. She looked pleased with herself, that bright fox-grin lighting her whole face. But Hosea? Hosea was quiet. Too quiet. His jaw was set, eyes forward, hands tight on the reins. Bonnie chewed her lip, then leaned toward him just enough that her braid brushed his shoulder.

—You ain’t sulkin’, are you?

He flicked his gaze at her, sharp, then back to the trail.

—Not sulkin’, Clover. —Mm-hm... —She smiled sly, green eyes glinting— You didn’t like that fella thinkin’ I was your daughter, huh? Thought you might shoot him right there.

Hosea’s mouth tightened.

—Man was a fool. —That ain’t an answer, —She sing-songed, tilting her head— Wouldn’t be the worst thing, y’know. Bein’ mistaken for my old man.

She dragged the words out, sweet as honey, waiting for the spark. And oh, she got it. His jaw flexed, a muscle twitching in his cheek, knuckles whitening on the reins. He didn’t look at her, couldn’t, not with her laughing like that: low, playful... kittenish.

—Lass, —He said at last, his voice dipped low, velvet edged with steel— You keep on like that, you’ll find yourself in more trouble than you can handle.

Bonnie shivered at the way he said it, thighs tightening around her saddle. God, that voice. She smirked, leaning closer.

—Trouble? I thought I was your Clover. —You’re both, —He muttered, breath catching— God help me, you’re both.

For a moment the trail went quiet but for the creak of saddles, the jingle of tack. Bonnie hummed, soft, pleased, fingers toying with the ribbon on Jack’s parcel. She’d gotten under his skin, and she knew it. And Hosea… Hosea felt it like a brand. That bastard in town hadn’t known who he was, but Bonnie did. She knew exactly where to sink her teeth. And God, he was letting her.

By the time the sun had slipped high overhead, the trail widened into a clearing Hosea had tucked away in his mind years ago. A stream cut through the middle, water clear and quick over smooth stones, wildflowers crowding the banks in soft purples and yellows. The grass was long, soft-looking, dappled by light that fell through the branches. It was the kind of place that made a man want to sit a while and forget he was hunted.

—Here we are —Hosea said, sliding stiffly from his saddle. He tied his gelding to a low branch.

Bonnie swung down with her usual grace, boots sinking into the grass. She looked around, eyes wide, smile spreading slow and sweet.

—Well, now… you do know how to treat a girl.

He snorted, busying himself with unpacking his kit.

—Don’t get too romantic, Clover. We’re here to hunt, remember?

But her laugh —the light, lilting one that always slipped between her words— chipped straight through him. She stepped close, brushing his shoulder as she bent to untie her bag.

—Hunt, sure. But don’t mean I can’t enjoy myself.

He dared a glance at her. Sunlight caught in her braid, freckles bright, eyes alive as she crouched and pulled out the small block of wood she’d brought. She held it up with a grin, green eyes dancing.

—You promised me a lesson, Professor —She said, the word dripping from her tongue in that playful way that already had his throat tight—. Don’t tell me you forgot.

Hosea froze, then laughed low, shaky. Lord, she knew exactly what she was doing.

—Didn’t forget, Little Fox. Just hopin’ you might. —Never —She plopped onto the log near the stream, patting the spot beside her with mock impatience— Now, you teach me how to make a horse... or I’ll tell Jack you’re a liar.

He shook his head, muttering something about her being trouble, but he sat. Too close, of course, close enough to smell her, to feel the warmth rolling off her. He put the knife in her hand, steadying it with his own, guiding the blade into the wood. And just like that, the tension surged. Her fingers trembled under his, not from fear but from awareness. His palms were broad, steady, calloused, swallowing hers whole as he angled the knife, shaving curls of wood. She leaned into him without hesitation, her braid brushing his cheek, her breath grazing his ear.

—Like this? —She whispered, turning her head so her lips nearly brushed his jaw.

Hosea swallowed hard.

—That’s right, Clover. Let the blade do the work. Easy.

But it wasn’t easy. Not with her so close, with her voice low and soft, with every deliberate use of Professor wrapping tight around him. His pulse drummed in his temples, and the last thing he looked at was the block of wood. He was looking at her, only her, and she was looking right back, eyes bright, mouth curved, as if she knew exactly how far gone he was.

Bonnie

His hands swallowed hers: steady, calloused, warm. She wasn’t even looking at the knife anymore. She was looking at the way his fingers curved around her own, guiding, teaching, as if the world wasn’t on fire and she wasn’t aching to kiss him.

God, his hands.

She’d thought about them more times than she’d admit: how they smoothed Jack’s hair, mended a coat, carved out a horse from nothing. Hands that had lived more life than most men she’d ever met. Hands she wanted on her, in her, holding her like she was something precious. She called him Professor because she loved how it made him twitch, how his voice roughened just a little, how the corners of his mouth tightened. She called him Silver Fox because that’s what he was: wise, sharp, handsome in a way no one could touch. And Old Man? That one was hers too, playful, teasing, but behind it was the truth that he wasn’t old to her. Not at all.

Her heart hammered as she tilted her head, catching his profile in the light. He looked carved from the mountain itself, strong even under the lines that age and sickness had left. He thought she didn’t see. How he rubbed his chest when the cough threatened, how his eyes sometimes lingered on Arthur like he was giving her away without her knowing. But she saw. She saw everything. And she loved him anyway. If she kissed him now... if she just tipped her chin up, pressed her mouth to his... he’d taste like smoke and mint and years of stolen wisdom. And she wanted it so badly her chest hurt.

Hosea

She was too close. Much too close. Her braid brushed his cheek, her breath warmed his ear, her laughter still rang in his bones. God above, what was he doing, sitting here letting her lean into him, letting her hands rest in his like they belonged there? She deserved more. Younger. Stronger. Arthur. That thought gnawed him raw. Arthur would give her years, a family, a life not haunted by the cough that stole Hosea’s nights. He should set her free, should steer her toward something better, brighter.

But she called him Fox, Clover, darlin’. Her voice softened just for him, teased just for him. And when she looked at him —really looked— he felt younger than he had in decades. He felt like a man again, not a relic waiting for his lungs to give out. And Lord forgive him, he wanted her. Wanted her laughter spilling against his mouth, wanted her hips rolling under his hands, wanted to bury his face in her neck and breathe her in until there was nothing left of him but her.

But he couldn’t.

He wouldn’t.

If he touched her now, if he took what he wanted, he might ruin her. And she was the one thing he couldn’t ruin.

His grip tightened over hers, not from the knife, but from the fight raging in him. To do right by her, or to give in to the hunger clawing at his chest. She shifted slightly, just enough that her temple brushed his jaw. And Hosea Matthews had never been closer to breaking.

Bonnie’s tongue peeked out at the corner of her mouth as she dragged the blade carefully down the grain. Hosea’s hand stayed steady over hers, correcting the angle, guiding the pressure. Little curls of pale wood scattered onto her trousers, clinging to her knee.

—There, —He murmured, low, gravel-smooth— That’s the way. You’ll have a horse in no time.

She smiled, triumphant, lifting the block to inspect the beginnings of a muzzle.

—Not half bad for a student, hm, Professor?

The way she said it, it wasn’t teasing now, not really. It was soft, warm, her green eyes bright with pride as she tipped her chin up to look at him. Too close. So close. Hosea’s breath caught. Her freckles, her mouth, the faint rise of color in her cheeks... he could have leaned down, kissed her, tasted her laugh. God, he wanted to. But he was a fool, and fools ruined things. He pulled back just slightly, clearing his throat, hand withdrawing from hers before he forgot himself.

—That’s enough lesson for today, Little Fox. Don’t want you cuttin’ your thumb off tryin’ to impress me.

Her smile lingered, though her eyes searched his, curious at the sudden space he’d put between them. For a heartbeat she thought he might… but no. He was Hosea Matthews, wise old fox, and he’d never let himself slip so easily. Bonnie tucked a strand of hair back, lips curling again, though this time with a touch of mischief.

—I’d never let you down, Silver Fox. You ought to know that by now.

He almost said it back "you never could, Clover", but instead he pushed up to his feet, dusting his palms.

—You hungry? We ought to eat somethin’ before we think on go hunting.

She grinned, springing up with that wild-cat ease.

—Always. But only if you’re the one cookin’. You know I like your stew better than anyone’s.

Hosea shook his head, chuckling low, grateful for the excuse to turn to the fire instead of the way her eyes still lingered on him. He could feel them —soft, steady, knowing— and Bonnie, gathering kindling with a bounce in her step, thought only one thing: he could delay, deflect, deny all he wanted. But she’d seen the way he looked at her just now, that heartbeat of temptation he couldn’t quite hide. It was only a matter of time.

Bonnie crouched by her saddlebag, tugging out a small wrapped bundle.

—Lucky for you, I came prepared —She unwrapped the cloth, showing a neat hunk of salted venison, packed tight with a sprig of dried thyme tucked inside— Borrowed it off Pearson when he wasn’t lookin’. Told him I needed it for ‘practice.’

Hosea barked a laugh, shaking his head as he knelt by the fire.

—Practice, huh? You mean eatin’ well without the rest of camp sniffin’ after us like hounds.

She grinned, handing it over.

—Exactly.

He set about slicing it, mixing it into the small pot he carried with a handful of beans and root vegetables he’d bartered for in town that morning. A simple stew, nothing fancy, but in Hosea’s hands, it always came out rich, filling, comforting. Bonnie settled cross-legged nearby, chin in her hands, watching him work with a softness she didn’t bother hiding.

—You always think ahead —She said, voice lilting with that admiration that cut right through him— Never hungry with you around.

His chest tightened, though he kept stirring slow, eyes on the pot.

—Somebody has to keep you troublemakers alive.

She smirked, tilting her head.

—Old man like you should let the rest of us do the work. —Old man, —He repeated, glancing at her sidelong. The corner of his mouth curved as he leaned in just enough to let his voice drop into that honey-smooth drawl— Careful, young lady. Might make me prove I’ve still got teeth.

Bonnie’s breath hitched, pulse skipping. God, when he said young lady like that… She looked down quick, biting her lip, but the grin still slipped free.

—You’re a wicked one, Old Fox.

Hosea chuckled, settling back as the stew began to bubble, though inside he wasn’t laughing at all. Because every word, every look, every stolen grin from her made him ache, and it was getting harder and harder to pretend he didn’t want her.

The stew smelled rich by the time Hosea ladled it into two tin bowls, steam curling in the cool mountain air. He handed one to Bonnie, who beamed like he’d just given her treasure.

—You spoil me —She said, already digging in.

Hosea settled across from her, his own bowl balanced on his knee.

—Don’t flatter me, darlin’. Just stew.

But Lord above, watching her eat... it undid him. She didn’t pick at it like some lady in a parlor, all dainty manners and rehearsed grace. No, Bonnie scooped up big mouthfuls, lips closing around the spoon with a soft hum of pleasure that shot right through his chest.

—Mmm —She sighed after the first bite, eyes closing briefly— That’s delicious.

Hosea nearly dropped his spoon. She licked a drop from her lower lip, utterly unconscious of the way his pulse kicked. Then her fingers —Lord, her fingers— pinched a bit of potato that had slipped, popping it into her mouth before licking the broth off her thumb. Hosea gripped his knee, shifting on the blanket. Jesus, she was just eating. Just eating. And still, his body betrayed him, heat pooling low, his cock swelling against the confines of his trousers. Bonnie looked up mid-bite, green eyes bright, a little broth glistening at the corner of her mouth.

—You’re not eatin’.

He cleared his throat, forcing his spoon into the stew.

—Starin’ at you, I’ll never get a bite down.

Her grin spread slow, teasing, but not cruel. She slurped another mouthful, licking the spoon clean with a satisfied little hum.

—Then don’t stare —She said, and winked.

He coughed, spoon rattling against his bowl, trying to think of anything but the wet sound of her mouth, the pink of her tongue. Guilt coiled sharp in his gut. She was just Bonnie —hungry, happy, carefree— and he was a damned fool, sitting here with half a mind to spill himself like a boy at his first brothel. But when she sucked a spot of broth from her knuckle with a soft, pleased noise, Hosea bit the inside of his cheek so hard it stung. Because what he imagined wasn’t her knuckle at all.

Bonnie ate like someone who’d grown up hungry and learned not to waste a bite. Not messy —never that— but eager, unashamed, with a kind of confidence that was all her own. A fox at the table, quick, clever, savoring every scrap. Hosea tried to focus on his own bowl, but every sound she made tugged at him: the little hums of satisfaction, the scrape of her spoon against the tin, the soft sigh as she swallowed. It wasn’t deliberate, wasn’t coy. That was what killed him. She was just eating, and yet his cock pressed painfully against his fly, stiff and throbbing like a man decades younger.

She licked her lips clean after a long spoonful, catching a drop with the tip of her tongue. His throat went dry. He thought of her at Jack’s age, probably shoving down food at a rough wooden table, brothers laughing, no one teaching her to eat like a lady because there was no room for that kind of foolishness. That was her: raised tough, raised honest. She tipped the bowl back to sip the last of the broth, a soft satisfied “Mmm,” escaping as she lowered it. Then, grinning, she ran her tongue along each finger, sucking the taste clean with a little pop of her lips. Hosea’s stomach clenched. God, help him. He gripped the edge of his bowl until his knuckles whitened, staring hard into what stew remained. When she finally set her empty tin aside, she flopped back onto the blanket with a sigh, hands on her stomach.

—That was perfect —She said, tilting her head toward him with a smile that could have lit the whole mountain—. Best stew I ever had. You always take care of me, Silver Fox.

His heart twisted. She said it so easy, so grateful, not knowing what it did to him. He forced a chuckle, even as guilt burned hot in his chest.

—You flatter me, Clover. Nothin’ but meat and beans.

But when her laugh rang out, bright and careless, Hosea knew the truth: he was already in too deep. Too far gone. And the way she licked her lips just now, oblivious to the fire it sparked in him, would haunt him for the rest of the day.

The fire burned low, crackling lazily in the midday quiet. Birds chattered somewhere in the trees, the mountain breeze soft and warm. Bonnie stretched out on her side, hand tucked beneath her cheek, green eyes fluttering heavy after the meal.

—Mm, —She sighed, half to herself—. That stew’s gone and done me in.

Hosea leaned back on his elbows, watching her shift to get comfortable on the blanket. Her braid slid forward across her shoulder, freckles kissed golden by the light. She yawned, quick and kitten-like, then settled with a content smile.

—You close your eyes a spell, —He said, voice low— We’ll hunt after. No rush.

She hummed, not even bothering to argue, and within minutes her breathing had evened out, lashes fanned against her cheeks. Bonnie Ray Fischer, outlaw, survivor, wild little fox, sleeping easy in front of him like she’d never known a reason to be afraid. Hosea’s chest ached. He turned his gaze toward the stream, forcing himself to breathe deep. But it was no use. His eyes found her again and again: the curve of her hip under those damn trousers, the looseness of her suspenders slipping down one arm, the way her lips parted softly in sleep. He swallowed hard, shifting against the pressure still lingering in his trousers. What kind of man let himself think of her like this? His Little Fox. Too young for him, too good. She deserved Arthur... hell, anyone else. Not some broken-down old conman with lungs that rattled on cold mornings and hands that shook more than they used to.

He rubbed at his face, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. Guilt burned hot in his chest, but beneath it, something deeper pressed in: love. The kind he’d thought was done with him after Bessie. The kind that terrified him because it wasn’t just desire, wasn’t just her body he wanted, it was her. Bonnie murmured in her sleep then, lips curling faintly, a tiny sound that could’ve been laughter if it had been louder. Hosea smiled despite himself, heart twisting, and whispered under his breath:

—You’ll be the death of me, Clover.

She didn’t stir. The mountain held its peace. And Hosea sat there, torn clean through between the part of him that wanted to wake her with a kiss and the part that swore he’d never forgive himself if he did.

It was past midday. Bonnie stirred with a soft groan, stretching her arms above her head like a cat, her shirt pulling just a little tight across her chest.

—Mm… Lord, Silver Fox, I didn’t mean to sleep half the day away.

Hosea chuckled, though his throat was dry.

—Wasn’t half the day. Just a nap. Needed it, by the look of you.

She rolled onto her back, blinking up at the sky before turning her face toward him. That smile spread slow across her lips, the one that always hit him square in the chest. She pushed up on her elbows, braid sliding over her shoulder, and leaned close enough for him to smell the warmth of sleep on her skin. Then, quick as a dart, she pressed a kiss against his cheek.

—There —She said softly, eyes dancing— For takin’ such good care of me.

Hosea froze. He’d had these before. Bonnie’s way of showing gratitude: quick pecks, always brushed off as daughterly affection, as innocent as her hand on his arm when she laughed. He’d told himself they meant nothing more. But this one lingered. The corner of her mouth ghosted just near the edge of his own, close enough that he swore he felt the faintest warmth of her breath as she drew back. And the look in her eyes... it wasn’t a daughter’s gratitude. Not entirely. His heart thudded, and he cleared his throat, covering the moment by getting to his feet.

—Well, Clover, if you’re finished sleepin’, we best go scare up some dinner for later.

Bonnie grinned wider, hopping up with her usual quick grace.

—Professor’s lessons, part two? —Professor’s lessons, —He echoed, shaking his head, trying not to smile too much.

But as she slung her rifle over her shoulder and sauntered ahead toward the trees, Hosea pressed his hand to the spot on his cheek where her lips had been, and muttered under his breath:

—Damn fool old man.

The woods had gone quiet in that way Hosea loved: the hush before game revealed itself. Shafts of sunlight dappled through leaves, dust motes swirling as Bonnie crouched low beside him, rifle braced. Her braid slipped forward across her chest as she narrowed those sharp green eyes at the clearing ahead.

—Deer, —She whispered, voice husky, like the trees themselves carried her sound—. Two does. There.

Hosea followed her line of sight and nodded. She’d spotted them true. His chest swelled, pride cutting through the ache in his lungs.

—Good eye, Little Fox.

Her smile flickered quick before she focused again, bringing the rifle to her shoulder. She steadied it, finger poised on the trigger, but the angle was off, too high. Without thinking, Hosea slid in closer, his chest brushing her back as he wrapped his hand lightly over hers.

—Not like that, —He murmured, voice low against her ear—. Breathe with it. Let the sight drop with your breath, not your arm.

Bonnie went still beneath his touch, pulse quickening where his palm rested warm over her knuckles. She nodded faintly, then inhaled, exhaled, her body softening in time with his. The barrel steadied.

—There —He whispered. Now you’ve got it.

She squeezed the trigger. The crack echoed, the doe fell. The other bounded into the brush, but Bonnie was already lowering her rifle, eyes shining as she turned up at him with a grin.

—Did you see that? —She beamed, cheeks flushed— Dropped her clean!

Hosea should’ve been looking at the deer. Instead, he was staring at Bonnie: bright and alive, green eyes blazing with triumph, lips parted in exhilaration. She looked like freedom itself.

—Professor Matthews, —She teased, catching the look in his eyes— you make one hell of a teacher.

He cleared his throat, stepping back too fast, his hands falling away.

—All you needed was the right guidance.

But she saw it, she felt it. The way his chest had pressed hers, the warmth of his hand over hers. She licked her lips unconsciously, excitement still running hot in her blood, and Hosea swore his knees went weak.

—Let’s fetch her —He said quickly, moving ahead before he could think better of it.

Bonnie followed, still smiling, but softer now. They moved into the clearing, boots quiet on the damp earth. The doe lay in the grass, breath gone, body still warm. Bonnie knelt beside her, rifle tucked against her shoulder, eyes a little too bright for a kill she’d made clean. Hosea watched as she reached out, small hand stroking once along the deer’s flank before settling over her eyes.

—I’m sorry, girl —She murmured, almost too soft for him to hear—. But we gotta eat.

She slid her hand down, gently closing the doe’s eyes. Hosea stilled. Bonnie glanced up, caught his gaze, and flushed a little.

—Pa always made me do it. Said it was about respect. —Her voice dropped, almost shy— Don’t tell the others. They’d laugh.

Something in Hosea’s chest went tight, sharp. He crouched beside her, resting a steadying hand on her shoulder.

—They wouldn’t laugh, Clover. And if they did, they’re fools.

Her lips curved, soft and small.

—You don’t think it’s silly?

He shook his head.

—No, sweetheart. I think it shows you’ve got more heart than most people I ever knew. Don’t lose that.

Her throat bobbed, eyes shining in a way that had nothing to do with the deer. For a moment, she just looked at him, green on gold, like he was the only thing anchoring her there. And Hosea —Lord help him— wanted to kiss her right then, kiss her for being so good in a world that had tried so hard to ruin her. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Instead, he gave her shoulder a squeeze, then pulled back with a rough breath.

—Come on, Little Fox. Let’s get her dressed before the sun goes.

She smirked at that, the spell broken, though her cheeks stayed a little pink as she set to work. And Hosea, knife in hand, thought: God forgive me, but I’m already hers.

The doe was strung on a pole between them, its weight dragging at their shoulders, boots crunching through pine needles as they made their way back toward camp. The sun had swung high now, warm and golden, making the sweat bead at Hosea’s brow. Bonnie puffed out a breath, her cheeks flushed from the effort, though her grin hadn’t dimmed a bit.

—Lord, she’s heavier than she looked. You think Arthur would’ve carried her himself, showin’ off those pretty-boy arms?

Hosea snorted, shifting his grip on the pole.

—Arthur would’ve carried her, all right, but he’d have been complainin’ about it the whole damn way.

Bonnie laughed, bright and wild.

—True enough. Though he does like to play the strong, silent type—‘til you poke him just right.

Hosea smirked sidelong.

—And you do poke him just right, don’t you?

Her eyes sparkled, teeth flashing.

—Someone’s got to. Can’t let him brood himself into the grave.

They walked a few more steps in easy silence, the weight between them swaying. Then Bonnie, voice softer now:

—Arthur’s good. He’s been good to me. Taught me near everything about horses. Sometimes I think he don’t even realize how much.

Hosea’s chest tightened, just a little. He forced his tone light.

—Arthur’s always had more sense than he lets on. He likes you, Clover. You know that.

She tilted her head at him, curious.

—And Dutch?

That one made Hosea’s mouth twist.

—Dutch likes everybody… in his way. You? You’re special to him, sure. You light up something in that black heart of his. But Dutch loves what he sees in people. Arthur, now... Arthur just loves.

Bonnie was quiet for a while after that, chewing on his words. Then she grinned again, swinging her braid back over her shoulder.

—And what about you, Old Man? What do you see in me?

Hosea nearly stumbled. He huffed a laugh, buying himself a moment.

—I see trouble, Clover. Trouble with a sharp tongue and quicker eyes.

She beamed at that, pleased as could be, and let the silence fall again, though the air between them hummed hotter than the sun. The trail had narrowed, roots twisting across damp earth where last night’s rain had left the ground slick. Hosea kept steady footing, years of careful steps guiding him, but Bonnie, light on her feet though she was, hit the wrong patch.

—Woah! —Her boot slid, arms flailing, and down she went with a wet smack, straight into the mud— Dammit!

She sat up sputtering, hair falling loose from her braid, shirt and trousers smeared brown, the seat of her pants caked thick. Hosea barked a laugh before he could stop himself, leaning on the pole that held the deer.

—Well, well. Looks like the mighty huntress’s got herself tangled in her own forest.

Bonnie shot him a glare, though her lips twitched.

—Don’t you dare laugh, Old Fox. —Oh, too late for that, Clover. —He grinned, shaking his head, stepping over to offer her his hand—. C’mon, up you get.

She took it, her grip firm, but instead of pulling herself up clean, she yanked him hard enough that his boots slipped in the muck too. Hosea cursed under his breath as his knee sank into the mud beside her. Bonnie threw her head back and laughed, full-throated and wicked.

—Ha! That’ll teach you to laugh at me.

Hosea groaned, brushing at his knee with a rueful smile.

—Little fox with her tricks. You’re not supposed to hunt your teacher, young lady.

She leaned close, green eyes sparkling, lips still curved from her laughter.

—Maybe I like catchin’ you off guard, Professor.

The air stilled between them then, her breath close, her clothes mussed, freckles glowing against her flushed cheeks. Hosea swallowed hard, every nerve in him alight. He cleared his throat, tugging her the rest of the way upright, steadying her by the waist longer than he should’ve.

—We’ll find the stream up ahead. Wash this mess off.

Bonnie smirked, wiping a streak of mud across his sleeve on purpose. He chuckled, shaking his head, though his thumb lingered just a second more on her hip before he let go.

The river ran clear and cold, the kind of mountain stream that bit the skin but left it fresh. Bonnie crouched at the bank, wringing muddy water from her shirt, her braid falling forward as she scrubbed hard at the fabric. Her trousers floated in the current nearby, tethered to a rock.

—Lord above, —She muttered— never thought huntin’ deer would mean near drownin’ myself in laundry.”

From where he sat on a smooth boulder, Hosea chuckled low, cleaning mud from his boots with a stick.

—That’s what you get for wrestlin’ the ground. River don’t care for pride, Clover.

She wrung the shirt out again, water streaming down her arms, droplets catching on her freckled skin. Then she glanced back at him, lips quirking.

—Problem is… I can’t exactly go marchin’ back into camp like this.

Hosea’s gaze flicked over her: bare skin beneath the chemise clinging damp to her, outlines of her form showing clearer than he’d like to admit. He tore his eyes away, clearing his throat, and dug into his pack.

—Here —He tossed a bundle her way.

Bonnie caught it, brows arched. She unfolded a clean cotton shirt —Hosea’s, worn soft with age— and a pair of his spare trousers, cinch rope coiled atop.

—You thought of everything, didn’t you? —She teased, holding up the shirt, smiling wide. —Experience, lass —He said, keeping his tone dry though his pulse was hammering—. I’ve learned trouble follows me, so I plan ahead.

Bonnie grinned brighter, then ducked behind a cluster of rocks to change. Hosea turned his eyes firmly to the water, forcing himself to focus on the ripple of current, the chatter of birds overhead. But when she stepped back out, swimming in his clothes, he nearly lost his breath. The shirt hung loose, sleeves rolled high but still too long, collar open at her throat. The trousers were tied clumsily at the waist with rope, cuffs rolled up above her boots. And yet —somehow— she looked more herself than ever. Feminine without meaning to be, wild without trying. His scent clung to her now, his fabric brushing her skin. Bonnie tugged at the shirt, wrinkling her nose.

—Smells like you —She said, but her smile softened— Not a bad thing.

Hosea swallowed, biting back a reply that would’ve betrayed far too much.

—You’ll do fine till camp. Don’t go stretchin’ my shirt out.

She laughed, spinning once with her arms wide, the too-big fabric billowing around her.

—Old Fox, admit it, I look better in your clothes than you do.

He shook his head, chuckling, but inside? He thought she was damn right. By the time they made it back to their little clearing, the sun was sinking low, drenching the peaks in molten orange and laying long blue shadows across the grass. The firepit they’d left smoldering earlier still held a glow; Hosea knelt to stir it back to life while Bonnie dropped the bundles of venison nearby.

Her hair was half dry now, loose strands curling around her face, and she still wore his shirt and trousers. The fabric hung awkward and oversized, but against her figure it somehow looked deliberate, almost sinful. Every time she moved, the scent of his clothes wrapped around her, clinging to her skin. Bonnie stretched with a sigh, arms high, shirt riding up just enough to show a strip of her waist.

—That’s better, —She said, green eyes catching the firelight as she sank cross-legged onto the blanket—. Nothin’ like workin’ up an appetite.

Hosea chuckled low, settling beside her with a slow shake of his head.

—You’ve been eatin’ near all day, sweetheart. I’d think I starved you at camp. —You do —She smirked, licking her lips just to tease him—. Besides, food tastes better when you make it.

The words landed warm and heavy. He busied himself with carving strips of venison, but his eyes kept darting to her: bare toes curling into the blanket, damp braid brushing her collar, his shirt collar hanging open at her throat. She leaned back on her hands, watching the sun melt into the horizon.

—It’s pretty out here, Old Fox. Quiet. Almost feels like the world forgot us.

Hosea’s chest tightened at that, the longing in her tone.

—World could stand to forget us a while —He said, voice rough.

Her gaze slid to him, soft and shining in the dusk.

—Wouldn’t mind if it did. Long as I’ve got company like yours.

He swallowed hard, knife stalling against the meat.

—Say things like that, man might start thinkin’ you mean it.

Bonnie tilted her head, a mischievous curve at her lips.

—What if I do?

The fire cracked between them, bright and hot, as the sun slipped behind the ridge and left them alone with shadows and the scent of woodsmoke. Hosea stared into the flames a long moment, fighting the storm inside him. She’s too good for you, old man. Too good by half. And yet, when she shifted closer, the blanket dipping under her weight, he couldn’t move away.

The fire was steady now, flames licking bright as Hosea —barefoot— propped a skillet over the heat and laid strips of venison to sizzle. The smell rose thick and savory, fat spitting into the flames. Hosea focused on the work—steady hands, practiced rhythm—anything to keep his mind from wandering to the girl in his clothes. Bonnie, meanwhile, fetched the pail of clean water she’d hauled earlier and set it down by the blanket. Without a word, she tugged his boots gently toward her lap.

—What are you up to now, Clover? —Can’t have you sittin’ by the fire lookin’ like some raggedy old coot —She dipped a cloth into the cool water and wrung it out, leaning close to scrub the mud from the leather— Man like you oughta look sharp.

Hosea chuckled, though his throat was dry.

—Boots’ll only get dirty again tomorrow. —Then I’ll clean ’em again —She glanced up at him through her lashes, grin curling playful— That bother you, Professor?

The word professor hit him low in the gut again, but he forced a smile, shaking his head.

—Bother me? No, sweetheart. Just not used to bein’ fussed over.

She hummed at that, bent over his boots with her braid slipping forward, damp strands brushing her cheek. Careful, deliberate strokes worked the mud away until the leather shone again. Hosea’s hands stilled on the skillet handle, watching her with a heaviness in his chest. Domestic. That’s what it felt like. Too much like a wife tending her husband while supper cooked. A picture he’d locked away years ago, now painted fresh before his eyes. Bonnie glanced up again, catching the look he didn’t mean to show. Her smile softened, less playful now, more tender. She wrung the cloth again, voice quiet.

—You spoil me, I’ll spoil you right back.

The fire popped, filling the silence. Hosea cleared his throat, turning back to the venison with shaking restraint.

The dinner was quiet, but not because of awkwardness, quite the opposite in fact. The fire burned low, a steady glow painting the clearing in amber. Crickets droned, an owl called somewhere high in the trees, and the stream nearby whispered over stone. His boots were propped by the fire to dry, her trousers and shirt strung on a low branch where the last heat of the flames might chase away the damp. Hosea leaned back on one elbow, pipe between his lips, smoke curling up in lazy ribbons. His silver hair caught the light, his eyes half-shadowed. Across the fire, Bonnie sat cross-legged, chin in her hand, green eyes fixed on him with a weight that made his chest tight. She didn’t look away when he caught her staring.

—What is it, Clover? —He asked, soft, steady.

For a long moment, she just breathed, firelight flickering across her freckles. Then her voice came, quiet but certain.

—Bessie was a lucky woman.

The words landed heavy. Hosea’s pipe stilled in his hand. He glanced at her sharply, but she held his gaze. Bonnie swallowed, voice trembling just enough to betray her.

—I just… I think about it sometimes. The way you speak of her. The way you still carry her. That’s love. Real love. Not the kind that hurts. Not lies, or fists, or some bastard runnin’ off with another woman. Just… true love —Her throat worked. She looked down at her hands, fingers worrying the edge of the blanket— I wish... Lord, Hosea... I wish my husband had loved me half as true as you loved her.

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the fire’s hiss and pop. Hosea’s heart twisted, sharp and cruel. He felt every wrinkle in his skin, every hollow breath in his lungs. She deserved a man her age, strong and whole, not some broken old fox who’d already lived his story. And yet, he wanted to reach across the flames, take her hand, tell her she was wrong. Tell her she was loved, right here, right now. But he only drew a slow breath, setting the pipe aside, and patted her blanket, placed next to his, for her to come closer. Bonnie hesitated for a moment, but finally gave in and sat down next to him by the fire.

—She was the best part of me, —He said quietly—. Better than I deserved. And truth is, darlin’… most men don’t know how to love like that. They ain’t patient enough. Ain’t humble enough.

Bonnie’s eyes flicked up, wet at the corners, shining green in the firelight.

—But you are.

Hosea’s jaw clenched, his chest aching with the force of it. He wanted to tell her the truth, that she was his Bessie all over again, the second chance he’d never dreamed of. That she’d already slipped her claws into the part of him he thought was long dead. But he bit it back, because she deserved more than his confession under the trees. Instead, he leaned forward, voice low, steady, almost breaking.

—You’re stronger than you think, Little Fox. Stronger than me. Stronger than any man who ever hurt you —His hand hovered near hers, close enough to feel the warmth— Don’t you ever doubt your worth.

Bonnie smiled through her tears, shaky but soft, and before she could stop herself, she leaned across the space between them and kissed his cheek. Not playful this time. Not teasing. A kiss that lingered, lips pressed long enough that his heart nearly gave out. When she pulled back, whispering, “Goodnight, Old Fox,” Hosea didn’t trust himself to answer.

Shadows stretched long and thin, wrapping the clearing in stillness. Bonnie lay on her blanket, close enough that her shoulder almost brushed his, her face turned toward the fire. Her braid spilled across the wool, her green eyes catching the glow like gemstones. For a long while, neither spoke. The forest whispered around them, the night alive with quiet sound. Hosea’s chest rose and fell slow, steady—at least on the outside. Inside, his heart was a hammer. And then her voice came, small but steady, breaking the silence.

—I know you look at me like I’m her.

Hosea froze. His lungs felt too small for the breath he dragged in. Bonnie’s gaze stayed fixed on the fire, not on him. Her voice trembled just enough to cut him deeper.

—That hurts, Hosea. Because I’m not her. I can’t be. I’m Bonnie. Just… just a girl who lost everythin’, and somehow still has a little space in her small heart to fall in love again.

The words landed like a bullet straight to his chest. He turned his head slowly, staring at her profile in the firelight: the freckles across her cheek, the soft set of her mouth, the glimmer of unshed tears in her lashes.

—Bonnie… —His voice was rough, ragged. He didn’t even know what he meant to say.

She finally turned, meeting his gaze. Her eyes shone fierce and wet, her lips trembling but brave.

—Don’t love me ‘cause I remind you of her. Love me ‘cause I’m me. Or don’t at all.

The silence that followed was unbearable, heavy with fire and night and truth. Hosea felt the weight of it pressing into every bone, every wrinkle, every crack in his weary body.

She sees me. She sees all of me. And still, she stays.

He wanted to gather her into his arms, press his mouth to hers, swear he’d never let the world break her again. But he was terrified, terrified she’d see the truth, terrified she wouldn’t. So instead, his hand reached, slow and trembling, until his fingers brushed hers where they lay between their blankets. Just a touch, no more.

—I see you, Little Fox —He whispered, voice breaking— Not her. You. Always you.

Her breath caught, sharp and soft, and her fingers curled tight around his, clinging like a lifeline. The fire cracked low, painting her eyes molten green and gold. Her fingers were curled around his, tight, desperate, like she could anchor him to her with that single touch.

—I see you —She whispered again, steadier this time— And I want you.

Hosea’s breath shuddered. He shook his head faintly, pain and love carved deep across his face.

—Bonnie, you don’t know what you’re sayin’. I’m...

But she cut him off before the old doubts could spill. She turned, lifted her chin, and pressed her lips to his. It wasn’t a hungry kiss, not yet. It was sure, deliberate, and so gentle it undid him completely. Her mouth was soft, warm, trembling a little, but fearless. She lingered there, pouring all the truth of her heart into that touch. When she pulled back, she stayed close, breath mingling with his, her voice barely more than a whisper.

—You’re not too old. You’re not too broken. You’re my Fox… and I love you.

Hosea’s eyes burned hot, his chest near breaking. For a moment he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t believe. Then, Hosea’s hand tightened at her cheek, pulling her back in with a groan he couldn’t cage. The kiss deepened, slow and desperate, the kind that stole the air right out of his lungs. She pressed closer, fingers sliding into his hair, tugging like she wanted him all to herself, and he let her, let himself drown in her.

—Bonnie… —He gasped against her mouth, half-plea, half-prayer— You don’t... —I do —She cut him off, breathless, fierce, green eyes blazing in the firelight— I want you. My Fox.

That undid him. Years of restraint, guilt, grief, they all burned away under her touch. He kissed her hard this time, hungry, hands framing her face, sliding down to her shoulders, her back, her waist. Every inch of her set his blood alight. She climbed onto his blanket, knees pressing to either side of his hips, her braid falling forward to brush his cheek. She kissed him with laughter tangled in her breath, little kittenish sounds spilling between them, as if joy itself had set her aflame. Hosea’s chest heaved, his hands trembling as they slid beneath the edge of his own shirt draped over her, palms meeting the soft, warm skin of her back.

—Sweetheart, —He groaned, breaking the kiss just long enough to press his forehead to hers— You’ve no idea what you’re doin’ to me. —Yes I do —She whispered, lips brushing his— I’ve known for months.

And she kissed him again, surer this time, her tongue brushing his, her body pressing to him with all the love and hunger she’d been hiding. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her cheeks flushed, her braid falling loose as she straddled him in the firelight. She was smiling, laughing breathlessly, kittenish and wild, but when his hands began to tug at the hem of his shirt draped over her, that playfulness faltered into something softer: uncertainty flickering in her eyes. Hosea noticed it instantly. His hands slowed, gentled, trembling as he brushed her cheek.

—Sweetheart, —He whispered, voice hoarse— we can stop. Just say the word.

But Bonnie shook her head, green eyes wide and fierce.

—No… no, Fox. I want this. I want you.

His chest tightened, a sharp ache of love and disbelief. He nodded, lips brushing her temple.

—Then let me see you.

Carefully, reverently, he unbuttoned his shirt and opened it as if it were a book in which he would die to get lost, baring her to the glow of the fire. She shifted nervously under his gaze, arms twitching as if she might cross them over her chest, but she didn’t. She let him look. And oh, he looked. Her breasts weren’t the full curves of saloon girls, no, but to Hosea, they were perfect, soft and high, tipped with rose. His breath caught, his chest burning with awe and hunger both. His gaze trailed lower, and there—two small moles just above her navel, like some secret constellation painted just for him. His heart stuttered.

—My God... —He murmured, reaching with a trembling hand to trace along her waist— Bonnie… you’re beautiful.

She blushed, biting her lip.

—I’m not, not like the other women... —Don’t you dare —His voice cracked, rough and fierce. His hand came up to cup one breast, thumb brushing across its peak with aching care—. Don’t you ever compare yourself to them. You’re… you’re perfect, Clover. Every inch of you. You’ll break me, girl.

Her breath hitched, eyes shining, and she leaned down to kiss him again, soft at first, then deeper, emboldened by the way his hands trembled as they mapped her skin. Bonnie’s breath caught when Hosea’s mouth left hers, trailing hot kisses down her throat, across the delicate line of her collarbone. His hands, steady now despite their tremor, framed her ribs as if she were carved from glass. Then he lowered his head. His lips closed over one soft breast, tongue circling slow, reverent, until her back arched and a startled little moan slipped from her mouth. He groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating against her skin as he suckled gently, savoring her like a man starved.

—Hosea… —She gasped, fingers diving into his hair, tugging— Oh God…

He switched to the other breast, kissing it first, dragging his teeth lightly across her peak before soothing it with his tongue. Her hips rolled helplessly against him, and he hissed through his teeth at the hard throb in his trousers. She could feel it, pressed hot against her thigh, undeniable proof of what she did to him.

—Listen to me, —He rasped, lifting his head just enough to meet her dazed green eyes. His thumb stroked across her damp nipple, still teasing, still worshipping— You’re perfect. Do you feel what you do to me, Bonnie? Do you feel how hard I am for you?

Her blush deepened, but her lips curled into that sly, kittenish smile.

—Mmhm… I feel it —She rocked her hips deliberately, grinding against him, and he groaned raggedly, burying his face back against her chest like a man undone. —Christ almighty… —He muttered, kissing, licking, worshipping every inch of her breasts as if he could drink her down— You’ll kill me, Clover. Sweet, wicked girl…

And Bonnie laughed then, a soft, breathless laugh between her moans, her fingers tugging his hair tighter. The sound made his cock jerk, made him harder still.

—Stand up for me, sweetheart —Hosea murmured, his voice low, steady, though his chest hammered like a young man’s.

Bonnie’s hands trembled as she pushed to her feet, the fire painting her skin gold, shadows flickering up her body. Hosea rose to his knees before her, fingers He working on his shirt off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, then hooking at the waistband of the trousers she wore —his trousers— loose around her hips but clinging enough to show the shape of her. He looked up at her, waiting, giving her that last chance to stop him. She nodded, biting her lip, braid slipping forward over one shoulder.

—Go on, Old Fox… take ‘em off.

Christ. He swallowed hard; his hands steady but his heart breaking into a gallop as he eased the fabric down her thighs. Inch by inch, the woman he’d been starving for was revealed to him, and when the trousers fell into the dirt, pooling at her ankles, Hosea forgot how to breathe. Bonnie stood before him utterly bare, every curve and line and scar bared to the firelight. Small breasts he’d already worshipped, a slim waist, hips that flared soft into strong thighs. The small dark triangle of dark hair at her sex drew his gaze low for only a moment before his eyes lifted again, because the sight of her scars caught him harder than anything. A pale line along her ribs. Faint marks on her forearms. Healed, but still there. Reminders of pain, of cruelty, of nights she’d been broken instead of cherished.

—Oh, darlin’… —His voice cracked, raw and reverent, hands trembling as they reached to trace the healed marks gently, like they were holy—. You’re… you’re so goddamn beautiful.

Bonnie shifted, self-conscious, trying to look away.

—They’re ugly. He… he made me ugly... —No —Hosea’s voice sharpened, fierce. He caught her chin in his hand, made her look at him. His eyes burned, silver and fire all at once— He tried. But he failed. You hear me? These don’t make you ugly. They make you yours. They make you strong. And Christ help me, Bonnie, they make you the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Her lip trembled, green eyes wet, and then she smiled —a small, breaking thing— and whispered.

—Like Bessie?

The name cut through him, but he didn’t flinch. His thumb brushed her jaw, his other hand sliding down her side, feeling every curve like he was mapping her into memory.

—I loved Bessie with all I had, —He said softly, honestly—. But you, Little Fox… you’re fire and storm and grace all at once. You’re mine now. If you’ll have me.

Her answer was to step closer, pressing his hand flat against her belly, against those two little moles near her navel.

—Always —She whispered, and the heat in her voice nearly undid him.

Hosea bent forward then, pressing his lips reverently to those two tiny marks, kissing her belly like he was worshipping at an altar. His breath shuddered, tasting salt and heat and her.

—Sweet girl… —He murmured, kissing lower still, each inch pulling another groan from his chest—. I don’t deserve you.

She was still trembling under his mouth when she pushed gently at his shoulders, urging him back onto the blanket. Hosea looked up at her, hair mussed from her fingers, lips wet from her skin, chest heaving. She was flushed, naked in the firelight, green eyes shy but burning.

—Hosea? —She whispered, biting her lip, fingers tracing down his shirtfront— Can I… can I ride you?

The words nearly undid him. A groan tore from his throat, low and guttural, his hand clenching in the blanket.

—Sweetheart… —His voice was hoarse, broken— You don’t know what you’re askin’. —Yes I do—She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear, her breath hot— I want to feel you. All of you. I want to see your face when I take you inside me. —God almighty, —He cursed, his control snapping like dry twigs. She smiled, soft but wicked, and tugged at his belt, her fingers clumsy but determined. He caught her hands, kissed her knuckles, groaned into her skin— You’ll ruin me, Little Fox. —Then let me.

His head fell back, a laugh broken with desire spilling from his chest.

—Christ help me… yes. Yes, darlin’. You can ride me.

With trembling hands, she worked his trousers open, freeing him, and her eyes widened at the sight. He was thick, heavy, flushed dark, the tip glistening. She swallowed hard, cheeks burning, lips parting.

—Oh… —She whispered, cheeks flushing crimson. —Sweetheart? —Hosea rasped, already undone just by her staring.

Her fingers curled around him again, tentative at first, then with more certainty as she stroked the length. He shuddered, his head tipping back, a groan tearing from his throat.

—Goddamn, Bonnie…

She chewed her lip, green eyes darting up to his.

—I’ve thought about this, you know —She whispered— So many times. What you’d feel like. What you’d taste like...

His eyes darkened, silver gone molten.

—Don’t... don’t tease me, Little Fox. —I’m not teasing —She murmured, sliding off his lap and onto her knees before he could stop her. Her braid slipped over one shoulder as she settled between his thighs, still stroking him, watching his face as if she wanted to memorize every twitch, every breath. —Bonnie… —His voice broke on her name, one hand lifting helplessly, then tangling in her hair when her lips brushed his tip— That’s it, sweetheart. Touch me… good girl.

She kissed him softly, reverently, like she’d kissed his scars before. Then her tongue flicked out, a kittenish lap that made his hips jerk. She laughed breathlessly against him, then parted her lips and took him into her mouth.

—Oh, fuck, Christ almighty... —Hosea swore, his head falling back, his grip in her hair tightening— Sweetheart… oh, God.

She hummed around him, the vibration making his cock throb against her tongue. Slowly, she worked more of him into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing, her eyes fixed on his face. His jaw was clenched, chest heaving, every vein in his neck standing out as he fought for control.

—Little Fox… —He groaned, his hips betraying him with a shallow thrust— I can’t... God help me, you’ll make me lose it...

She pulled back just enough to smile up at him, lips wet, green eyes mischievous.

—That’s the point, Old Fox.

And before he could reply, she slid down again, deeper, taking him until his control shattered and his groans filled the quiet woods. Her mouth was heaven. No, hell, because it was undoing him, stripping him of decades of composure in minutes. Bonnie’s braid brushed his thigh as she worked him deeper, lips stretched, green eyes locked on his face like she was proud of the way he groaned.

—Sweetheart… stop —His voice cracked, desperate.

But she only hummed around him, the vibration shooting straight through him. His hips bucked, a rare loss of control, and he cursed, low and ragged.

—Christ, Little Fox… if you keep...

Her tongue swirled, her cheeks hollowed, and his control snapped. With a guttural groan he yanked gently at her braid, pulling her off him with a wet pop.

—Enough—He rasped, his chest heaving, cock glistening with her spit. His hand trembled as he cupped her flushed face— Not like this. Not the first time.

Bonnie licked her swollen lips, still holding him in her hand, her smile wicked and sweet all at once.

—But you taste so good —She whispered, kitten-soft— I think I’m already addicted.

His groan turned into a broken laugh, his forehead pressing to hers.

—You’ll kill me, lass. —Maybe —She teased, brushing her thumb over his slick tip just to watch him shudder— But you’d die happy, wouldn’t you, Old Fox?

He growled then, kissing her hard, silencing the words with the taste of his own salt still on her tongue. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her up, pulling her close, as if by sheer will he could erase the hunger in her smirk.

—No more games —He murmured against her mouth, voice hoarse— I need all of you, Bonnie. Every damn inch.

Bonnie straddled him again, her thighs braced on either side of his hips, the firelight spilling gold across her bare skin. Her hands slid over his chest, down to his stomach, pausing nervously as she lifted herself, guiding him to her entrance.

—Wait! —She whispered, biting her lip— What if I’m too heavy for you? I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you.

Her voice was soft, almost guilty, as though she feared she might break him. Hosea’s laugh was low, rough, broken by desire. He reached up, brushing his thumb along her jaw, shaking his head in disbelief.

—Too heavy? —His grin tilted sharp and fond all at once— Darlin’, the only thing heavy about this is the ache I’ve got for you. You’re light as a feather compared to the kind of trouble I’ve carried in my years.

Bonnie blushed but still bit her lip.

—I just… I don’t want to hurt you.

That earned her a raised brow and a sly grin. Hosea slid one hand up her side, brushing his thumb beneath her breast, steady and affectionate.

—Bonnie Ray Fischer, if you think for one second you could hurt me like this, you don’t know me half as well as I thought. Now quit worryin’, and show an old fox what kind of ride he’s got left in him.

That undid her. She lowered herself slowly, the tip pressing against her, then parting her, slick and tight. Inch by inch she sank down, her nails digging into his chest, her breath catching in her throat. He leaned up, surprising her with a heated kiss that left no room for doubt. His grip on her hips was firm, guiding her, and she realized then, he wasn’t fragile at all. He was hungry, determined, and very much alive under her. Her laugh came out nervous, breathless, but as she lowered herself onto him, the last of her doubts melted away under the way he looked at her, not as if she were too much, but as if she were everything. Bonnie lowered herself onto him slowly, still nervous, still testing. Hosea hissed sharply through his teeth, his grip on her hips tightening.

—Ohh… —She moaned, shuddering as she took him fully inside her.

Hosea’s jaw clenched, his head tipping back as a guttural sound tore out of him. His grip on her hips tightened, almost bruising.

—Sweet Lord… Bonnie…

She rocked experimentally, the stretch almost too much, but the sight of him beneath her —the way his silver hair caught the firelight, the raw hunger in his eyes— spurred her on. She rolled her hips again, slower this time, and he groaned, his whole body trembling.

—God almighty… —He groaned, head falling back against the pillow for a moment— And you’re worried about hurtin’ me? Darlin’, you’re killin’ me in the best damn way.

Her laugh was breathless, cheeks pink, and she gave the smallest roll of her hips, uncertain but curious. Hosea’s answering growl, low and rough, made her shiver.

—There you go… —His voice was a rasp, guiding, coaxing. His hands squeezed her hips, encouraging her to move again—. That’s it. Ride me, Bonnie. Don’t you dare hold back ‘cause of my age. You think I’m too old to take it? Prove me wrong.

She whimpered, leaning forward, and started a rhythm, timid at first, then stronger as she felt the way his body responded. Hosea’s eyes locked on her breasts as they bounced with her movements, and he reached up to cup one, thumb circling her nipple.

—You’re not too heavy, darlin’, —He panted, pulling her down for a kiss— You’re perfect... fuck... you feel perfect. Old man like me doesn’t deserve this, but I’ll take every second of it.

Bonnie moaned into his mouth, her insecurities drowned beneath the way he praised her, beneath the urgency of his hands gripping her, guiding her, needing her. And when she finally began to ride him with confidence, the bed creaking beneath them, Hosea’s laugh turned into a deep, broken groan.

—That’s it, my Little Fox… show me how wild you can be…

Bonnie hovered over him, her thighs trembling with both nerves and arousal as she finally sank down onto him. Her breath hitched halfway, her lips parting in surprise.

—Oh... Hosea… —She gasped, nails digging lightly into his chest as she froze for a moment. Her green eyes went wide, stunned, cheeks flushed crimson— It’s… it’s big…

Hosea’s head fell back with a guttural groan, his fingers biting into her hips at her words. A rough laugh slipped past his lips, somewhere between pride and disbelief.

—Big, hm? —His voice was hoarse, smug but affectionate— Darlin’, you’re gonna make an old man’s ego swell worse than his cock…

Bonnie whimpered, shifting carefully to take more of him, her body adjusting to the stretch. Her hand slid up his thin chest, clutching at him for balance.

—I-I didn’t expect… —She whispered, flustered, biting her lip as she tried again to ease herself down— God, Hosea... it feels so full…

His eyes darkened at the sound of her voice, at the way she trembled above him. He cupped her cheek, thumb stroking gently even as his other hand clamped hard on her hip to steady her.

—You’re takin’ me so damn well, honey —He rasped, breath hot against her lips— Don’t you worry about my age, don’t you worry about your weight. You just focus on feelin’ every inch of me inside you.

Her moan at that nearly undid him. She sank down fully, shuddering, her body clenching around him as she gasped again, overwhelmed.

—So full, —She repeated in a broken whisper, like it was the only word she could manage.

Hosea’s laugh was shaky, guttural, his teeth sinking into the curve of her shoulder.

—Ride it, Bonnie… let me feel you lose yourself on me. Show me you’re not afraid of how much I fill you.

Bonnie trembled as she finally sank all the way down, Hosea buried deep inside her. The world seemed to vanish: the cicadas, the horses tied nearby, the quiet hum of camp somewhere in the distance... none of it mattered. Only him. Only this. She’d imagined it countless nights since meeting him, curled in her bedroll with shameful hands, wondering what it would feel like to give herself to him. But this… this was nothing like her lonely dreams. This was fire, heat, love. Her breath hitched, green eyes fluttering shut as she whispered, half in awe, half in disbelief.

—Oh, Hosea… it’s so much better than I ever dreamed.

His heart lurched at that, his chest tightening beneath her palms. She didn’t even realize what she’d admitted, but he did. All those nights she’d wanted him, all that longing she’d buried... it showed in her trembling voice. He stroked her hip with a trembling hand, his other palm cupping the back of her neck to keep her close.

—Darlin’… you’ve thought about this? —He rasped, his voice breaking into a groan as she shifted and clenched around him—. All those nights… and you were dreamin’ of me?

Bonnie nodded, biting her lip hard, ashamed but too desperate to lie. Her voice was ragged, confessional.

—Since the first time I saw you smile at me. I… I couldn’t help it. I wanted you. Needed you. And now… now I’ve got you inside me, and it’s… it’s so much more, Hosea. So much more than I ever knew it could be.

The words struck him deeper than any bullet ever could. His hands gripped her tighter, thin but strong, pulling her down harder onto his cock until she whimpered. His voice came rough, dark, overcome.

—God, Bonnie… my Little Fox. You don’t know what you’re doin’ to me.

She gasped, nails dragging across his chest, then steadied herself against him and began to move, slow at first, experimental, letting her body adjust. Her ex-husband had never touched her like this, never made her feel full, worshiped, desired. This was not duty. This was hers. Her eyes flew open, green fire locking on his storm-grey gaze.

—It feels… it feels like love —She breathed, voice shaking as her thighs burned and she sank down on him again— I’ve never felt that before, Hosea.

That undid him. His hand shot to the back of her head, pulling her down into a searing kiss, desperate and consuming. Between their mouths, their gasps, their muffled cries, he groaned against her lips.

—Then let me show you, darlin’… let me show you how a man loves a woman. Ride me, Bonnie. Ride your Silver Fox like you’ve been dreamin’ of.

And she did. She moved against him with growing confidence, each drop of her hips pulling a guttural moan from his chest. Her breasts bounced with every rise and fall, her hair falling into her face, sweat beading along her collarbone as she lost herself in the rhythm. Hosea was undone beneath her, every ounce of his control shattered as he gripped her hips and guided her faster, harder, with a strength that belied his years. His voice was hoarse, broken with praise and disbelief.

—Beautiful girl… my good girl… takin’ me so perfect… God above, you feel like you were made for me.

Bonnie cried out at his words, at the heat of him, at the raw passion in his eyes. She rode him like she’d dreamed for so long, but this... this was real. Every thrust, every kiss, every whispered praise from her silver fox proved it.

—Bonnie… —He rasped, and his voice cracked. His hands, already trembling, slid from her hips to her waist, then up her spine, pulling her against him.

He couldn’t let her ride him anymore. Not like this. Not when the truth was spilling out of both of them. He needed her closer, needed her all. With a sudden, desperate strength, he rolled them, laying her back on the blankets, the firelight painting her skin in gold and shadow. She gasped, legs falling open for him without hesitation, green eyes wide with surprise and raw desire. His weight pressed her into the earth, not crushing, but claiming. He kissed down her throat, over her breasts again, licking and sucking until she whimpered, then lower, kissing those two little moles by her navel as if they were holy.

—I can’t... —His voice broke, low and rough, as if he was confessing a sin— I can’t just lie back and let you do all the work, darlin’. Not when I’ve wanted this as much as you. I’ve dreamed about you, Bonnie… more nights than I can count. And now you’re here, beneath me, and it feels too damned real.

Bonnie trembled under him, her hands in his hair, her thighs spreading wider.

—Hosea… —She whispered, half a plea, half worship of her own.

He positioned himself, tip sliding against her wetness, and for a moment he paused, looking down at her, green eyes blazing, her lips parted, chest heaving. His Bonnie. His Clover.

—Sweetheart, —He murmured, voice shaking— You sure?

She lifted her chin, cupped his face with her hand.

—I’ve never been more sure of anything.

That undid him. He lowered himself, pressing his forehead to hers, then kissed her slow, deep, hungry, pouring years of longing into the lock of their mouths. His hips shifted and he slid into her again, this time facing her, holding her, every inch of him trembling as her body welcomed him back in. Bonnie gasped into his kiss, arms winding tight around his shoulders. She could feel every ragged breath, every shudder, every bit of restraint he was trying to hold onto. His voice was hoarse, whispering against her lips as he began to move.

—God above, you’re perfect. My Little Fox… you feel like heaven.

Every thrust was slow but deep, measured, worshipful, his gaze never leaving hers. Hosea couldn’t look away. He needed to see the way her lips parted, the way her eyes fluttered, the way her body arched for him. He wanted to burn the sight into memory, into bone. Bonnie moaned beneath him, her nails dragging along his back, her thighs clenching around his waist.

—Hosea… oh, it’s so much better... so much better than my dreams —She cried, her voice raw.

His control shattered. His rhythm grew desperate, hips rocking harder, deeper, though still tender, still loving. His lips brushed her temple, her cheek, her mouth between ragged breaths.

—Mine, Bonnie… mine. You’ve been in my head for too long, darlin’. Now I’ve got you, I’m not lettin’ go.

Bonnie’s head tipped back, her braid coming undone against the blankets, her mouth falling open on a cry as he sank deeper into her. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders at first, clutching, but then slid down to his hands, fumbling until she caught them.

—Hosea —She gasped, eyes bright with more than firelight—. Oh God, I… It’s the first time…first time I’ve ever felt this loved… —Her voice broke, tears glimmering on her lashes.

Her confession tore through him like a bullet and healed him all the same. He lifted his head, eyes glassy, chest heaving. For a heartbeat his thrusts faltered—not from lack of strength, but from the sheer force of emotion crashing over him.

—Sweet girl —He rasped, voice breaking as he cupped her face in his hand, brushing her tears away with his thumb even as his hips drove into her again—. Don’t cry, darlin’… unless it’s for me. Unless it’s ‘cause I’m makin’ you feel good.

Her tears glistened in the moonlight as she smiled through them, pulling him back down to kiss her fiercely.

—It is. It’s all for you, old man. My Silver Fox.

A groan tore out of him, half agony, half devotion. He slid his fingers between hers, lacing them tight, pressing her hands into the blankets above her head as he leaned down to kiss her.

—You’ll undo me, Little Fox —He whispered against her lips, voice raw, shaking— God help me, you’ll undo me.

His hips rocked deeper, slower, savoring her shudder, her gasp, the way her legs clung around him.

She wants me, he thought wildly, disbelieving, reverent. Me. A sick old bastard, and she’s crying with joy to have me inside her. He pressed his forehead to hers, thrusting steady, measured, as if carving this truth into his bones.

—Take me, Old Fox —She breathed, eyes blazing through her tears— Make me yours.

And with their fingers bound tight, his heart hammering against hers, Hosea moved with her, every stroke both prayer and sin, desperate to prove that she was his and he was hers. His thrusts grew deeper, slow at first, then angled until he found that spot inside her that made her back arch and her nails clutch at the blankets. She gasped, crying out his name, and he nearly lost his mind at the sound.

—There, —He breathed, adjusting his hips, watching her face transform into pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain— There, sweetheart… you feel that?

Her eyes fluttered, mouth trembling open after her orgasm.

—Y-yes... My Old Fox. My man...

The words gutted him. He thrust deep once more, shuddering, but at the very last second he tore himself out with a growl of frustration, spilling hot across her belly, streaking her soft skin and the faint moles by her navel.

—Bonnie... —His voice was wrecked, hoarse, almost pleading as thick ropes of seed covered her stomach, dripping down her side. He stroked himself through the last spurts, gasping her name like a prayer— God… my girl… my Little Fox… Never seen a thing more beautiful in all my years.

She arched under him, moaning as if even being marked by him this way was bliss enough. Her hand drifted down, smearing some of him across her skin as if to keep him there, to make it part of her. And then, as the fire crackled and their breaths slowed, tears welled up in her bright green eyes. Not sad, no, overwhelming. They spilled down her temples into her hair as she laughed through a sob, covering her mouth with one trembling hand. Hosea’s heart lurched.

—Sweetheart? Did I hurt you?

She shook her head hard, messy braid falling loose around her face.

—No… no. I just... —Her voice broke— Nobody’s ever… made love to me like that.

He cupped her face instantly, thumbs brushing her wet cheeks, his own chest aching with the sight.

—Oh, Bonnie… —His lips pressed to her forehead, soft and reverent— That’s because no one ever loved you like I do.

Her sob turned into a chuckle, shaky and sweet, as she leaned up to kiss him.

—I believe you —She whispered against his lips— You’re my man.

Hosea closed his eyes, pressing their foreheads together, feeling the weight of her words brand themselves into him deeper than any scar. He didn’t deserve it, not her, not this, but God help him, he wasn’t letting go.

—Good girl… my Little Fox… my darlin’… —His words wrapped around her as surely as his arms did, turning every filthy thrust into something sacred.

His seed still glistened across her stomach, the firelight making her look like some wild goddess, messy and radiant, tears still wet on her cheeks. He kissed her again, softer this time, promising himself he’d never let her feel unloved again.

Bonnie lay trembling beneath him, her cheeks damp with tears and flushed with heat. Her body was alive—every nerve singing, every inch of her skin so sensitive it felt like even the air could undo her. Her chest rose and fell in shaky gasps, little whimpers escaping her lips as if her body didn’t know how to calm down. Hosea noticed it instantly. The ragged edge of his breathing softened, and his movements stilled. His hand, big and calloused, slid gently from her cheek down to her throat, not to grip, but to cradle, thumb caressing her racing pulse.

—Easy now, Little Fox —He murmured, his voice low and soothing, though he was still shaking himself— You’re safe. You’re with me. That’s all that matters.

Her lips quivered into a fragile smile.

—I… I can’t stop crying —She whispered, almost embarrassed, brushing at her wet cheeks.

Hosea kissed the tears instead, slow and reverent.

—Then cry. Let me have your tears. Every one of ‘em means I did somethin’ right —He shifted, careful not to pull out yet, wanting to keep her grounded in the closeness, in the warmth of him. His silver hair brushed against her temple as he whispered— You’re so sensitive, darlin’. That’s my fault. I pushed you too far.

She shook her head, clutching at his shoulders.

—No. Please don’t stop saying those things. Don’t stop looking at me like that. I’ve never… —Her voice broke again, overwhelmed— …never felt this way before.

His heart ached, full to bursting. He kissed her lips, then her jaw, then trailed down her neck, his touch feather-light now, no roughness left in him.

—You hear me, Bonnie? —He whispered against her skin— You are loved. You are wanted. By me. Always.

Her tears came harder at that, but softer too, no longer sharp sobs, but trembling release. She nodded, burying her face against his neck, clinging to him as if letting go would break her. Hosea rocked her gently, staying deep inside, holding her like something precious. His hands stroked her back, her hair, his voice a steady hum in her ear.

—Shh… that’s my good girl. Just breathe. Just let me hold you. I’ve got you. Always will.

And when she finally calmed, when her tears ebbed into soft hiccups, Hosea pulled back Hosea and reached for the cloth and the small basin of water they’d brought, wrung it out, and returned to her side.

—Look at you —He murmured softly smiling at her tender and proudat the same time— Strongest little fox I’ve ever known. And still the sweetest thing I’ve ever had in my arms.

Bonnie blinked at him through tear-heavy lashes as he carefully cleaned her belly, wiping away every trace of himself, though a wicked little part of him wanted to leave it there forever, to see her glisten with his seed. He caught himself lingering over those moles near her navel, brushing them with the edge of the cloth, then his fingers, as though memorizing them. When he was done, he pressed a kiss to her stomach, reverent, as though he’d just touched something holy. Then he set the cloth aside, slipped under the blanket with her, and pulled her against his chest. Her cheek pressed right over his heart, still hammering far too fast for a man his age. He stroked her hair back, braid messy and half-unraveled now, and let his hand rest on her shoulder, keeping her close.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. The fire cracked. The forest hummed. His lungs pulled in shaky breaths he hoped she couldn’t hear. Finally, Hosea whispered into her hair, so soft it was almost a prayer.

—I can’t believe you’re here. With me. That you’d… choose me.

Her hand slid up to his chest, pressing gently over his heart.

—I didn’t choose you tonight —She said with a sleepy little smile— I chose you months ago. Maybe the day you found me.

He shut his eyes tight, his throat burning. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying outright. Instead, he kissed her crown, whispering.

—My Clover. My miracle.

Bonnie burrowed closer, her lips brushing his neck.

—My man, —She said again, quietly but firmly, as though sealing it.

Hosea exhaled shakily, his arms tightening around her. He knew he was on borrowed time, hell, he could feel it in every ragged cough, every ache in his chest, but tonight, with her small body curled against him, he could almost believe he’d been given a second life. And he swore to God, with every bit of outlaw blood in his veins, that he would spend what little time he had left loving her so fully she’d never doubt a single word he said. Bonnie’s voice was soft, husky with sleep, her lashes fluttering heavy over her green eyes.

—You know… my husband never held me like this.

Hosea froze, the words cutting through him sharper than any knife. He tilted his head down toward her, but she kept her gaze lowered, fingers absentmindedly clutching at his shirt.

—He hardly ever slept at home —She continued, her voice breaking just slightly— And when he did, he never… cuddled. Not once. I always wondered if he was with someone else, in some other bed.

Her admission was so quiet, so raw, Hosea felt his throat close up. His hand, resting on her back, began to move in gentle circles, trying to soothe her, though inside he was in shambles. How could any man —any man— ignore her warmth, her tenderness? How could he not treasure the way she glowed, even after everything, even with her scars? She had endured grief, loss, cruelty, and yet here she was… still able to press close, to give her trust, to find comfort in another’s arms. Still innocent in her need for something so simple.

—Bonnie… —His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, pressing his lips to her hairline— You deserved better. You deserve the world, little fox. —He exhaled heavily, a deep ache in his chest, and hugged her closer, so close he almost crushed her against him— And I swear to you, darlin’… as long as I’ve got breath in me, you’ll never go without this again.

She tilted her head, finally daring to meet his eyes, and in them he saw a flicker of relief, of trust, of quiet gratitude.

—Promise? —She whispered, timid and fragile, as if she thought even now he might vanish. —Promise —His answer came quick, firm, unwavering. He kissed her gently, slow and reverent, then settled them back into the blanket, his arms still wrapped around her.

She gave him the sound that unstrung him completely: purring, low and content, as she curled tighter into him, small and warm like the happiest little creature, safe in her den. Hosea’s throat worked as he held her, staring into the fire. He’d dreamt this so many times, too many times for a man who’d sworn he’d never cross that line. Dreamt of her weight against him, her breath on his chest, her hands trusting enough to cling to him even in sleep. And now here she was, real, fragile, radiant.

His hand stroked slow down her back, over the dip of her waist, resting against the curve of her hip. He could feel her heartbeat, quick but steady, matching the faint rumble of her purr. How could anyone… His mind hissed it like a curse. How could any man lay hands on her in cruelty? How could any bastard cheat, betray, beat the girl who laughed like sunlight and fought like fire? No woman deserved that, but her? His Clover? His miracle? Rage and love twisted together inside him, sharp and unbearable. God, if that bastard were still alive, Hosea would’ve shot him dead and danced on his grave. And yet, in the same breath, he thanked every twisted turn of fate that had led her here, into his arms. He kissed her temple, long and lingering, and whispered against her hair.

—Sleep, Little Fox. I’ve got you.

Bonnie hummed, the purr softening into a sigh as her body went limp with trust, her hand still fisted in the fabric of his shirt like she never meant to let go. Hosea stared into the dark beyond the firelight, holding her closer, and thought: God forgive me, but I don’t deserve her. And God help me, because I’ll never let her go.

Hosea lay there in the dark, the fire dying to embers, her breath steady and warm against his chest. His arm was curled around her waist, thumb brushing absent little circles over her hipbone, and though his body begged for sleep, his mind refused to still. It wasn’t discomfort keeping him awake—no, Christ, he hadn’t felt this comfortable in… he couldn’t even remember when. Not since Bessie’s arms, not since her hair tickled his jaw and her laugh warmed the bed. But even then, there was something different about this. This wasn’t memory or habit. This was new. Alive.

What he couldn’t stop thinking about —what wouldn’t let him go— was the way Bonnie had worshipped him. The way she sank to her knees like it wasn’t sin but devotion, the way she looked up at him as though he wasn’t old or worn, but handsome, desirable. Her lips around him, her eyes on him—it had stripped him down bare. He’d felt desired, truly desired, for the first time since Bessie. Every tumble in the years after had been nothing but empty release—coin tossed on the nightstand, some painted saloon girl saying pretty things she didn’t mean. He’d known it, felt it in his bones. Empty words, empty eyes. But Bonnie—his Little Fox—every gasp, every praise, every “my man” came from the marrow of her soul. He saw it in her eyes. She meant it. She adored him.

And he knew, he’d known it from the start, hadn’t he? The moment she smiled up at him that first day, trembling but alive, when he coaxed her down from that stairwell. The first time she called him Silver Fox, teasing, but not cruel. The night she slipped into his blanket instead of Arthur’s or Charles’, choosing the old man’s arms over any of the young blood in camp. It hit him hard now, with her curled so small against him. There would be no looking at another woman. No saloon girl, no passing flirt, no shadow of Bessie’s ghost. There was only her. He bent and kissed her hair, breathing her in, wild grass and campfire smoke.

—God bless you, Little Fox —He whispered, voice breaking as his chest tightened— You deserve the whole damn world.

She stirred a little at his voice, nuzzled deeper against him, then sighed like she was the happiest creature alive. And Hosea… Hosea knew in that moment that he’d tear heaven and hell apart to keep her that way.

The birds were up before them, chatter spilling through the branches overhead, and the fire had burned down to ash and the faintest glow of coals. Hosea had stoked it once in the night, careful not to wake her, but now he just lay there, one arm under his head, the other stretched across Bonnie’s waist. She was still asleep, and Christ, he wanted to hold the clock still. Her breath was soft, warm against his chest, her braid half unravelled so strands of hair curled across her cheek and lips. In the pale light her freckles were sharp as constellations, and the faintest smile tugged her mouth like she was dreaming something sweet.

Hosea couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken this comfortable. He couldn’t remember the last time he wanted to. Most mornings he roused before anyone else, brewed coffee, tended horses, planned the damn day. Duty. Habit. Survival. But now? Now he just watched. His gaze trailed the curve of her bare shoulder where the blanket slipped low, the smooth line of her collarbone, the soft swell of her breasts rising with every breath. His Little Fox. His Clover. He still couldn’t believe it. That she was here. That she wanted him. His chest ached with it, so fierce it hurt. And then, without warning, her lashes fluttered. Green eyes blinked open, heavy with sleep, and found him staring. For a second she just looked at him —soft, hazy, unguarded— then the corner of her mouth curved into that sly, kittenish smile.

—Were you watching me, Old Fox?” her voice was husky, still tangled in dreams.

He cleared his throat, caught like a boy with his hand in the sugar tin.

—Guilty, —He murmured, thumb brushing her hip beneath the blanket— Couldn’t help myself.

Bonnie stretched slow, catlike, pressing closer until her leg draped across his.

—Mm... —She purred, eyes glittering now, teasing but warm—. Reckon I don’t mind being watched… by you —She tucked her face under his jaw, lips brushing his throat, and whispered—. Best morning I ever woke to.

Hosea shut his eyes, heart pounding like he was twenty again. And he thought, If this is sin, then damn me gladly. Bonnie shifted against him, stretching like a cat, and that sly smile curved higher when she felt the press of him under the blanket. Her green eyes glinted, mischief and tenderness all tangled together.

—Well now, —She whispered, biting her lower lip like she was trying not to laugh— guess I’m not the only one had sweet dreams.

Hosea groaned low in his chest, covering his face with one hand, as if that would hide the flush creeping into his cheeks.

—You’re gonna be the death of me, Little Fox.

She giggled soft, a sound halfway between laughter and a moan, and slipped her hand over his wrist to pull his hand away so she could see him blush properly. Her touch was feather-light, but her gaze darted back down to that thick ridge tenting the blanket.

—Mm. Don’t look much like dying to me —She teased, voice husky now— Looks more like livin’.

He tried to muster some scolding, some restraint, but the heat of her pressed against him, her eyes on him... God, it was undoing.

—Behave, young lady —He rasped, silver tongue failing him for once. —Or what, Mr. Matthews? —She whispered, leaning close enough that her lips brushed his ear— You’ll teach me a lesson?

Her hand didn’t move under the blanket. She didn’t touch him. She just looked, lips parted in that wicked smile, savoring the way his chest rose faster, the way his eyes darkened. And Hosea, poor bastard, realized he was harder from her looking than from anything she’d actually done.

He could’ve grabbed her hand. He could’ve rolled her beneath him, shown her exactly what she did to him. God knows he wanted to. The blanket was tight as a tent-pole between them, his cock straining against the thin fabric of his drawers, aching for her. But instead he caught her chin with two fingers, gentle but firm, and tilted her face up to meet his.

—You’re playin’ a dangerous game, Clover —He murmured, voice rough with restraint— Man my age… you keep looking at me like that, you’re liable to break me clean in half.

She only grinned wider, all wicked innocence, green eyes glowing in the dawn light.

—Then I’ll just have to put you back together, won’t I?

That undid him. Hosea leaned in and kissed her: hungry, lingering, morning-slow but deep enough to make her whimper against his mouth. His thumb stroked her cheek, his other hand gripping her hip through the blanket, holding her close but not dragging her further. When they finally broke for breath, Bonnie’s lips were swollen, her smile dreamy. She pressed her forehead to his chest, still giggling softly. Hosea exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for years.

—Christ almighty, girl… what you do to me.

He lay back, staring at the smoke curling from the fire, and forced himself to breathe steady. She nestled against him, clearly pleased with herself, clearly not about to behave. His cock still throbbed under the blanket, but he wasn’t about to let it rule the morning. Not their first morning. So, he rubbed her back, pressed another kiss to her temple, and whispered.

—Go on, troublemaker. Let’s have some coffee before you tempt me into sin right here in the dirt.

But his eyes betrayed him. Dark, hungry, flicking down to the blanket where she’d noticed his arousal. She could see it plain as day: he wasn’t done, not by a damn sight. He was just holding the leash tight. And Bonnie, mischievous kitten, curled against him and purred low in her throat, satisfied to know that leash was fraying fast. She didn’t rush. She never did, not when it was something that mattered. She started with his face, pressing small, kittenish kisses to his cheekbones, the corner of his jaw, the lines by his eyes that deepened when he laughed.

—Handsome —She whispered between kisses, her breath warm against his skin.

She moved to his mouth, brushing once, twice, before claiming him properly: slow, deep, lips moving like she wanted to taste every word he’d ever spoken. Her kisses wandered lower, down the column of his throat. She lingered there, mouth open, tongue flicking just enough to make him groan.

—My Silver Fox —She murmured, lips brushing the hollow where his pulse throbbed— My man.

His chest heaved under her, the blanket slipping as she pushed it down, baring more of him to her mouth. She kissed the hollow of his collarbone, the wiry hair of his chest, the hard plane of muscle he carried even at his age.

—Stronger than any young man —She breathed, scattering kisses down the middle of him— Smells so good…

Every word broke his restraint a little more, his fingers twitching at her hair but not pulling her back. He let her lead. Bonnie trailed kisses lower still, worship in every touch of her lips: his ribs, his stomach, the rough lines of scars earned over decades. And then, God help him, her lips brushed the band of his drawers, just the lightest tease. She looked up then, green eyes glowing like lantern-light, mouth curved in that tender, mischievous smile.

—Let me —She whispered— Let me show you how much I love you.

Her fingers hooked his waistband, slow, deliberate, tugging the fabric down inch by inch. Hosea propped himself on his elbows, breath caught in his chest, watching her. The dawn light poured over her hair, glinting gold and chestnut, as though even the sun wanted to see what she was about to do. When she freed him, Hosea groaned low in his throat, shame and desire knotted tight in his gut.

—Christ, Bonnie…

She only smiled, reverent, eyes drinking him in like he was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Her lips parted with a soft intake of breath, cheeks flushed.

—God... —She whispered, voice trembling with awe and hunger— So damn perfect.

And then —slowly, as though savouring the moment— she bent her head and kissed him. Just the tip first, sweet and playful, like a promise. Hosea’s hips jerked despite himself, a hiss breaking from between his teeth.

—Easy.... —She teased, green eyes flicking up to meet his— I’ll take care of you, Old Fox.

Her lips slid lower, open now, tongue circling him, tasting him like she’d waited her whole life for it. She moaned —soft and kittenish— like he was delicious, and the sound nearly undid him.

—Sweet Jesus —He rasped, head tipping back, one trembling hand fisting in her braid. He didn’t guide her, didn’t push, just held on, overwhelmed by the vision of her between his thighs. His Clover. His Little Fox. Worshipping him like he was worth it.

She worked him slow, careful, her mouth warm silk around him, every bob of her head punctuated with little hums of pleasure. She pulled back once, licking him with a long, deliberate stroke, and whispered against his length:

—My man. My Silver Fox. Strong… beautiful… mine.

Hosea groaned ragged, his voice breaking. He’d never been so undone, not in all his fifty-five years. Watching her, hearing her… God, it was pure sin, and he would’ve gone to hell smiling if it meant this was his. He couldn’t hold out any longer. Watching her like that, feeling her mouth worship him, hearing her purr his name like a prayer. It was too much. With a ragged groan he pulled her up, his hands firm but trembling as he guided her to lie on her side, back against his chest.

—Enough, Clover —He rasped, voice rough and broken— You’ll ruin me if I let you.

She laughed breathlessly, lips swollen, green eyes glowing with pride at what she’d done to him.

—Maybe that’s what I want —She teased, but she melted into his arms as he lined himself up against her, the thick head of him nudging at her slick entrance.

Hosea kissed her shoulder, her neck, his voice a whisper against her ear.

—You’re so damn beautiful. My Little Fox… my good girl.

And then he slid into her from behind, slow, deep, inch by inch. Bonnie gasped, arching back into him, her hand flying to grip his arm tight where it wrapped around her belly.

—Ohhh… my man… —She moaned, tears pricking her eyes again from the sheer stretch, the fullness.

Hosea groaned low in her ear; forehead pressed to her temple.

—God above… you feel like heaven. You were made for me.

They moved together gently at first, his hips rocking against her backside, his arm holding her flush to him so she could take every bit of him. His free hand slid up, cupping her breast, thumb brushing over the stiff peak until she whimpered.

—Perfect —He breathed, kissing her jaw— Every inch of you, perfect. Don’t you ever doubt that.

Bonnie keened softly, rolling her hips back, her voice breaking with each thrust.

—Oh, Hosea… feels so good… you make me feel so good…

He changed the angle, pulling her thigh over his so he could drive deeper, and her cry nearly undid him. He buried his face in her hair, groaning.

—That’s it, sweetheart, take me… that’s my lass…

The fire cracked low, their tangled blankets smelling of smoke and skin, her breath coming quicker with every deep stroke he gave her. Hosea had her leg hooked over his thigh now, spreading her open just enough to let him sink into her again and again, the wet sounds of their joining filling the quiet morning. Bonnie was gone, head thrown back into his shoulder, hair sticking to her damp cheeks. She moaned through her laughter, that kittenish sound that made him lose his rhythm every time.

—Mmm.... oh, Hosea...feels so good... —Sweetheart —He rasped, voice breaking as he kissed the corner of her mouth— you’re drivin’ me crazy…

His hand worked her breast, his other hand pressing flat to her belly, feeling the way his cock filled her. He was losing control, his pace stuttering into rougher thrusts, groaning raggedly in her ear. She clutched his wrist, crying out when he drove a little deeper.

—God, you’re... so big... —Her voice hitched, and then she gasped, her whole body shuddering against him as pleasure tore through her, soaking him with her release. She whimpered his name like a prayer, clinging to his hand like she’d drown without him.

That was it. That was all it took.

Hosea groaned like he’d been gutted, pulling free at the last second with every ounce of strength left in him. His hand still held her belly as he spilled across it in hot, heavy pulses, streaking her soft skin, his seed dripping down to her navel.

—Bonnie... Christ, Bonnie...

She whimpered at the heat of him, looking down through bleary eyes, watching his spend cover her belly. Then she turned her head to catch his mouth, kissing him hungrily even as he spilled the last of himself on her skin. When it was done, she giggled through her panting, her fingers slipping into the mess on her stomach and smearing it playfully.

—My Old Fox made me a mess —She teased, voice wrecked but mischievous, kissing his jaw.

Hosea groaned, utterly undone, clutching her to him.

—You’ll kill me, Clover. Christ, you’ll kill me...

But God help him, with his seed glistening on her belly and her laughter tangled with her moans, he’d never wanted to live more.

He lingered a moment, chest heaving against her back, lips pressed to her shoulder. Then, with a quiet sigh, Hosea reached for the clean rag he’d left near the blankets —always thinking ahead, always prepared— and wiped her gently, slow and careful. She giggled when the cloth grazed her sensitive skin, smacked his chest with the back of her hand.

—Quit fussin’, Old Fox —She teased, though her voice was warm, fond. —You hush —He muttered, kissing her temple as he worked— A man’s got his pride. Can’t leave his girl in a mess.

That word —his— made her shiver, and he saw it. She tried to hide the smile by biting her lip, but the green of her eyes gave her away. Hosea set the rag aside, tucked her against him for a moment longer, then forced himself up.

—Stay put, lass. I’ll get the fire goin’.

She curled under the blanket, watching him with that same lazy smile she’d worn after moaning his name into the dawn. Hosea stoked the coals, set the skillet, moved with the easy rhythm of a man who’d cooked more breakfasts under the sky than he could count. Bacon hissed, bread toasted, and soon the camp filled with that rich smell.

Bonnie padded over, still wrapped in her blanket, hair a tangle, cheeks pink. She leaned on his shoulder as he plated the food, and when she stole a piece of bacon right from the pan, he gave her a sharp look that melted instantly into a smirk.

—Hungry little fox —He muttered. —Mmm... —She hummed around the bite, eyes glinting with mischief— Always hungry for you, professor.

His jaw clenched at that damned word, but he only slid her plate into her hands and sat beside her. They ate together in easy silence at first: her making those soft sounds he tried not to dwell on, him sipping coffee like it might steady the rush in his chest. And then Bonnie set her plate aside, curled her knees under her chin, and looked at him in that way, nothing playful, nothing teasing, just bare and earnest.

—Funny, isn’t it? —She murmured— Feels like every word we say now means somethin’ else. Nothin’ casual anymore.

Hosea felt that like a knife, sharp and true. He looked at her: her lips still glistening from the coffee, her freckles glowing in the morning light, his seed already a memory wiped clean, and he thought of all the years he’d wasted, all the nights he’d spent cold beside women who never touched his heart.

—You’re right —He said, voice low, almost reverent— Nothin’ casual about you, Bonnie Ray. Nothin’ at all.

She beamed then, soft and wild all at once, and slid closer under the blanket to press herself against him. For once, Hosea didn’t fight it. He wrapped her up, kissed her hair, and let himself believe —just for this morning— that maybe miracles did happen.

The horses’ hooves thudded in rhythm on the dirt trail, the air warm now, carrying the scent of pine and dust. Bonnie rode a little ahead, sitting straight in the saddle, her braid swinging with each stride. Hosea watched her, his reins loose in his hands, heart heavier than he’d admit. She glanced back, that mischievous smile tugging at her lips.

—You’re awful quiet, Silver Fox. Did I wear you out?

He gave her one of those long, squinting looks, all mock-serious, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

—Lass, you keep talkin’ like that and I’ll find a way to remind you I ain’t nearly as tired as I look.

She laughed, the sound echoing through the trees, bright and free. He loved that laugh, loved knowing now what it sounded like when it cracked apart into moans. He shook the thought off with a cough, tried to keep his eyes on the trail. For a while, they rode in easy silence, until Bonnie slowed her horse to fall in beside him. She fiddled with her reins, bit her lip, then finally said it:

—Do we… have to pretend?

Her voice was softer than usual, stripped of teasing. She didn’t look at him, just down at her gloved hands, as if the question itself might vanish if she didn’t meet his eyes. Hosea’s throat tightened. He’d known this was coming—hell, he’d asked himself the same a hundred times since dawn. He exhaled through his nose, slow, buying himself a second before answering.

—Depends what you mean, Clover —He said gently.

She finally turned her face toward him, green eyes sharp but vulnerable.

—I mean back there. With the gang. Are we supposed to act like nothin’ happened? Like I didn’t… —She trailed off, cheeks warming, but forced the words out anyway— …like I didn’t love you last night?

His chest squeezed tight. He wanted to reach across, take her hand, tell her no, never, not for a second should she think she had to hide her love. But Hosea Matthews was nothing if not cautious, and the weight of years sat heavy on him. He settled for meeting her gaze, voice low and serious.

—I’ll never pretend with you, darlin’. Not when it’s just us. But the rest of ‘em… —He glanced ahead, jaw tight— They’ll talk. They’ll judge. And I won’t have them makin’ you feel small for choosin’ me.”

Bonnie’s lips parted, surprise flashing in her eyes. Then she gave him a crooked, tender smile, almost a whisper.

—I’d choose you a thousand times, old man.

The words nearly unseated him. He had to look away, clear his throat, mask it with a dry chuckle.

—I might believe you, Little Fox.

She nudged her horse closer until her knee brushed his.

—You’d better believe it, old man —She teased softly— Or I’ll make you believe it again tonight.

Hosea groaned under his breath, shaking his head, but the grin he tried to hid was helpless.

The trail dipped, curving through the trees where the first hints of smoke from campfires laced the air. They were close now, too close. Hosea could already feel the weight of eyes, the pressure of voices, the suffocating presence of the gang. He should’ve kept his distance. He should’ve stayed steady in the saddle, played the wise old fox, kept his feelings wrapped tight in his chest. But then Bonnie looked at him: just a glance, soft and unguarded, her lips parted, the green of her eyes blazing in the afternoon light. And he broke. He leaned across the narrow space between their horses, caught her by the back of her neck, and kissed her. Harder than he meant to, needier, but God help him, he couldn’t stop. She made a little noise against his mouth, surprised but melting, clutching at his coat with her reins tangled in her fingers. When he finally pulled back, breath ragged, her lips were kiss-bruised, eyes wide and bright.

—Hosea… —She whispered, and the way she said his name it was enough to undo him all over again. —I’m sorry, sweetheart —He rasped, though his hand was still on her cheek, thumb brushing her skin like he couldn’t let go— I just…

She shook her head quickly, cutting him off.

—Don’t you dare apologize —Her horse shifted closer until their knees pressed. She leaned in, forehead to his, voice low and aching— But what about tonight? You’ll be in your bedroll, I’ll be in mine… and I’ll feel so damn lonely.

The words gutted him. She wasn’t teasing now. She meant it, every trembling syllable. Hosea closed his eyes, swallowed hard, tried to steady the storm in his chest.

—You think I won’t feel the same? —He murmured— That I won’t lie awake wishin’ you were in my arms?

Her lip quivered, just a hint, but she smiled through it.

—So… what do we do, Mr. Matthews?

For once, Hosea Matthews had no answer. He kissed her again instead, softer this time, desperate and tender all at once. When he pulled back, camp was only a bend away. He straightened in his saddle, adjusted his hat, cleared his throat like nothing had happened. But Bonnie? She sat taller, chin high, freckles glowing, her smile secret and dangerous. Like she’d just claimed him in front of the whole world, even if the world didn’t know it yet.