Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On any given day, Gil Favor would have a different answer if you asked him the question: What’s the hardest part about being a trail boss?

Most of the time he’d say finding water. A map could be wrong. A watering hole could dry up. It could be poisoned. There were so many variables and each time they went for days on end with no water in sight, it felt like he was experiencing that fear for the first time. You never got used to the constant worry and panic that finding water presented, not on a cattle drive.

Other times he’d say the weather. Days were hot as blazes. Nights could leave you freezing in a way you never knew was possible. Storms could be deadly. Drought could be even deadlier. The only thing all those had in common was that they could be equally as unforgiving.

But days like today, he would say that the hardest part about being a trail boss was keeping the men out of town and focused when they knew there was one close by.

They still had another day’s ride before they would set up camp to graze the herd for two or three days, but that didn’t stop the excitement that the idea of going to town always created.

He heard them all talking about it as he rode up and down the flanks. Pete was talking to Rowdy about going to a saloon, which Gil knew meant he was going to get drunk and dance with every girl within arm’s reach. Joe and Quince were all too eager to lose all of their money at a poker table. Sure losing wasn’t exactly in their plan, but despite their efforts, they never did come back carrying more money than they left with.

Even Mushy was excited to go into town; Gil caught him halfway through telling Wishbone about his plans as they rode on the chuck wagon.

“An’ I’m gonna buy a new shirt an’ then I’m gonna go to a fancy to place to eat an’ after I’m gonna go to the saloon an’ who knows after that.” He sounded excited and Gil might have smiled if the thought of Mushy wandering around a town by himself didn’t put a knot the size of Texas in his stomach.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Wishbone scoffed. “You don’t need to waste money on no fancy cookin’. You got all the food you need right here.”

“I know that, Mister Wishbone,” Mushy agreed. “But you see, I don’t gotta do their dishes after I eat at a place like that.”

Wish said nothing, giving him a sideways glare before turning his attention back to the trail up ahead.

The talk lasted all day and as they made camp and settled in for the night. The mood was good and spirits were high. You’d almost think it was everybody’s first time in a town with the way they were talking about it.

The last time they’d been able to stop long enough to let everybody go in was about a month ago. Since then, they’d only been able to send a man or two in at a time to get supplies and it was usually only Wishbone or Rowdy that went.

But as much as he liked when everyone was focused on the drive and on the work, he understood that they needed a break and a distraction to get them through the long months on the trail. He couldn’t blame them. It could get painfully monotonous.

So as camp was settling down for the night and the drovers were beginning to finally wind down, Gil was lying on his bedroll, arms behind his head and hat tipped over his eyes. The smell of the fire was strong as he breathed in deep and he allowed himself to finally feel a sense of calm that only came at the end of a long day.

It was quiet for a while, but out of the silence came the familiar sound of a pair of boots walking across the ground over towards him. And familiar pair of boots at that.

He wasn’t surprised when he pushed the brim of his hat up with his finger to see Rowdy sitting down on the ground next to him. He wore an easy smile and his hair was mussed from a long day of having a hat on his head.

“Hi,” Rowdy said.

“Hi,” he replied, barely able to keep a small smile tucked away. “I thought you’d be sleeping by now.”

“I could say the same thing ‘bout you.”

“Fair,” he conceded. “Somethin’ on your mind?”

“No,” Rowdy shook his head. His fingers were playing with the edge of Gil’s bedroll, lightly tracing it up and down. “You comin’ into town tomorrow?”

“I got business to do in the afternoon. Meeting with a gentleman that might be able to sell us about a hundred head or so. You gonna come with me?”

“Well yeah of course. But s’not what I meant.”

Gil tilted his head as he looked at him. “What’d you mean then?”

“Y’know. Tomorrow night. When it’s not for the business or nothin’.”

“I dunno,” Gil rubbed at his face. “I hadn’t made up my mind ‘bout it yet.”

“Well you should.”

“Why’s that?”

“’Cause everybody’s goin’.”

“I see everybody every day, don’t I?”

“And I’m goin’.” His voice was soft, low, almost drowned out by the crackling fire. His fingers were now playing at the worn material of Gil’s shirt.

Gil was smiling now, slight but evident in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “S’at so?”

“Mhm,” Rowdy’s smile went bashful as his eyes momentarily dropped to watch his hands, as if he didn’t know exactly what he was trying to do. “Was gonna go sit at a saloon or somethin’.”

“I might be persuaded.” Rowdy’s fingertips were now resting touching his side and it took everything out of him not to react to the contact, especially with Rowdy talking like this and looking at him the way he was.

“If I buy you a drink?”

“Make it a bottle.”

“I think a whole bottle’s more suited for the boss’ wages rather than a ramrod’s. Don’t you?” His voice was light and teasing, a tone that pulled at Gil’s chest.

“We’ll see.”

“We will,” he said, looking at Gil for a long moment with something in his eyes that he couldn’t put a name to. When he looked away, his eyes wandered across camp to where Gil had seen him throw out his bedroll earlier and a sudden frown took hold of his features. He looked back to Gil. “Guess I should go get some sleep.”

“Long day tomorrow,” Gil nodded.

He watched as Rowdy’s eyes diverted again across camp, sighing as a twitch pulled at his lower lip. “Hate it,” he mumbled in a voice so low that it was barely audible, and Gil knew he wasn’t talking about the work. He slid his hand across his stomach and over to his side, fingertips touching Rowdy’s gently.

“I know,” Gil said, figuring Rowdy would know that meant he agreed with him.

They would do this every so often. Normally they bedded down next to each other, they always had for the most part and they even continued doing so after they got closer and closer and the nature of their relationship shifted. But they both agreed that once every two or three weeks or so, they should bed down somewhere else, just for a night or two at a time so that maybe they wouldn’t draw any attention to themselves.

Sure, they didn’t think anybody at camp would much mind if they found out what was going on with them, but they didn’t really care to find out in the off chance that they were wrong. It felt safer this way.

“Alright,” Rowdy sighed again. He stood up and Gil’s side felt cold at the lack of contact. His fingertips felt dull. “See you in the morning, Boss,” he said, mustering up a tiny smile despite his obvious disappointment.

“G’night.”

Rowdy walked over to his bedroll carefully, trying his best not to kick or knock into anyone as he worked his way through a maze of sleeping drovers.

He pulled off his boots and rested his hat on top of them before he laid back and looked up at the sky. He already knew sleep wasn’t going to come easy tonight. It never did when they slept apart like this.

Having Gil near when he slept always felt sort of right, even from the very beginning. It made him feel safe, like he was protected. Like he could close his eyes and rest for a change. Gil had that effect on people. He had this way of making everyone around him feel like he could take care of anything. It was one of the things Rowdy liked most about him from the very start.

After things sort of changed, it was even nicer having him near for the obvious reasons even if they couldn’t act on anything. Rowdy guessed it was the idea of him being nearby in the off chance he ever did want to act on anything that felt like a comfort at times. Just the idea that he could reach out and touch him if he wanted, even though he knew he wouldn’t. It was enough.

It just never felt right on these nights and he was already feeling like he couldn’t settle, his legs and his mind equally as restless.

He took his eyes off the sky and cast them down, trying to make out the outline of the drovers through the darkness. He spotted Gil on the other side of the fire, hat once again tipped over his eyes, one hand still on his stomach, and the other resting on his gun. He almost looked peaceful.

Rowdy wasn’t sure how long he’d been looking before he began to drift in and out of sleep, eager to get this night out the way so that they could get back to normal.

Gil couldn’t remember the last time everyone in camp woke up so impatient to get the herd moving. It was barely sunup when every single man had a mug of coffee in his hands and an empty plate on his lap. He nearly let out a laugh. They really would do anything to get to a town.

The morning on the trail went as smoothly as he could have hoped and they reached their mark for the next couple of days a little before noon.

Once the herd was settled, camp was made, and a fresh wave of enthusiasm was beginning to take hold, he and Rowdy took off for town to get their business out of the way, leaving Pete in charge of making sure nobody destroyed the camp.

Rowdy had a wide smile on his face as they rode and although Gil tried to remain stoic and calm, he couldn’t deny that it was the tiniest bit contagious.

It didn’t take them long to get to town and they had to look around for the saloon the man had written Gil to meet him in, a little joint named the Sunday Stampede.

It was a fairly large town and it was hard not to take notice of all the things that were around. There was one hotel by a saloon, another one by the blacksmith, a stable, a bank, a church, a jail, and a school. There were lots of people, too, walking up and down the streets making a ruckus. It wasn’t half-deserted the way most towns along the trail tended to be. Calling this one busy didn’t cover the half of it.

“You ever been in a town this big before?” Rowdy asked, squinting as he took in their surroundings.

“Not out here,” Gil shook his head. “Reminds me more of the cities back east. Except they’s much bigger.”

“Never been in a city like that.”

“No?” Gil spotted the Sunday Stampede two buildings down and headed right towards it.

“Not that I can remember, I don’t think.”

“Maybe I’ll show you one sometime.” And with that Gil jumped down off his horse, missing the way Rowdy’s eyes went wide at the idea. Rowdy followed suit and they tied their horses up before they walked into the saloon.

It didn’t take them long to find the man they were looking for, an older fella by the name of Charlie Trask that wanted to add a hundred head to their herd. He had a long white mustache to match the bit of hair he had on his head and a well-tailored three-piece suit to bat.

He was fairly agreeable and receptive to everything they said to him. Gil couldn’t tell if Charlie didn’t know much about the cattle business or if the man genuinely liked everything he had to say, but he couldn’t remember a time working with an owner had been so easy.

As they wrapped it up and the negotiations were all squared away, they all stood and shook hands, feeling mighty good about the partnership that was formed.

“I hope you don’t mind me sayin’ it Charlie, but you might be our new favorite owner,” Rowdy said through a laugh.

Charlie couldn’t help a laugh himself. “Glad to hear it, Mister Yates. From what I hear, there’s no point in any arguing ‘cause if you’ve got cattle and don’t trust Gil Favor to take care of them, you’re a madman.”

“Never did get into a jam we couldn’t get ourselves out of,” Gil agreed.

And with that, Charlie left them to attend to some other business he had in town, but they decided to stay and take a little while to sit for themselves. It seemed silly not to take advantage of a few extra minutes away from the herd and away from the madness they both knew was ensuing at camp.

“So?” Rowdy asked out of the blue.

Gil furrowed his brow. “So?”

“Have y’thought about it?”

“Thought about what?”

“You know. About comin’ back later,” he clarified.

“Oh,” Gil hummed, expression smoothing out. “I don’t know. Still think you can’t afford a bottle of whiskey?”

The corner of Rowdy’s mouth pulled up into an easy smile. “I think I could manage it.”

Gil was about to answer when the saloon doors slammed open and a loud bang echoed through the room. He looked over and saw three young men walk in, shoulders back and chins held high, arrogance rolling off them in waves. Just a couple of young punks who thought they were invincible riding through town. He knew the type too well.

Gil shook his head and turned his attention back to Rowdy, who was suddenly stiff as a board. His eyes were locked on the door, following the men as they walked further into the saloon.

His mouth was worked into a tight-lipped frown and there was a sharpness in his gaze that Gil only knew to mean trouble. It was a far cry from the carefree version of Rowdy that was just sitting across from him a few seconds ago.

“You familiar with those gentlemen?” Gil asked, trying to read the emotions flashing across Rowdy’s face.

“Wish I wasn’t,” he answered, all of his attention now geared towards the bar. “Tall one on the right’s Will Driver.” Gil turned his head to see who Rowdy was talking about. He was tall and thin, with cropped brown hair and a cocky grin. “Shorter one next to him is Harry Pike.” He was in fact the shortest of the three, with longer brown hair and a sharp brow. He chugged a beer down in one go. “The redhead fella is Sam Dermott.” He was broad shouldered with blue eyes piercing enough for Gil to see from across the room.

Gil brought his attention back to Rowdy. “And who’re they to you?” He prodded as a means of hopefully relieving some of the tension, but he also wanted to know what he was getting himself into in the off chance the men noticed Rowdy and it all went sour.

“I met them in the army,” was his short reply, eyes flashing to Gil before returning back across the room. His hands were balled up on the table in fists so tight he could feel his nails cutting into his palms.

Gil thought about pushing him further, but he wasn’t sure it wise to push Rowdy when there was clearly more going on than he knew about. Rowdy’s fuse was normally short and there was no telling how much worse it would be at a moment like this. He took notice of the way Rowdy’s knuckles had gone white and decided this wasn’t the right time or place for this conversation.

He stood up and patted Rowdy on the shoulder, gesturing with his head towards the door. “Come on.”

Rowdy’s eyes flashed back to him, his eyebrows tightly knit together. “Where we goin’?”

“Back to camp.” Rowdy opened his mouth to answer, but Gil cut him off. “Before you can start any trouble.”

Rowdy looked like he was going to argue, his lower lip twitching as he willed himself to find the words to fight back. His chair screeched as he stood with a huff, walking out the door and mounting his horse with barely a breath in between.

The short ride back to camp was quiet, mostly due to the fact that Rowdy rode in front of him the whole time. You could even see his anger in the way he was riding, back straight, both hands on the reins, and eyes set dead ahead of him with his hat tipped low to cover them as best as he could.

When they rode into camp, he tied his horse off and walked to sit on a boulder a ways away with his back to camp, cutting through all the drovers as he did so. They all looked to Gil once he passed.

“Don’t you all got nothin’ better to do?” He asked and they all scattered.

Pete was the only one who didn’t. He looked over to Rowdy, watched as he rested his elbows on his knees and could see the irritation in the way his shoulders were hunched.

He walked over towards Gil and gestured towards Rowdy. “What’s’a matter with him?”

“I don’t know,” Gil shook his head, taking a moment to look over at him, too. He put his hands on the front of his gun belt to anchor himself.

“Somethin’ happen?” The concern in Pete’s voice was obvious.

“Not exactly,” he answered. “We was in the saloon and these three punks walked in. Next thing I know he’s all bent outta shape.”

“He know them?”

“Says he knew them during the war.”

“And that’s all he told you?”

“Didn’t ask,” he shrugged. “Didn’t want to rile him up.”

“Smart. Maybe you should ask him ‘bout it just in case we see them fellas when we go back there tonight. To be ready ‘cause you know how he gets.”

A sudden pang of nerves hit Gil’s chest; he hadn’t thought of that. “Yeah, maybe.”

Pete gave him a small smile and a clap on the shoulder as he walked away. Gil looked over at Rowdy again, who was sitting very much in the same position he had been in when he looked before.

He went over to Wishbone for a mug of coffee and before he even had to ask, Wish handed him one for Rowdy, too.

“What’s wrong with him?” His eyebrows were tilted up in that way they got when he was worried.

He shrugged in response and he knew Wishbone would understand the gesture. “Thanks,” he said with a head tilted towards the mugs.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, eyes focused on Rowdy even as Gil walked away.

Rowdy didn’t look up when he sat down next to him. His gaze was set on the ground, like he didn’t even notice Gil was there.

Gil nudged him lightly with his thigh, trying to gently shake Rowdy out of the daze he was in without startling him. Rowdy turned his head slightly to look at him and Gil held the coffee mug out. Rowdy looked at it for a second before accepting it, cradling it in his hands as he continued to rest his elbows on his knees.

“We gonna talk about what happened back there?” His voice felt too loud between them, cutting too harshly through the thick tension.

“Nothin’ to talk about,” Rowdy said, voice dangerously quiet. “Just a bunch of stupid jaspers I knew a long time ago that don’t mean nothin’ to me no more.”

“Don’t look like that’s the case.” And the new wave of rage that flashed in Rowdy’s eyes told him that was the wrong thing to say.

“Well they ain’t worth my breath and I’m done talkin’ about it.” The words shot out of his mouth and the venom in his tone was almost palpable.

“You sure?”

“Yes.” And Gil left it at that.

They sat there in silence, although Rowdy was thinking so loud he could almost hear his thoughts from his place next to him. Gil wasn’t sure how long they were sitting there, but his once hot coffee began to feel lukewarm in his mouth.

Rowdy let out long breath and Gil turned to look at him. He was finally sitting up straighter and took his first slow sip of the coffee.

“Thanks,” he said, voice quiet again, but noticeably lacking the edge it possessed the last time he spoke.

“Welcome.” Gil felt a little bit of the anxiety start to fade as he watched him take another sip. “Y’alright?” He didn’t mean the question to be intrusive and was afraid it might come off that way, but he knew Rowdy understood when he nodded slowly.

“Yeah. M’okay.”

“Good,” and Gil believed him for now. He would let it rest. It was better to have Rowdy calm than to make him talk. He decided to change the subject. “You still gonna go to town later?”

Rowdy tilted his head to look at him, eyes wide and painfully earnest. “Are you?”

He ignored the question. “You know you don’t gotta go back if-”

“No, no I want to.” His tone was definitive.

“You ain’t gonna start any trouble?”

Rowdy rubbed his free hand over his stomach as he inhaled and exhaled deeply, as though he seriously had to consider his answer to the question. “I won’t start nothin’.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

“Okay, then we’ll go.”

The corner of Rowdy’s lips pulled into the tiniest smile and the expression relieved Gil more than words ever could have. “You’re comin’?”

Gil let himself laugh at his persistence. “You know my price.”

“A bottle it is.”

It was better for now, but anxiety was still screaming in the back of Gil’s head when he thought of what might happen if those men were in the saloon when they went back.

He tried to shake it, tried to think about how they were probably just passing through in the afternoon and could be well on their way out of town by now. But it was hard to look on the bright side when things never seemed to work out the way he wanted.

Chapter Text

It was noticeable that Rowdy’s mood improved as the afternoon went on. He was all big smiles and laughs that came easily as they got ready for their big night in town.

Pete had also gone out of his way to try and cheer him up, wanting to make him laugh and forget what had happened that afternoon. Pete somehow knew how to drag the most miserable of men out of the worst of moods and Rowdy was no exception.

Gil was thankful he was doing better. It wouldn’t have been fair for a bunch of idiots to ruin what'd had all of the drovers tickled pink for days now. Rowdy liked going into town as much as the next guy and he deserved to blow off steam just like everybody else.

As good as he was feeling about going back, there was still that slight fear that crept into his mind every so often; Pete had planted that seed of doubt and its roots ran deep in his brain.

It would be easier if he knew what the problem was. Rowdy said it wasn’t worth the energy it took to explain, but he didn't believe that one bit.

Sure, tiny things set him off all the time. His temper was uncontrollable at best and catastrophic at worst, but this time was different. He usually settled down the minute he was out of a saloon or riding back to camp, all heat of the moment flare-ups that meant nothing to him the minute he was taken out of the situation.

But Gil had never seen him angry like that before and the lasting emotion gave away that it was a much bigger issue than he wanted it to seem.

He didn’t want to ruin anything though so he let it go, valuing Rowdy’s happiness more than his interest in the situation.

Hopefully he was worrying for nothing. They’d go to the saloon, have a couple drinks, come back to camp, and be on their way.

Gil left Wishbone in charge when they all decided it was time to go, the sun beginning to set on the horizon. Wish never had time for the nonsense that went on in town and he saved himself a lot of headaches for it. Gil tended to be the same way and enjoyed how quiet camp got when everybody left.

The only reason tonight was different was because Rowdy asked. A thousand times. And if Gil hadn’t been considering it before all the nonsense a few hours ago, he’d go to make sure Rowdy kept his cool. It didn’t hurt that they’d be drinking or that Rowdy was wearing a new shirt that clung to his arms or that he’d be getting the flirty, lopsided smiles thrown his way that Rowdy used to have reserved for saloon girls. No. That was all extra. Maybe. Certainly didn’t hurt.

Once they all actually got to town, they broke off to go their separate ways and get on with all of their fancy plans.

Gil and Rowdy wanted to go back to the Sunday Stampede because they liked it well enough that afternoon and Pete decided to tag along with them rather than go with Quince and Scarlet, who wandered into the first saloon they saw so that they could start losing their money as quickly as possible apparently.

Pete also dragged Mushy with them. Turns out he didn’t like Mushy’s plan of wandering around town like a lost kitten any more than Gil did.

Pete had Mushy over by the bar and was buying drinks for them and a couple of saloon girls that they were talking to. Well, Pete was doing most of the talking. It was only a matter of time before he would be dancing until his feet couldn’t carry him anymore.

Gil elected to sit at a small table by the wall, wanting some semblance of privacy in the middle of the crowded room. Every table in the whole place was taken. The bar was so busy that the bartenders were having a hard time keeping up with orders. The music from the piano rang loud in his ears, as did the laughter of all the people dancing.

Rowdy joined him once he was done at the bar, two glasses in one hand and a full bottle of whiskey in the other. He set them on the table and poured them each a generous glass.

Gil couldn’t keep a smile back as he took a testing sip and the familiar, pleasant burn cut at the back of this throat.

Rowdy, on the other hand, put back his entire drink in one go. Gil raised an eyebrow as he poured himself another and sipped it the moment the bottle was down.

“You know it ain’t goin’ nowhere, right?”

“Better not,” Rowdy replied over the rim of the glass. “I think they’d charge me extra if it grew legs.” He threw caution to the wind and put that one back, too.

“It’s gonna get you real good if you’re not careful,” Gil said, the worry from before creeping back ever so slightly into his consciousness.

“I can handle myself.” He poured himself a third. “I ain’t a kid.”

“Never said you was.” And Gil left it at that. If he drank himself into oblivion, it would be his own fault.

It took them the better part of two hours to get a fair way through the bottle. Gil was on his fourth and Rowdy was on his sixth or his seventh, he’d lost track at some point.

He’d polished his last one off clean while Rowdy went and danced with a girl for a song or two. She had come over to the table to ask him, unable to make eye contact and staring at the ground. Rowdy was too nice to say no, especially when she was so nervous, taking her hand and leading her to middle of the room.

Gil tried to take his mind off it, tried to look at the bar. The floor. The ceiling. The bottle. His hands. His glass. It wasn’t long before he couldn’t stop himself and his eyes wandered to the dance floor, picking them out almost easily, what with Rowdy being the tallest one out there.

He didn’t know what to look at. His right hand on her waist and his left hand grasping hers. Her looking up at him like he hung the moon. Him with a wide grin as he twirled her around. Gil couldn’t seem to focus on anything else and the grip on his glass was growing stronger with each passing second.

When Rowdy did stumble back to their table, he was bright eyed and a little out of breath. His cheeks were a pleasant shade of pink and Gil couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or from the dancing, but he did know that it suited him awfully well. He failed at trying to push the thought down.

“Boy, that little Philly sure did know how to dance.” He picked his glass up and took another drink.

“I could see that.” Gil didn’t know what else to say and his fuzzy brain was struggling to find words that didn’t make him sound like a jealous mess. He decided it was a good idea to keep his mouth shut by filling it with more whiskey. It seemed like the right alternative to saying something stupid.

Rowdy had a tight smirk pulling at his lips. “You was lookin’?”

“’Course I was,” Gil replied before he could stop the words from spilling out.

“Knew I saw you,” Rowdy said, more to himself than to him.

“What else was I supposed t’do?”

“Nothin’,” Rowdy said matter-of-factly and suddenly Gil knew what he was playing at. He felt Rowdy push his foot up against his under the table and it sent a spark up his leg that ran through his whole body.

“So you was doin’ it on purpose,” he stated rather than asked, trying to keep his voice even.

“Sure was.” He was smug and Gil hated that it looked good on him. “Did it work?”

“What do you think?”

“I think it might have done the trick,” he said around a soft laugh, different from the way he had laughed with that girl. There was something sweet beneath it.

“You think it might have done the trick,” Gil mumbled under his breath, unable to stop himself from laughing now, too.

As Gil took another sip and set it back down on the table, he was sure he could feel Rowdy’s eyes on him and when he looked up, his suspicion was confirmed. Rowdy was looking him up and down, shameless, and Gil quirked an eyebrow at him, the gesture serving as a question.

“What do you say we get out of here?” Rowdy asked and Gil tried to ignore the way his pulse sped up. He was being bold and Gil knew the alcohol had something to do with it, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind.

“Oh?” he asked and Rowdy nodded. “And where’s it you wanna go?”

“I don’t know.” Rowdy’s grin shifted sideways and he had to look down at the table. “You don’t suppose there’s a nice hotel somewhere or somethin’, do you?”

“Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

They were about to stand when Gil became abruptly too aware there was a large shadow being cast on their table.

“Well, if it isn’t Rowdy Yates.”

Gil turned his head and he found himself looking straight at the three men they saw earlier that afternoon.

One tall. One short. One redhead.

His heart sank.

He looked back at Rowdy who was staring right at them, eyes hard, his mouth a firm line, and all signs of playfulness wiped away completely, turned to stone.

“Will,” he said, acknowledging the one who spoke with a tight voice and somehow exponentially more sober than he had just been. His eyes flashed to the other two. “Harry. Sam.”

“Fancy seeing you here, Rowdy,” the redhead one, Sam, said.

“Fancy seeing you anywhere at all,” the short one, Harry, mumbled, earning himself a nudge in the ribs from Sam as Will laughed.

Gil watched as Rowdy’s eyes narrowed. “Fancy seein’ you fellas are still out runnin’,” he said and Harry took a forceful step in his direction, chest out like he was gearing up for a punch, but Will put his hand out to stop it.

“Alright, alright, calm down,” Will said to him, still seeming slightly amused, and then looked to Rowdy. “All’s we wanna do is say howdy.”

“And you’ve said it,” Rowdy answered. “We was actually gonna leave so-”

“Aw wait a second,” Will cut in. “Let’s have a drink. Talk like old times.” He pulled over a chair from another table and the other two followed suit, forcing Gil and Rowdy to move closer to one another to make more space. Gil was thankful he hadn’t drank that much, feeling the fuzziness melt away as the atmosphere around them became much more serious.

“So Rowdy,” Sam spoke as they settled. “What’s got you in this lovely town?”

He sighed, obviously disinterested in having this conversation, trying to mask his irritation with something more like nonchalance. “M’here with a cattle drive. Layin’ over a couple miles outside of town for a few days.”

Harry snorted around his beer mug as he took a sip. “You’s a cowpoke now?”

“That a problem?” Rowdy shot back, voice raising ever so slightly and Gil sat up a little straighter in his chair.

“Oh no,” Harry laughed again. “Jus’ funny.”

“I ain’t tellin’ a joke.” Rowdy’s hand was wrapped around the arm of his chair in a grip so tight he half expected it to snap.

“I know you wasn’t,” he said with a tip of his head.

“Then what’s so funny?” The edge in Rowdy’s voice was razor sharp, like he was daring him to laugh again.

“Nothin’. S’good for you,” Harry said lifting one hand in defense. “Y’always was the best at takin’ orders.”

Rowdy made like he was going to stand and Gil finally interjected, discreetly pressing his leg against Rowdy's underneath the table to keep him down, trying to bring him back down to Earth.

“Rowdy,” he said, causing him to turn his head to look at him. His eyes flashed between the three across from them and Gil before deciding to sit back down.

“You never introduced us to your friend,” Will said with a motion towards Gil, trying to shift the conversation in another direction.

Rowdy looked at Gil for another split second and that twitch pulled at the corner of his bottom lip as he hesitated. He didn’t want Gil involved in this more than he wanted to be involved himself. “Gil Favor. He’s trail boss of the outfit I’m with.”

“Nice t’meet ya, Mister Favor.” Will tipped his hat at him and Gil nodded.

“Yeah,” he replied, unable to reciprocate the sentiment even as a lie.

When Harry laughed again, it cut through Gil like glass. He could tell Rowdy was hanging on by a thread and this was only making it worse.

“S’at who you take your orders from now?”

Rowdy’s eyes locked on Harry like a steel trap.

Sam cut in. “Harry maybe you should-”

“I ain’t doin’ nothing. Rowdy knows I’m just kiddin’. Ain’t that right?” He looked right at Rowdy and there was something about it that made Gil’s hair stand on edge.

“Well I’m not much in the mood for laughin’, I guess” Rowdy said, staring at Harry, jaw clenched like he was trying to figure out what to do next and Gil could feel the tension becoming thicker with each passing second. Out of the corner of his eye, Gil saw that Pete and Mushy had realized what was going on and were now walking over to the table. “So unless y’actually need somethin’ from me, we’re gonna be going.”

“Aw don’t spoil none of the fun,” Will said. “Stay a while.”

“Yeah, stay a while,” Harry cut in and then he was looking at Gil. “Only if that’s okay with you, Mister Trail Boss.”

Before Gil could even process what was happening, Rowdy was out of his seat and tackling Harry onto the ground, pinning him there and punching him with the hand that wasn’t holding onto the front of his shirt to keep him in place.

The bar exploded with noise as everybody caught wind of what was happening and people gathered around to watch, forming a strong barrier that separated Gil, Pete, and Mushy from him.

They all screamed his name at the top of their lungs, trying to get his attention and snap him out of it, but he was too far gone, doing his very best to beat Harry to a pulp.

As Gil and Pete tried to break through the crowd, Gil heard a snap that he assumed was Rowdy breaking Harry’s nose as he punched him over and over again. He could see a thick pool of blood on the ground as he inched closer.

When he finally shoved his way through, he pulled hard on Rowdy’s arm and tugged him up off the ground. Rowdy’s fist was still raised as Gil backed him up and Pete took hold of that arm so that they could both drag him out of the saloon with all their might, Rowdy pulling against them.

Once they were out on the street, Pete left them to go back inside to find Mushy, who hadn’t been able to make his way out with them. Rowdy’s chest was heaving and his fist was covered in blood and Gil couldn’t tell if it was his or Harry’s, but it was dripping on the ground, falling at his feet. His eyes were on fire, locked on the saloon doors, watching each and every person that walked through.

Gil wasn’t sure how long they stood like that when Pete and Mushy finally made their way back out the doors and over to them. He watched as Pete took a hard look at Rowdy, eyes finding his bloody fist and rubbing a hand over his chin.

Pete then looked to Gil, eyebrows pinched together and questioning.

“Get back to camp,” Gil said quietly, knowing Pete was unsure of what to do next.

“What’re you gonna do?” he asked.

“I’m gonna take him to a hotel. Let him cool off,” Gil said. “We’ll be back in the mornin’.”

“Alright,” Pete said, patting Mushy on the arm and leading them in the direction of their horses.

Gil looked back to Rowdy, whose eyes were still trained on the door, almost like he hadn’t even heard them. Something in his chest tightened.

“Come on.” Gil’s voice was stern as he put his hand on Rowdy’s back, balled his fingers up in the back of his shirt, and started walking them in the direction of the nearest hotel.

Rowdy stared straight ahead of them as he walked, jaw tight. His legs were slack, dragging like they were fighting against him and Gil almost had to physically push him to keep going. He wouldn’t let go of the grip he had on his shirt in the fear that if he even gave him a second’s ease, he would take off back to the saloon.

He convinced the hotel owner to give them a room by telling him Rowdy was too drunk and couldn’t be left by himself. Always worked like a charm. Not like the man had any time to argue. Gil took the keys out of his hand and walked them up the stairs before he barely had the chance to get two words out.

Gil locked the door behind them when they finally got into the room, the click echoing loudly against the walls.

He led Rowdy over to the corner of the room where there was a pitcher of water and a bowl on a small table in front of a mirror. He took Rowdy’s bloody hand and poured some of the water over it, washing away whatever hadn’t dried in the last few minutes. He tried to use his own hands to get the rest of it off. His fingers and nails rubbed and scraped at the blood caked on his skin.

Rowdy watched Gil work through the mirror, blank eyes trained on their hands.

His knuckles were torn apart, rough cuts screaming bright red against the white of the bowl looming beneath his hand. Gil did his best to go easy on him, but it didn’t stop the occasional wince or hiss that came when he couldn’t help but catch Rowdy’s knuckles the wrong way.

Once his hand was as clean as Gil could get it, he dried it off with a towel, pulling it away to see that there were bloody red streaks along it from his still-bleeding fist. Gil hooked his fingers in the bandana around Rowdy’s neck, fingers touching warm skin as he gave it a gentle tug and it slid away easily. He took care in wrapping the bandana around his knuckles, tying a knot on his palm side.

Rowdy stared at it as Gil walked him over to the bed and sat him down on the edge. He leaned back against a dresser that was on the wall opposite it, standing maybe only a foot away.

Rowdy’s shoulders were hunched and he had his head tilted down so far Gil couldn’t even see his eyes.

He didn’t know what to do. What to say. How he was supposed to react here when this was obviously so different from any other fight he’d ever seen Rowdy in. The last time he had spoken was back at the saloon before the fight broke out and it was unnerving.

Gil made peace with the fact that nothing he was going to do would be right in this situation and took a deep breath.

“Rowdy,” he said softly, just hoping he would look up. He would be able to figure out what to do next if he could just get Rowdy to look at him.

He did just that, his eyes finding Gil’s, wide and raw with emotion in a way Gil had never seen them before.

Rowdy just looked at him as he reached his good hand across the distance between them and put two fingers in one of the belt loops on his pants, tugging him forward. Gil went easily, taking a step so that he was right in front of him, and Rowdy leaned to rest his forehead at the top of Gil’s stomach, burying his face in his shirt. He took shaky breaths in and out and Gil couldn’t help but thread his fingers in the hair at the back of his head with one hand, the other coming to settle on his shoulder. He could feel the warm air on his stomach through the fabric of his shirt.

They stayed like that for a while, Rowdy keeping him close with his fingers still stuck through his belt loop as though he thought Gil would disappear if he let go. He carded his fingers through Rowdy’s hair as his breathing eventually evened out and Gil could feel his shoulders relax beneath his hand.

Rowdy tilted his head slowly to look up at him again from beneath his lashes, a deep frown holding all of his features.

“Y’okay?” Gil asked, knowing he’d have to be the first one to speak, and Rowdy nodded unconvincingly. “Alright.” Gil put a hand on his wrist, pulling his fingers out of his belt loop so that he could sit down on the edge of the bed next to him. “You wanna tell me or am I gonna have to ask?”

He didn’t answer right away. “Told you. I knew them during the war.”

“What else?”

“Nothin’ else,” Rowdy shook his head.

“Rowdy,” he said, tone disbelieving.

“There’s nothin’ else,” he emphasized. “I haven’t seen them in a long time.”

“Can’t be all there is to it.”

“Says who?”

“Says the way you almost beat a man to death,” Gil said and Rowdy’s eyes dropped to look at his chest.

“Not like he didn’t deserve it,” Rowdy’s voice was almost so quiet he couldn’t hear it. “I was tryin’ not to lose my head but,” he stopped there, voice trailing off, fingers fiddling with the bandana on his other hand.

“Yeah,” Gil said, knowing what he was getting at.

“And I told you I wouldn’t cause any trouble ‘n you got every right to be mad at me but-”

“I ain’t mad.”

Rowdy found his eyes again. “You’re not?”

“Said it yourself. He had it comin’. I was surprised you didn’t do it sooner.”

“Me too,” he admitted and Gil wasn’t sure what to make of that. He chose to ignore it, silence once again overtaking the room.

Gil watched his every move as he lay back on the bed, long legs still hanging off the edge. He put his good hand underneath his head and the bad one on his stomach as he stared straight up at the ceiling.

“You really wanna know?” He asked, something like disbelief lurking in this voice.

“If you wanna tell me.”

He didn’t talk right away, continuing to stare at the ceiling, and Gil knew he was probably trying to find the words.

He inhaled deeply and began talking on the exhale. “I guess we was all buddies. Sorta. Young and stupid and joined the war before we knew what we were getting ourselves into.” He paused there.

“Nobody did,” he said, hoping to offer some small consolation.

“But we were just kids,” he repeated, and Gil felt a painful tug in his chest for the lost boy that joined the war because he didn’t know better. “I knew there was no gettin’ out of it once I joined up and that was the end of it. I did what I had to, but they had a different idea.”

Gil furrowed his brow. “What’d they do?”

There was a long stretch with no answer before he finally said, “Caught them trying to desert.”

Gil had been a Captain himself and the initial tug grew worse at the thought of what he was going to say next.

“Followed them somethin’ like two or three miles outside of camp and tried to get them to come back. Thought maybe they wouldn’t get in as much trouble if they could come back and admit they were wrong.”

He stopped again, the rise and fall of his chest growing shallow. Gil watched the hard line of his jaw as he clenched and unclenched his teeth, struggling to get the rest of the story out in the open. He ran his bandaged hand roughly over his face and Gil could tell that he was frustrated with himself for struggling.

“I’m guessin’ they didn’t go back,” Gil offered, hoping to make it easier on him. Making it so all Rowdy had to do was move his head one way or the other and that could be his answer and they could be done with it.

“No," he said around a short, humorless huff of a laugh. “They beat the living daylights outta me and left me out to die in the middle of a field,” he replied, sounding broken and angry and hurt all at once. “Left me to die and somehow I got something worse than that.”

And suddenly Gil understood perfectly. “S’at how you..?” He couldn't bring himself to say it.

“Yeah. That’s how I ended up in Yuma.” Gil felt the air get punched from his lungs. He didn’t want to be right and hearing Rowdy say the words out loud stung worse than he possibly could have imagined.

“I never knew,” was all he could think to say.

“Nobody does.”

He felt like a vice was squeezing his chest. “Rowdy I-”

“You don’t hafta say anything,” he interjected quickly. “You asked so I told you.”

Gil took that as his cue to keep his mouth shut. He wanted to offer him something, anything that might help, but he would also give Rowdy whatever he asked for and if quiet was that thing, he could do that, too.

Instead of giving in to his own curiosity, he gave Rowdy the space he wanted.

He slowly pulled off his boots, stood up from his spot on the bed, and stepped back over to the dresser, taking off his gun belt and putting it down on top of it. He pulled off his shirt next and undid his pants, stripping down to his long johns.

Somewhere while he was unbuttoning his shirt, he heard Rowdy shift on the bed. Not long after came the thump of his boots hitting the floor and the dull thud of fabric, presumably his shirt, landing next to them. Next came the sound of him pulling the sheets back and crawling under them.

Gil tried to take as long as he could in getting undressed so that he could give Rowdy a few minutes to himself to sort out his thoughts, but when once he was done, he walked over to blow the flame out in the lamp near the door. In doing so, darkness fell upon the room and he had to walk back to the bed slowly so that he didn’t trip over anything.

He climbed into the bed and it creaked beneath him as he settled between the sheets. They were both lying on their backs, only a couple inches between them, but it felt like a mile what with Rowdy’s mind so far away.

Rowdy was still staring up at the ceiling and Gil could tell because he wasn’t even hiding how openly he was looking at him. Even in the darkness, Gil could make out the strong slope of his nose, the gentle wave of his hair, the smooth muscle of his chest, the curve of his mouth.

It almost startled him when Rowdy turned to lie on his stomach, the hand farthest from Gil, still wrapped in his bandana, tucked under his pillow and his head finally turned towards him. He reached his other hand across the short distance between them and put it on Gil’s bicep, holding on as his thumb ran along his skin, his eyes following the movement.

It wasn’t until a minute later when Gil put his hand over the top of his did he make eye contact with him, tentative and unsure.

“I can hear you thinkin’,” Gil said.

Rowdy shook his head and it made a soft noise from where his cheek was resting against the pillow.

“Rowdy.”

“S’nothin,” he mumbled.

He closed the distance between them and turned to press his whole front against Gil’s side, both arms now wrapped around Gil’s, holding onto it tightly, almost childlike in its innocence. He rested his forehead against Gil’s shoulder and Gil ran his fingertips up and down the sensitive skin on the side of Rowdy’s neck, bare without his bandana.

“I always tell everybody it happened during a battle.” His voice was muffled. “Sounds better that way.”

“Don’t make it any easier.”

“Not yet.”

Gil let him breathe, let him regain control as he tried not to concentrate on the way his bare chest felt against his arm.

It was a long time before either of them spoke again, each of them finding comfort and peace in the physical contact, the intimacy they always felt like they had to suppress in camp. It was so long that Gil didn’t know if Rowdy had fallen asleep at his side and he kept his voice quiet just in case.

“Rowdy?”

Turned out he was still awake. He tilted his head back to look up at him, thick eyelashes framing wide blue eyes. “Yeah Boss?” Gil could smell the alcohol on his breath. He had almost forgot they’d even been drinking tonight.

His hand stilled on Rowdy’s neck. “Would you have told me? If none of this had happened?”

Rowdy blinked hard at the question, eyebrows pinched in thought. “Eventually. I think so.”

Gil just nodded, watching his expression smooth back out. He could appreciate the honesty.

After a long second, he brought his forehead back to Gil’s shoulder and from the way he could now feel his eyelashes against his skin, he guessed Rowdy’s eyes were closed. That made it a surprise to him when Rowdy spoke again.

“Didn’t like him talkin’ to you.” The soft, sudden admission made Gil lean to bury his nose in Rowdy’s hair, a feeling of fondness washing over him so strongly he almost couldn’t handle it. “You never did nothin’ to him.”

“I could’ve handled it.”

“I couldn’t take that chance.”

He pressed a kiss into Rowdy’s hair and he felt his breath hitch against him.

It wasn’t long before Rowdy was asleep, one arm thrown across Gil’s chest, keeping him close. He was probably exhausted in so many ways, emotionally and physically.

Gil was only awake a few minutes longer than him, tracing gentle patterns on the arm that was resting on him, the entire night replaying in flashes in his head.

Camp. The saloon. Drinking. Flirting. The three men. The fight. Rowdy’s story. The darkness. Over and over and over again.

And although Rowdy might have caused them a bit of trouble tonight, he couldn’t bring himself to blame him for any of it. Instead, his heart just felt heavy in his chest thinking of how those three men had caused him more pain than anyone else in the world.

His blood turned to ice in his veins when he thought about what he would do if he ever saw them again. He hoped he never would, not for his sake, but for theirs.

For now, he would try to let it go, try to focus on the man sleeping next to him. The one who, despite being baited, finally tried to control his temper for once.

The one who trusted him enough to tell him his deepest secret.

The one he’d go to hell and back to protect.

Rowdy.

Chapter Text

If there was something Gil Favor held more near and dear than nights with Rowdy, it would be mornings with Rowdy.

The warmth of the rising sun peeking through the window. Lazy smiles. Laughs that came soft and easy. Bare skin. Gentle touches. All unhurried and serene.

The worries of the trail left on the other side of the door.

It reminded him of what life was like before he became a trail boss and even further back, of what life was like before the war. It was easier then. Somehow.

He supposed maybe it was because he had fewer responsibilities then. Other than his family, he didn’t hold anyone else’s life in his hands. But when he was made a Captain during the war, he started to get a taste of what that was like, making decisions of life or death. Now as a trail boss, making decisions that could cost men their lives was something he had to face every day.

The weight of that felt suffocating at times, but he had learned how to handle it. Learned how to live with himself.

These mornings also gave him a glimpse of what he thought life could be like once he walked away from all this, driving cattle and life on the trail. Maybe he’d get a ranch somewhere, somewhere like Texas, maybe Denver. He’d finally get his girls to move out West permanently, find them a school to go to, a town they could visit often enough. Maybe Rowdy would stay with them if he wanted, work the ranch with him, help him take care of the girls.

In moments like these, it was easier to picture what life could be like once he settled down, a future where he could wake up to lazy mornings with Rowdy every day. In a home. Happy.

Now this wasn’t to say he didn’t like life on the trail because he didn’t, he loved it. He loved every bit of it. The excitement. The struggles. The camaraderie. The people you got to meet. The hopeful feeling of starting a new drive. The smell of the open air. Nights when you slept under a blanket of stars. The good days. The bad days. All of it.

Sometimes he felt like he would be a fool to leave it all, but to say he wasn’t tempted to build a life where he could leave his worries behind would be a lie.

Mornings with Rowdy nearly made him ache for a chance to get away from all of it. This one was no exception.

When he woke up, he was on his side, his front pressed up against Rowdy’s back, his arm wrapped around his middle.

Rowdy was already awake, humming something softly to himself as he mindlessly ran a finger up and down the arm Gil had around him. A smile pulled at the corner of Gil’s mouth as he shifted a little to let Rowdy know he was awake, holding him a little tighter and opening his hand to lay his palm flat on Rowdy’s bare stomach.

“What’s ‘at song?” Gil asked quietly, nosing at the back of Rowdy’s neck.

“’Beyond the Sun’,” he replied.

“Where’d you learn it?”

“My ma used to sing it t’me.” Gil could hear the smile in his voice.

“S’nice.”

“Awful lot nicer when she does it.”

“M’pretty partial to yours.”

Rowdy said nothing, electing to turn over in his arms instead so that now they were practically nose-to-nose and Gil nearly had a face full of Rowdy.

“Hi there,” Gil said, unable to hold back a laugh at the sudden proximity.

“Mornin’.” Rowdy’s eyes were sleepy, only half open, but still dangerously, beautifully blue and Gil couldn’t seem to look away.

“Y’sleep okay?”

Rowdy nodded, the tip of his nose brushing Gil’s as he did so. The light from the window was casting a soft glow on his skin, tanned from long days on the trail.

“M’hungry,” he said around a yawn.

“Course you are,” Gil rolled his eyes, smiling. “Come on. This place’s gotta have food somewhere.”

He made to get up out of the bed, but a sudden hand on his arm stopped him. Before he knew what was happening, Rowdy planted a kiss on his lips, firm and sure and it took a second for Gil to relax against him. Their lips separated with a soft smack and Rowdy was smiling at him.

Gil couldn’t help but let out another laugh despite furrowing his brow. “What was’at for?”

“Last night,” Rowdy answered, momentarily averting his eyes.

Gil just nodded, pressing his lips to Rowdy’s one more time before getting up and walking over to his clothes. The bed squeaked beneath Rowdy as he stood to do the same.

Once they were both dressed, they walked out of the room and down the stairs. They asked the owner at the desk, the same man that Gil had hurried them away from last night, about a place to eat and he directed them to a large dining room that was just down the hall.

They sat at a table near a large window that looked out at the street. Rowdy ordered himself two meals instead of just one and Gil almost rolled his eyes again.

While they waited, Gil stared out the window as Rowdy rambled and told him a story about when he was a little kid. He had seen more people walk by in a few minutes sitting there than he remembered seeing in the last few towns combined. It was like the town’s population was never ending.

Yet somehow despite that, they kept coming face to face with the same three men. Except this time it wasn’t exactly face-to-face and for that, Gil was thankful.

As he continued to stare, out of nowhere, Will, Sam, and Harry rode their horses past the hotel and kept on going down the street. He couldn’t help but sit up straighter as he tried to watch how far they were riding and leaned a little closer to the window to get a better view.

Even from afar, Gil could spot Harry’s broken nose and the purple and black bruises that littered his face.

Rowdy hadn’t noticed his change in demeanor yet because he was fiddling with the bandana still wrapped around his knuckles. “An’ then my ma says, ‘Rowdy, you know you ain’t allowed on that horse. It’s gonna kill ya.’ But I wasn’t buyin’ it so I-” He cut off his words as he looked up and noticed Gil leaning basically all the way against the glass. “Boss?”

Gil shushed him, trying to maintain his focus as he continued to watch them go all the way down the street.

“Boss, what are you-” He stopped again when he turned and looked over his shoulder, catching a fleeting glimpse of the men in question. He turned back around, eyes hard, but not closed off like they had been last night, just serious. “Where’re they goin’?” He asked.

“I dunno,” Gil answered, beginning to lose sight of them as they rode far away enough to disappear into specks of dust in the distance. “I can’t see ‘em no more.”

“They go in some place or they still ridin’?”

“Still goin’,” he said, finally looking back at Rowdy and leaning away from the window “Looks like they’re ridin’ outta town.”

Rowdy’s eyes widened. “Do y’think?”

They were interrupted when the waiter who had taken their order came back with all of their food, nearly filling the table with everything Rowdy had ordered, and they continued their conversation once he went away.

“I don’t know what they’re up to, but I think it’d be smart if they moved out,” Gil said.

“What makes you say that?”

“Y’didn’t happen to catch the way Harry’s face looked, did you?” he asked.

“No.” Rowdy brought his bandana-covered hand up to scratch his cheek. “Was it that bad?”

“Certainly wouldn’t say it was any good.”

“Yeah well I ain’t sorry about it.”

Gil shrugged. “Neither am I.”

Rowdy seemed content with that and began to eat, Gil following his lead.

Rowdy continued to tell his story and Gil listened, still looking out the window every so often for some kind of sign of the three men, but they never did reappear or come back down the street.

He supposed they really did ride out. No harm in wishful thinking.

“So what do we got lined up for today?” Rowdy asked. His own plates were empty, so he reached across the table and took a piece of bacon off Gil’s plate.

Gil thought to himself for a second. “I gotta put in for some supplies, but that’s all.”

“I could pick ‘em up if you want to get back to camp,” he offered.

“You’re gonna stay here?” Gil asked.

“Yeah,” he said, the question causing him to furrow his brow.

“In this town? By yourself?” He couldn’t keep the amusement out of his tone.

“Yeah, why not?” Rowdy shot back, his voice half a pitch higher, a signal to Gil that he was offended.

Gil let out a laugh. “I could make you a list but I’m not sure there’d be enough ink in this town to finish it.”

Rowdy sat up so he was no longer slouching in his chair. “I pick up supplies in most towns we go to.”

“And this time is different.”

“How come?” He was being defensive and although the idea of him staying wasn’t out of the ordinary by any means, he had to understand where Gil was coming from in opposing it this time.

“Look. Rowdy-”

“No, I wanna know how come,” he repeated.

“You know how come,” Gil said, tone suddenly stern, wanting to cut off his argument before he could keep going with it. “You really think I’m gonna let you stay here alone when those three idiots are walkin’ around with guns in their belts?”

“But you said yourself you saw them ride outta town,” he said, continuing to defend his side of the situation despite Gil’s hopes. “So I don’t see what the problem with it is.”

“We don’t know that they rode outta town for sure.”

“Did y’see them come back this way?”

“No, but-”

“Then they’re gone. We been sittin’ here long enough.”

There was going to be no reasoning with him when his thick head was so set on staying and Gil had to be quick in weighing the pros and cons of this in his mind, trying to come to terms with the idea.

Gil sighed. “You’re gonna keep fighting me on this?”

“Yeah,” he said, still fully backing himself up.

He hesitated for a long moment, before finally saying, “And are you gonna make me regret leaving you by yourself?”

Rowdy’s face lit up. “No, I won’t. I really won’t.”

“I don’t wanna hear about nothin’ happening,” he emphasized. “No trouble. And especially no fighting.”

Rowdy was quick to answer. “I won’t get into any trouble. I promise I won’t.”

Gil heard the words, but he was still less than enthusiastic and less than able to believe him. “You better keep to yourself or so help you,” he stopped, shaking his head at the prospect of it.

“I’ll be fine, I swear.”

“Alright,” he conceded and saying yes might have only been worth it to see the smile that took over Rowdy’s whole face, but Gil still didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of winning. “Let’s go.”

Rowdy was chipper as they left the hotel and walked over to a store across the street so that they could put in their supply order.

The store owner told them that it’d be done and put together within the next few hours and at the very latest, it would be done before the sun went down.

It put Gil slightly at ease knowing that it would be done so quickly. The faster the order was together, the faster Rowdy could pick it up, and the faster he would be back at camp. Then they could leave this godforsaken town behind them for good.

When they walked over to where their horses were, Gil hesitated one last time, weary eyes looking Rowdy up and down, which didn’t go unnoticed.

“Boss, quit worryin’.”

“S’easier said than done.”

Rowdy smiled despite him. “I’ll be back before sundown.”

“You better.”

And with that Gil jumped up on his horse and headed off. He turned back one last time to look at Rowdy, who gave him a toothy grin and a large wave.

He could promise and swear and smile all he wanted, but trouble ran through his veins; it came to him as naturally as riding a horse and even he couldn’t deny it. None of it did anything to reassure Gil in the slightest and he tried to focus on his horse as he rode away, not on Rowdy.

He would be fine. He was only picking up supplies. Like he always did.

The short ride back to camp was easy. It allowed him to have some time to himself, quiet time that he would inevitably miss once he got back to camp and back into the craziness of the trail.

The last 24 hours had been a whirlwind all on their own. He was glad to have the chance to be able to clear his head a little.

Although he appreciated the alone time, he would’ve rather not been by himself. With every step, he second guessed giving in and giving Rowdy what he wanted more and more, but there would’ve been no living with him if he hadn’t gotten his way, so it made the decision a little easier to stomach.

When he was back and had his horse tied off, he walked over to Wish for some coffee. The coffee had been alright enough at the hotel, but he did miss the kind he drank at camp when he was away from it. All the others tasted too dull compared to this.

When Wishbone handed him his mug, he stood there and gave Gil a pointed look.

“Can I help you with somethin’?” Gil asked, sipping the coffee and immediately feeling the soothing warmth of it spread through him.

“Where is he?” He asked, looking around, a twinge of apprehension in his voice.

“Where’s who?”

“Don’t give me none of that,” Wish replied, making a racket out of putting the coffee kettle back over the fire. “You know who. Rowdy. Why ain’t he with you?”

“Stayed in town to pick up the supplies,” he answered as he took another sip. Wish blinked furiously and he tilted his head at him, looking very much like he wanted to say something. Gil knew he would never leave him alone until he got his point out. “What?”

“Do y’think that’s the best idea? Leavin’ him there like that?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“You know what’s wrong with ‘t.”

“I don’t,” he lied. “But I got the feelin’ you’re gonna tell me.”

Wishbone sighed as he looked around them, exasperated. “Don’t think Pete didn’t tell me all about what happened in the saloon last night.”

“And?”

“And if he sees them jaspers again? What happens then?”

“He won’t,” Gil said, an air of finality in his voice. “They ain’t gonna be givin’ him any more problems.”

“Mister Favor, you’re a smart man and I know you’re not tellin’ me you don’t think trouble ain’t gonna find its way to Rowdy Yates,” he said, disbelief now taking over his tone.

Gil let out a deep sigh, trying to keep his own anxiety down. “Wish, I saw them ride outta town this mornin’. As far as those men are concerned, we don’t got nothin’ to worry about.”

“And you’re really trustin’ that they’re gone?” Gil didn’t much believe his words himself, so he didn’t know why he expected Wishbone to.

He shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know.” The frown was set deep in Wish’s face as he shook his head. “But I got a bad feelin’ about it.”

“He’ll be fine. He’s not doin’ somethin’ he hasn’t done a thousand times in a thousand other towns.”

“It’s not him I’m worried about,” he admitted and then made his way back over to the chuck wagon.

The whole conversation left Gil feeling uneasy. He hadn’t been fully confident in his decision in the first place and Wishbone vocalizing his fears only made it that much worse. Even in rationalizing it all out loud, he didn’t know who he had been trying to convince more, Wish or himself.

He didn’t want to entertain the possibility of something going wrong and tried to shake it off before the doubt could begin to settle further in his mind than it already had.

He wanted to trust Rowdy’s stubbornness, but he couldn’t this time. Something in his gut felt wrong and he couldn’t put his finger on why.

The afternoon passed slowly, what with the herd still grazing and the men all hanging around camp, with the exception of whoever was out on watch.

Gil spent a lot of the time watching Pete, Quince, and Scarlet play poker. Quince and Scarlet had each lost so much money the night before that they weren’t making any bets today. Pete didn’t mind because it meant he didn’t have to lose any of his own money either, but he took every opportunity he could to poke fun at their misfortunes.

Gil spent the rest of the time sat on the ground with his back against the chuck wagon. They were on track to leave tomorrow morning, but he went through everything just to make sure. He reviewed and updated his trail log. He went back over the map, double-checking to see if they were still okay to follow the course they had figured out a few days ago. He knew the supplies were on their way back. Everything was in the clear so far.

When Wishbone and Mushy served up supper some time later, there was still no sign of Rowdy.

Gil tried not to let that bother him, taking his food over to sit somewhere by himself. He poked around at it for a while, unable to bring himself to actually eat any of it, mostly just staring at the plate. He only got through about a third of his food before his appetite escaped him completely and he gave up trying.

He told himself that he was just still full from breakfast. Which was hours ago. Which was the last time he saw Rowdy. He squashed the thought.

Wish gave him a look when he handed him his plate back still mostly covered with food, but he walked away before the questions could start.

He wasn’t in the mood.

But the sun was still up and that was where his hope was lying. He figured there was at least another hour or two of daylight ahead of them. Rowdy would be back before then.

He was distracted for a while when Mushy came and sat next to him, asking him if he could tell him any stories. He had loads and he was always more than willing to tell them to him because Mushy had a willing ear and an enthusiasm that made it impossible not to give in. Although he wasn’t entirely in the mood for it tonight, he did welcome the distraction and was trying to feed off of Mushy’s positive energy. He obviously hadn’t caught on to Gil’s stress yet and he was thankful.

It worked for a while. He told him a story about his time working as a ranch hand when he was a kid and another from the first time he worked a drive. He was gearing up to tell him another when Wishbone called for him, yelling that he needed to get to cleaning the dishes.

The sun had set around them and while it didn’t make Gil panic at the time, the fear began to creep in more and more, nestling itself somewhere in his chest. He neglected it as he talked to Mushy, but now that he was alone again, it was almost impossible to ignore.

He went back to his spot against the chuck wagon and sat down, one leg straight, the other bent at the knee, and his arms wrapped around it, looking out at the horizon. It felt like if he kept his eyes there long enough, Rowdy would appear out of the darkness.

It startled him when Pete came over and sat down next to him, cross-legged. Gil knew he couldn’t be the only one who was worried by this.

“He shoulda been back by now?” Pete asked, knowing he didn’t have to give a name for Gil to know who he was talking about.

“Yeah,” Gil said, keeping his answer short to ensure his voice stayed even. He didn’t want it to give away what he was feeling deep down.

Pete pursed his lips and looked down at the ground. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know,” Gil shook his head, eyes still trained on the open land around them.

Pete thought to himself for a moment. “Do y’want me to go and see what’s holdin’ him?” he offered. Gil stopped to consider it.

Part of him wanted to say no. If Pete went there and he was perfectly fine, Rowdy would throw a fit. He would think that Gil didn’t trust him or that they were treating him like some little kid that needed to be looked after. There would be no telling how mad it would make him and with his temper being the way it was the last few days, it could get ugly.

The other part of him needed to know what was happening with him. The supplies were supposed to be ready before sunset, the store owner assured him when he gave him the order that it would be ready before the sun went down and the man gave Gil no reason not to believe him. So with the idea of the supplies being the problem becoming more and more improbable, it increased the likelihood of Rowdy getting himself into trouble and Gil couldn’t sit here doing nothing if that’s what was happening.

If everything was fine and Rowdy got mad at him, he would deal with it. It was a chance he was willing to take.

“I think maybe you should.” Pete nodded. “You sure you don’t mind?”

“S’no trouble at all.” Pete got up and wiped the dust off his pants, looking down at Gil. “Should take less than an hour.”

Gil just nodded. Pete gave him a smile that was meant to be reassuring and Gil appreciated the gesture, pretending like it helped and smiling back.

Then, Pete got up on his horse and was off, riding into the night.

Gil wasn’t sure how long he stared at the spot where he watched Pete’s frame disappear, but when his legs went numb, he knew it had been too long. Not only too long to have been sitting in one place, but also too long for Pete to be gone.

His legs tingled as he stood and he had to wait for them to stop before he could walk over to stand in front of the fire.

He could also tell it had been too long by the way he now had to step around all of the sleeping drovers in his way.

He hadn’t even noticed that anyone had gone to sleep. The last time he had taken a look around, they were all gathered around a table for poker. Now, there wasn’t a single set of open eyes in the whole camp.

He crossed his arms as he looked into the fire, feeling a chill pass through him despite the warmth it was radiating.

How could he have let himself be so stupid?

He’d been blocking off his emotions all afternoon and night and the one that he couldn’t control was an overwhelming sense of regret. Regret over letting Rowdy convince him that he could stay in that town by himself.

Over letting Pete go back there alone in the dark.

Over not thinking of sending someone sooner.

Over not going himself.

If something happened to Rowdy, he’d have to spend the rest of his life knowing it was his decision to leave him there and for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to handle the repercussions of his authority. It had been years since he’d second-guessed himself like this and it was enough to make him want to hang up his hat forever.

He was so wrapped up in his own head that he almost didn’t hear Pete ride up and jump down off his horse before it was even stopped. Almost.

Gil ran over to him, no longer paying any mind to who he did or didn’t bump into on the way there. He would wake up the whole damn camp if that was the fastest way to get over there.

Not only was Pete frowning, he was also very much alone and Gil knew he wasn’t going to be able to keep the panic at bay for much longer.

“Where is he?” he asked, trying to keep his cool despite feeling like he was seconds away from suffocating.

Pete hesitated, taking in the sight of him. “Boss, I don’t know how to say this.”

“How about you jus’ try usin’ your words?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should go sit down somewhere an-”

“No, we’re gonna stay here and you’re gonna spit it out.”

“Well I could but-”

“Pete.”

“Alright,” Pete nodded, staring at the ground. He took a breath like he was preparing himself for something and Gil could’ve strangled him for making him wait. “Rowdy’s in jail.”

Gil’s face dropped. “He’s what?”

“He’s in jail,” he repeated. “S’what took me so long. I was talkin’ to the sheriff of that stupid town.”

Gil couldn’t believe his ears. “What’d he do?” The words felt stale in his mouth.

Pete hesitated again, looking around them rather than at him, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Why don’t we go over there so we can-”

“For cryin’ out loud,” he exclaimed and Pete almost jumped. “If you don’t-”

“Murder,” Pete said, effectively cutting him off and Gil felt like he was going to collapse.

He opened his mouth to speak and nothing came out. He turned his eyes away from Pete, looking towards the fire as he tried to process the words and make sense of them.

When he looked back at Pete, he only had one question he could bring himself to ask. “Who?” The word clawed itself out.

“Harry Pike.” The name rang in Gil’s ears; he’d almost expected it. He rubbed a rough hand over his face, settling it over his mouth and looking back towards the ground. “D’you know him?” Pete asked, confused.

“Uh huh,” Gil hummed. “Remember the kid he fought with in the saloon?”

“S’at him?”

“Yeah.”

The silence was deafening between them, thick and uneasy and Gil could feel the way Pete was looking at him.

Words weren’t going to do him any good anymore. He had to do something. He made to go to his horse, but Pete stepped in his way.

“Let me through,” Gil said, voice hard.

“Boss, it’s late.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. It’s too dark out. You’re not gonna be able to see nothin’.”

“I ain’t afraid of the dark.” He tried to walk past him again and Pete got in his way again. Gil let out a frustrated sigh.

“Goin’ there now won’t be any different than goin’ in the morning.”

Maybe he had a point.

“Fine,” he conceded. “But I’m ridin’ out as soon as the sun’s up.”

“I won’t stop you.”

Gil nodded, looking back to the ground. He felt like an anvil was sitting on his chest. He didn’t want to feel so desperate, so fragile inside, but half of him was sitting in a jail and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Did you see him?” The words fell out before he could think better of it.

Pete nodded. “Only for a second.”

He waited for Pete to keep going, but he never did and he couldn’t help himself. “He alright?”

“Didn’t look great, but he’ll be okay. You know how he is.”

Gil nodded for what felt to him like the thousandth time, unable to form words in the mess he was calling his mind.

Pete clapped him on the shoulder and left him so that he could go get his bedroll out of the chuck wagon and he disappeared on the other side of camp.

Gil didn’t move, felt like he couldn’t. As ready as he had been to bolt, he now felt like he was cemented in place. Stuck. Useless. Helpless.

When he could will his legs to move, he grabbed his own bedroll and rolled it out on the other side of the wagon, trying to create some kind of barrier between him and the rest of the drovers.

He didn’t expect sleep to come easy and he was right. He waited and waited and waited for it to eventually sweep through, for exhaustion to be stronger than his worries, but it never came.

He stared up at the stars and for the first time all night, his mind felt blank.

He’d spent all day worrying and agonizing over what was happening in town, imagination overflowing, but now that he knew, it was like he had nothing. He didn’t have to imagine anymore, he didn’t have to wonder.

Rowdy was in jail. For murder. And he had no idea what he was going to do about it.

He reached into his saddlebag for a cheroot and a match, every intention of lighting it with his thumb. It was a habit he’d picked up back when he was just a kid working on ranches and now it came to him as naturally as breathing.

First try, nothing. Second try, nothing. Third try. Fourth try. The fifth try resulted in him snapping the match in half and the frustration was almost enough to make him shout.

He went back into his saddlebag for another, choosing to light it on his boot instead this time and it went on the first go.

He lit the cheroot and brought it to his lips, inhaling deeply, producing a cloud of thick smoke on the exhale, a harsh white against the black sky surrounding him.

He smoked it slowly, trying to make it last as long as he possibly could, trying and failing to find the sense of calm it usually brought to him.

He felt numb and he almost wished he had whiskey to make it worse.

It felt like it took an eternity for the sun to rise and Gil kept praying for sleep to help make it pass by faster, but it was like the universe was laughing at him, like it was trying to make the wait as agonizing as possible.

The sun was barely poking itself above the horizon when Gil hopped up, throwing his bedroll back into the wagon and going over to his horse.

No one was awake yet, not even Wishbone and Mushy, who usually got up to start breakfast as early as possible. They were still sound asleep.

The ride to town was almost as painful as the wait had been all night. The stretch of land in front of him felt endless and when buildings popped up in the distance, he wasn’t sure he believed they were real.

The streets were empty when he finally made it, a frightening contrast to how busy they normally were. It was eerily quiet as he rode and it did nothing but grate on his nerves.

The jail was only a couple buildings away from the hotel they had stayed in the night before and he was able to find it fairly quickly.

The sheriff was asleep at his desk when Gil walked in. He made his footsteps forceful against the hardwood floor, boots pounding and spurs rattling.

He took notice of a closed door with a large lock on the wall behind the desk. He figured the cell must be behind there and he had to pry his eyes away from it.

The sheriff woke with a start at the noise, eyes finding Gil standing in front of him and squinting, obviously confused as to why he was being woken up this early. “S’there something I help y’with?” He couldn’t have been older than forty and he wiped a hand over his tired eyes.

“You holdin’ a man in here?” he asked, cutting right to the chase. There was no use in small talk when his fuse was so short.

“Fella by the name of,” he leaned forward to look at a piece of paper on his desk, eyes scanning it. “Oh yeah. Fella named Yates.” He looked back up at Gil.

“What’s he in for?” Of course he knew the answer, but he wanted to hear the sheriff say it.

“Murder,” he said, shaking his head. “Shot some poor kid. Wasn’t even armed.”

Gil’s hands came to hold the front of his belt in a grip so tight it hurt. “Can I see him?”

“Who’s he to you?”

If only he knew.

“He’s ramrod of the outfit I boss. We been stayin’ right outside of town the last few days.”

“The cattle drive?” Gil nodded. “Right. Well you might want to find yourself a new ramrod, Mister, uh,” his voice trailed off.

Gil’s blood ran cold. “Favor,” he said, almost throwing the word at him.

“Mister Favor,” he repeated now that he knew. “Alright then. He’s right back here.”

He turned and reached into a drawer in his desk, pulling out a large ring of keys and using one to open the door behind him, the door Gil had spotted on the way in. The sheriff stopped him as he tried to walk past and he held his hand out. Gil took his gun out of his holster, put it in his hand, and walked on by.

The sheriff didn’t follow him into the other room, half of which was a cell, surrounded by bars. Gil only took a step or two into the room before he stopped, breath nearly catching in his throat.

Rowdy was lying on a bed in the corner, small beneath his long limbs, his feet hanging of the edge. He was staring up at the ceiling. Gil let himself wonder if he hadn’t gotten any sleep either and something in his chest clenched.

He hadn’t looked over when the door initially opened and Gil guessed it was because he assumed it was the sheriff coming in to check on him.

He opened his mouth to say something and it hung there uselessly as he took in the sight of him, unmoving.

“Rowdy?” he asked, sounding surprisingly soft even to his own ears despite his anger.

Rowdy’s head turned with a snap and his eyes were wide when they found his. “Boss,” he said, standing up with a shot and making his way over to the bars, holding onto them with both hands, right hand on a vertical bar and left on a horizontal one.

Gil crossed the rest of the distance and stood in front of him. His right hand came up to grip the bar next to Rowdy’s left, the space so small that his thumb hooked around the vertical one, leaving less than an inch between their fingers.

“I didn’t do it,” Rowdy said, frantic. “I didn’t. You know I wouldn’t. I-“

“I know,” Gil cut him off, trying to come off as calm. Rowdy sounded like he was out of breath, his chest was heaving.

“They’re sayin’ I murdered him, but they’re lyin’. I didn’t murder anybody. He-”

“Slow down.” The words made Rowdy stop again, this time for longer and it gave him the opportunity to catch his breath. When Gil was satisfied with how he’d calmed down, he said, “Tell me what happened.”

Rowdy took a deep breath. “I was walkin’ around wasting some time before I went back to the store. I was minding my own business and all of a sudden I see them outta the corner of my eye. I went in some alley between two buildings cause I thought maybe they wouldn’t see me there, but I guess they did cause they followed me.” He started looking past Gil, like he was trying to remember.

“S’all kind of a blur after that,” he paused again, looking back at him. “They had me cornered and Harry started sayin’ stuff and then I started goin’ back at him and the next thing I know he’s drawin’ on me.”

Gil furrowed his brow. “The sheriff said he was unarmed.”

“S’what he told me, too. But I tried tellin’ him it was a lie and he wouldn’t believe me,” the pitch of his voice was rising again. “I don’t know what happened next cause I woke up in here. Will and Sam musta brought me.”

“You weren’t awake?”

“Out cold.”

“So only they could tell the sheriff what happened.”

“And make it look however they wanted,” Rowdy agreed. “By the time I tried to tell my side it was already too late.”

Gil nodded, taking it all in and using the moment to think. “And there was nobody else around?”

“Not that I could see.”

“You got a lump on your head?”

“I did,” he reached his right hand to feel for it. “S’not there anymore though.”

Gil paused again, ideas swirling in his head and none of them sounding much good, but Rowdy was looking at him, eyes wide and earnest and it was enough to make his throat tight.

“It doesn’t look too good, does it?” Rowdy asked with a frown, a twitch pulling at his lips.

“Not right now it doesn’t,” Gil admitted, not wanting to say it, but knowing it was best to be honest. “They tell you when the trial’s gonna be?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Okay that buys us some time.”

“For what?”

“To figure it out.” Gil stretched his hand the slightest bit so that his thumb was resting against Rowdy’s pinky. He couldn’t help himself. It was simple but grounding in a way he couldn’t explain and he knew Rowdy probably needed it as bad as he did.

Rowdy’s eyes flashed to their hands, just barely touching, and he took a shaky breath. “Okay,” he said and Gil knew it was his way of saying he trusted him.

“Okay,” Gil repeated, echoing the sentiment and Rowdy found his eyes again. “I’m gonna go see what I can do.” Rowdy nodded, lips locked together in a tight frown. “I’ll be back later.”

Rowdy said nothing again, just looking at him and if Gil didn’t have to go get him out of this mess, he wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to leave.

Gil reluctantly slid his hand off the metal bar, finger brushing against Rowdy’s as he did so. It felt cold when it was back down at his side.

He turned and left the room. He had to physically will himself not to look back at Rowdy. It would’ve been too much.

He didn’t stop to talk to the sheriff on the way out and he heard the door outside the cell slam closed as he walked out of the building, cutting through him like a shot.

He wasn’t sure where he was going to start, but he had to figure this out somehow.

And fast.

Chapter Text

At a time like this, Gil wasn’t certain of about a hundred different things, but as he walked out of the jail and towards his horse, the only thing he could say with absolute certainty was that it was entirely too early to be able to find anything out yet.

He’d been punch drunk to go into town and see Rowdy, he’d be the first person to admit it. He would’ve suffocated in his mind-worse than he already had been-if he hadn’t gone in to see him the second he was able to.

Now he was here, he had already been to the jail, and he was realizing that no one else was around.

It was only about an hour past sunrise and the streets were still almost completely deserted. The only other person he could see was the supply shop owner, the one they had ordered from yesterday, who was fiddling with the lock on the door to open up for the day.

Maybe he knew something, saw something, heard something. Odds were low, but what other choice did he have? Couldn’t hurt to ask.

Gil ultimately left his horse and slowly walked over to the store to see if he could get any information from the man.

A bell dinged over him as he walked in and the man popped his head up from where he was kneeling behind the counter at the sound. He was a short man with glasses and thin white hair.

“Oh howdy, Mister Favor,” the man said, upbeat in spite of the hour and standing, wiping his hands on the apron he had tied around his waist. “Here to pick up your supplies?”

“Actually, no,” he said, ignoring the way his heart skipped a beat in remembering Rowdy never made it there to get them. “I was wondering if you could help me with something, Mister,” he held the ‘r’ long when he realized he didn’t know the man’s name.

“Carson,” he supplied.

“Mister Carson,” he said with a tip of his head. “I just got a couple questions for you if it’s not too much trouble.”

“S’awful early, ain’t it?”

“It is, but it’s sorta important.”

“Alright,” he nodded and he came out from behind the counter, coming to stand in front of it and leaning back against it. “Go ahead.”

“Do you remember the man that was in here with me yesterday?”

Carson thought back to himself. “He was a young fella, right? Mighty tall? Blond?”

“Yeah that’s him,” Gil nodded.

“I remember,” Carson agreed. “Why d’you ask?”

“Did you happen to see him in town at all yesterday? Walkin’ around maybe?”

“Not that I can think of,” he paused again. “Only time I saw him was when he was in here with you. Never did come back.”

There went that idea.

“Figures,” Gil said under his breath, frowning and eyes falling towards the ground.

“Somethin’ happen?”

“Yeah” he replied, purposefully short, “Sorta.” He didn’t feel like elaborating.

“S’a shame. Seems like a nice kid.”

Gil gave the man a tight smile, not quite reaching his eyes. “Appreciate that.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help, you just let me know,” he offered and for some reason, Gil believed him.

“I’ll do that.”

With that he tipped his hat at him and walked out of the store, bell once again ringing above him.

As little help as he thought Mr. Carson was going to be, somehow he managed to be less than that. He was thankful the man had let him ask some questions being that it was so early and out of the blue, but he needed something to work with.

Something he shouldn’t have expected to get from him.

He looked out at the empty streets around him. The rest of the town was still dead and Gil had to keep from letting it frustrate him.

If the world didn’t stop turning when Rowdy got thrown in jail, then he shouldn’t have expected anyone in this godforsaken town to be awake either.

Frustration was only going to cloud his judgment and make a bad situation worse. He had to keep his cool if he wanted to think clearly and he knew he was going to have to work hard at maintaining what little composure he had left.

He walked with his horse, reins in hand, over towards the Sunday Stampede, thinking that’s where he was probably going to be able to get the most information. That’s where they encountered most of their trouble the last few days, but like almost everything else in town, it was still closed and he figured it wouldn’t be open for at least a few more hours.

His mind was swirling trying to think of how he was possibly going to find a productive way to spend the next few hours. Twiddling his thumbs when Rowdy was locked up just didn’t feel right.

He mounted up his horse and headed off back towards camp. It would do him no good to waste his time in this town alone waiting for things to open. If anything, it was going to drive him even crazier sitting there by himself. He had better ways to pass the time.

At the very least, he had the peace of mind of knowing Rowdy was in one piece, a slight comfort he could afford himself only because he’d seen him. Rowdy was alright and he wouldn’t be able to get into any more trouble than he was already in from where he was locked up.

He could see a few of the drovers were awake, including Wishbone, who had finally woken up and was starting to get breakfast together. Mushy was on one side of him, getting all of the plates and utensils out of the chuck wagon and onto the table for when it came time to serve everything up.

Gil dismounted and while he tied his horse off, he could hear Mushy.

“See Mister Wishbone. I tol’ ya,” he said. “I tol’ ya he gone someplace.”

“Alright. Quit your yammerin’,” Wishbone conceded and Gil could hear in his voice that he was rolling his eyes. “You wanna wake up the whole camp?”

Mushy never did give up so easily though. “Mister Favor bein’ gone like that don’t mean somethin’s wrong, does it?”

“I don’t know, but I never known it to mean anything good.”

When they saw that Gil was approaching them, they made like they hadn’t been talking, suspiciously quiet and all too focused on what they were each doing for it to be real.

“Mornin,” Gil said, indulging them in their apparent nonchalance.

Wish turned his chin up as he pushed a mug of coffee into his hands. “Awful early for you to be comin’ in from town, ain’t it?” He sounded like a prodding mother, a tone Gil was all too familiar with.

“Not really,” Gil mumbled, taking a long drink of the coffee. He desperately needed the caffeine after the restless night he had, knowing it would also help with the tough day he assumed was ahead of him.

“You gonna explain yourself or are you just gonna leave me out to dry like some ol’ pair’a boots?”

Gil stared into his mug. “Rowdy’s in jail.”

“S’at all?” Wish asked with a huff, getting back to busying himself with preparing the food. “Now Mister Favor, you know I hate to say ‘I told you so,’ but-”

“He’s in for murder, Wish.” The words somehow sounded worse coming out of his mouth than they did in his head.

The knife in Wishbone’s hand fell to the cutting board with a pang. “He’s what?” Gil nodded. “But how?”

Mushy stopped what he was doing and was now standing a few inches behind Wishbone, panicked eyes looking right at Gil.

“Got cornered by them punks he fought with in that saloon. One of ‘em drew on him. Had no choice but to fire back.” Again, he kept the answer short and simple.

“But that don’t make no sense,” Wish pointed out, as if Gil didn’t know already. “How could it be murder if that jasper drew on him?”

“Says he was framed,” he explained. “The other two knocked him over the head and brought him to the sheriff. Made it all out to be like Rowdy drew on a kid that was unarmed.”

“And he tried tellin’ the sheriff?”

Gil nodded again. “Wouldn’t believe him.”

“But Mister Favor, Mister Rowdy wouldn’t murder nobody,” Mushy chimed in, confident in the sentiment. “Never.”

“I know,” Gil agreed, something about Mushy’s unwavering faith in Rowdy pulling at his chest.

“There’s gotta be some way a’tellin’ that sheriff that he just ain’t like that,” he pushed. “He’s gotta believe us.”

“I wish it was that easy,” Gil said, offering him a smile that faded as quickly as it came.

“We ain’t the jury,” Wish added and Mushy nodded, frowning deeply now that he understood that this situation was more difficult than he initially thought. “So what do we do?”

Gil shook his head as he said, “Not much we can do right now. I was gonna go back later and see if there was somebody in that saloon that might know something.”

And as if he had sensed something was happening, suddenly Pete was up and off his bedroll, walking over to them and doing up the buttons on the front of his shirt. “You been in town yet?” He asked, obviously not having heard the rest of the conversation. Mushy filled and handed him a coffee mug.

“He jus’ got back,” Wish answered for him.

Pete nodded, hesitant. “You see him?”

It was Gil’s turn to nod now. “Only for a minute.” He looked down towards the ground as his mind drifted back to the image he had of Rowdy through the bars laying on that bed, his too tired eyes trained on the ceiling and his too long legs hanging off the edge.

Gil had had nightmares that looked a lot like that picture he had in his mind and now that he’d seen it in real life, he wished it would go back to being just that. Just a nightmare. He’d give anything for that right about now.

“Did he tell you when the trial was?” Wishbone’s question brought him back to Earth.

“Tomorrow morning.”

“You’re gonna go back there, right?” Pete asked.

“Yeah, s’too early yet,” he said. “Was gonna go back to that saloon we was at the other night.”

“Y’want me to come with you?” That was one of the things Gil appreciated most about Pete. He’d drop everything to help someone, no matter what.

“No, I’ll be alright.” He tried his best to sound confident. Maybe if he could fool them, he could fool himself, too.

“If you say so,” Pete said, long past trying to stop Gil from doing what he knew he was just going to do anyway. “But you know if you need backup,” he trailed off, giving Gil a half smile.

“I’ll let you know after I get back.” And that was good enough for Pete, who walked off to go drink his coffee in peace.

Wishbone was looking at him now, eyebrows knitted tight with concern. “You do got a plan, don’t you, Mister Favor?”

“I said it twice now,” Gil sighed. “I’m goin’ back to the saloon an’-”

“No, no I heard that,” Wish said, shaking his head furiously. “I mean a real plan,” he clarified.

Gil rubbed the back of his neck, leaving his hand there once it stilled, mulling Wishbone’s words over in his head. “Not really,” he admitted. “No.”

“Dontcha think maybe you should?”

He didn’t need the nitpicking at a time like this and he could feel the irritation growing rapidly. “Wish, I can’t do nothin’ until I talk to more people about it.”

“Who’s to say they’re gonna be any help? What if they don’t know nothin’?”

“We can’t know that,” he said, desperately hoping he would drop the issue before he blew up. “I’m not getting ahead of myself here and neither should you.” He’d been keeping his temper at bay for days now, but one wrong push was going to set him off. And bad.

“I understand that, but I’m just sayin’ it’s not just nobody sittin’ in that jail. It’s Rowdy.”

“I know who it is.” He could feel his face growing hot now.

“So don’t you think maybe you should-”

“Maybe I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got so far,” he snapped. “So unless you got a better way to help, you can get down off your high horse and let me do it my way.”

He dumped what was left of his coffee on the ground, put the mug down with a loud clank, and stormed off before Wishbone or Mushy could say anything.

He came to settle on the same boulder he had sat on with Rowdy only two days before, when Rowdy had been in a fit of rage after seeing those men in the saloon the first time. Gil rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands, closing his eyes and pressing on them with his fingertips until he could see stars behind them. His loud breaths were bouncing off his palms and a million thoughts were racing through his mind.

How could he have let things get so out of hand?

Why didn’t he move the herd out after he knew trouble was coming?

Why did he say yes to leaving Rowdy alone?

Who was he going to be able to find that was going to help them?

How in the hell was he going to get Rowdy out of it this time?

His thoughts were deafeningly loud between his ears and not a single one of them was the least bit helpful.

He listened to the sound of his breaths for a long time, trying to make heads or tails of it all.

The rational part of him said that instead of harping on those questions, maybe he should try answering some of them. Having answers was a good thing. Answers could help organize his thoughts.

He started over.

He didn’t let things get out of hand. None of this was in his control.

He didn’t move the herd out because there was no way to have known that this was how bad the trouble was going to get.

He said yes because Rowdy would have been angry with him otherwise.

He wasn’t sure exactly who was going to help, but maybe someone had seen what had happened. Maybe someone had heard something. Anything was possible.

He was going to get Rowdy out of this mess. Didn’t matter how. He was going to figure something out because he was innocent and because that’s what innocent men deserve.

As he rethought, he could feel his breathing growing even, feel his mind slowing, his heartbeat calming. He sat up straighter and looked out, taking in his surroundings, watching the sun slowly rise higher in the sky.

He knew he had to distract himself before the nerves came back. He walked back over to his horse, mounted up, and rode out towards the herd.

He wasted a good chunk of time surveying what he thought must have been every last steer he could set his eyes on. It was a task he normally found tedious at worst, but today he was thankful for it. He was thankful for something constructive he could set his mind to for at least a few hours.

He noticed that everybody kept their distance from him while he was out with the herd. Normally he would talk to whoever was on watch or he’d bring somebody out with him, usually Pete or Rowdy, but today he was doing it alone. Nobody joined him and the men on watch didn’t go out of their way to talk to him. If he asked one of them a question, they answered him short and sweet, but other than that, they let him alone.

The sun was high in the sky when Wishbone made sandwiches for lunch, but Gil didn’t take one, electing instead to get back on his way.

Riding back into town, it felt a lot more like what he had become accustom to here. The streets were bustling with noise and people and excitement. The atmosphere didn’t overwhelm him like he expected. It helped drown out his thoughts, the ones screaming and making a racket in his mind.

As he rode a little further down the street, he could see the way some people were making their way in and out of the Sunday Stampede. He figured the busier it was, the better chance of finding somebody who knew something; he thought this to himself as he made his way inside.

He ordered himself a whiskey at the bar and found himself walking over to a small table in the corner. His eyes scanned entire saloon in search of a familiar face, but no one was catching his eye quite yet. This didn’t surprise him and he figured now was the real time he could afford to do some waiting and not have it be a waste.

He brought the drink to his lips and the smell was almost enough to send him over the edge. It took him back to where he’d been barely two days ago.

Sitting here. With Rowdy. Together. Happy.

Until they weren’t.

He took a quick drink and it burned all the way down, giving way to the warmth that it always brought, settling somewhere in his stomach. Maybe a drink wouldn’t be a bad thing. Maybe it would help calm his nerves a little.

He kept to himself as he sipped on his whiskey, patient and sure. He mostly set his gaze set on the door to see if he could recognize anyone that walked in, but still, no one was setting off any alarms in his head.

He nursed his first glass for a while, knowing he would need to keep his head as clear as possible, but also knowing he’d have to have a drink in his hands for it not to look suspicious for him to be in a saloon all alone.

When his glass was finally empty some time later, he got himself another from the bar and turned back to go to his table, but what he saw stopped him in his tracks.

Sitting in one of the chairs at his table was the same girl that Rowdy danced with in the saloon the night of the fight. The one that had come over to them, stuttering and shy. She didn’t look that much different right now, hands clasped on top of the table, eyes cast down, a frown on her lips.

Gil tried not to let the confusion show on his face, but he could tell it was by the way his eyebrows had pinched together.

He walked back over to the table, new glass of whiskey in hand, and stopped once he got there, choosing not to sit back down yet.

“Miss?” he asked softly, as though not to startle her. “S’there something I can help you with?”

She looked up at him, eyes wide and unsure. “You’re friends with Rowdy, right?” Her voice was gentle, sad almost.

He nodded. “Why do you ask?”

“You can sit, you know,” she said. “I didn’t mean to steal your table.”

“S’alright,” He sat back down in his chair. “I’m Gil Favor.”

“Lizzie Gardner.”

He offered her half a smile. “I hope you’ll forgive my askin’, Miss Gardner, and don’t think that I mind the company, but what brings you over here exactly?”

She blinked hard and it looked like she was working up the nerve to talk to him. “Is it true what happened to Rowdy?”

The question took him by surprise. “Depends on what you heard.”

“That he’s in jail,” she clarified. “For killing one’a those three fellas that’ve been hanging around town.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“It’s all over town. Everybody’s talking about it.”

Gil made a conscious effort to remember it wasn’t this girl that was spreading rumors as he felt his blood pressure begin to rise. It wasn’t her fault that she was just relaying the message she heard to him.

“Well that’s what they got him in for,” he said, skeptical tone suggesting his disbelief in the situation.

Her eyes brightened. “Y’mean he didn’t actually do it?”

“Not the way it sounds when he tells it.” His eyes fell to look at the table.

“I knew it.” She allowed herself a sigh of relief. “I knew they were up to no good,” she said to herself and Gil’s breath caught.

His eyes snapped back up. “What did you say?” he asked, trying not to sound frantic, but not entirely successful in his attempt.

“I said I knew they were up to no good,” she repeated slowly, as though she was afraid she had said something wrong and was trying to gauge Gil’s reaction to the statement.

“Do you know something about what happened?” He didn’t want to ambush her with questions and had to stop himself from letting more fall out.

“Not really. No,” she admitted. “But I did hear them talking yesterday morning.”

“What were they saying?”

“I don’t remember exactly.” She paused, looking past him, trying to remember. “But they were talking about wanting to get back at him. You know, for starting that fight. Sounded like they were tryin’ to figure out a way to get him into trouble.”

“I see,” Gil nodded.

“I really couldn’t hear much, but you could tell they were planning somethin’ bad.” She looked back at him. “Do you think that has something to do with Rowdy getting locked up?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Can’t be sure yet, but I do think it’s an awfully big coincidence.”

“Yeah, me too.”

They were quiet for a long moment. Gil’s eyes dropped to look into his whiskey as he swirled it around the glass, thinking to himself about how these pieces might add together. When he looked back up at her, she was already looking at him, soft eyes scanning his face.

“Why’d you come tell me?” he asked, curious and not entirely caring if it came off as intrusive. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“’Cause you were here with him the other night. So I thought you might know what was happening better than all those gossips were telling me.” Gil nodded in understanding. “And ‘cause Rowdy’s sweet,” she said, cheeks suddenly a rosy shade of pink. “He doesn’t deserve anything bad happening to him.”

“You’re right about that,” Gil agreed, unable to stop himself. He took another sip of his drink. She didn’t have to know that he agreed with more than just the very last statement.

“I think it’s awful nice of you trying to help him out.”

“S’nothin’ he wouldn’t do for me.”

“You close?” She asked, coming off in such a way that he could tell it was genuine and not an attempt at prying.

“Yeah, you could say that.” The words made his throat tight.

She finally allowed herself a smile. “I’m glad he’s got somebody like you to help him.”

“I’m gonna do my best.”

“You seem like a good man, Mister Favor,” she said. “And if Rowdy trusts you, it’s gotta be for a good reason.”

“Mighty kind of you to say so.”

And with that, she looked across the saloon. “I think I should be getting back over to my folks.” She stood.

“Yeah, sure,” Gil said, nodding up at her. “I really appreciate you tellin’ me what you heard.”

“Figured you might be needing some help,” she said. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” and Gil smiled despite himself at her kindness.

Gil watched her disappear across the saloon, feeling something like hope sweep through him. It was fleeting, gone almost as quick as it came, but he let himself feel it nonetheless.

In retrospect, Lizzie hadn’t give him much by way of details, but she had given him a jumping off point, somewhere to go from. More important than that, she had given him the sense that if they had been making a plan to get back at Rowdy, then maybe he could find a way to prove that he had been framed. It was only a skeleton of an idea, but it was better than what he’d had this morning.

What he knew now was that he was going to have to talk to Will and Sam. Initially, he was going to try and see if he could information from anyone and everyone, attempt to work around them somehow. But now that he knew they might have been planning something ahead of time, he also knew talking to them was going to be his best bet.

The next issue was where he was going to have to look in order to find them.

He figured he would wait in the saloon for a while. After all, two out of the three times he’d ever seen them were in here. The odds of seeing them here again seemed pretty high.

He spent a long time drinking his second glass and then tried to stretch his third out even longer than that, but there was still no trace of them. He hadn’t so much as seen them out the window in all the hours he’d been sitting there.

He decided to call the Sunday Stampede a dead end when it came to that idea and walked out onto the street.

He headed to the hotel he and Rowdy had stayed at the night of the fight, describing Will and Sam to the owner and asking if he’d seen them. Nothing.

Next, he went a couple blocks away to the other hotel he knew was there, doing the same.

“Yeah I seen them,” the man said to him. “They been stayin’ here a couple days now.”

“And are they coming back here tonight?” Gil asked.

“I couldn’t tell you, Mister, but they ain’t made no arrangements to stay again.”

“So you think they skipped town?”

“S’what I’d put my money on.”

Naturally.

Gil thanked the man and went back outside.

His eyes scanned the street for maybe three seconds before he spotted them walking out of a different saloon than the one he’d wasted nearly the entire day in. They had their backs turned so he couldn’t see their faces, but he would’ve bet his life that it was them.

He made a beeline right for them.

It was Sam who noticed him first, turning his head at the sound of his spurs and his boots pounding against the wood of the deck beneath his feet. His eyes went wide and he tugged on Will’s shirtsleeve to get his attention. He whispered something Gil couldn’t hear, but he knew it was about him from the way Will turned to look at him, too.

Will stopped waking, as did Sam, and they turned to face him. Gil stopped once he was close enough.

“Well, howdy, Mister Favor,” Will said, smiling like he had no idea what was going on. Sam remained stoic next to him.

“Gentlemen,” Gil said, quiet.

“S’there some reason you’re hightailing me and my friend here or do you just like us that much?” Will asked and Gil’s short fuse already felt like it was being tested.

“I’d like to talk to you two about something.” He resisted the urge to draw his shoulders up and curl his hands around the front of his belt. He forced himself to stand tall and keep his hands down by his side, keeping them ready.

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“I think you know what it’s about,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the space that separated them.

Will’s smile grew cocky. “See, I knew somethin’ was different about you.”

“How’s that?”

“You’re missing your shadow,” he stated. “Ain’t you?”

Gil’s hands balled at his side. “Funny ‘cause I was thinkin’ you were down a man yourselves.”

Will’s smile faded slowly and his eyes bore into Gil’s. “You might wanna watch what you’re sayin’.” His hand was at his side now, resting just below his holster, letting Gil know it was there.

“And you might wanna come with me before you do something stupid.”

Will continued to stare at him for a long moment, unblinking, but eventually his hand dropped back down to its normal place at his side. “I’ll hear you talk, but I ain’t going nowhere.”

“Alright,” Gil conceded. It didn’t matter where they talked so long as he got to say his piece. “Look. I know what really happened between Rowdy and Harry.”

Will quirked an eyebrow at him. “What’s that supposed to mean, what really happened?”

“You know. The way your friend drew on Rowdy and then the two of you framed him for murder,” he said bluntly, cutting right to the chase. His eyes flashed momentarily to Sam, whose blue eyes were wide, eyebrows drawn up, something like guilt reflecting in them.

“I’m not sure that’s what happened,” Will pushed and Gil looked at him again, his resolve growing thinner each time he heard Will’s voice.

“You might be able to play dumb with that sheriff,” Gil said, “But don’t think you’re foolin’ me. I know Rowdy better than anybody and he’d never do a thing like what you accused him of.”

“Maybe so, but it don’t matter. That sheriff’s gotta believe what I tell him.”

“And why’s that exactly?”

“Because we was the only ones there,” he said, smile pulling at his lips again. “So unless you can find somebody else that saw what happened, he’s got no choice but to believe me.”

“You’re gonna be able to live with yourself if he hangs?” Gil asked.

“Sometimes that’s the way things shake out,” Will said with a shrug.

“What about when he got sent to a prison camp while the three of you deserted the army? That just the way things shake out sometimes?” Will’s smile dropped and he looked faintly pale. “Yeah, he told me all about it.”

“That don’t matter.” Will was defensive now, less confident, less brash. “That was a long time ago.”

Gil ignored him. “How about you?” He looked back at Sam, who seemed almost startled that he was being addressed. “You alright with just sitting back and letting this happen when you know it’s not true?”

Will began to answer for him. “He’s not letting anyth-”

“I didn’t ask you,” he shot back, voice low but forceful, and Will’s mouth hung open, limp and useless. He turned his attention back to Sam.

“I don’t see how there’s anything I can do to change anything,” Sam said and Gil was taken aback at the soft tone of his voice, a contrast to how sharp his own tongue felt. “It’s over now.”

“You can still go tell the truth.”

Sam shook his head. “S’like Will said, sometimes it just don’t shake out in a way that’s fair.” He looked down at the ground and his eyes stayed cast in that direction for the rest of the time Gil was there, unable to look at him.

He nodded slowly, mulling over Sam’s words. “So that’s the way it’s gonna be?”

“Don’t see any other way,” Will answered.

“We’ll see about that.”

The line of Gil’s mouth was tight as he turned on his heel and back in the direction of the jail. He had to get out of there before he did anything rash, anything reckless, anything he’d regret.

He had to see Rowdy again.

All day he rejected thoughts of him sitting by himself in that jail cell, probably nervous, definitely lonely, and undeniably helpless. It made him sick to his stomach whenever his mind would wander there and he did his best not to think that way. It would do them no good. He had to look forward and focus.

But now the sun was getting low again and in seeing that, Gil realized just how much time he had wasted sitting in that saloon. He let himself feel foolish. He should’ve been out looking. He shouldn’t have thought they’d come to him. He should’ve known better.

The walk to the sheriff’s office did nothing by way of calming his nerves.

He nearly stormed through the door and the sheriff’s head snapped up at the sudden, unexpected intrusion. Gil tried to walk past him, but the man stood and got in his way.

“Slow down there, Mister,” he said. “What do you think you’re doin’?”

“I wanna talk to him.” Gil said, but the sheriff didn’t budge. Maybe the man didn’t remember him. “I was in here early this morning.”

“Sorry. No can do.”

“Of course not,” Gil mumbled and looked up at the ceiling. He made himself inhale and exhale deeply before speaking again. “Mind telling me why?”

“He’s only allowed two visitors a day.”

“Awfully low isn’t it?”

The sheriff shrugged. “Maybe, but that’s the way it works.”

“Who was the other one?”

“His lawyer.”

“Seeing a lawyer the day before a trial ain’t a choice,” he scoffed. “That can’t count.”

“Afraid it does,” he said. “Sorry, pal. Rules are rules.” He sat back down in his chair, finalizing his words with the movement.

Gil stared at the man for a long moment, testing just how serious he was about all of this nonsense. When, once again, he didn’t budge, Gil left the jail just as swiftly as he’d come in without saying another word.

For what felt to him like the thousandth time in the last few days, he got on his horse, left town, and rode back towards camp.

He momentarily weighed the pros and cons of staying in a hotel. He wanted to be nearby in case something happened. However, staying in the one hotel would be a bad decision because if they hadn’t left town yet, that’s where Will and Sam would be. All hell would break loose if he saw them again.

On the other hand, if he went back to the other hotel, the one he stayed in with Rowdy, he knew it would be too much. Too close.

Too alone.

So he chose the alternative and followed the now-familiar route back to camp.

He rode slowly, allowing the sun time to set above him.

No one came near him when he made his way through camp, all basically clearing a path for him as he went to the chuck wagon, unceremoniously grabbed his bedroll despite it being too early to sleep, and bedded down near that boulder he’d retreated to earlier that day. Distancing himself far away from everyone else.

He wondered if Pete had something to do with everyone leaving him alone. No one in this outfit had any concept of tact unless they were explicitly told to give somebody space. He’d been grateful to Pete Nolan more times than he could count on both hands and tonight was no exception.

Gil laid back on his bedroll, one hand pillowed beneath his head and the other resting flat on his stomach. He didn’t want to have to think about this anymore.

But somehow, he thoughts didn’t stray far from Rowdy. Never really did to begin with.

As he closed his eyes, his mind wandered, taking him back to a time that was infinitely simpler.

It had happened a little over a year ago now, if he had his days straight.

It was the first time Gil had ever taken a drive all the way up to Denver. He wasn’t sure who he let convince him to do it, but halfway through, when the land had gone dry and there hadn’t been rain in three weeks, he was regretting being so agreeable.

He didn’t know the trail very well and Pete had only gone this way as many times as he could count on one hand. Mapping out the new land had been exciting for a time, but soon it grew tiresome, much harder than it had been on a route they were so familiar with like the Sedalia Trail.

Like he had done so many times in the past, he sent Pete up ahead to see what was out there. Those trips out seemed more important now with the element of surprise working against them, no longer a simple routine precaution.

When Pete came back maybe two hours after they had eaten lunch, he brought the news that there were two ways they could get to water. One they could reach within a day, but there were some fairly rocky bits along the way that he wasn’t so sure the boss would want to move past. The other would cost them an extra two days, but the path was smooth and flat. He told Gil that he should go ahead and take a look for himself in order to make his decision.

Of course Gil asked Rowdy to come along with him. That was a given these days.

What wasn’t a given was how cold Rowdy was being.

He was quiet nearly the entire time they were riding and if Gil thought about it hard enough, he could remember that Rowdy’d been uncharacteristically quiet for a couple weeks before that, too.

But not with everybody. Just with him.

From the moment Rowdy signed on with them, he’d gravitated towards Gil. Whether it was surveying the herd or scouting trail or going on supply runs or throwing out bedrolls or something as simple as eating supper, he generally found that Rowdy was alongside him.

Although he put on a face like it bugged him, Gil had grown used to it. And somewhere really deep down, deeper down than anyone might dig to find, he began to like it. It became normal. Almost a comfort on the rough days to know he could look over and have Rowdy right there, all big smiles and bright eyes. He’d developed a sort of fondness towards him that he couldn’t control, a feeling that almost equally confused him and helped him breathe all at once.

But lately Rowdy had been distant, and Gil was feeling the loss. Heavily.

He began to notice the changes in many of the things he had gotten quite used to.

Rowdy got up extra early in the morning and checked on the herd before anyone else was awake. He told Pete to go with Gil to scout trail, opting to stay back to watch over the herd and the outfit instead. He volunteered Wishbone to pick up supplies, claiming to be too tired to do any extra riding or lifting. He threw his bedroll out under the chuck wagon if Pete didn’t claim the spot first and if he did, he chose to be somewhere on the other side of the fire from wherever Gil was laid out. He took his meals near Mushy over by the chuck wagon.

While these changes were fairly benign and might go otherwise unnoticed, Rowdy had spent so much time nearly pinned to his hip that Gil couldn’t help but be concerned with them.

At first Gil wondered if he had done something wrong. He’d be the first person to admit that when times got tough, he wasn’t always the best at controlling his anger. He had the capacity to run his mouth and snap before he even knew he was doing it and because Rowdy was always so close, it also meant he was often in Gil’s direct line of fire.

There had been times Rowdy had distanced himself after a harsh moment like that and Gil didn’t blame him. He would do the same if their roles were reversed. Rowdy would always spend a couple hours away and once he figured the mood had passed, he’d be right back at Gil’s side. Just like normal.

But this wasn’t like that all. Sure they were running out of water and needed to get to some fast, but he wasn’t that stressed about it yet. He couldn’t remember that last time he’d lost control of his temper or snapped at Rowdy.

This was all just making Gil feel off. Unbalanced.

He couldn’t help but look over at Rowdy as they rode. He tried to get some sort of gauge on how Rowdy was feeling or what he was thinking. He usually projected his emotions without even knowing he was doing it.

Today though, Gil couldn’t read anything off him, except for maybe that he looked a little uneasy. The line of his lips was flat, even. His back was straight. His legs were stiff and his hands held the reins in a tight, unrelenting grip.

There was even something unsettling in the way he was talking, or in the lack thereof.

“Seems like it might be too rough to be takin’ the whole herd through, don’t you think?” Gil asked.

It was like the words shook Rowdy from a daze. “What?”

“Trail’s awful rough.”

“Where we been riding? Oh yeah. Awful rough,” he agreed quickly. Too quickly.

Gil didn’t want to give up so easily. “So which route do you think we should take?”

“Me?”

He had to hold back an eye roll. “You are my ramrod, ain’t you? Or did you forget that at camp back with your brain?”

“I didn’t forget nothin’,” he pouted.

“Well then what would you do?”

“I don’t know. You’re the boss. It’s up to you.” And that was the last thing he said before they stopped to make camp for the night an hour or so later.

Gil thought the silence was going to kill him.

There was only one person in the whole outfit that might be able to talk your ear off better than Rowdy and that was Mushy. But even with Mushy, Gil could escape that by going out towards the herd or something. No such respite existed when the person you couldn’t get to shut up was your right hand man.

This was all just disconcerting and the knot that had already rooted in his stomach was growing as the time stretched on.

Rowdy didn’t so much as look up at him when he walked over and tried to hand him a mug filled with coffee he had made over the fire. A sort of peace offering. He sighed.

The sun set slowly as they made camp and as they ate whatever food Wishbone had sent with them, but when they got their bedrolls out and Rowdy walked his and his saddle to the other side of the fire, Gil decided enough was enough and poured them each out a mug.

When the coffee attempt didn’t work, he sat down next to him in the dirt beside Rowdy’s bedroll, not caring that he was getting dirty, resting the mugs on the dusty ground. Rowdy was sitting with his knees bent in front of him, arms loosely hugging them, and still, he didn’t acknowledge his presence.

Gil elbowed him to get his attention and Rowdy flinched, the way you did when you accidentally caught yourself with a branding iron, eyebrows pinched high and blinking hard. He watched the expression smooth out slowly.

“Rowdy?” he asked finally, needing something to break up the silence.

Rowdy was staring at the fire. “Huh?” he hummed somewhere in his throat, lips parting only slightly as he did so.

“There somethin’ bothering you?”

He shook his head.

“Then what’s with this?”

“With what?” His chin came to rest against his shoulder, lips pressed to the fabric of his shirt and eyes taking a while to find his.

“This,” Gil tilted his chin towards him. “You ain’t said a word in hours.”

“Jus’ tired I guess.” The words came out slow, muffled against his shoulder. “Long day.”

“Not just been today though.” The statement came out before he could think any better of it.

Rowdy took a long few seconds to think over his words, ultimately saying, “S’this drive.” His shoulders rose and fell slightly in a shrug. “New trail’s takin’ it out of me.”

“Guess it’s getting to all of us,” he agreed. Rowdy nodded, making noise from where his lips were brushing the material of his shirt.

Silence fell over them again, except this time Rowdy was looking at him with those wide eyes that told Gil he was lying straight through his teeth.

“You know you could tell me if something was bothering you, don’t you?”

Rowdy nodded again at the question and swallowed thickly, loud enough for Gil to hear.

Gil would have otherwise called the attempt a failure and gone back to his bedroll, but there was something in the way Rowdy was looking at him that made it impossible to walk away.

So Gil decided to just stay there. If Rowdy wanted to talk, he’d talk. He knew he would. If he didn’t, then that would be alright, too. At the very least he wouldn’t be on the other side of the fire all alone.

Rowdy’s thoughts were unreadable, but loud. Gil tried to give him the privacy of looking at the fire instead of at him, but he could feel Rowdy’s eyes on him, could see in his peripheral vision that Rowdy was looking at him. It took a considerable amount of concentration not to acknowledge it.

“Boss?” Rowdy’s voice came as a surprise to him.

“Yeah?” He angled his head to look at him and there he was again with those eyes.

“Do you, do you ever, you know,” Rowdy’s lips twitched as he struggled to find words. “Do you ever think? About things?”

“How do you mean?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Gil didn’t believe him, but he played along. “I think about a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“Like the herd. Trail up ahead. Keeping everybody from biting each other’s heads off.”

“Nothin’ else?”

“Think about my girls, too, I guess.”

Rowdy hesitated. “What about me?”

Now those were words Gil truly hadn’t been expecting. “You?” Rowdy nodded. “Well, sure. You’re my ramrod. I think about you and what we’re gonna be up to every day.”

“No,” he was shaking his head now. “No, I don’t mean like that.”

Gil’s eyebrows knitted together. “I don’t understand.”

“I can’t explain it.” Rowdy’s eyes were no longer locked on his and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say Rowdy was looking at his mouth.

“Just say it plain.”

Before Gil knew what was happening, Rowdy closed the short space between them and kissed him, soft and hesitant.

Gil barely had the time to process that Rowdy, Rowdy, was kissing him, because as quick as he had leaned over, he was pulling away.

His eyes were filled with something like fear as he watched Gil, trying to gauge his reaction, but Gil was frozen looking at him and Rowdy almost visibly deflated.

Rowdy turned his head away from him, now burying his nose in the shoulder opposite Gil, hiding himself as best as he could from the rejection he thought he was being handed and the embarrassment of it.

What he didn’t know was that Gil couldn’t speak because he felt dizzy, like his head was spinning, like all of the air had been knocked out his lungs. He blinked hard, making sure he was awake, making sure this was reality and that in reality, Rowdy had kissed him.

He stared at the back of Rowdy’s head as his thoughts rushed back into his mind and realized he should say something because Rowdy was sitting there all closed off and dejected and he had to say something, anything, to make it better.

“Rowdy-”

“Look, Boss,” he cut him off quickly. “You don’t gotta say anything. Let’s just forget it.”

“Maybe I don’t wanna forget it.”

Gil quickly understood that Rowdy took that statement the wrong way, too, by the way he asked, “Does that mean you’re firing me?”

“Firing you?” Gil wished Rowdy would look at him, that way he could see that he was misinterpreting all of his answers. He would know that if he would just look at him.

“I wouldn’t keep me around either if I were you,” he explained. “That was stupid and I shouldn’t have done it, but I wasn’t thinkin’ and I did and now you know an’-”

Gil cut him off as he reached out, putting his forefinger under Rowdy’s chin and using his knuckle to guide his head back towards him.

He waited a moment as Rowdy finally looked at him, tension melting away as it dawned on him that Gil wasn’t mad at him. He seemed almost confused.

“You’re not sore?”

“Why would I be sore?”

“’Cause of what I done.”

“I don’t see it as nothin’ to be sore about,” he said.

“Really?”

“Really.” Something flashed in his eyes that Gil couldn’t put a name to.

Rowdy tried to look away again, bashful, but Gil’s finger, firm under his chin, kept him in place.

Slowly Gil leaned in, pressing his lips to Rowdy’s and he felt rather than heard Rowdy’s breath catch at the contact. Tentatively, Rowdy shifted his body towards him, no longer angled in the direction of the fire. Rowdy’s hand came up to hold the front of his shirt in a grip so tight it would leave wrinkles, almost like he needed to be touching him in order to convince himself this was really happening. Gil could feel Rowdy’s knuckles against his chest through the fabric of his shirt and something electric traveled up his spine.

They separated again, only barely, inches of space between them.

“Been thinking about that a while,” Rowdy admitted and Gil could feel his breath on his lips.

“That why you been stayin’ away?”

Rowdy worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “Didn’t wanna do nothin’ stupid.”

Gil understood the feeling well. “You coulda told me, you know.”

Rowdy let out a huff of a laugh. “You mighta hated me. I couldn’t take the chance.”

“I could never hate you.” And with that, Gil leaned back in to kiss him again.

They spent most of the night like this, exploring, slow and excited in a way that neither of them could put words to. They didn’t sleep much-or at all, if they were speaking with complete honesty-but it was worth it, if only for Gil to have Rowdy looking at him like this, eyes sparkling and smile heart-achingly crooked.

Finally, Gil could pin down the fondness he’d felt towards Rowdy from the beginning, a fondness akin to affection that he never truly understood until that night.

They returned to camp in the morning, reluctant and unwilling to go back to the normalcy of the trail when they allowed themselves to indulge in what they’d been feeling for so long. Rowdy put up a fight when Gil told him they had to go back and if it wasn’t so endearing, he might have been irritated by it.

If anyone noticed the lingering looks they shared or the dark circles beneath their eyes or the way Rowdy bedded down near Gil for the first time in weeks, they didn’t mention it.

When Gil opened his eyes, the present hit him like a smack to the face.

He was running out of time.

Chapter Text

Gil couldn’t bring himself to go to the trial the next morning.

He went back and forth on whether or not he should go all night.

If he had to guess, he had fallen asleep for two or three hours somewhere after midnight due to sheer exhaustion. He was woken up out of a sound sleep though when the night guards changed over, a combination of his restless mind and the sound of the horses riding in contributing to his insomnia.

Once the horses settled down and the new nighthawks had gotten far enough away, camp returned to its original, sleepy state.

Gil, however, did not. He lay on his side, looking into the fire, glowing bright and crackling, mixing easily with the sound of crickets chirping somewhere nearby.

His consciousness caught up to him as he lay awake. His mind was already beginning to wander even though he was willing it to stop. He would do anything for a moment’s peace, but it was like his brain was working against him and was determined to make his every living moment feel like hell.

When his thoughts stumbled naturally to the idea of going to the trial, it almost felt like his bandana was too tight around his neck. Suddenly it was the slightest bit harder to breathe. He tugged on his bandana to loosen it, stopping right before it pulled out of its knot, but the feeling didn’t go away like he’d hoped.

He wanted to go to support Rowdy. He would probably need a familiar face nearby to make the whole ordeal pass more smoothly. He knew from experience that sitting in a room full of people that were all working against you was one of the most helpless feelings in the world.

He wanted to spare Rowdy that pressure and that pain.

The problem was that he didn’t trust himself to keep his mouth shut. He’d been through his fair share of trials and he still struggled to control his temper when he didn’t think justice was being served. Trials were supposed to prevent that all of that. Juries weren’t supposed to hand out a sentence to someone that wasn’t guilty.

There was a distinct possibility this wasn’t going to go their way and he didn’t want to get Rowdy in more trouble than he was already in. He didn’t need that.

What good was a familiar face when all it was doing was making everything worse?

He thought himself in circles, should he versus shouldn’t he, but he managed to find his way back to that very idea every single time.

Ultimately, he decided to stay in camp and Pete went into town for the trial instead. Gil trusted that he’d be able to keep his outrage to himself if the verdict didn’t go their way. Pete could get riled up as well as any of them, but more often than not, he didn’t immediately act on his anger and could contain it long enough to work out a plan first.

The trial was set for 9 o’clock and Pete left with enough time to get there and then some.

Camp was eerily quiet. It was like there was a dark cloud looming overhead. Gil had felt the mood shift after Rowdy had been put in jail, although not too drastically because a lot of the time, it didn’t last. He was usually let out in a matter of hours. Nobody would have put their money on this getting all the way to trial because it never got this far.

Gil figured that once Pete was gone, it was like everybody finally believed that this was real, that it was actually happening. He couldn’t blame them. He wouldn’t have believed it either if he was in their shoes.

Wishbone gave up his holier-than-thou act in favor of giving him a bit of sympathy as he served up breakfast this morning. He must have sensed the tension Gil couldn’t help but exude the minute Pete was too far away to see.

Gil was sitting over by the fire and the drovers kept their distance, making their own small circles away from him as they ate. He hadn’t gotten in line for breakfast with everyone else, choosing to sit by himself and stay away from the madness. He wasn’t much hungry anyway.

Wish walked him over a full plate. His eyebrows were turned up in that way they got when he was worried, but he handed him the plate without a word. He paused in front of him like he was getting ready to say something, but when Gil didn’t look up at him, mumbling his thanks, he must have thought better of it and chose to walk back to the chuck wagon.

He appreciated the gesture for what it was worth.

He had intended on waiting by the fire for Pete to get back, but when an hour passed and there was no sign of him anywhere, he had to do something to distract himself. He saddled up.

Gil was out surveying the herd when Pete got back. He heard Pete ride up before he saw him, heard the way he slowed his horse up as he approached him, cautious. The change in pace spoke volumes as to how the trial had gone and Gil tried to prepare himself, though he knew it wouldn’t help.

Pete didn’t say anything when he stopped beside him, head down, further confirming his fears. Gil’s frown was tight as he geared himself up to speak.

“Guilty,” he said. It was meant to be a question, but it came out more like a statement of fact.

“Yeah.” Pete’s own frown was set deep.

“Hanging?” Pete couldn’t say it, so he nodded, and Gil’s heart sunk impossibly lower. “When?”

“Sundown.” Until that moment, Gil didn’t know that a single word had the capacity to cut him like glass.

He looked up at the sky to try and get some idea of the time. The sun was almost directly overhead and Gil rubbed a hand hard over his face as he lowered his head, hand coming to rest over his mouth.

What was he supposed to say anymore?

“How come it took so long?” is what he settled on asking.

“Some girl come in to be a witness,” Pete explained. “Fought tooth and nail to try ‘n convince them he was framed.”

Gil didn’t have to ask to know the girl he was talking about was Lizzie Gardner. He almost thought about smiling.

He nodded. All he could do was nod. He felt frozen, frozen in place and in time.

Rowdy wasn’t guilty. He hadn’t done anything wrong and now Gil had a hanging to worry about. The idea made his stomach turn.

Once again he felt lightheaded, except this time he tugged the bandana off his neck, pushing it into his saddlebag. It still didn’t help, but now he could at least try to fool himself into thinking it did.

When he was able to move, he started off in the direction of town, leaving Pete where he was without a word. Sundown was only a matter of hours away and he had to move fast.

He heard Pete speed his horse up to catch up to him and Gil turned his head towards him once he was at his side.

“What do you think you’re doin’?” He asked.

“Following you,” Pete stated simply.

“Can I ask why?”

“Way I figure it, you’re gonna need all the help you can get.”

Gil sighed, knowing it would be impossible to talk Pete out of it.

They made quick work of the ride, fast and efficient now that they’d both had to make the trip a multitude of times and knew the fastest ways of getting there.

They rode up to the jail and tied their horses to a post right outside, ducking beneath it as they walked up the steps in front and through the door. Gil led and Pete followed half a step behind.

Per usual, the sheriff was sitting in front of the door to the cell room. He was reading a large newspaper, leaning back with his feet up on his desk. The picture of casual. It made Gil’s blood boil. He could feel his hands ball into fists at his side.

The sheriff folded the top half of the newspaper with his fingers so that he could see them over it.

“Oh, Mister Favor. Mister Nolan,” he said, sitting up and putting the paper down on the desk.

“Sheriff.” Gil’s voice was tight. He didn’t have the time or patience for formalities anymore.

“Reckon you fellas wanna see him?” He gestured with his head to the door behind him, looking back and forth between the two of them. Gil nodded and the sheriff reached into his desk for the keys. “Come on.”

He turned, keys jingling loudly as he sorted through them. He had to test three of them in the lock before he got to the right one.

Even from afar, he could make out Rowdy’s blond hair somewhere past the doorway.

Gil took two steps forward, but paused when he didn’t feel Pete following him. He turned around to look at him, confused eyes clearly questioning the lack of movement.

“You go on,” Pete said. “I saw him at the trial this morning.”

“You sure?”

Pete nodded, attempting an encouraging smile that Gil couldn’t quite return to him.

He turned and walked past the sheriff into the cell room, eternally grateful that the man didn’t follow him in. He could hear him and Pete begin a conversation behind him.

His eyes fell immediately upon Rowdy the moment he was close enough. He was sitting on the bed, back against the wall it was pushed up against, gaze fixed on a point on the wall opposite him.

Gil walked all the way up to the bars. He didn’t grab onto them, choosing instead to hold onto his belt, hooking his fingers around it.

Rowdy didn’t even so much as look up at him as he made his way over, but Gil could tell he knew he was there.

He opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t find any words. His mouth was dry.

It was Rowdy who spoke first.

“Why you here?” His voice was quiet, definitely aware of the two men who were on the other side of the doorway. There was something sharp and bitter in his tone that was unexpected in a way that almost made Gil flinch.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He watched as Rowdy blinked hard at the question, clenching and unclenching his jaw.

“Figured you had better things to be doin’.”

“Better things?”

“Y’know. Like whatever kept you from comin’ to the trial this morning.” He was looking at Gil now, narrowed eyes burning bright with something like anger and Gil shook his head slowly.

“Nothin’ was keeping me,” he said, with a degree of honestly he wasn’t sure he should have. He knew the statement would do him no good and the humorless laugh Rowdy let out told him he had guessed correctly.

“You didn’t think you ought to be there?” He asked and his anger seemed to be morphing into something more like hurt, his voice pitching up as he sputtered, “You-you didn’t think I might-that I-maybe I’d-”

“S’not that,” Gil shook his head.

“So, what then?”

“Didn’t wanna get you into no more trouble.”

“I couldn’t be in worse trouble if anybody tried.”

“You don’t know that,” he countered. “And you don’t wanna find out.”

He should have known Rowdy wasn’t going to back down so easily.

“You think I didn’t want you there?”

“I knew you did.”

Rowdy stood then, but still near the bed a good few feet away. “That didn’t mean nothin’ to you?”

“Meant everything.”

“And it wasn’t enough?”

“It was enough knowing I would’ve done somethin’ stupid watching them hand you out a sentence for a crime you didn’t commit,” he shot back, trying to push his anger down, not wanting Rowdy of all people to bear the brunt of what he’d been feeling the last few days. “That was enough.”

He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but his hands had made their way to hold the bars in front of him, knuckles white. He loosened his grip and felt the blood slowly return to his fingers.

Rowdy paused for a long moment, his brow smoothening out as he processed his outburst. “Didn’t think of that.” His hand came up to scratch at his cheek. “When you weren’t there I thought maybe-”

“Well don’t,” Gil cut him off, not needing or wanting to hear what was going to come out of his mouth next because whatever it was, it wouldn’t be true.

The silence that followed was almost worse than an argument, wrapping itself around Gil and squeezing him tight.

Rowdy took a few careful steps forward to close the distance between them, hands finding the bars, framing Gil’s. He rested his right forefinger on top of Gil’s left pinky, but Gil didn’t hesitate in lacing their fingers together, knowing his body would probably be blocking the view of them from anyone looking in from the door.

“M’glad you’re here,” Rowdy admitted softly. “Don’t think I’m not.”

“Tried to come back last night, too, but that damn sheriff wouldn’t let me in to see you.” Rowdy was looking at their hands, watching as their thumbs gently danced around and along one another, just feeling. “Nobody in this town’s good for nothin’.”

“Can’t say I’ve seen enough of it to know.” The statement felt like a punch even though he knew it wasn’t meant as one.

“Yeah well you ain’t missing much.”

“Still think I’d rather be on the other side.”

“Yeah,” Gil couldn’t help but agree. “Me too.”

Rowdy’s lip twitched. “It ain’t looking too good no more, is it,” he said. Gil guessed he probably meant it as a question, but it came out more like he was making an observation.

“You might be right,” he said with another dose of painful honestly. “But I’m not finished yet. I’m still lookin’ for a way to get you outta here.”

“Yeah?” Rowdy looked at him then.

“Yeah,” he echoed. “Of course.”

“You think you’re gonna find anything?”

He nodded, not trusting his voice not to give away how nervous he was about the odds and the possibilities ahead of them.

Despite the thick tension between them, he let himself look at Rowdy, really look at him. He couldn’t help it, what with having him so close for the first time in so long. He knew it had only been two days, which in theory wasn’t much, but it felt like it had been weeks.

He started with his eyes, usually so vibrant, but somehow made dull and pale from the absence of light in the room other than what was coming from a small window in the corner of the cell. Then to the shadowy circles beneath his eyes, dark from lack of sleep. He rarely ever had those. Then to the strong bow of his lips, smooth and pink and impossibly far away. And then up to his hair, golden and soft and tempting. He almost reached out to run his fingers through it, but he thought better of it.

“What’re you looking at?” Rowdy asked, voice barely above a whisper now.

“You,” Gil said, matching his volume. “Thinking.”

“’Bout?”

“All of this.” He took an audible breath in. “Ain’t how it was supposed to happen.”

“Ain’t how what was supposed to happen?”

“I don’t know. Anything,” he said. “Everything.”

“How do you mean?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yeah you do.” Rowdy’s thumb was caressing his palm, an easy motion back and forth, feather light.

“This town was just supposed to be another stop on the way. And you,” he sighed deeply again. “You didn’t do nothin’ wrong,” he said. “Nothin’ bad’s supposed to happen when you ain’t guilty.”

“Sometimes it just don’t shake out fair.” The phrase made Gil nauseous; they were the exact words Will and Sam had used yesterday regarding the situation. He tried to ignore the feeling.

“But you don’t deserve it,” he pushed, firm in his belief.

“Appreciate that.” A ghost of a smile pulled at Rowdy’s lips. “Wish the jury’d seen it that way, too.”

Once more, Gil fell quiet, trying to concentrate on the feeling of Rowdy’s hand in his, trying to memorize the sensation, catch it, save it. This couldn’t be the last time he had this, felt this. It couldn’t. He wouldn’t let that happen.

They had too much ahead of them. Gil had too many things he wanted. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he had things he really wanted. A future. A life. A home. Things Rowdy might want, too. If he was lucky enough.

“You’re thinking awfully loud again,” Rowdy cut into his thoughts.

“Sorry.”

“Come on. Don’t be,” he pleaded. “What’s on your mind?”

Gil shook his head. “Future, I guess.”

“What about it?”

His brain told him to slow down, but the words spilled out before he could reel them back in. “How we’re gonna get away from all of this someday.”

“This town?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “But past that, too.”

Rowdy’s eyes softened. “Tell me about it,” he said, gentle and sweet in such a way that Gil could almost forget where they were.

They’d never talked about the future so explicitly before. There’d never been the need. This wasn’t the ideal time or place or situation, but if he didn’t say it now, he might never get the chance and he’d never be able to live with himself knowing he held the words in.

“I wanna get a ranch,” he started, letting his mind drift back to the things he let himself dream about when they woke up together in that hotel. “After I’m done doin’ drives. Somewhere nice. Peaceful.” He brought their hands up to brush his lips over Rowdy’s knuckles and he felt Rowdy’s grip on his hand tighten.

“What else?”

“I’ll bring my girls out here. Finally get to watch them grow up myself.” He paused, just letting his lips rest on Rowdy’s skin for a long few seconds. He put their hands back down by the bars. “Maybe convince you to stay with us after you’re done bossin’ your own herd if that’s what you want.”

Rowdy blinked slowly. “You really thought about all that?” Gil nodded, unable to form words. “I think that sounds real nice,” Rowdy agreed, voice so low that Gil was certain he could only hear it due to the proximity. “One day.”

“One day,” Gil repeated. “We’ll get there.”

Rowdy nodded. “Gotta get me outta here first.” His frown was back.

“I’m gonna. Don’t you worry about that.”

“Can’t help it,” he countered. “Sun’s gotta go down eventually.”

“And we’ll have you outta here before then.”

Rowdy hesitated, allowing a few quiet seconds to pass before he asked, “But what if you don’t?”

The question made Gil’s chest tighten. He had yet to acknowledge the looming possibility of this heading south out loud and hearing it, thinking about it, visualizing it, brought the nausea from before right back.

“Haven’t thought about that,” he lied.

Rowdy ducked his head. “I have,” he admitted. His eyes were downcast, looking somewhere near their feet. “Thought about it a lot the last couple’a days. Hard not to, being holed up in here and all.”

“Don’t.” He was almost begging for the conversation not to shift this way. All he could get out was that one word. He didn’t have anything warm or comforting or helpful to say and he couldn’t even pretend like he did.

“I just-I know what you’re like and I know you’re gonna blame yourself if it don’t work out, but you can’t cause it ain’t your fault.”

Gil couldn’t even refute his statement because he was right. “Ain’t your’s either,” he said for what felt like the millionth time.

“S’more mine than it is anybody else’s,” he argued. “And now you’re mixed up in it, too.”

“I made that choice.”

“But you didn’t gotta.” He looked up at Gil from underneath his eyelashes. “Mean you wouldn’t be in all of this mess if we wasn’t-if you ‘n me weren’t-you know.”

Gil felt his entire body tense. “What are you trying to say?”

Rowdy shook his head. “Sayin’ your life’d be a whole lot easier without me hanging on your back.”

He instantly softened back up. “Rowdy.”

“Can’t say I’m wrong,” he argued. “I jus’ cause you headaches.”

“S’not all you do,” he teased, hoping to lighten the tone somehow for the sake of his sanity and probably Rowdy’s, too.

Rowdy pouted. “I’m bein’ serious.”

“So am I,” he said. “I mean, I just spilled my whole guts to you a minute ago, didn’t I?”

He paused, rubbing his free hand over his stomach. “Guess you did.”

“Hey,” he tugged slightly on Rowdy’s hand, forcing him to look all the way up at him, to look him straight in the eyes. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“That could get you into a lotta trouble someday.”

“Could,” Gil nodded. “But I get to decide what’s best for me,” he said. “And what’s best for me is you. So I’m getting you outta here if I have to burn this jail down to the ground myself.”

If Gil didn’t know any better, he might say Rowdy’s eyes were shining with something like tears.

Rowdy squeezed his hand again. “Promise?”

“Swear.”

Rowdy opened his mouth to say something, but all of a sudden, the sheriff stepped into the doorway.

“Sorry, Mister Favor,” he called. “Gotta wrap it up.”

“Alright,” he threw over his shoulder. “I’ll be out in a second.”

He heard the sheriff acknowledge his words, but didn’t hear him walk away and the man’s presence behind him brought him back down to Earth. Back down to the nightmare.

Rowdy was looking at him expectantly, like he was waiting to be let down, and Gil decided it was going to have to be him that addressed the elephant in the room.

“I don’t care how bad the odds look,” he started. “I didn’t come here to say goodbye so I ain’t sayin’ one now and neither should you.”

“But-”

“No,” he repeated. “Hear me?”

He nodded slowly, hesitant and unsure. “I hear you.”

Rowdy swallowed hard, eyes falling to Gil’s lips for a long moment, just looking, before returning to his eyes. Gil knew exactly what he was asking for.

“You know we can’t,” Gil said quietly, hating that he had to.

“Don’t mean I don’t wish we could.”

“So do I,” he agreed.

He went to say something else, but once again the sheriff spoke. “Mister Favor, I’m warning you-”

“Alright, I’m coming,” he said to him, voice rising in annoyance to answer him, but he dropped it back down to talk to Rowdy. “Guess I should be going.”

“Guess so.”

“I’ll see you in a couple hours.”

Rowdy didn’t say anything, just nodded. His grip on Gil’s hand loosened and when Gil took a step backwards, they came apart, Gil’s hand falling back to his side, but Rowdy’s stayed in place on the bars, empty.

Gil turned and walked out of the room, the lump in his throat so big he thought he was going to suffocate.

Pete obviously noticed the look on his face and tried to offer him the same small smile as before. “You alright?”

Gil gave him a curt nod. “Fine,” he mumbled. “Let’s go.”

Pete followed him as he walked out of the building, calling a, “So long,” over his shoulder to the sheriff. Gil didn’t bother to do the same.

Pete didn’t try to talk to them as they walked, just trusting in Gil that he knew where he was going. He desperately needed a drink, but he decided to try out a new saloon, not the one he’d been going to the last few days. He knew there was another one just down the street, so it was worth a shot.

On the way, they passed by that hotel Gil had talked to the owner of, the one that Sam and Will had stayed in. Through the window, he could see Lizzie Gardner sitting in the front room, crying her eyes out. The woman that had been with her in the saloon yesterday, maybe her mother or an aunt or something, was sitting with her, obviously trying and failing to calm her down.

And if he wasn’t hurting enough, that was almost the sight to send him over the edge.

He liked that girl. She had spunk and bravery that he didn’t even know was in her. He spent all morning moping around camp, but Lizzie? She went to the trial and fought tooth and nail to try and convince them that Rowdy was innocent. Just a guy she’d danced with for ten minutes. If that. Because she thought he was nice.

He respected her more than she would ever know.

A wave of guilt crashed over him as he thought about it. Thought about all she tried to do for Rowdy. Thought about all he could have done for Rowdy. All the ways he had gone about things the wrong way the last two days. Everything he should have done better.

It didn’t even seem like there was a logical way to get Rowdy out of this anymore. The only thing he could think to do now was somehow break him out or get him and make a run for it at the hanging. They weren’t great ideas or well-thought out plans, but they felt like the only options he had left. Nothing about this had been easy and expecting the solution to be easy felt foolish.

They pushed through the doors of the saloon and Gil walked right over to the bartender. He traded his money over for a bottle of whiskey, walking it over to Pete, who had found them a table. He didn’t even bother asking for glasses.

He brought the bottle to his lips and took a long drink, burning real good all the way down. He’d drank more of this stuff in the last few days than he’d had in months and he felt sort of grateful to it for helping preserve what little sanity he had left.

He offered the bottle to Pete, tilting it in his direction, but Pete waved a hand at it.

He watched Gil take another decent sip.

“So I was talkin’ to that sheriff,” he started.

“Bout?”

“Says this town’s awful jumpy thinking they have a murderer sittin’ in their jail,” he said. “Says they wanted to do the hanging right after the trial, but he wouldn’t let ‘em.”

“How come?”

“I dunno. Suppose maybe he thinks there’s somethin’ fishy here, too?”

“Maybe, but not enough for him to speak up at the trial, so I wouldn’t count on it.”

“I guess.”

Pete was quiet after that, nervously tapping a finger on the table to match the music some girl was playing on a piano by the bar. He watched Gil drink more of the whiskey, eyes tight with concern.

Gil waited for him to say something, feeling antsy between the tapping and the staring, but when, after a couple minutes, he remained silent, he felt like he was going to jump out of his skin.

“Mind telling me what the problem is?” he asked through a sigh.

“Problem?”

“Yeah, whatever’s got you all antsy.”

Pete shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You ain’t gonna go tonight, are you?”

“He needs me there.” His voice sounded hollow to his own ears.

“Boss, I don’t think that’s the best idea.”

“Why?”

Pete hesitated. “Do you really wanna see that?”

“I don’t plan on seein’ nothin’.”

“What do you mean?” He was searching Gil’s face for a sign of something, eyes moving back and forth and up and down.

“Means there’s still one thing left to try.”

Pete let his words sink in and once he understood what Gil was referring to, his gaze grew still. “You’re tellin’ me after all of this you’re gonna ride in there guns blazing and try an’ solve it that way?”

“I don’t see no other choice.”

“You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“What does it matter?”

“What does it matter ?" Pete repeated, incredulous. “You can’t really be sayin’ that.”

“Already did.”

Pete was quiet for a long moment. “So that’s it then? You’re either gonna break Rowdy out or you’re gonna die tryin’?”

“Sounds about right.”

“It wouldn’t end there and you know it,” Pete argued. “What happens if you don’t get killed, huh? Say it works.”

“Say it works,” Gil repeated, challenging him.

Pete huffed. “You gonna spend the rest of your lives on the run? Cause you know that’s what’ll happen.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“Neither do you.”

“Well I can’t think of nothin’ else to do so that’s it.”

“We can think of something. I know we can. All’s we gotta do is-”

Gil cut him off with a sigh, frustrated. “Pete, you just don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?” He asked, defensive.

“Everything that’s at stake here.”

“Rowdy’s at stake.” The words felt like knives, twisting in his side. “You think I don’t get that?”

Gil shook his head. “You don’t understand what I’d be losing.”

“I’d be losing a friend, too, you know.”

“It’s more than that,” he said, allowing himself to say the words out loud. “Rowdy’s…he’s,” he paused. “More than that.” He let the words hang in there air, suddenly unafraid. What did it matter anymore?

Something in Pete’s expression softened at his admission. “I get that, Boss, but you can’t just throw your life away.”

“Watch me,” Gil said, defiant.

“Is that what he’d want you to do?”

Pete asked the questing already knowing the answer so Gil didn’t bother saying it out loud. “Don’t matter.”

“So you’re gonna make me lose two friends,” he stated.

Guilt momentarily clawed its way through him, but he pushed it down. “If that’s what it takes.”

Pete looked down at the table, quiet for a considerable length of time, but his thoughts were loud. Gil half expected him to get up and walk away. What came next surprised him. “When do we leave?”

Gil’s brow knitted. “We?”

“I think you’re crazy, you know I do. But I ain’t lettin’ you go in there alone.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Can’t stop me last time I checked.” He paused to wait for Gil to argue, but it never came. “Besides, you’ll never be able to pull it off on your own.”

“And you’re sure this is something you wanna do?”

“No,” he admitted with an easy shake of his head. “But I don’t see no point in sittin’ around here knowing the two of you’re getting yourselves killed. And if you don't mind my sayin', it’s starting to get a little boring up on the balcony.”

“Alright,” Gil nodded slowly. “But don’t say you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into.”

“Wouldn’t think of it.”

They spent a while thinking up what their plan of attack was going to be, finding very little success. Every time they thought they were close to finalizing what they were going to do, they ended up hating it, scrapping it, and starting over.

Maybe it had to do with the fact that at some point, Pete had started drinking a bit, too. So the plans they had were all slightly haphazard and messy, either too reckless or too idealistic.

Maybe it had to do with the fact that it was only going to be the two of them riding in there and trying this. Early on, Pete suggested they go back to camp and pick up some backup, but Gil immediately shot it down. He felt bad enough that Pete had somehow managed his way into this mess, he couldn’t have anybody else risking their lives for it on top of that. He wouldn’t let that happen. His conscience wouldn’t allow it.

Mostly, it had to do with the fact that it seemed like nothing they could think of seemed like it was going to work. Every time they felt like they were close to cracking it, they found some sort of hole in the plan that would ruin the entire thing.

Gil was frustrated beyond belief and his head was beginning to ache, but when he could see the actual sun in the window as it was making its way down, he knew their time was up.

They were just going to have to wing it.

Pete must have read his mind because as soon as he thought they should get going, Pete stood and waited for him to do the same.

Gil took a deep breath in, put his hands down on the table, and pressed into them hard to help him stand.

“Ready?” Pete asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” he said. “Let’s go.”

They walked out of the saloon and began off in the direction of the jail. They were only half a block away when the door to the jail opened.

The panic spread through Gil like a wildfire, catching in only a matter of seconds.

What if the townspeople had gotten to the sheriff? What if they still wanted to do the hanging early? What if he had given in? What if they weren’t in the right places at the right time? What if they did it before he could get there?

His sudden spike in anxiety caused their walking pace to speed up, but Pete had seen the same thing he did and hadn’t missed a step. Gil didn’t know when he’d taken his gun out of his holster, but he abruptly aware of its weight in his hand.

They were two buildings away, nearly at a run now, when the sheriff walked out the door. Gil’s vision was slightly blurry from running, unable to focus his eyes too well on anything or make out many details.

So when he saw that Rowdy walked out next, he didn’t notice his hands free at his sides, or the smile pulling at his lips.

What he did see was the patch of thick red hair that walked out the door last and he nearly fell over when he recognized who it was.

He almost didn't believe his eyes.

Sam Dermott.

Chapter Text

Their run came to an abrupt halt when they got to the bottom of the steps in front of the jail.

Gil was out of breath as he stood there with his gun in hand, chest heaving, eyes raking over Rowdy. He processed it all quickly.

Rowdy’s smile. His free hands. The sheriff to his left and Sam to his right.

The relief that flooded through him was almost overwhelming. Rowdy was looking down the short few steps at him, beaming, and Gil thought his heart was going to fall out of his chest. Two days ago he thought he’d never see Rowdy smiling like that ever again and now, here he was, doing just that.

“Hiya, Boss,” Rowdy said, tone light, a hint of a laugh in it. “Pete.”

“Well, how do, Rowdy?” Pete asked, and Gil didn’t have to look over at him to feel his relief, too.

“Oh fine, just fine,” he said, looking at Gil even though it wasn’t him he was answering. Gil was waiting for the happiness to take over, but he couldn’t deny his confusion.

“I don’t understand,” he said, looking between Rowdy, the sheriff, and Sam, who was wearing a trace of a smile himself.

The sheriff answered. “We’re lettin’ your friend go.”

“You’re…letting him go?” His voice pitched up as he asked the question, still not quite believing his eyes or the words.

“Yes, sir. And you’ve got Sam here to thank for it,” he nodded towards him. “He come in and explained that this was all some big misunderstanding. So we ain’t got a reason to keep him here no more.”

The sheriff gave them a casual salute, turned, and went back into the building, leaving the four of them alone.

Gil looked at Sam again, whose smile was tight and uncomfortable, the kind you had when you were out of practice with such an expression, almost as if he was unsure he should be smiling at all.

“Guess it wasn’t too late to do the right thing then,” Gil said to Sam as he and Rowdy walked the short distance down the steps to stand in the street with them. He put his gun back in its holster and slowly but surely, Pete did the same.

“You said it yesterday, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself,” he said.

“Woulda been a heavy burden to carry.”

Sam nodded. “Too heavy for my shoulders, I think.” Gil could tell Sam had something good between his ears. A strong conscience, too. He could see it in him yesterday and he was glad he had been right.

“But how come you went along with framing him in the first place?” Pete asked, not quite as quick to forget and drop it.

“Will wanted me to,” he shrugged.

“You coulda said no.”

“Coulda, but you never done something you knew was wrong ‘cause your friend asked you to?”

“Fair,” Pete conceded.

“Say, where is Will anyway?” Gil asked, suddenly curious and almost nervous as to the lack of his presence.

“Probably halfway to Virginia by now,” he sighed. “He wasn’t too happy when I told him I was gonna tell the sheriff what really happened.”

“He didn’t try to stop you?”

“Knew it was no use. I was gonna do it no matter what, so he went runnin’.’”

Rowdy gave a small huff of a laugh at the irony of the statement and Gil thought about stepping on his foot to snuff the noise, but he also thought that today of all days, Rowdy deserved to be a little bitter. Sam didn’t acknowledge it.

“An’ what he said was really enough to change your mind on all of this?” Pete asked, gesturing with his head towards Gil.

“That,” suddenly Sam’s eyes flicked between Gil and Rowdy. “An’ a couple hours ago I was out walkin’. I was between buildings and I musta been out back a’here.”

Gil furrowed his brow, confused why he was telling them this. “And?” he asked.

“Heard you fellas talkin’.” He wasn’t looking at them anymore, eyes cast down in the direction of their shoes.

It took Gil a second to remember the window in the corner of the cell; that’s where he must have heard them.

His shoulders stiffened when he thought back to what they had been talking about.

“Oh?” Rowdy asked. Gil looked at Rowdy then, watched as he took a nervous breath in, apprehensive of what Sam thought about what he’d heard.

Sam nodded, still looking down at the ground. “I couldn’t take none of that away from you.”

And if Gil wasn’t grateful to him before, he certainly was now.

“Appreciate that,” Gil said, knowing he was speaking for them both.

“Least I could do.” Sam’s smile seemed to fit him a little more comfortably now as he looked back up. Gil was glad he didn’t go into the details of what he’d heard. Pete might have had a little better idea of what they meant to each other, but he didn’t need to know everything. His eyes found Rowdy. “And Rowdy?

“Yeah?”

“For what it’s worth,” he took a deep breath in. “What happened when we was in the army-”

“Look,” Rowdy interjected, sensing where he was going with this. “You don’t gotta say nothin’ about it.”

“Yeah I do. I been wanting to for a while so just let me spit it out,” Sam pushed and Gil liked the spark he saw in him now, liked the way it seemed like he was actually fighting for what he wanted instead of sitting back. Rowdy nodded and Sam started back over. “What happened when we was in the army, you didn’t deserve none of that. You was only trying to get us to do the right thing and we shouldn’t have done what we did.”

“It was a long time ago,” Rowdy said.

“Don’t mean I don’t owe you an apology.” Sam held his hand out.

Rowdy laughed as he gave it a good shake. “I think you just about made up for it.”

“Alright, alright. No more of this hum-drum nonsense,” Pete cut in, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “How’s about we go for a drink?”

“I sure could. How’s about it, Sam?” Rowdy asked.

From the way he looked at them, Gil could tell he was more than a little weary of their invitation. “I appreciate the invite, but I should really get goin’.”

“You’re more than welcome to,” Pete pushed. “We ain’t holdin’ no grudges.”

Sam nodded. “I don’t mean nothing personal by it. I jus’ feel like I need to put this town behind me.”

Gil chuckled. “I’m feeling an awful lot like that myself,” he admitted. He looked between Pete and Rowdy. “I think maybe that drink can wait for the next town.”

“You do got a point there, Boss,” Pete agreed, hooking a playful arm around Rowdy’s neck. “We should run for the herd before this knucklehead can end up back in that jail.”

Rowdy tried to pout, but ended up laughing despite himself. “S’probably for the best.”

Gil turned to Sam. “Thanks again.” He held his hand out to him. “It takes a lot to do what you done.”

Sam he shook it firmly, surely. “Wouldn’t have done it without the push, so it’s me that should be thanking you, Mister Favor.”

Gil couldn’t help but smile.

Pete shook his hand last and with that, Sam mounted his horse and rode off, fiery red hair disappearing off into the distance.

They owed him everything and he would never know exactly what he’d saved, much more than he probably thought. Maybe he was better off for it.

“So Rowdy.” Pete was the first one to speak. “How’s it feel bein’ a free man?”

“Not half bad.” Rowdy’s smile was as big as ever, almost blindingly bright. “Although, I did think my goose was cooked for a minute there.”

“Oh no it wasn’t. We had a plan,” Pete said, looking at Gil.

Rowdy did the same, eyes alight with something like amusement. “You did, did you?”

“Something like that.” Gil gave him half a smile, but didn’t expand on the answer.

Rowdy and Pete continued talking, but Gil was only half listening, entirely too distracted by the fact that Rowdy was alright and safe and free to properly make himself a part of the conversation.

His hands were itching down at his sides as he looked at Rowdy, desperate to convince himself that he was really standing there. He wanted to reach out and touch. Feel. Put a hand on his arm. Smooth out the wrinkles on the front of his shirt. Rub away the dirt he had high on his cheek. Push the brim of his hat up to see his eyes a little better.

He could feel his nails cutting his palms, leaving crescents on his skin as he willed himself to maintain control. This wasn’t the time.

He knew the sheriff had put Rowdy’s in the stable after getting arrested and they’d have to pick up Fox before they could head back.

So when an opening in the conversation presented itself, he motioned with his head in the direction of their horses down the street. “Come on.”

They walked three across down the street, Gil in the middle with Rowdy and Pete on either side of him. It took him until they were about halfway down the block to notice that every few steps, Rowdy would gently bump into him, his shoulder brushing against his.

At first Gil thought it to be an accident from the uneven dirt beneath their feet or from Rowdy’s inability to walk around much the last few days, but when he looked at him out of the corner of his eyes, Rowdy had a smirk pulling at his lips.

Gil could hardly breathe.

They were passing by one of the hotels when a loud shriek and the sound of someone yelling Rowdy’s name stopped them.

Sprinting down the front steps of the hotel came Lizzie Gardner.

“Rowdy!” She nearly jumped into Rowdy’s arms, wrapping him in a tight hug.

“Hi there.” He stumbled backwards as he caught her, laughing. “S’good to see you, too,” he teased.

“I can’t believe it!” she exclaimed. “I was hoping they’d let you go, but after the trial this morning…” she trailed off.

“The way you testified, I was surprised they didn’t let me go right then and there.” She pulled away from the hug, smiling up at him, radiant and bright. She moved her hands to hold onto the outsides of his arms.

“Don’t flatter me. I didn’t do anything special.”

“You did more than a lot of people woulda done,” he countered.

“I guess.” She looked at Gil. “You know, Mister Favor, I don’t think I can remember a time I’ve felt so relieved.”

“Can’t say I disagree with you.” He offered her a tight smile, trying to keep his eyes on her face and not on her hands.

“And where are you fellas headed to now?” She looked back at Rowdy. “Celebrating?”

“Actually, uh, we’re heading back to the herd,” he said. “Been gone a long time.”

“Oh. Well, alright.” She was clearly disappointed, but it didn’t wipe the smile off her face. “I’m real glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” he laughed. “I really appreciate you tryin’ to help.”

“Already told you, it’s not anything to fuss over,” she insisted.

“If you say so.” He pinched the brim of his hat between his pointer finger and his thumb, giving it a small tip in her direction, making her laugh.

He made to turn, but her grip on his arm kept him from doing so. He looked puzzled when he faced her again and Gil couldn’t help but wonder what she was playing at, too.

“Rowdy?” Her voice was softer now, less sure. It reminded Gil of the way she sounded when she’d come over to their table in the saloon and asked him to dance.

“Yeah?”

“You know, I haven’t been here long in this town. We’re still staying in this hotel while we’re waiting to get settled and all, but my Pa’s buying a ranch and a house nearby and we’re gonna be here a long, long time.” Her eyes were wide, her nerves reflecting deeply in them.

“Well that’s real nice,” he said, clearly still not understanding what she meant in telling him this.

“Guess what I’m trying to say is, if you ever pass through town again, I’ll be here.”

There it was.

“Oh,” Rowdy smiled, his eyes dropping to look at his boots. His hand came up to scratch up at his cheek and it was a long second before he looked back up at her. “That’s real kind of you to say but you see I uh, I sorta already have somebody that’s uh, you know, somebody I’m,” he motioned with his hands, trying to get his point out without having to say it.

“Somebody you’re sweet on?” She filled in the gap for him.

His smile turned crooked, shifting bashfully to one side as he laughed. “Yeah. You could say that.”

Gil’s heart was in his throat.

“Figures,” she said, continuing to smile even through the rejection. “It was worth a shot, but that somebody’s real lucky.” She leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. “It was awfully nice knowing you, Rowdy Yates.”

“Awful nice knowing you, too, Lizzie.”

She then took a step over to Gil. “Good luck, Mister Favor. Keep him outta trouble.”

Gil laughed. “I’ll try my best, but I can’t make any promises.”

“Wasn’t expecting any,” she laughed and leaned up to kiss his cheek, too.

She walked back up the steps of the hotel and through the door. Off went another person they’d remember with a fond smile and a strong sense of gratitude.

They continued on down the street.

This time, it was Gil that was purposefully brushing his shoulder against Rowdy’s as they walked, subtle but sure. He couldn’t help it. He had to.

I heard you. I heard what you said and I’m sweet on you, too. You know that. You have to know.

He couldn’t say the words out loud no matter how much he wished he could, but Rowdy would understand. He would know what he meant. He always did.

The stable owner was kind and agreeable when they went to pick up Rowdy’s horse. He refused money when Gil tried to pay him, telling him the sheriff had already said he was going to take care of the expenses from the last few days. They certainly weren’t in any mind to argue.

For the first time since they’d stopped to lay over here, the ride back to camp was calm and easy. Every time they had come back from that town, Gil had a new knot in his stomach. A new thing to worry about. A new fear.

Now they were on their way back, Rowdy was with them, everyone was intact, and Gil felt more comfortable in the saddle than he had in days.

The sun was setting slowly somewhere behind them. The stars were beginning to peek out, the sky clear and open above them. The air was fresh around them.

Their surroundings felt different now. Almost pretty. Better.

Gil was mostly quiet as they rode, content to listen to Pete and Rowdy as they went back and forth, teasing and joking with one another. He’d pop a comment in here and there, but he was more than happy to let them go at one another like always. It was a comfort to know Rowdy hadn’t lost his sense of humor in all this, that the jokes still came effortlessly fast. It relieved him in a way he didn’t know was possible and with every step, he could feel the stress melt away.

They had expected the rest of the drovers to get a little wild when they rode back in with Rowdy next to them, but the commotion that ensued surpassed any and all of their expectations.

Everyone came to greet Rowdy when they made their way through camp, shaking his hand or patting him on the shoulder and cracking a joke.

Quince and Scarlet were as thrilled as Gil had ever seen them, trying to mask their relief through teasing.

“Y’know Rowdy,” Scarlet said. “One of these days you’re gonna find you’ve seen the inside of more jails than this sorry sack a’bones and that’s gonna be the end of it.”

Quince smirked. “God help ya if you ever get there,” he said. “I sure am glad you’re back though. Every day I wish I were ramrod and every time I get it, I remember I’d rather be trampled.”

“We was all fixin’ to get trampled if you was in charge one more day,” Scarlet laughed.

Rowdy was laughing now, too. “You two sure do know how to make a fella feel special.”

Scarlet tipped his hat at him and Quince said, “S’why the boss keeps us around.”

And not long after, they went back over to their saddles and bedrolls on the other side of the fire.

Everyone had been excited, but nothing could have prepared them for Mushy, who had been down by the river washing all of the dishes with Wishbone while all of this was going on.

All of a sudden, Gil’s ears rang with the metallic sound of pots and pans rattling as they hit the ground, followed by an aggravated, “Mushy!” in Wishbone’s usual tone.

Gil couldn’t hide a smile, nor could he hide his amusement as Mushy ran towards them, his feet loud and clumsy, moving too fast beneath him for his own good. “Mister Rowdy! Mister Rowdy!”

“Good to see ya, Mushy,” Rowdy laughed.

“I knew they was gonna let you go,” he said, grabbing Rowdy’s hand and shaking it enthusiastically, so much so that it knocked him off balance. “I knew they was gonna. I tol’ everybody. I said, ‘They ain’t never gonna let nothin’ happen to him. Mister Nolan and the boss ain’t like that. They’re gonna get him outta there and everything’s gonna be alright. You’ll see.’ And nobody believed me but I jus’ knew it.”

Rowdy made to answer, but before he could, Wishbone added himself to the conversation.

“Are you gonna give him room to breathe or are you just gonna pull his arm out of the socket?” He made his way over much more slowly, eyes narrowed at them.

Mushy let go of his hand, but he was still nearly bursting with excitement.

“Hiya Wish,” Rowdy said, smiling despite Wishbone’s less than enthusiastic demeanor.

“Don’t you ‘Hiya Wish’ me,” he said, chin turned up at him. “You got a lotta nerve showin’ up back here after all’a the noise you caused the last few days.”

“Oh do I?” he asked, amused.

“You had the boss worried sick,” he said. In Gil’s peripheral vision, he could feel Rowdy glance at him, but he avoided his eyes, choosing instead to look straight ahead at Wish. “Next time, I’m gonna tell him to leave you there for good.”

“You’d never,” Rowdy said, confident.

“Try me, Mister,” Wish shot back. “You won’t like what happens next.”

“I’m sure you’re right about that.”

“’Course I am,” he said, and everybody, excluding Wishbone, chuckled at the statement. “Now if all of you are down clownin’ around, you can come with me. I got supper saved over the fire.”

He started off in the direction of the food and they followed close behind.

“Knew you missed me,” Rowdy mumbled, quiet, but purposefully just loud enough for him to hear.

Wish glared at him out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t refute it and his silence made it clear that it was true. As if there was any doubt.

He never saved food for anybody.

They finished off what Wishbone had of the leftover stew and then went about what individual business they each had planned for the rest of the night, which was mostly resting up because they were finally going to move out in the morning.

Gil, on the other hand, went out by the herd for a little while to check on the nighthawks and see that everything was tidy and ready for rolling come sunup.

He was only out for maybe an hour, an hour and a half at the most, but it was just long enough for a fresh wave of clouds to move in. It began to drizzle and the sudden chill made Gil wish he had his coat, which was tucked away in the supply wagon.

The rain meant that when he got back to camp, all of the drovers had scattered, attempting to find comfortable, dry places to sleep.

Some were around the fire, hats tipped low over their eyes to cover their faces. Others were in their normal places, blankets or slickers pulled high over their heads to keep the rain out. The rest had either found a tree to lay under or a boulder to be by in order to block out a bit of the wind.

Gil went over to the wagon, saddle thrown over his shoulder, to grab his bedroll and a blanket, scanning the camp as he pulled them out. Between the dark and the rain clouding his vision, it took him a good minute to find Rowdy.

He had found a spot that was fairly wide open somewhere between a group of trees and the fire, the drovers on either side a good distance away. Unlike the other men, he wasn’t using anything to protect himself from the rain. The only thing he was using for cover was a blanket and even then, it wasn’t pulled up over his face so Gil could see clearly that he was still awake and that his eyes were open.

Gil walked over to him and Rowdy rolled over when he stopped, watching him as he put his saddle down next to his. He threw out his bedroll on the wet ground beside him, not bothering to leave the usual inch or two of space between them. The way he Gil figured, it wasn’t like anyone else was going to see anything from the way they were all spread out and hiding from the weather anyway.

Rowdy didn’t say anything even as Gil laid down flat on his back and pulled his blanket up over himself, glad to have something now that would ease the chill.

Rowdy rolled over onto his front and reached his hand out from under his blanket to be under Gil’s, resting his hand on his chest.

It was only there for a second before Gil pulled his hand out from underneath the blanket, taking it in both of his. His knuckles were still badly torn from the fight and the cuts felt rough beneath his thumb as he gently moved it back and forth across them.

The corner of Rowdy’s mouth pulled in a wince. It was the tiniest gesture and if Gil hadn’t been so close, he wasn’t sure he would have noticed.

“They hurt?”

“Not much.”

Gil didn’t believe him, but he let it go, bringing their hands back underneath his blanket. He’d ask again tomorrow.

He took a moment to shift their blankets around so they were no longer each under their own, but rather they were sharing the two, which were almost messily stacked on top of each other.

When he returned to where he had been lying on his back, Gil extended the arm that was trapped between them and Rowdy shifted towards him, settling easily into the embrace, his front snug against his side as he tangled a leg between Gil’s.

The top few buttons of Gil’s shirt were undone, like usual, and Rowdy took it as an opportunity to sneak his hand beneath the fabric, just below his collar, warm on his skin. He ran his pointer finger along Gil’s collarbone, a soft movement back and forth.

“Y’know something?” Rowdy asked, just loud enough to fill the air between them. “I don’t think I’ve breathed in four days.”

Gil resisted the impulse to agree with him. He probably already knew he did anyway. “How about now?”

“Now?” Rowdy shifted impossibly closer, burying his nose in the soft, exposed skin just below his ear. His eyes fluttered shut as Rowdy took a deep breath in and out, chest rising and falling against his side. “S’almost like I been doin’ it my whole life.” His breath caught when Rowdy pressed an easy kiss to the side of his neck, but his eyes opened again at the cool loss of contact. Rowdy had pulled back to look at him.

“Glad you didn’t forget how.”

“Woulda been easy. Wasn’t much room in there the last couple days to remember,” he said. As he spoke he moved his hand out from Gil’s collar and down, finding its way to his side, just above his hip. He pulled Gil’s shirt free from where it was still tucked into his jeans, again slipping his hand beneath the fabric, resting it on his ribcage. “I didn’t like bein’ in that jail. Spent too much time in my head.”

“I know the feeling,” Gil admitted, swallowing hard as he thought back to how badly he’d struggled the last few days. Instead, he tried to focus on Rowdy’s fingertips, which were feather light tracing along the hard lines of his ribs.

“I’ve actually been thinking a lot about somethin’ you said earlier,” Rowdy said.

“Yeah?”

“When we was talkin’, you said how maybe we could-I could stay with you after I was done bossin’ my own herd and all. When you get that ranch someday.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Gil said, remembering those to be almost his exact words. He couldn’t help but wonder where Rowdy was going to go with this, feeling slightly apprehensive as to what was going to come next.

Maybe Gil had spilled his guts too soon. Maybe Rowdy had agreed because there wasn’t a future in sight and he wanted to give Gil something to hold onto if something happened to him. Maybe he didn’t want the same things.

It was only when Rowdy took another deep breath that he realized that he was holding his own, nerves restricting his lungs. “S’kinda funny, but I don’t know if I wanna be a trail boss. Everybody always just assumes that’s where I’m headed and I don’t bother correcting them.”

Gil almost laughed with relief as he exhaled, feeling his eyebrows pinch, surprised at the statement. “Is that right?”

Rowdy nodded, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Drivin’ cattle’s all fine and good for now, but I always wanted somethin’ more like-more like what we was talkin’ about earlier today. You know.”

Gil’s heart was pounding in his chest and he wondered if Rowdy could feel it beneath his palm. “Do you?”

“Yeah. I always wanted a ranch,” he whispered, as if maybe he was suddenly unsure about saying it all out loud. “For as long as I can remember.”

“Me too.”

“I think that would be real nice to have one someday. If you meant it.”

“’Course I meant it.” Gil pulled his arm out from beneath Rowdy’s shoulders and turned onto his side to face him, hand coming to rest on his hip.

“S’it somethin’ you thought about a lot?” He asked, blue eyes soft and wide.

“Thought about it enough,” he said. His thumb played at Rowdy’s hipbone, circling and tracing.

“Enough for what?”

“To know it’s somethin’ I want for sure,” he admitted. He took a slow breath in and out and his eyes fell absently to Rowdy’s lips as he thought to himself for a moment. “I miss my girls. Ain’t fair to them that the only parent they’ve got is halfway across the country most of the year.”

“I’m sure they understand.”

He blinked hard as his eyes found Rowdy’s again. “I know they do,” he said, acknowledging what he knew was Rowdy’s attempt at trying to ease his conscience. “But that don’t make it right.” He left it at that. There would be no convincing him otherwise and it wouldn’t be fair to pretend like there would.

Rowdy must have sensed it because he didn’t push it. “What’re they like?” he asked, not quite ready to change the subject completely. It wasn’t like Gil minded the question either, appreciative that Rowdy was taking them in a different direction.

“Maggie makes me laugh. She’s a real stitch.” Gil couldn’t help but smile as he tried to think of where to start. “Last time I went back East, she was climbing up a tree and caught her dress on a branch. Tore the whole thing all the way up to her arm and I thought Eleanor was gonna turn blue. I got to take her to a dress shop for a new one though so it was alright by me.”

“Bet that was real nice.” Gil nodded. “How about Gillian?”

“Gillian’s…different.” He paused. “She’s got a good head on her shoulders. Awful bright. Real good in school, too, but she wants to know about the world. Wants to see all kinds of things. Different places. New people.”

Rowdy’s smile was small and shy. “They sound like you.”

The statement made him feel proud, but more than anything, it made him miss them. “You’d like them.”

“I’m sure I would.” He hesitated, smile faltering as a twitch pulled at his lips. “D’you think they’d like me?”

“Everybody likes you.” His hand was on the side of Rowdy’s neck now, thumb resting gently on the shell of his ear.

Rowdy laughed. “You know that ain’t true.”

“Okay, most people like you.” Gil was laughing now, too. ”They can’t help it.”

“They can’t help it or you can’t help it?” he teased.

“Both,” he said and Rowdy’s smile grew impossibly, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Gil’s.

It was only a moment before Gil couldn’t help tilting his head to kiss him. Rowdy responded instantly, lips parting and moving against his in a way that was soft and sure, like there was nothing he’d rather be doing and nowhere he’d rather be.

Without breaking the kiss, Rowdy’s hand slid from his ribs to his side, tugging gently, trying to pull him closer. Gil took the hint and did just that, shifting until they were chest to chest, flush against each other all the way up. Rowdy had even slipped a knee between his so that their legs fit together in a way that was comfortable.

Gil wasn’t sure how long they were there like that, tangled up, kissing without a care in the world, exploring like this was all brand new. What he was sure of was that he would have willingly stayed there forever if he could help it.

They were both left breathing heavily when they broke away, foreheads once again resting against one another as they tried to catch their breath.

It was Gil who spoke first. “Try not to scare me like that again, alright?” he whispered, hoping Rowdy knew how sincerely he meant it.

Rowdy gave him a nod. “I’ll try.”

“You better.” He was smiling now. “Can’t afford to cut any of your wages for trouble anymore.”

“Why’s that?”

“We got a ranch to start saving up for, don’t we?” As he spoke, the smile that took over Rowdy’s lips was almost too wide for his face. “I ain’t payin’ for it all myself.”

“Maybe it’s time you gave me a raise then.”

“Give me a reason to and then I’ll consider it.”

Rowdy was mid laugh when he leaned back in to kiss him all over again.

Gil knew it was only a matter of time before the next time Rowdy got into some mess. Wishbone had said it best: He ought to know better than to think trouble wouldn’t find its way to Rowdy Yates. At this point, it was almost like one of the basic laws of nature.

But for now, he would let himself believe that nothing would go wrong again. As long as Rowdy was here with him, in front of him, in his arms, nothing bad could happen.

He could believe in that.

He could believe in them.