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“Care for another round Arthur?” You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing at the downright venomous look he shot you across the worn camp table.
“Nah, I know when I’m beat. S’not as much fun when you know you're being cheated.” You gave a feigned gasp of indignation as you laid your well-worn playing cards flat on the table.
“Mr. Morgan, I’m appalled that you’d even suggest that I cheat.” Arthur tried to hide his own smile with a cigarette that he was placing between his teeth but it was a lost cause. He patted his pockets looking for his matches and gave a huff of annoyance when his search came up empty. He readjusted his hat and gestured at you with his unlit cigarette between his fingers.
“Don’t you try and sweet talk me, I know your games and I ain’t playing them.” You arched a brow at that, your smile edging more towards a smirk.
“I assure you, the only game I’m playing is cards, Mr. Morgan.” You dipped your hand into your bodice, pulling out a thin gold lighter from between your breasts.
You flicked it to life and leaned forwards over the worn table to light his cigarette, your eyes locked. You had to admit that out of all the men in camp Arthur’s sheer self-control was the hardest to break. Not once did his blue eyes stray from yours, even though you knew he had a perfect view down your bodice.
“Are you sure I can't tempt you?” You rested your elbows on the table, your chin balancing in your palms as your tongue darted out to wet your lips. It was only then that his resolve slipped. It was just a fraction of a second but it made your pulse quicken when his eyes darted down to your lips. The curl of smoke dripping from between his teeth did nothing to hide the glance from you. But as soon as it happened it was over and Arthur leaned back in his chair, his eyes focusing behind you as if that had been his intention all along.
…
“Now what about this one, the one with the lady?” You pressed yourself tight against your mark, making sure your breasts were on full display to both him and his companion across the table as you delicately tapped the card in question.
The saloon was packed with customers just off the train and itching for a drink along with those too drunk to stop buying. The burly man you were clinging to was your third victim of the evening. He was too drunk and too enamored by your display of interest that he’d never noticed when you stole his billfold or lifted his pocket watch. In all honesty, he probably wouldn't even notice if you stole his spurs right off his boots, but that was a risk for another day.
He chortled, his laugh loud but not unpleasant as he settled a large warm hand on your lower back to pull you closer. “Alright sweetheart that there’s the queen…” You tuned out his rambling explanation as his companion stood to grab a couple more beers for the two of them. That was when you saw Arthur watching you from where he leaned against the bar. He had his dark coat flipped back over his hip exposing his low-slung gun belt and cracked leather holsters. He had an empty glass in his hand, one heavy finger hooked over the rim as if he planned to throw it rather than drink from it. He seemed deep in thought, his gaze not altogether focused while still aimed in your direction, but after a moment he seemed to feel your gaze because his eyes locked onto yours. Without missing a beat he raised his empty glass to you as if he were any other man caught staring. The action was slightly spoiled though when Arthur raised his glass to his lips only to find it empty. You smiled and looked away before he could see, not wanting to irk him with your amusement.
As the evening wore on you switched between men, feigning interest in whatever had brought them into town. Most of the gang had either drunk themselves into blissful unawareness or were still working the crowd in one way or another. Arthur was playing poker in the corner with a group of well-dressed horse dealers while you watched him from the corner of your eye. You were done for the night, your pockets and hidden belt pouch were overly full and heavy with your spoils. You had a half-empty glass of cider in your hand, one you’d been nursing for the last half hour while sneaking looks at a certain poker player.
From his corner seat, Arthur could see the entire saloon, could see Sean making a fool of himself with a couple of ladies on his arms, and Hosea smoking a cigar by the window. But his eyes always came back to you, even as he played the horse dealers for all they were worth. He hadn't missed your surreptitious glances, though he was oblivious to the fact that they were directed at him and not his well-dressed companions. The men were starting to get bored of the game, tired of losing more money than they were winning. A couple of them folded and sauntered over to the bar, settling themselves on either side of you as they called for the bartender.
Arthur lost that round and the next one much to the delight of his companions as his frown deepened and his eyebrows pulled together like thunderclouds before a storm. You were no longer glancing over towards his smoky little corner while the two men chatted around you. Their hands were animated as they drank and inched ever closer to inappropriate territory. Arthur forced himself to look away, his renewed focus winning him back all he’d lost within a couple of rounds.
He tapped his winning hand on the table and laid it flat with a general nod towards the other players before gathering up his winnings. “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure.” His companions grumbled goodnaturedly, too drunk to really mind their losses. Only once he had everything tucked away did Arthur look back towards you. He stood a little more abruptly than he’d intended, not that the scrape of his chair legs could have been heard over the din of the saloon.
…
As soon as the men had settled on either side of you you’d resigned yourself to listening to their boring conversation as you finished your drink. But your patience was wearing thin and both men had boxed you in, one with a foot wedged behind your stool and the other with a hand on your back that was inching downwards. You were used to these kinds of advances, hell you enjoyed them when you were in the mood but you were done for the evening and the men weren't getting the hint. After a glance towards the bartender, he’d offered to close out their tabs to get them to leave but he’d been waved away by the clean-shaven Mr. Werth to your left, who had then let his hand fall to your thigh.
It was late, and you were tired of playing the interested woman. So with a smile you shifted slightly and looked down at the hand on your thigh as if you’d just noticed it was there.
“Mr. Werth, that is a fine signet ring you have there, mind if I have a closer look?” Lightly you tugged at his fingers as if to bring his hand up to the bar but he ignored your ploy and instead leaned closer. You narrowed your eyes at him, your smile faltering just a hair as the stench of his sour breath met your nose.
His fevered eyes wandered, unfocused but lecherous as he tried to give you a crooked smile that fell flat. “Wouldn't you rather feel it?” The older man to your right let out a loud guffaw as if Werth had told a rather witty joke. You tilted your chin up slightly, your eyebrow rising into a perfect arch like a wave poised above the rocks on the shore.
You turned your working smile back on in full force, even as your words bit into him like spurs. “Only without you attached to it.” At that, the hand of the other man left your spine as he brought his beer to his lips with a cackle. Werth seemed stunned at your answer and you used his lack of attention to pull away from him now that you had an opening. Unfortunately, the shifting of your skirts seemed to rouse him and his hand clamped down on your thigh as his expression darkened.
“Let it go Werth, there are plenty more women who’ll listen to your ramblings.”
Werth frowned at his companion. “Shut it, Earl, she’s just playing hard to get.” This time you glared at him, your smile fading as a venomous retort filled your mouth, but you didn't get the chance to spit it at him because Arthur was there, his foot catching on Werth’s stool as he stumbled, yanking the man to the side and forcing him to release you in favor of catching himself on the bar.
“My mistake,” Arthur said, his hands held up to placate any anger. “can't seem to get my feet to go where I want them anymore.” Arthur leaned heavily on the bar, playing the sloppy drunk even as he showily tipped his hat at you with the tiniest of winks.
“Ma’am.”
This time your smile was genuine, not a mask used for manipulation. You pushed away from the bar, dismounting your stool with haste and stepping away as Werth tried to decide whether or not Arthur was worth the effort of yelling at. You didn't look back to see what happened as you headed towards the saloon doors. Hosea was the only other gang member left in the bar and his brow creased at your hurried approach, his cigar forgotten between his fingers.
“Everything alright?” He asked as you slowed beside his table.
You let out a short sigh and gave him a half-shrug. “Arthur stepped in before it got… sharp, I’m fine.” You could tell Hosea wasn't completely satisfied with your answer but you continued on, wanting to be away from it all. Your feet carried you out into the warm night and the loud merriment from inside was cut off as you closed the door behind you with a firm hand. The street was empty, too late for anyone who wasn't out drinking or slinking home for the night. The yellow glow from inside spilled out the windows, throwing dark shadows across the horses, painting them with stripes of inky black. It only took you two steps to reach your mare who bumped your hand affectionately with her pink-tinged nose. The night was quiet, the air still, as you waited with your hand absentmindedly combing through your mare's forelock.
You were waiting for Arthur, knowing he’d be leaving soon now that his game had finished. It didn't take long for him to appear, silhouetted in the doorframe and backed by a drunken cheer from inside. As he closed the door his eyes found yours, and even the heavy shadow that fell across his face couldn't hide the persistent upward tug of his lips when he saw you were still there. He stepped towards you, all hints of the sloppy drunk left at the door replaced by an easy stride.
“You waiting for someone?” He drawled, his voice soft in the night as he stood on the other side of your mare, his hands loosely hooked in his gun belt. With practiced ease, you untied your reins and looped them over your saddle horn.
“Not anymore.”
…
The ride back was perfect, the sky was clear and the moon easily illuminated the dirt path back to camp. An occasional breeze carried the smell of distant campfires and trodden grass to the two of you as you rode side by side. However, something felt unsaid, and it seemed to hang in the space between you swaying with the gait of your horses.
After you crested one of the rolling hills, your mare tossed her head with a huff, scenting something in the air. At the same time Arthur's stallion let out a soft snort and his steps faltered as he pawed at the hard-packed dirt. The two of you pulled up, your eyes scanning the sparse patches of brush across the plains, searching for movement. Your mare shifted slightly under you, her ears pricked forwards like she’d heard something. A jackrabbit shot down the dirt road towards you, frantically zig-zagging as a coyote chased it.
Arthur's horse snorted loudly and pawed at the dirt, a warning aimed at the coyote to stay away. It was enough to catch the attention of the jackrabbit and the coyote who fled in opposite directions, their chase abandoned in the face of the new danger.
The interaction had only lasted a couple of breaths but it had broken the tension in the air and had helped you make up your mind. With a nudge of your heel, you got your mare to sidestep closer to Arthur who gave you a questioning look. When you hooked your reins around your saddle horn he opened his mouth but the words were never spoken because you leaned across the gap and brushed your lips against his. You pulled back slightly to gauge his reaction but his hand shot out and grasped the back of your neck, insistently pulling you back towards him. His hat completely hid his face in the dark but with his lips pressed firmly against yours you could feel he was grinning.
Your lips curved to match his as you pressed forwards, your hand landing on his muscled thigh as his nose bumped yours. Your breaths slid between the two of you like cigarette smoke, only escaping and being drawn back in through the small gaps you left.