Chapter Text
Only two sounds in the country, just two, that Billy wasn’t sure he could live without. Gunfire and hooves. The harsh thundering of rapid artillery was, in his eyes, in perfect equilibrium with the supple patter that roamed the plateaus. Often cushioned by either the ever-growing grass of the plains he grew to love so much or the rough, almost rocky, sand; the rocky sand he hadn’t quite made his mind up about yet.
To him, it didn’t really matter what animal made the noise; whether cattle or colt. He’d spent long enough hunting down helpless, unguarded herds, to know that the difference was all the same to him. Though longhorns made him quite the quick buck, there was something about walking a previously unbroken mustang into auction that nothing would ever quite compare to.
Lately, he’d been mostly on his own, and any cowboy knew that going after a herd on your own was no quick buck, it was a quickfire way to either jail or the grub below. So, horses it was. Not enough to warrant any kind of notoriety, just enough to pay the “bills”. Though, his bills were mostly whiskey, taverns, and the occasional blacksmith.
More often than he liked to admit, Billy’d get the horses he stole a new set of shoes. He told himself he was just being an adequate wrangler, and that the shoes would give him an advantage at sale, but deep down he knew it was simpler than that.
Billy the Kid held the tiniest place in his heart for the blacksmith’s daughter.
Any man who laid his eyes on her would tell you the same. It was a preposterous thing to claim not to understand the unyielding infatuation they carried for her. She was stunning, hardworking, and though she never said a whole lot, he was pretty sure she was sweet and polite, too. She was friendly with the horses he brought her, and somehow always found the time to give them a quick brush-over before he came to pick them back up.
He always came just a few minutes early; he enjoyed watching her work. Her trade seemed witchcraft to him, how effortless she looked when bending and hammering the white-hot steel to her liking. Or more so, the horse’s liking, he guessed. On good days, she’d braid their mane “Dutch-style”. She could honestly spend hours just combing and fiddling with their long coarse hair. Billy’d never been taught how to braid; his father didn’t have the patience and his mother didn’t the time. He wished he knew, though, something so utterly simple and silly as being able to put a braid in your horse’s tail. Watching her do it was good enough for now, though. Perhaps one day.
On good days, she also tended to chat with him a little. Although, sometimes she didn’t seem in the mood. No matter how litttle words were exchanged, he cherished their time together anyhow. One could even say it was his favorite time of the week, he could never quite wait as long as he’d liked to. Giddy like a little boy he’d sit on the edge of his bed, eagerly waiting for the time to pass. His boots set next to his socked feet, impatient.
He was sure he could find her stable blindfolded, if you dropped him as far as New York City. He’d never tell her that, though, especially not when her father was the man who supplied half the state’s weaponry.
“You name her yet?” They’d been sitting in silence for a while, she’d been entirely concentrated at the task at hand, and he’d just been sitting there; a bale of hay under his ass and a straw between his lips. Billy hummed softly; he enjoyed this part of the interaction the most. The part where she finally allowed herself to make contact with him, even if it were just small talk. “Still thinking over some options.”
“Such as?” She had now moved to brush the mare’s legs with a soft brush, sure there wasn’t any sort of debris left when she moved to the next one.
“Annie.”
“Annie?” She laughed softly, and while she was obviously making fun of him for his questionable naming abilities, he couldn’t have been happier. He hadn’t heard her laugh before, it was the first time and it wasn’t anything but an instant hit. Three sounds in the country that Billy couldn’t live without.
He hated himself for ever allowing it to die down. “Short for Annabeth.”
“William, I don’t mean to be rude, at all.” She started, now gently moving a bigger brush over the mare’s neck. “I’d say we’re pretty friendly, right?”
“You could say that, sure.” He sat forward on the bale, his elbows leaning on his knees as he looked up towards where she stood. He cleared his throat as she caught his eye, “I’d say we’re friends, yeah.”
“Okay, good.” She smiled brightly, feigning innocence. “Please never try to name anything ever again.”
He scoffed sarcastically, but he really couldn’t have been more glad, content. At last, he seemed to have broken through that almost neighborly barrier of hers. “Tell me, then.”
“Tell you what?” She stood with her back facing him, now, working down the horse’s belly. “What I’d call her?”
He hummed.
“Anything but Annabeth, to be frank with you.” She giggled again, slowly making her way to the mare’s head. She gave her a good rub before putting the dusty bridle back on her.
“Anything But Annabeth, it is.” He grinned up, meeting her eye as she rolled hers at him.
She released the mare from the ropes that were holding her in place, nodding at Billy to come take over the reins. He pushed himself to his feet, eager to be close to her, even if it was just for a second. He stood on the other side of the horse’s head, face-to-face with her as she gently handed the reins over. Her hands brushed his for a split second. He tried to compose himself just in time to catch the goosebumps rising on his bare arms.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, Billy Antrim.”
He smiled down at her faintly, nearly passing at her tone of voice and choice of words. “Likewise, Wynona.”
She rolled her eyes again, giving Annabeth one last pat on the neck. “It’s Winnie, Billy, c’mon.”
“I like Wynona.” He exclaimed, nearing a laugh, as he made his way out of the barn, passing the other workers, close to breaking their necks to see whoever it was that’d been spending their time with the woman he was sure they were all pining after.
It couldn’t have been more than a week before he went to see her again. He knew it was a dim thing, to offer her a different horse every fortnight, but he simply couldn’t help himself. If he was any thicker, he’d steal her a new horse every hour of every day.
“Hi, Billy.” Her voice was soft, she didn’t really meet his eye, either. She took the reins and brought the sturdy grey draft in. “An hour, yeah?”
She wouldn’t meet his eyes, averting her gaze elsewhere constantly. He couldn’t help but let his head dip slightly to try and catch them, to no avail. “Yeah, sure.”
He didn’t follow her inside, he felt it to be inappropriate. They were friends, she had said that herself, if she wanted her friend to know what was going on, she’d tell her friend what was going on.
Thing is, he really - really - didn’t want to be her friend.
She wasn’t there anymore when he came to pick his horse up, and he was quite sure she hadn’t even bothered to clean up its feet either. Her father handed him back the horse and took his payment, and somehow the transaction seemed a lot less favorable when it wasn’t Wynona bleeding him dry.