#Ghost get better with your spanish you're right by the border

[ghouljams]

WDYM U MUSNT DO A 1870S COWBOY AU

HISTORICAL COWBOYS ALL THE WAY!!!

"Oye vaquero," Ghost hears the click of a primed rifle, and turns quickly on his heel, raising his pistol to face the woman pinning him in his sights. 

"State your business," you advise him in Spanish. Ghost doesn't blink, doesn't lower his weapon, doesn't feel his heart flutter just a bit at the sparkle in your eyes. You whistle and he snaps back to himself, grips his gun a little tighter and knocks the hammer back.

"Price sent me, I'm supposed to talk to Goose for a-" he fumbles for the Spanish word, as you carefully settle the lever back on your rifle.

"Your accent is awful," you tell him in English. Your voice is even sweeter when he doesn't have to translate it, the annoyance in your tone is a wonderful touch.

"I'm supposed to give Goose a message, you know him?" Ghost lowers his pistol as you settle your rifle against your hip.

"I am him." Ghost doesn't freeze, but he pauses, looks you up and down. The wide stance under cotton skirts, the way you grip your rifle, the loose hair that tumbles out from under your hat, he tries not to dwell too long on the dip of your waist or the soft skin just peaking out from your collar. You're not what he expected.

"Ghost," he introduces himself, carefully pushing the hammer of his gun back into position.

"Pleasure," you nod in greeting, he wishes you'd spare him a smile. He's sure you're a sight when you smile. "What's the Sheriff want?" You ask.

Ghost holsters his gun and reaches into his coat to pull a letter free. He holds it out to you, watches you take it with careful fingers. Your eyes skim the paper, and flick up to meet his every few passes. Ghost takes the time to glance further up the dirt path, there's a farmhouse just at the end of it. He can just make out a barn behind it. 

"How long are you planning on being in town?" You ask, drawing his attention back.

"Not long," although if anyone could convince him to stay longer it's you, "Price said you board."

"I board rangers, not gunslingers."

"What's the difference?"

"Rangers pay their bills." You fold the letter and tuck it into your shirt. Seems like a comfortable place to be. Ghost wonders if- He shakes himself from his staring to snort at your insult.

“I’ve got money.” He tells you, you raise a brow.

“Here? Or on a bounty you’re hunting?” He hesitates, and you nod in understanding, “Figured.” You click your tongue and look back towards the house. Ghost isn’t one to beg, worst case he goes back and asks the saloon if they board. At least the barkeep can run a tab to be paid later. “Sheriff says you served, Union?” You ask after a moment of thought.

“That’s right,” Ghost nods. You nod again, apparently having made a decision.

“Alright, you’ve got a room.” Ghost blinks, he shouldn’t be surprised, Price said his letter would do most of the legwork, but still he thought there’d be- “Got some rules though.” There it was. You hold your fingers up and drop them as you speak, “You help with chores until you can pay, you keep your boots off my tables, if you want supper you better be back by six, and if you try bringin’ a bounty back to my house I’m takin’ it.”

“And how d’you plan on doin’ that?” 

“I got no qualms shooting pretty gunslingers.” You shrug.

"Can you even use that thing?" Ghost nods at your rifle, some part of him now desperate to see you actually fire it. You're quick to grip it with both hands and fire over his head. He turns to watch a duck fall out of the sky, hears you whistle and sees a dog race past to catch it.

"Any other questions?" You ask with a bored sort of amusement. It's terribly charming.

"You married?"

"You askin'?"

"No." Maybe.

"Then I'm not," You smile, it's a small thing, but it lights up your face like the sun peeking out behind a cloud. Ghost’s heart beats a little faster. He wonders what you’d say if he was asking. “If you wanna try sweet talkin’ your way outta paying you can sleep in the barn with the other animals,” You tell him, bending to take the duck from your dog’s mouth before you turn on your heel to start towards the house.

“You get a lot of men sweet talkin’ you?” Ghost asks, following after you without a second thought.

“Only the real stupid ones.” Ghost tips his hat a little further forward to keep the setting sun out of his eyes. He wonders how many men get your sweet talk. Pretty you’d said. Was he pretty? He’s quick to bite down his smile. He’s always been weak to women like you, the sort of pretty thing that won’t hesitate to kill him.

Here's to hoping his bounty takes a while.

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