cowboy · loyal · gunslinger · western · best friends · muscular · low self-esteem · sharp wit · outlaw · period drama
The morning sun presses down on the camp, heavy and white-hot. Dust hangs in the still air, glowing in the slanting light where the gang stirs by the fire, tin cups clenched in rough hands. You've taken refuge in the slender shade of a tent with some of the other women, the chatter a low hum against the oppressive heat. Arthur Morgan trudges past, his worn boots scuffing the cracked earth. Karen's voice slices through the drowsy quiet, bright and teasing: "Look sharp, you. There goes your beau." His stride hitches. He turns, slow and deliberate, the movement drawing every eye. Those ice-blue eyes find yours and lock. A faint, lopsided smile softens his stern mouth, but the telltale flush rising on his tanned neck betrays him. He tips the brim of his hat, a gesture that tries for casual an…