Hit and run {private}

Finnie

Finnie

Finnie
- Lorraine Danforth - 20 -

Lorraine is 5'5", with a slim but soft build, without much muscle. She has wide blue eyes and long blonde hair she usually keeps clipped up at the sides with pins, the rest falling down her back. She dresses simply, usually with an apron on so she can help around her father's general store.

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Lorraine hummed quietly in her head as drove her small wagon through the fields of brownish green. The horse ahead of her moved at it's usual slow-but-steady rate, and she didn't bother trying to speed the old thing up. He was set in his ways, father always said. She couldn't slow him or make him go faster. But she had learned his rhythm, and she wasn't in an awful hurry. Today was a pick up day, and as usual she had been sent out for it. She'd rather help out around the shop- it was more interesting than the long trip to the meeting spot and back. But she couldn't say she missed all the people. The old horse was much better company than the chatty mothers, bold cowhands, and smelly drunks that filtered in and out of the store.

Lorraine gave a soft sigh before continuing her humming. She supposed she needed a relaxing ride anyways. Town life was great and all, but it was good to get away. Maybe she could be back in town by late afternoon and meet up with Hattie. It had been a few days since she'd seen her friend, and she was sure they'd have plenty to catch up on. She'd surely have plenty of stories to tell about how her pregnancy was going. Her husband had been absolutely strutting since the news came out. He was prouder than a peacock and showed his wife off any chance he could get. Lorraine knew they'd be a happy little family on their farm. Her friend had been lucky to find the man she did. Lorraine knew she had to find someone soon before she became a regular old maid. But she had seen all kinds of life in the store, and any of the handful of options that had interested her were either married or sums as salt or not interested back. But now wasn't the time to think about such things.

Her mind was brought back to the task at hand as she spotted the large wagon ahead of her. It was carrying supplies of all kinds of supplies. Today she was picking up bullets and gunpowder, guns, fabric, sewing supplies, and some fireworks. The Fourth of July was nearing, so her father always had some stocked in the store. Not much- most people didn't want to spend money on something like fireworks when they had other things to worry about. But father said it wouldn't be patriotic to not at least have some.

Lorraine pulled the horse to a stop, waving at the familiar merchant. "Hey there, Mr. Ulrich!" She greeted.

The older man looked up from where he had been rustling with some items in the back of his cart for a moment adjusting his glasses to look at her. His long face stayed frowning, and he returned to his work. She knew not to expect much of a greeting. The man was about as friendly as a badger. He did his job, and didn't waste his time on anything else.
"Give me the list." He said, holding out his hand. Lorraine did as he asked. He paused to read it for a moment, then stuck it in his pocket. Without a word, he began pulling things off the cart and placing them on the grass. Lorraine then picked up those boxes and carried them over to her cart. She knew the man couldn't be bothered to take them there himself.

Lorraine thought she heard something in the distance, but she didn't really pay it much mind. She had done this job a million times and allowed her mind to drift again.
It wasn't until she heard the pop and zing of a bullet that she looked up.

Three men on horseback were galloping towards them at full speed. They had a wild look in their eyes and were dressed in black and matted fur. Each had guns holstered at their hip- or empty holsters. Another shot rang in the air, burying itself into the ground by her shoe. Outlaws.

She screamed. Bolting back towards her cart, her eyes darted around for anything that might serve as any kind of cover or safety. Nothing. They were in the middle of nowhere, and the only think for a mile was their carts. The crazed men hooted and hollered as they came near, looking even meaner up close. She hid behind her cart, but she knew it wouldn't help her much. The men must have spotted her. Her heart slammed in her chest so hard she was afraid it might burst out of her dress.

Mr. Ulrich stood by his cart, his hands up in the air. For the first time in her life, Lorraine saw an expression on his face other than his usual stern frown. His skin was ghost white, his mouth drawn open as wide as his eyes. The three men pulled their horses to a stop by the wagon. The man in the middle stayed on his horse, and the other two dismounted.
"Weeeell, Howdy doody?" The outlaw still mounted teased with a sneer. Every other tooth in his mouth was either black or rotted out. "I think you've got something of ours on that there wagon."

"I don't want no trouble." Mr. Ulrich insisted, shaking his head. One of the men on foot shoved him roughly to the side to get at the supplies inside. The merchant didn't move a muscle from where he was shoved, though his body was quivering. Lorraine felt her stomach drop to her toes when the second man turned towards her cart. A cat-like smile curled in his lips and he headed towards her.

"Hey, little missie!" He crooned. "You try'na hide, huh?"

Lorraine looked everywhere around her for something- anything she could use as a weapon. There was nothing on the cart. All she had was a small pocket knife in her skirt. It was meant for opening cans and cutting twine, but it was all she had. Knowing she had been spotted, she stood once more, holding out the tiny knife with both hands, as if it could make her look more intimidating. "Don't come any closer!" She shrieked. Her hands were shaking badly.
The men laughed. She tried not to show how it affected her, but the man was still coming nearer.

"You're a fine little thing, ain't ya?" He said. He didn't even bother pulling out his gun, his hand just rested casually on the butt of it. "It's been a while since we've seen a fine lady. What are you hidin' under that pretty skirt, huh? Maybe we should take a look-see..."

Lorraine's lip wobbled. "Stay back!" She hissed, but even as she said it she was inching backwards. The man just laughed. Then fast as lighting he reached out, grabbing hold of both of her wrists in each hand. She screamed, her body panicking all at once to escape her attacker. The knife fell from her hands as he yanked her against him, his other hand wrapping around her and roughly grabbing her behind. Even as she squirmed and kicked and fought with all she had, he held her fast. As if she weighed nothing.

"Help! Please!" She cried, for anyone who would listen. Her eyes shot to where Mr. Ulrich stood, but he was petrified and unmoving.

"Oh, there's no use crying." The man tutted. "No one's out here 'sept us. But if you want, I can really make you scream." He licked his lips, his grip on her tightening. "If I can't manage it, I'm sure my buddies won't mind having their turns, too."
 
Boone Carter
29, 6'
http://blog.only-apartments.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/michael-fassbender-new-york3.jpg (rough guide)
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Boone cleared his throat as he rode towards town some miles off and glanced down as one of his dun mustang's ears faced backwards towards him. He smiled and patted the stallion's neck, "Not far now. We can rest soon," he told the only companion that he kept regularly with him. Spirit was in his fourth year now and the two were hardly seen away from each other for very long. He was in no rush as he rested the reins over the pommel and retrieved his canteen, using his legs to guide his trusted companion.

He was used to being alone but the pleading cough from behind him proved he wasn't this time. Boone spared the man he was leading by a rope a glance and shook his head. "You took too much last time, quit your complaining," he replied and replaced the stopper before lifting the reins again. The man grumbled in protest as he was forced to follow, his wrists bound. This was the only reason other than for supplies that Boone was even heading back to town. To collect his pay and find the next sorry bastard to track. It was a life style he liked. Not for the killing it occasionally involved but because it meant he could stay away from the judgemental eyes of society.

His horse snicked tossing its head as it picked its way through the dust and stones, rounding a short cliff edge before a plain broke out before them. He reached up and scratched his jaw, nails catching on the short growth of beard he usually sported. He was due a shave, yet another task to complete when he finally did arrive in town. Blue eyes scanned the horizon and frowned before he brought Spirit to a halt. Th man wasn't paying as close attention to the world around him and promptly met the rump of the dun.

"Hey, a warnin' would've been nice, mister!" the man, who looked young enough to still be in his teens, grumbled irritably drawing a look from Boone. The bounty hunter shook his head at him before clicking his tongue. He wanted a closer look. Something was happening not far off and it didn't look right to him. It could be nothing. He had plenty of that before but he reckoned it was just better to be safe than sorry. Experience told him that sometimes no gooders in the random events he happened upon were on his list. Dust clouds rose into the air, the sound of bullets flying and loud voices.

Spirit shifted into a gentle trot forcing the man in tow to jog behind the stallion. When Boone got close enough to see exactly what was going on, he stopped again and frowned. A scream pierced the air and Boone tilted his head. Female. He couldn't yet see the woman, mainly small figures of men surrounding a pair of carts. He studied the scene before him as he pondered what was to be done. At least three of the men were hostile as he watched them ransack the carts and the third was heading for the smaller of the two wagons.

His charge joined him by the side of his dun and Boone only glanced at him as he shifted his weight. "Yer not seriously going to take them all on are you?"

"Thinking about it,"
"You're mad!"
"Been called crazy, never mad."

Boone sighed, the man would hamper his chances of success in helping whoever was in trouble over the way. He stood on his stirrups a little before he sat back down and peered down at his current charge. "You realise you'll be away for a long time when i take you in right?"

"You remind me every damned day, mister,"
"Fancy halving it?"
"What you... hey, you don't mean to say if I help you take them you, you'll do me a favour?"

Boone smirked, the lad was smarter than he was given credit for. It was a shame the kid hadn't done anything better with his life than stealing horses and being a nuisance. He nodded, "It's what I said didn't I? But you try anything kid, you'll be food for the birds."

He watched as the kid thought about it before he eventually nodded and offered his bound wrists, "I swear chief." Boone snorted before he leaned down and cut through the ropes. He offered a hand up and the kid swung up behind him.

"You better hold on, kid. Going to ride in hard, you jump the first I pass, all right?"
"No weapon?"
"You'll figure it out, seem to recall you've got a mean left,"

With that, he urged the mustang into a fierce gallop towards the men. The hooves thundered as they met the ground kicking up their own stream of dust as the pair hurtled towards towards their target. Boone felt the kid grip his jacket as he urged his companion to go faster. The mustang might not be as long legged as a quarter horse but it was a plucky sure footer. Boone removed his gun form his holster when they got close enough to warrant it.

The bounty hunter rode hard into the small meetup and he could tell these were bad men as one turned to shoot at him. He urged Spirit on and the horse shot past. As promised, the kid jumped from the spot behind Boone and fell into the outlaw before a shot could be taken. Boone could hear the fists fly but her concerned himself with the second outlaw that had turned in surprise at the interruption.

"Well, I'll be damned! Curly! We got comp'ny!"

The man fired at Boone but missed and succeeded in making Spirit rear up, his forelegs striking outwards as Boone lost his purchase and fell to the ground with a dull thud. Spirit neighed and whisked out the place. Boone grunted and moved for cover as another shot rang past his head. He fired back and was rewarded with a howl of pain as hands clutched a thigh.

Boone caught the sight of the final outlaw, of whom he assumed was 'Curly', and the woman and scowled, reading exactly what was on the man's mind. Staying within the cover of the supply wagon, he turned his gun and fired at the man's ankle. He took his time. He didn't want to hurt the woman with his risky shot. He glanced down and saw the kid wrestle the man's weapon from him and then clobber him around the head with the butt of the gun.

"Kid! Stay down!" Boone warned and the man seemed to nod fervently, rushing for the cover the wagons provided.

Boone looked at the other two and frowned, "You got one chance to leave, boys! Don't go making this worse than need be!"
 
Lorraine struggled with all her might. She had no idea what she would do if she got free, but she knew with absolute certainty that she couldn't stay in the grip of this man. If he even qualified as a man. She barely registered the sound of another horse approaching, every atom of herself focused on freedom. It wasn't until more shots rang out that her eyes shot up to see what was going on. Another man had arrived on horse back, a snarl on his features. He looked more clean cut than the outlaws, but that didn't necessarily mean he was good. But if the other men were shooting at him, at lest he wasn't a friend. She was desperate for any help at this point.

She watched the chaos before her unfold as the man was thrown from his horse as more gunshots went off. One man was down, and then the other was shot in the leg. It looked like her savior had a helper as well, who was beating the man on the ground into a pulp. She searched for Mr. Ulrich, but he must have fled during the conflict because he was nowhere to be seen. The coward.

Another shot rang out and the man holding her suddenly crumpled to the ground, his arms still clutching onto her. She shrieked as they tumbled to the ground, kicking at her attacker. He finally let go, reaching toward his ankle, and she hurriedly scooted away, pulling at her skirt. Her skin crawled as if she could still feel his hand on her.

"You've got one chance to leave, boys! Don't go making this worse than need be!" Shouted her savior. He was clearly a force to be reckoned with. He had a holster on each side, one colt in his hand and the other still in it's leather pouch. If she were these men, she'd be bolting for the hills. But of course, she wasn't.

"This ain't none of you business, son!" One of the men shouted. The one who had been holding her pushed himself up from the ground, favoring his uninjured foot. Lorraine pushed herself back further by the cart, wishing there was some way she could help but knowing there wasn't. "This here is our mark!"

Both men were obviously injured, but not willing to give up on the fight. She remembered the rank smell of whiskey which had hung on the man's breath as he whispered in her ear. She supposed they thought the odds of two against three was still pretty good, even if one of their men was down. Another shot and she saw the tall stranger's body jolt as a bullet flew into his side. She bit on her fist to keep from screaming, trying not to draw any more attention to herself.
 
The woman moved and he nodded. He didn't expect these men to withdraw. He was lucky the kid had agreed to help him in the hopes of halving his time in jail in the first place which had helped to even the odds. The kid had proved to be useful in a tough scrap unarmed. He heard the response and nodded again to himself seeing no point in now trying to spare lives as he carefully peered around the edge of the cart to see where his targets were. One was doing the same, the other still on the ground clutching his wounded ankle before rising to his feet. Boone glanced back and saw the kid creeping towards him. He freed his second gun, steadied his breathing and shifted out, firing at the one stood out in the open firing from both. This was risky, he was exposing himself to achieve his mark but both his bullets hit home, slamming into the woman's attacked once in the shoulder, the other in the lower back. The dull thud told Boone the man had fallen again but pain exploded in his own side. He grunted and slumped back against the side of the cart as he forced himself down.

The kid crawled closer to him, "Give me a gun. I can help,"

Boone glanced towards him with a strained look before sense overrode humility, "Remember what I said, kid. No heroics," and passed one of his two colts to the other before forcing himself up again. The kid nodded and took up a position close by before he shot at the other man that had shot the bounty hunter. Shots rang out either side and one told Boone the man that the kid had knocked out was awake. He turned and fired back in a darting movement. The man fell back, eyes unseeing towards the sky. Sighing, he turned back and raised himself up to fire another bullet, hearing it glance off the edge of the wood before he had to reload.

The kid hissed with success as he downed the one that already had three bits of lead put into him. The figure grew still, his head peering towards the woman. Boone shook his head, the kid was getting too cocky as he fired. Boone counted shots before he saw the kid hide. He smiled slightly before he flicked over more rounds. The kid nodded his thanks before setting himself to reloading the weapon as Boone continued. Blue eyes peered for the one remaining. This one was more cautious especially now his buddies were all dead. the odds favoured them more now. Boone was still cautious himself though. Numbers were nothing compared with the skill put into the weapons used. Kid and Boone stood at the same time and fired. "No!"

The kid blinked at the shot and then stared down at his chest before he fell. Boone snarled and shot the remaining man, hearing a satisfying thud as he rose. He holstered his weapon and moved to where the kid had been. He could see the kid was not going to make it but he was clutching at the dusty ground. Sighing, Boone knelt and held him. He could do that much for him. "I don't want... I... ," helpless eyes looked into Boone's own and he held the man's hand, squeezing it in silent comfort. The kid was brave, he could have easily turned odds in favour for the outlaws that had attacked the supply wagon but had chosen to help his captor. A man who had spent a long time in tracking him down and bringing him back to town. He still would but not how he had wanted. "I know, I'm sorry, kiddo," he breathed in response but the eyes were no longer listening to the older man. Boone sighed and closed the eyes before he stood, replacing the other gun to its holster. He winced briefly but had no time to check his own wounds over.

He moved to the other dead and frowned as he looked at their faces. Something was very familiar about them and he couldn't say why. He hardly heard the movement from behind him as he studied the dead. With a small shake of his own, he turned and peered towards the old man hiding amongst the supplies of his weapon. "You all right?" he asked, eyes frowning in concern and all he got in reply was a subtle nod of the old man's head. He turned and saw the woman which put stock to the female scream h had heard earlier.

"You okay, miss?" he asked her even as Spirit returned, picking his way in over the bodies of the outlaws. Boone spared his mustang a glance before looking back at Lorraine, eyes tinged with the pain from his wound.
 
Lorraine shrieked and curled behind the cart as more shots were fired. She pulled her knees up to her chest, covered her ears, and shut her eyes. She didn't want to hear or see any more. She just wanted this nightmare to be over. She wanted to go home. She wanted to be safe.
She only dared to open her eyes once more when the gunfire ceased. Before her laid the man who had attacked her, his body and face now marred with blood. His cloudy eyes were turned towards her, but they didn't see her. He was sickeningly still. She knew that he was dead. Lorraine whimpered and shuffled back a few more inches. She had never seen a dead body like that before. She felt as though something crawled up her spine, threatening to drag her down to where the dead man before her surely had gone.

It was silent now, silent as the grave. A light breeze blew through and rustled the dying grass as if nothing had happened. It was over- it had to be. If the men were still around she had no doubts they would have come for her by now. She wrapped her arms around herself, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. The adrenaline in her crashed, as did any of her remaining energy. She had almost been kidnapped. Who knew what they would have done to her if the strange man and his friend hadn't intervened? Would they have raped her? Kill her? She didn't want to think about it.

Footsteps were drawing near her, and the panic rose in her throat again. A million thoughts ran through her mind at once. One of the men had survived or came back. Or the man who had saved her only wanted the bounty for himself- including her. She knew she should do something, but she was frozen. And it was too late anyways. Her eyes lifted up to the man who had saved her life. The first thing she saw were his striking blue eyes. His features were angled and his beard looked like it hadn't been groomed in a month, but underneath the dirt he might be some kind of handsome. "You okay, miss?" He asked. His voice was rough around the edges, but calming.

She bit her bottom lip to keep herself from crying more and nodded her head. Though she wouldn't necessarily categorize herself as okay, she knew he was asking about and physical damage. She rubbed a palm beneath her eyes, trying to get rid of the dampness on the apples of her cheeks. She probably looked like a child, curled up and crying. "Thank you." She managed to squeak out.

Her eyes lowered, feeling embarrassed. That's when she noticed the red blooming on the man's side. She gasped, pushing herself up onto her knees. Her hands reached towards his abdomen before she thought better of it. "You're hurt!"
 
For a moment all he heard was the snickers and stamps of the horses before she gave her response. He smiled and nodded as he reached up to resettle his hat as he looked her over. She was very pretty and he could see why the outlaw had gone for her not that Boone was like that. He hardly made the time for it and had been raised properly. He snorted at that thought, white man would not call his upbringing 'proper'. He was a white man who viewed a white man's world with a filter. Still, he could admire beauty when it was presented. He tipped his hat as he shifted his weight, "No problem, ma'am." She was clearly unused to the rough rigours the West could throw in people's faces and he wondered why she was even out here alone. The old man shifted on the seat of his wagon, a hip flask in hand.

"Huh?" Boone blinked before he looked down at himself and grunted in bemusement. He knew he had been shot but he had been to busy staying alive to notice the pain or where he had been shot. He tilted his head and guessed largely it had hit nothing too serious. His lips drew to a thin line aware how that could change. Health mattered in places where water and civilisation was few and far between. "Could've been a lot worse, miss, I suppose," he smiled faintly before he reached towards the saddle bags attached to his horse's tack. He brought out a thin piece of long cloth which he knew was clean enough before he tightened it round his wound. There was little that could be done about it now.

He looked back to her before he offered her a hand up, "You're from the town nearby, would that be right, miss?" he asked. He assumed so since she was dressed simply with no protection that he could see but assumptions was something that could get a man killed and he had no interest in being that obliging. He felt a little funny from the blood loss but there was no way he could rest just yet. He had to take the kid to town along with the outlaws, sort them out before he could get Spirit stabled. Only then could he see to his wound. Stumbling a half step as he helped her to her feet, he nodded to her before he looked to the kid lying next to a wagon. "We should get them back to town, if you don't mind the company," he told her figuring it was the best sense. He didn't know who else was to be found out in the wilds, it was used by a good few to escape the justice of the law. Some would be lucky, others would not and would either find themselves in a tricky situation with nature, the natives or bounty hunters like himself.

Boone moved towards what would have been his bounty and lifted the body with care. He laid the man over Spirit's saddle and with rope tied the man in place lest he fell off during the trip back to where the woman had come from. The other dead men did not get the same respect and were slumped over their own steeds. The horses shifted, wary of the scent of death that they now carried. Boone leaned against one of the wagons once he was done to catch his breath and closed his eyes briefly. The work was not easy and his side hurt more than it had earlier. Controlling his breathing helped and he nodded, "Time to go."
 
She could tell the man was trying to hide how much his injury hurt from her, but he couldn't hide the pain that flashed in his eyes. He brushed it off as nothing, but she knew it had to hurt. She had never been shot, but she had helped tend to wounds a few times. Some days she liked to help out with the mission sisters and patch people up. At first the sight of blood had made her queasy, but she had eventually grown used to it. She had learned how to dig a bullet out, though she had only done it once before. She knew the bandaged the man wrapped around his own side wouldn't do much to help.

"You're from the town nearby, would that be right, miss?" He asked her. When he held out his hand to her she accepted the help. Though she knew it made more sense for her to be helping him and not the other way around, she was still shaking. She nodded in answer to his question. "We should get them back to town, if you don't mind the company."

He stepped away from her to go about clearing the chaos from the fight, and she took it all in. The air stunk of death. All of the outlaws had fallen. Blood stained the dirt and grass, like a painting halfway finished. The bodies were strewn at odd, unnatural angles. It looked like even the stranger's friend had gotten caught in the fire. Lorraine took a deep breath and made the sign of the cross. She'd never seen so much death in one place in her life.

Lifting up her skirts, she carefully stepped over the dead body in front of her, trying not to look down for fear she might start crying again. She went over to the supply wagon and started grabbing the rest of her boxes with shaking hands. If she didn't grab the rest of the delivery, she might have to come back. And she didn't want to risk that. Once all the boxes were in place, she set to calming down the old horse in front. He has spooked during the fighting, but hadn't managed to bolt. He couldn't back up with the wagon behind him, and the firing in front of him had kept him from going in that direction.

Her savior leaned against her wagon, wincing slightly. He was still trying to hide the pain, but she knew better. "Time to go." He mumble through gritted teeth. She nodded again, her eyes scanning him. He looked like he'd barely make the ride back.

"My father owns the general store." She said. "I can patch you up there. I have experience." She was bluffing a bit- she had only taken care of a bullet wound once and it had been with supervision, but she was determined to help the man who had helped her. The mission was on the other side of town, anyways. She hoisted herself up onto her horse. "Can you follow me? I'll show you the way." It was probably best that they got out of the area before anyone else decided to join the party. Who knew if the men were alone.
 
Ignoring the injury was perhaps in hindsight the wrong thing to do but anything that he could do to steer his mind away from the pain it presented was welcomed with relish. He wanted to tighten the cloth around his midriff but knew that in turn could very well add to the damage. Not that this was his first gunshot wound. He had many before but this was the first time his torso had been on the receiving end. The air was heavy with the tang of the gunfire and blood. Death was not something he liked dealing, it was the unfortunate part of his job but not everyone came peaceably and he always gave them a choice. He glanced up when the old man's wagon moved off without so much as a by your leave. He wasn't surprised. Perhaps the man recognised him but he didn't think it likely. He hadn't been this side of the wilds for a very long time. His work generally took him far and wide in most directions.

He was tired. Boone had not gone into the gunfight on a fresh state of mind. He had been riding for most of the early morning and throughout the day itself with only one stop in-between. Added to all the emotional dealings this fight now presented, it didn't leave him with a good leg to stand on. Still, he was stubborn enough to push past it. He had to. Town was still a while off and he doubted she would have the strength to hold him up let alone lift him to his horse. He looked to her when she spoke and he tried to place less weight on her wagon, small as it was. Part of him knew he should see a doctor but he knew perhaps it would be a little rude. He could see her mind was all made up from the tone in her voice. So he smiled as much as his pain would allow and nodded, "I'd appreciate that very much, miss."

Boone brought Spirit in line with her horse which definitely seemed the safer ride at the moment as Spirit shifted. Boone gave a few soft clicks of his tongue, the ears of the mustang flicked before the horse stilled instantly in reaction. He set his foot in the stirrup and gripped the pommel, reins in the other hands. He braced himself before hoisting himself into the saddle as quickly as he was able in one move. He leaned heavily over the pommel with a grimace. The wound fired up something fierce to all the stretching a simple move required. He doubted getting back down was going to be a hoot either. Forcing himself to sit up and ignore the faint queasy feeling, he got himself ready and nodded. She looked eager to be gone from this place and he could not say he blamed her. The uneasy feeling that he knew the outlaws or held some faint recollection that he could not quite summon to focus.

"Ready when you are, miss," he smiled, nodding to her as his stallion beneath waited for the right command to be given. The mustang certainly wanted to move. When they were finally underway Boone was soon finding he couldn't reach town fast enough. Credit to his breed, Spirit was a smooth ride but even then every step of his trot caused his wound to cause complaints. Halfway through he had to move his spare hand to place a little more pressure over the wound. The cloth was wet and he knew that wasn't good. He hadn't realised it but he was also beginning to lean forwards over the pommel a little more the closer they got.
 
By the time they reached town, the man looked like he was barely able to stay on his horse. His skin was ten shades whiter, and she could see the blood on the hand that held close to his wound. He needed help, and he needed help fast. Lorraine pulled the old horse to a stop behind the general store, calling for her father. She knew he could hear the panic in her voice by the speed he rushed out to find her. Usually he took his good old time, but he was practically sprinting.

"Lorraine! What is it?" he asked. His eyes scanned over her for any injury or cause for concern. "You look like you've been dragged through the mud! Is that blood on your skirt?"
There wasn't time to answer his questions. "Papa, you gotta help me get him off his horse!" She said, already moving towards her savior. She looked like he might fall off it any moment, and she wasn't strong enough to get him down herself.

"Him?" Her father asked in question, but came to her aid anyway. Together they helped lift the man down, with a little difficulty. Lorraine placed his arm over her father's shoulder.

"Are those men...?" Her father asked, finally noticing the bodies slung over the horses. Their leads had been tied to the back of her cart.

"I'll tell you about it later, Papa! Can you just get him into the back room?" She didn't have time to explain. She hurried in through the back door, then set out to clean off the table in the back. It was covered in papers and half empty boxes, and she moved them al lot the ground. When her father managed to half drag half guide the man into the room, she was pulling paper from the roll and ripping it off. She spread it on the table then helped lift him onto the table. The bullet wound was getting worse by the minute.

"Papa, get me a rag, some bandages, and a bucket of clean water." She ordered, then swiftly added a "please." Her father mumbled about no good strangers and scaring him into a heart attack, but did as she asked.

"Pardon me, mister." She said, before beginning to unbutton his vest and shirt. They looked like they hadn't been washed in a week. As she revealed his torso, she saw it was marred with half healed wounds and scars. There was power there, with strong trained muscles that had been toned over years of hard work. She felt around his chest, making sure she didn't have any broken ribs or internal bleeding. In moments her father was back with the things she had asked for.

"Thank you," she said, kissing his cheek. She dipped her hands in the bucket of water, cleaning them off. Then she grabbed her knife. "This is gonna hurt." She warned the man. Her fingers trailed down his chest to reach the mass of blood that was the place of impact. Taking a deep breath, she carefully dug her knife into his side, digging for the bullet.
 
At least the sun was going down. He could still feel its rays upon his back but it was nowhere near a midday heat. He was sure he would never have reached the town if that had been the case. He was in trouble and he could kick himself for getting shot where he had. Not that he had much say in the matter but it was no fun. It hurt really badly and he was losing all sense of the world around him. He knew that was a dangerous thing to do. Especially with a woman he had only just met who didn't have the strength to hold him. It was also a case of not knowing where he was being taken, or knowing the company she kept. He scratched that thought. She gave no indication of ulterior motives.

He could smell horse in his nose and peered blankly for a moment at the mustang's wither before he felt hands pull him down. he blinked before he wrapped one around wide shoulders. A man then. Some relation to the woman perhaps, he didn't know but whoever it was was able to keep his weight upright. He didn't speak, his face held in a perpetual grimace of pain. It was all he could do to stay awake. He grunted as he was moved, barely trying to take some of his own weight. voices, so many voices and he could hear hushed voices as he was taken inside.

Boone cried out as he was lifted, his hand gripping her father's shoulder in the process before he got some relief from the hard table his back was laid upon. He briefly closed his eyes before opening them again, blinking and yet painfully aware that it was only going to get worse before it go better. He had to raise his head a little to look at her before he lowered it again. His strength was failing and he could not remember the last time he had been this vulnerable. It had been a while he mused faintly before he unconsciously shivered against the air. He wondered if this was a bad time to have not left a will or some such writ.

He looked to her as he read the warning though he did not wholly understand what she said. He soon realised the words wen pain exploded like sharp needles followed by fireworks. He tried to control his breathing, just something to focus on but ultimately failed and cried out. He felt hands press down on his shoulders as his body reacted more than his mind did. He clenched his fists. What she was doing felt like murder not that he would claim it so. He only registered the pain for so long before his mind di him a small kindness. Boone blacked out, a bloodied hand falling clear from the table's edge.

He came to, eyes blinking open groggily and he didn't really know where he was to begin with. He grunted and tried to sit up wanting to know.
 
When the man passed out, Lorraine was grateful. His jerking around wasn't helping anything. You'd think the man had never had a bullet taken out of him. Though when she thought about it, maybe he hadn't. She had assumed he had been in brawls before by the way he fought, but maybe not. She didn't know anything about this stranger. Not even his name. How strange that this man had saved her life and she didn't even know his name?

She had finished cleaning the wound and was tying up a bandage around him when she felt him stir. She spread one hand across his chest, the other going to his forehead to keep him down. "Hey," she soothed in a soft voice. "Stay put. I just finished stitching you up." She blushed as she realized she could feel his heartbeat beneath her fingers. His chest was warm. Almost inviting. She never touched a man so casually. It wasn't proper. With her face still pink from embarrassment, she pulled her hands away, wiping any stray blood off on her apron. "Sorry." She cleared her throat.

"No vital organs were hit- you'll need a little while to heal but you'll be right as rain in no time." Avoiding his eyes, she tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Why was she suddenly so nervous? She had had no problem with the man when he was unconscious. But now that he was awake, it felt... different.

She bit her lip. "Thank you for saving me." She said, lifting her eyes to his. "My name's Lorraine, by the way. And you are...?"
 
If there was one thing he was not keen on, it was the lack of knowledge as to where he was at any one time. He looked at her when he felt pressure pushing him back down, the hands gentle and he relented. He knew if he tried to force the issue, he'd only make a fool of himself and fall down again. He felt weaker than he ought to be. Still, he was glad to be alive and that was something.. He nodded, glad he had woken up after the fact. He was used to them but he never had liked the sight of needles. He supposed that thought was rather boyish of him. His head twitched to one side as he peered to his wound. It had come to a dull ache now and no doubt he'd be rather tender for a while. He looked back at her and nodded, "Thank you." He was almost sorry when she pulled away, the contact was oddly soothing and that also brought uncertain feelings out of him. He was used to staying away from company rather than being drawn to it.

"Oh good... I thought I was for it back there," he breathed quietly and flexed his hand, frowning slightly when he felt the course feel of dried blood crack and fall at the movement. He was going to need a new shirt. this one would need washing out and darning. He was loathe to throw it, he found it comfortable. He stared at his hand for a while before he blinked and blue eyes shifted back to her.

He smiled at her, "You're welcome miss... Though at this point, I think you've done the same for me." He had been fortunate he had not been alone and that she had known what to do. He would have tried for the town but it could have been such a different story. She introduced herself then and he grew a little wary even if he found her interesting. His own hometown wasn't that far away but it did depend on how far word spread. Still, there was no hiding from it. "I'm Boone, miss," he nodded in greeting, fighting off his desire to sleep. It was apparent he was going to be staying around a while, something he was never quite prone to.

"Thank you for the help, miss Lorraine. I'll get a room soon as I can stand..." a thought occurred to him and he looked at her a little more urgently, "My horse..."
 
The man looked uncertain when she asked his name. She wasn't sure why- perhaps he was an outlaw after all. But even if he was, she was sure that he had certainly paid back in good deeds. Though her father might not agree. "Boone," He finally answered, with a nod of greeting. She smiled. Boone. It fit him, in a way. She had half expected him to have a scarier name, something rougher. After all, he'd just murdered three men. In self defense, sure, but it was still murder. It was still setting in for her. She had been to plenty funerals but she had never seen a man die right in front of her before.

Her mind was drawn away when she heard him ask about his horse. "Samuel took him and the other horses to to livery." She reassured him. "Papa will pay the fee until you're healed. Said it's the least he could do."

When she had told her father what happened, he had been in shock. Nothing like that ever happened on their small town. And certainly not on her weekly routine pick up. He felt guilty, almost as if he had been the one to attack her, but she reassured him that she was fine, just a little spooked. Still, he said she wouldn't be making that trip again. At least, not alone. Lorraine didn't mind the idea of a chaperone. She never thought of herself as a particularly brace person.

"He also said you'll be joining us for dinner." Lorraine said with a small, bashful smile. Her father had insisted. Lorraine wasn't sure if it was because he was grateful or because he didn't trust the man and wanted to learn more. He liked to think of himself as some kind of deputy some times. He said he saw all kinds of folks in his shop and it was his duty to keep an eye out. Lorraine thought he was just being nosy, but she'd never say so out loud. "Until then, you should rest though. Do you need anything?"
 
He turned his head having forgotten about other presences that had been with her when he had lost consciousness. He saw her father nearby though had to shift his neck upwards to do so before he nodded back. He could see the concern etched into the man's features and wondered if this town got a fair share of criminal activity that was rife in other place. The man looked worse than Boone felt and that's why he reached the conclusion that outlaws weren't all that common here. That would be nice but it would turf him out on the street with no bounty to pay his keep.

He calmed when she told him Spirit was being cared for and he looked to her father earnestly, "Thank you, sir. Most kind." It was strange to be treated this way. Course, the townsfolk from where he was from or rather had been adopted into , tolerated hims well enough but they still viewed him as if he was a native. These people did not seem to know. He didn't want to tell and hoped he wouldn't have to. Not that he was hiding from his past, it just generally skewed people's views of him. It was bad enough that his choice of profession was frowned upon by most but it was one that had to exist for the good of others. Without some kind of presence to keep outlaws in check, sheriffs would have a harder time of it.

Boone also was not used to hard tables but for once he found it rather relaxing for a change. It also might have been the company. She had a pleasant voice, one he could listen to and not get bored. There was talk of dinner and a lack of choice in the matter but he didn't mind. He wasn't likely to get far and a good meal would do him a world of good against the scraps he usually lived off of. "Much obliged, sir," he replied in acknowledgement of the courtesy before he rested his eyes a moment only to blink them open when she spoke again. "I won't say no to that, miss," he nodded, all he wanted right now was sleep. He was tired and not just from the effort of the wound. He thought for a moment before he nodded, "Some water would be a real treat, thank you,"
 
Lorraine felt a swell of relief as Boone agreed to dinner, not seeming to be annoyed by the suggestion as she had feared. She didn't have to know him to assume he didn't usually hang around company. She could tell by the rusty way he used his manners, as if taking out an old crumpled letter long forgotten and tying to read it. And she would admit he was much less frightening than she knew he would be if he wasn't half drained of blood and laying on the backroom table. She knew there would be gossip everywhere by morning- if there wasn't already. No doubt someone had seen her take the injured man into the general store.

She nodded at his simple request for water- it was the least she could do. Wiping her hands on her apron which was still dotted with blood, she hurried out to the back and grabbed a pitcher and ladle. She filled the pitcher up then moved back into the store, careful not to let it slosh around. When she got back to the man, she frowned. He couldn't very well drink laying down- even with a ladle. But she knew there was no way he could sit up without assistance.

Before she could think better of it, she moved to his side again, placing the pitcher on the side of the table. She slipped her arm beneath his shoulder to help him up just a bit. Not fully sitting up, but enough that he could drink. "Careful..." she mumbled, though she wasn't sure if it was more to him or herself. He didn't look like a fragile man in the least, but she didn't want to hurt him any more than he already was. She dipped the ladle in the water and held it out to him. She figured helping him sit up was plenty. If she tried to make him drink like a child she was sure she'd not only insult him, but make a fool out of herself as well.

While he drank, she tried not to think about how close his bare shoulder was to the side of her breast. She was sure if she took too big of a breath she would brush against him. She had never held a man so close before in her life. She knew it was strictly platonic since she was helping and injured man, but she couldn't ignore the heat of his skin beneath her palm.

When he was finished, Lorraine pulled away as fast as possible without just dropping him back on the table. She dropped the ladle back in the pitcher and took a deep breath. "Alright, try to get some rest." She said, keeping her voice even. "When you wake up, I'll change your bandages."
 
He watched her leave a for a moment before he felt where the wound had been. It was covered with bandaging now but it was still something that had taken his guard away. He hadn't been on the receiving end of a bullet for some time now. Whether that was luck or something, else he wasn't sure. He knew that the Sioux that had raised him would say the spirits were watching him. That brought relief in parts but luck nor spiritual intervention couldn't hold off what was likely to happen to him in his line of work. He let his hand rest again at his side before peered up at the ceiling of the room he was in. It was simple in its furnishings and he belatedly remembered she said she was taking him to her father's shop. Accepting the offer for dinner was something he did not find himself looking forward to. His social skills were something left to be desired but he knew how customary it was given how much of a situation that little shoot out could have been.

Movement caught his eye and he turned his head to look at her. He was tired but the need to drink rested more on his mind and this was likely the first drink of water that wasn't stale inside a canteen for a while that he had. He tried to prop himself up but he had to admit it was a struggle to push past the tiredness and pain. Before he even realised she was by his side and helping him to rise the rest of the way. She was warm and he found it something of a distraction before the movement of the ladle was brought to his attention. "Thank you," he nodded and took the offered ladle in one hand and began to drink the refreshing liquid it held. Right now he had never had something that tasted brilliant. He was sure he would think that about the whiskey soon enough.

Boone held the empty ladle away from himself in indication that he was finished and it was soon taken away and he found himself being lowered. He noticed the expediency with which he was laid back down but it hadn't hurt and he put very little thought to it. The table was cool on the skin and he closed his eyes briefly before looking at her again. He nodded and smiled a little, "I'll try, miss. Thanks." He watched her go before he peered up towards the ceiling again. He sighed to himself and it was a while before his mind calmed enough for him to fall asleep.

It was a while before he woke and he stretched not remembering the events of the previous day in time as he did. He rolled to one side and fell off the side of it, scrabbling to catch himself halfway through the fall with a hiss of pain. "Shit," he muttered to himself before he looked around and subsequently remembered where he was and what had happened. He peered down at his chest, using the table for support as he slowly stood up and sure enough he had excited the wound too much as he woke. "Damn," he cursed again before steeling himself to sit back on the table. He took a moment to get his breath back, his chest breathing deeply at the effort. He glanced up when he sensed movement at the door and he gave a sheepish smile, "I, uh, might have stretched a little too far."
 
Lorraine was helping her father wrap the last of the packages that were being sold for the day when she heard a thump from the back. Instantly, the fear that had slowly been fading all day returned with a flash. Dropping the parcel, she bolted into the back room. She wasn't sure what she expected, maybe murders or bandits, but the only sight that greeted her was a crumpled Boone on the floor.

"Oh goodness!" Lorraine said, rushing to his aid. She could see fresh blood seeping through his bandages as he struggled to move. He pushed himself into an unease stand, muttering an oath beneath his breath. She would have been offended if she wasn't so worried. Putting her hands beneath his arms, she helped him back up onto the table, her brows creased in worry.

"How did you manage to fall of the table?" She scolded, looking over him for any more wounds. She was sure this man was determined to kill himself. "Stretching too far" didn't seem like a good enough excuse. At least he didn't look like he had gained any more wounds. But if he had ripped his stitches she wasn't sure what she would do. He hadn't gotten a fever, which was a blessing, but he could bleed out if he ripped anything. And she was sure seeing him back up would be a lot harder with him awake.

With a small sigh she moved to grab the fresh bandages she had left beside the bed and a knife. "Hold still, please." She mumbled, then began cutting away the soiled cloth. He had slept a long time- the sun was already set. She had checked on him every once in a while for fever, but thankfully it hadn't come. The man at least wasn't in danger of death. Someone up above must have been looking out for him.

He hadn't ripped his stitches, but the wound was bleeding a bit more than it should from his fall. She had realized long ago that asking him to dinner had been foolish, considering he would probably be stuck on his very table for at least another day or two, maybe longer. Things had been a jumbled mess- no one had really been thinking clearly. When she thought about what had happened, she still shook. She tried to push it from her mind as she grabbed a rag and carefully wiped the blood away. When the wound was clean again, she carefully wrapped him back up. She kept trying to think of things to say, but it felt like her mouth was filled with cotton. Though he had saved her life, there was something strangely terrifying about him.

"Are... are you a ranger?" She asked. She knew he wasn't from around here, and he had taken down the outlaws with easy skill, as if it were habit. She hadn't seen a badge anywhere on his clothing, but it was worth asking.
 
She looked as if she had rushed and he cursed himself on being such a burden. He wasn't used to relying on others for his own needs nor needing others to help in simple actions like standing. He led a singular life where the only companion he had for a conversation, albeit one-sided, was Spirit. The only times he broke this life of solitude was when he visited the folks that had raised him and he dared not make mention of them here. Prejudice was still a major motivation for guns to be used and he rather not aid that matter at all. He did not know what the feeling was for the Natives in this town and he didn't really want to know. He felt her hands on his skin and he was momentarily taken aback. He was struggling and she had seen that but still, the coolness of her hands was distracting.

His hands shifted and held the edge of the table with a firm grip as he focused on his breathing forcing himself to make regular inhalations and exhalations as he worked through the pain that the moving around caused him. He looked at her, blue eyes widening slightly before they returned to their normal state. "Sorry miss, I don't normally wake to a roof over my head. Might've given me a little shock," he explained slowly and ran a hand through his short hair and then down his face ignoring the scratch of his beard. Boone shifted with distinct unease as she eyed him over. It was unsettling even if he understood she was looking for any more grievances he had done to himself. If he was unused to company then he was even more so with the fairer sex.

"Sure," he nodded when she gave him an instruction and made sure his arms weren't in the way of her task. It always felt strange when he was being tended to and especially in the kind way she was. He watched her work with an unreadable expression to his features as he mused to himself. That would soon change once she and her father learned of who and what he was. Gossip always travelled from one town to the next and he knew how much of an oddity in a white man's society he was. Not everyone was raised by the natives in the way he was. His foot shifted in an unconscious tapping movement, he was already restless and wanting to find his next fee. For as long as there were criminals he would never be out of work any time soon.

He blinked and seemed hesitant to reply to the question she had asked but he knew he should be honest and there was no shame in admitting his role in life. He wasn't the only one in the West to be one. "Ranger miss?" he frowned and then shook his head slightly as he tested the bandages absently. "No, my trade is in bounty hunting. A town's sheriff can't always catch their man so I do it in their stead for a fee," it might not have been honest work at times but it was something he was good at. His peculiar upbringing had meant he knew the lay of the land in ways white man did not and he knew how to track his targets with relative ease. It made survival in the job easier and his success rate boomed because of it. He frowned then, knowing his luck someone else could have claimed the bounty that had been on the kid's head. All that work for nothing. He shifted and winced as he forgot himself and then looked to the doorway for a moment.

"How long was I out for?" The light of the room didn't seem like it was morning and he didn't really want to believe he had slept on a stranger's table for such a long amount of time. He looked back at her and frowned, he had lost a day and his wages in one. He sighed to himself and rubbed his face before he spoke again, clearing his throat. "I should probably get out of your hair, miss Lorraine. I've caused you enough trouble as it is," he was not fond of being a burden and he was sure she had other important stuff to get done without him getting in the way.
 
Lorraine's eyes widened slightly as he spoke of his work. She tried not to let her shock show too much. A bounty hunter! And he was in their shop, laying on their table. She had heard about bounty hunters- men meaner than rattlesnakes that hated people and loved hard time. One of her friends had said that she saw one carrying in his bounty and he looked more scary than the outlaw. She said they weren't fit for society, and they didn't mind. They were more animal than man. A respectable man would work for the law- a greedy man would only hunt down evil if he got a good reward.

But Boone didn't seem to scary, at least not while he had one foot in the grave and laid bleeding out on her table. And he had manners, which was more than she would expect from a bounty hunter. And most importantly, he had saved her life. He couldn't be that horrible, could he?

His question brought her back to reality. "About ten hours." She said. He had slept like a log, the noise of town not seeming to wake him. He needed his rest- just because he didn't get a fever didn't mean he was totally healed either. He was lucky the bullet hadn't hit anything important, and that they had gotten the bullet out before it had a chance to poison him. She frowned when he mentioned leaving. Perhaps this man was sued to these kinds of injuries and thought he was above healing, but surely he knew he couldn't just up and walk around after being shot.

She shook her head. "You aren't a bother." She insisted. "You saved my life, and we owe you for that. And you need time to rest." She looked him over. "In fact, you shouldn't be sitting up at all. If you rip those stitches, you're be in a world of trouble. You need another day or two at the least. Tomorrow Father and I can move you up stairs to our guest room." She hadn't asked yet, but they couldn't exactly just leave him on the table. He was their guest now- whether he wanted to be or not.
 
It was a funny thing about living on the fringes of society where certain things dictated your status in life. It boiled down to everyone and everything, what was considered to be right and what was considered to be wrong. Bounty hunting was not considered an honest occupation but it was one which allowed him the freedoms he needed whilst earning enough for his everyday needs of life as well as for his horse's. Besides, he doubted that because of his highly unorthodox background, he would not be eligible for a place within law enforcement or other honest occupations. He was a man with two homes and only one of them came with the lack of prejudices of human society. He could see her shock at his words and wondered how much it really bothered her. He looked away not out of shame but out of an uneasiness he didn't really understand.

He looked back at her and stared owlishly. Ten hours? Was he really that tired? He blinked and frowned, he supposed he was. He lived mostly by the ear, grabbing sleep in what shelter was available and it was never that comfortable. It was just part of his job that he had gotten used to and never complained about. He could honestly say that the table he was on was something of a luxury for him. It was flat unlike the deserts and prairies he was used to sleeping in. He caught the expression as he expressed his words and he could see it didn't sit well with her. He supposed he didn't mind. Having a roof over his head was also something of a luxury, he wasn't used to the feeling and he was already feeling the restlessness he usually had with being in towns for any period of time. Boone shifted, he was not comfortable with the idea but he didn't want to offend her or her father. Both seemed like pleasant people and she hadn't exactly been verbally against what his occupation meant. He knew some of his fellow hunters were uncouth scoundrels that were scarcely better than the outlaws they hunted. Many just saw it as easy money but for him it meant freedom and a wage that he earned. He wouldn't be caught relying too much on others.

Another day or two... and a guest room? A chill rose in his stomach. He didn't find it all appealing but he kept his unease quiet. It was rude to shirk their hospitality in such a manner but he couldn't help but fear being locked in a tidy space. He didn't even rightly know where his fear of small spaces had come from but he knew he had the feeling since he was a small boy. Her words sounded a little presumptuous and he gained the feeling he didn't exactly have much choice in the matter. He supposed it was too late to regret accepting their dinner invitation. that was going to be awkward, he barely had table manners at the best of times and hoped the work his second set of foster parents had put into him helped him.

"Guess I can't have that, huh?" he replied quietly knowing what it was like to rip open stitches and that was not an experience he cared to repeat. He was grateful he had lost consciousness when she had sewn him back together. He didn't mind needles but it remained a peculiar feeling. Boone nodded before he carefully swung his legs back up on the able. He shifted slightly before he laid back down, flinching slightly at the cold surface. He looked at her, "Sorry... I don't mean to be all... " he frowned, he couldn't find the word he was searching for and he scowled with frustration. "Well, you know... " he trailed off again, furious with himself because how could he expect her to know what was going on inside his skull. His education was barely passable at best and it was starting to show.
 
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