George Hanson needed 60 bucks and fast.
He'd been playing, very poorly, poker all night with a stranger that had rode into the litte Texas town of Rosebud at dusk yesterday, and lack of sleep had finally cought up to him. His wife was going to raise hell; he'd lost her great-grandfather's gold pocket watch, the dishes she had ordered three months back and hadn't used once, and the 25 dollars that her sister in Boston sends to her each month.
Now, with sweat running in rivers down his too pale, fat face, George looked across the table at the man that played the best poker game George seen in years. Staring at the heavily muclsed arms that were folded across a rock-hard cest, George felt like a man about to meet his Maker; this man could tear him apart with his bare hands without ever blinking.
Cash McQueen stood at the intimitating height of six foot eight inches. His coal black hair was pulled back in an Indian stlye braid. He had what George's wife, Sue, would call a narrow, handsome face. Well, it would be handsome, if he smilled or showed some type of emotion. His eyes were the same color of his hair, but with a few fleckes of green in them. The thick, black eye brows that rested above his unusual eyes were lowered, not in a scold, but in waiting.
George looked away from the man's eyes; he left as if Cash was looking into his very soul. The feeling was too real for George to have imagened it.
Leaning forward on the scared table that sat in a dark, isolated corner of the Lady Luck Solan, George held his hands out in front of him in a surrendering manner. "Listen," he started, his voice rusty from disuse and thin, "I ain't got any more money. You taken it alls."
The only respones to his un-eduacted statement was Cash rasing one thick black eyebrow.
"But, I has a package that could hold you's interest." George finished, feeling the tops of his ears turn red just thinking about the "package" that lay in the back of his wagon.
Cash looked at the old man across from him long enough to make him shift uncomfortable in his stiff wooden chair. Finally, Cash tipped his head toward the door, standing and heading that way.
George was quick to follow that walked fast to catch up with the youger man. Quickly stepping in front of him, George lead the way to his old, beat-up covered wagon. Not hearing the tell-tell sound of foot falls, he turned back, only to come within two inches of Cash.
Turning back, George moved the rear flap of the wagon out of the way, stepping aside to let the bigger man look in.
Laying on a bed of bear skin's and warpped in a plain white bed sheet was a little bit of a woman. She was sleeping the sleep of the innocent, one of her long, slinder legs peeking out from under the sheet. Her face was turned away, but the flow of blond hair was long and took up a good bit of the bedding. She lay curled into herself, trying to retain warmth from the chilly fall air that seeped under the ratty wagon coverings.
Cash climbed into the wagon, stepped over the girl, and gently grabbed her chin. Turning her face toward him, he stared at the large purple bruise that covered the whole right side of her face. Her bottom lip was split and dried blood clung the the cut. Judging by the left side of her face, Cash quessed she was a picture of perfection without that ugly bruising marking her.
Her lashed were long and curl just a little at the tip, fanning out as they lay on soft, white cheecks. She had a little button of a nose, small enough to be cute. She mouth looked sliky and soft, forming a wonderfully arched bow.
George stared at the tenderes of the giant man, feeling like an outside of a private monment. Needing to feel the uneasy stillness around him, he said, "I founds her on the side of the road, headin' to town. She was laying wrapped in that very sheet, lookin' for the world as if she was dead. I checked on her, seen she was alive and took her to doc. He says that she needs to be cared for." George sneaked a look at Cash, who was still staring down at the girl. "I can'ts be takin' in another mouth to feed, I got's four boys at home and another on the way." That was the only explaination George could give Cash.
And it was the only one Cash needed.
He bended down and hooked his arms under one of the bear skins, carrying the girl up and out of the wagon.
George was about to object the the man taking one of his bear skins, till he saw the gold pocket watch laying atop the skins. He turned to thank McQeen, but he was already gone, disappearing into the night as if he'd never been there.
~*~
Cash roe his great black horse toward the west, leaving Rosebud, Texas behind him. The woman lay across his lap, her head resting in the crock of his right arm. Her baby-blond hair fell over his forarm and reached almost to the ground. The bruised side of his face was turned away from him, so that he wouldn't cause her any pain.
She stirred lightly in his arms, turning her face into his chest, seeking his warmth. Cash switched the reins from his left hand to his right, then reached over and ran his deeply scared and calloused hand through her fine hair. It was slightly matted with mud, giving it a unheathly tent.
The woman turned her face toward him, her eyes opening slowly and reveling the bluest of blue eyes Cash had ever seen in his life. He had a feeling that he would never see eyes as pure and guideless as her's again. She stared at him for a monment, before her lashed lowered, covering eyes that he could loss himself into.
She was sleep once more in seconds, trusting a man she didn't know to lead her away.
**This is only the first chapter, but I wanted to post it and see what people think before I started on the next. Please be kind with your reviews and let me know about any misspelled words, or typeos. Thanks.**
He'd been playing, very poorly, poker all night with a stranger that had rode into the litte Texas town of Rosebud at dusk yesterday, and lack of sleep had finally cought up to him. His wife was going to raise hell; he'd lost her great-grandfather's gold pocket watch, the dishes she had ordered three months back and hadn't used once, and the 25 dollars that her sister in Boston sends to her each month.
Now, with sweat running in rivers down his too pale, fat face, George looked across the table at the man that played the best poker game George seen in years. Staring at the heavily muclsed arms that were folded across a rock-hard cest, George felt like a man about to meet his Maker; this man could tear him apart with his bare hands without ever blinking.
Cash McQueen stood at the intimitating height of six foot eight inches. His coal black hair was pulled back in an Indian stlye braid. He had what George's wife, Sue, would call a narrow, handsome face. Well, it would be handsome, if he smilled or showed some type of emotion. His eyes were the same color of his hair, but with a few fleckes of green in them. The thick, black eye brows that rested above his unusual eyes were lowered, not in a scold, but in waiting.
George looked away from the man's eyes; he left as if Cash was looking into his very soul. The feeling was too real for George to have imagened it.
Leaning forward on the scared table that sat in a dark, isolated corner of the Lady Luck Solan, George held his hands out in front of him in a surrendering manner. "Listen," he started, his voice rusty from disuse and thin, "I ain't got any more money. You taken it alls."
The only respones to his un-eduacted statement was Cash rasing one thick black eyebrow.
"But, I has a package that could hold you's interest." George finished, feeling the tops of his ears turn red just thinking about the "package" that lay in the back of his wagon.
Cash looked at the old man across from him long enough to make him shift uncomfortable in his stiff wooden chair. Finally, Cash tipped his head toward the door, standing and heading that way.
George was quick to follow that walked fast to catch up with the youger man. Quickly stepping in front of him, George lead the way to his old, beat-up covered wagon. Not hearing the tell-tell sound of foot falls, he turned back, only to come within two inches of Cash.
Turning back, George moved the rear flap of the wagon out of the way, stepping aside to let the bigger man look in.
Laying on a bed of bear skin's and warpped in a plain white bed sheet was a little bit of a woman. She was sleeping the sleep of the innocent, one of her long, slinder legs peeking out from under the sheet. Her face was turned away, but the flow of blond hair was long and took up a good bit of the bedding. She lay curled into herself, trying to retain warmth from the chilly fall air that seeped under the ratty wagon coverings.
Cash climbed into the wagon, stepped over the girl, and gently grabbed her chin. Turning her face toward him, he stared at the large purple bruise that covered the whole right side of her face. Her bottom lip was split and dried blood clung the the cut. Judging by the left side of her face, Cash quessed she was a picture of perfection without that ugly bruising marking her.
Her lashed were long and curl just a little at the tip, fanning out as they lay on soft, white cheecks. She had a little button of a nose, small enough to be cute. She mouth looked sliky and soft, forming a wonderfully arched bow.
George stared at the tenderes of the giant man, feeling like an outside of a private monment. Needing to feel the uneasy stillness around him, he said, "I founds her on the side of the road, headin' to town. She was laying wrapped in that very sheet, lookin' for the world as if she was dead. I checked on her, seen she was alive and took her to doc. He says that she needs to be cared for." George sneaked a look at Cash, who was still staring down at the girl. "I can'ts be takin' in another mouth to feed, I got's four boys at home and another on the way." That was the only explaination George could give Cash.
And it was the only one Cash needed.
He bended down and hooked his arms under one of the bear skins, carrying the girl up and out of the wagon.
George was about to object the the man taking one of his bear skins, till he saw the gold pocket watch laying atop the skins. He turned to thank McQeen, but he was already gone, disappearing into the night as if he'd never been there.
~*~
Cash roe his great black horse toward the west, leaving Rosebud, Texas behind him. The woman lay across his lap, her head resting in the crock of his right arm. Her baby-blond hair fell over his forarm and reached almost to the ground. The bruised side of his face was turned away from him, so that he wouldn't cause her any pain.
She stirred lightly in his arms, turning her face into his chest, seeking his warmth. Cash switched the reins from his left hand to his right, then reached over and ran his deeply scared and calloused hand through her fine hair. It was slightly matted with mud, giving it a unheathly tent.
The woman turned her face toward him, her eyes opening slowly and reveling the bluest of blue eyes Cash had ever seen in his life. He had a feeling that he would never see eyes as pure and guideless as her's again. She stared at him for a monment, before her lashed lowered, covering eyes that he could loss himself into.
She was sleep once more in seconds, trusting a man she didn't know to lead her away.
**This is only the first chapter, but I wanted to post it and see what people think before I started on the next. Please be kind with your reviews and let me know about any misspelled words, or typeos. Thanks.**