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Tequila Musings by Jennifer B.

Word Count 631

A WHN to High Riders -Ratings: PG. Suggestivity.

Needling Teresa

Scene: Johnny at the saloon, drinking tequila

So he made me a partner. What does that mean anyway? Ok. I get it. He calls the tune. So what do I do? Am I a glorified ranch hand? Or just “security”? Yeah, that’s gotta be it. Why else would he want me? Oh wait, it’s not me he wants, it’s my gun. Yeah. That’s it. My gun. Well, I’ve done that before. But not with as good a payoff as this.

But what is that payoff anyway? In hard numbers. I mean, how much do I get on a regular basis? How am I paid? I gotta remember to ask these questions. Kinda hard to ask that when you’re laid up on your back, though. That’s a question a man asks when he’s well. I mean fully well, and quite capable of handling anything. Sure, the doc cleared me for light work, and I feel just fine, but I wanna be fully ready—all official-like from the doc—before askin’ that one of the Old Man.

The Old Man. Ha. Not sure about that. What’s it like to have a —nope, can’t really call him a ‘father’ now, can I? Well, whatever I call him—what’s it gonna be like with him? Last time I answered to a parent was my mamma, and I didn’t really answer to her that much. More like stayed out of her way. Yeah, that’s my plan. Stay out of his way. We’ll get along fine then. Hell, it worked before. Sorta.

And what about this brother? He’s got guts, that’s for sure. Fightin’ back Pardee’s men in town, plannin’ that trick on him, too. Hell, even punchin’ me. Damn, he hits hard. Must be that military trainin’. He’s not the dandy I first thought he was. That bothers me some, too. I’m usually good at readin’ people. Him, he’s different. Very different. I wanna get to know him, but, I dunno, gettin’ to know people hasn’t been very good for me. Better keep my distance. Yeah, good idea, Madrid. Keep your distance. That works.

Madrid. Is that who I am now? I said to let “Lancer” stand on that paper. Did I really mean it? Do I wanna let Madrid go? Am I ready to be Johnny Lancer? Who the hell is that, anyway? I dunno. Maybe Johnny Lancer don’t really exist, except in the Old Man’s mind. But then again, Johnny Lancer don’t have Johnny Madrid’s gun. And isn’t that what the Old Man wants? Or….

Hell, all this thinkin’ hurts. That’s what I get for drinkin’ too much tequila. I shoulda stopped at two, three shots. Not sure how many I’ve had. Can’t have been too much ‘cuz I’m still— I’m what, anyway? Oh, yah… I’m wantin’ *her.*

Now that’s what I call a woman. Long, dark hair. Soft, red lips. Nice curves. Firm in the right places, soft in the others. Now her I could drown in. Maybe I will. Tonight at least. Tomorrow I’ll worry about the Old Man and that brother of mine. Tonight belongs to me and her. I’m definitely well enough for that. She’ll like it, too. Yeah, and I know she’ll like my—gun. Ha. 



To: (The) New Cowboy

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