LINGER (p.1)

LINGER (p.1)

outlaw!lottie matthews x farmersdaughter!reader

summary: after weeks mourning the recent death of her father, y/n decides it’s time for her to take responsibility and fix the family farm her father left her. just when she’s about to give up and go home, she ends up housing—and hiding—the infamous outlaw of the west.

warning(s): not historically accurate, mentions of crime, mentions of death, mourning, angst, slow burn, secret romance, cursing, possibly ooc!lottie

a/n: this is supposed to be set around the 1890s, but if women and poc actually had rights bc like why not 🥲 also they’ll be using somewhat modern language bc idk how people in the west spoke

word count: 705

you should be at home, tucked away in bed with plenty more time left to sleep. you should at least have been rising peacefully by now, waking up to the sound of chirping birds and the rumbling of distant trains and the quiet stirring of street wagons. but no, you’re not home, and there is no exciting city ambience. where you are is slouched in a small run down saloon. you move the damp slabs of ham around with your fork and poke at the cold scrambled eggs. you finally spot the busy saloon waitress, a short woman around your age with shaggy dark hair. she has the striking hazel green eyes and arched dark brows. she had served you your eggs and ham, and offered some strong alcoholic drink, which you turned down. looking back on it, maybe you should’ve taken the offer.

“ehm, excuse me, ma’am? uh.. could i get that drink, actually?” you chuckle hesitantly. your friends back home would most definitely judge you for drinking this early in the day.

“the food that bad?” the woman asks sarcastically, with a charming smile. “coming right up.”

“no, the food’s.. great! i just got a lot on my mind.” you stutter nervously with a tight lipped smile, trying to be polite. “and thank you, ma’am.”

the woman slides the glass mug of liquor over to you from across the bar. “it’s no problem. and you don’t need to call me ‘ma’am’.” she says matter-of-fact-ly, with a raised brow. “‘name’s natalie. you can call me nat.”

“oh. thank you, nat.” you smile, offering out your hand, which she takes in a firm handshake. “y/n.”

“well? what are you here for?” natalie asks, crossing her arms and leaning on the counter.

“i’m visiting my dad’s farm.”

“hm. fun.” natalie says sarcastically.

“why do you say it like that?” you chuckle.

“why would you want to be hanging around some old man?” natalie scoffs.

“oh, uh.. i won’t be around him, actually.”

“yeah? why, where will he be?”

“uh, he’s dead.”

“oh!”

“yeah.”

“shit, sorry—“

“nah, no worries, it’s no problem. really.”

you take a long sip of beer, quieting down after the awkward encounter. nat continues cleaning the bar, serving customers. one of the guys at the bar points at a poster hung up by the door.

“what’s that about?” the man asks.

“hm? oh, yeah, the sheriff is making everyone hang up those wanted posters.” nat scoffs. “some felon on the run, i dunno what she did, but she’s a big deal apparently.”

“‘she’?” he questions.

“fuck yeah, ‘she’. women can be criminals too, y’know.”

the further you traveled through the quaint little town, you more Wanted posters you saw. a few of them were of old criminals, dating back from a few years to a few weeks old. however, you saw a lot of these new ones from the saloon, of that woman. the road began to get dirtier and the buildings started to lessen. soon enough, you ended on a dirt road with short, thin trees.

you can see a few farms in the distance, but keep on your track. after a while, you can see the house. increasing your pace a bit, you jog over. the house looks bigger now than it did when you left. you, your parents, and your siblings seemed so crowded, but now it’s looks so lonely. nobody bothered to come around after your dad died. there are still farm animals lazily stumbling around.

you take the time to lay out some food for the birds in the chicken coop, pile some hay and put out water for the horses, and toss some grains out into a pile for the goats and the pigs, all of the animals having run slim due to only having grass around.

when the sun begins to set, you decide it’s best to go inside. as you lie beneath the weight of the heavy quilts, the flickering candlelight casts warm shadows on the old wallpaper. the night is silent, except for the occasional bleat of a goat or low rumble of a cow in the yard below you. each breath hurts, your heart aching. outside, the wind picks up, howling through the trees, and in the distance, you hear the faintest sound of hooves. you begin to fall asleep, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion.

what you don’t know is that a dangerous woman is drawing nearer, her intentions as shadowed as the night itself, and soon, the quiet of your father’s cabin will be disrupted.