snowy_river_man | (no subject)

(no subject)

Spur's place is a second home to Jim in many ways. It's as entangled with his history as his own homestead, and with his father dead, there is no one Jim trusts more.

Even now, knowing he's a Harrison.

Riding up the hill along the rail fence, Jim smiles as he catches sight of the ramshackle house, built between thin trees with nothing at its back but blue sky. Jessica's arms are looped loosely around his waist as they have been for hours, and Kate is close behind on her Beaut. The sun is shining, the air crisp. He finds he's looking forward to seeing Spur's face when he realizes Jessica has come for a visit.

"Spur!"

He slows his horse.

"Spur!" A brief Pause. "Spur!"

Still no answer.

"Damn," Jim mutters, coming to a stop.

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"Let this be a lesson to you, Jim."

Spur holds up the dirty bag.

"I find a little bit of gold and suddenly, after all these years, the relatives turn up!"

He grins at Kate.

"Pretty womenfolk, too!"

She tips her chin against her chest, a demure little nod of concession at Jim's request. She moves into the room, feeling like a warm knife as it cuts through butter. By the time she stops at Jim's side, Spur's switched from heartache to jesting again.

"Perhaps your luck jus' wasn't finished in the mines. Don't worry, I don't think Jim'd ever forgive me if I took your gold."

She smirks at Jim, and again at Spur.

"Congratulations."

He might as well enjoy some accolades before the inevitable happens. Jessica looks fit to burst.

"Thank you kindly," Spur replies. "Maybe I got it wrong. Maybe the long lost relative and the pretty lady are my good luck charms!"

He's curious -- beyond curious -- about Kate, but right now he only has eyes for Jessica.

Jessica fails to crack a smile.

"Why do you keep this portrait of my mother?"

"Eh..."

Spur has to look away, caught as he is between a rock and a hard place. He flicks a glance at Jim, reaching for his good humor and easy smile to use as a shield.

"The prettiest visitors I've ever had," he says, gesturing at Jess and Kate, "and not even a cup of tea! C'mon."

He retreats, busying himself with cups that have seen better days.

Jessica marches after him, her skirts swirling the dust.

"What are you trying to hide from me!? I'm not a child," she insists.

She's still holding the portrait of Matilda open like a prayer book in her dainty hand, so like her mother it makes Spur's heart ache.

He stares at the back wall of his ramshackle cabin, then lowers his stunned gaze to the portrait.

"Jessica," he starts, taking it from her. He shakes his head, snapping the portrait closed, and limps away from her. "There's a lot of pain... and suffering... when you try to dig up the past."

Jim has been following all this with a vague sense of unease. He doesn't blame Jess for insisting on answers; he's curious, and it isn't even his family, though Spur might as well be.

Something about Spur's face makes him speak up at last.

"Look, Spur. Jess needs to get home and we've got to go back for the cattle."

Beat.

"Can you take her?"

It seems a more loaded question now, after that exchange.

"Sure," Spur answers at once, turning away from his memories.

Jim asks him to look after Jess for him -- an interesting choice of words -- and Spur can only respond, "Oh, I'll look after her." He looks at Jessica. "Like you were my own daughter."

Edited 2013-11-13 15:17 (UTC)

"We won't be far behind you," Jim tells Jessica, flipping his hat back on his head. "Ready, Kate?"

A brief, warm smile.

"Sorry it's a short visit. I'll have to bring you back."

Jessica looks from Jim to Spur to Kate, absolutely incredulous.

For once in her life, she's speechless.

Jessica isn't the only one. Kate blinks, gaze shifting around the room. It lingers on Jess, wondering if it's all right to up and abandon her here.

However, it could be just what they need. Time, and privacy, to talk. She knows just what Spur means —

There's a lot of pain... and suffering... when you try to dig up the past.

— and the Harrisons don't need an audience. She smiles wanly, nods once, and lowers her voice (though the other two are likely to hear anyway).

"No need t'apologize on my account, but are you sure?"

Edited 2013-11-19 06:03 (UTC)

Jim nods. His eyes meet Kate's, holding her gaze for a long moment.

"Don't touch his wallaby stew," he warns Jessica, part teasing and part not. He pauses to rest his hand on her back, the same sort of silent reassurance he'd just offered Kate.

Spur is trusted, Spur is safe.

It's time.

"Why you ungrateful tyke."

Spur hobbles after them, calling out the door.

"There'll be no wallaby tonight!" He turns back to Jessica. "I'll kill the fatted calf. Come to think of it, I already have."

He tugs on his suspenders and grins at Jessica.

Jim chuckles and shakes his head as they return to the horses. Who knows what Jess will think about eating one of her father's strays.

"Thank you." He turns and faces Kate, an easy smile on his face, something like relief in his eyes. "None of this is what I had planned."

His confidence is all the assurance she needs. She doesn't flinch from his gaze, nodding almost imperceptibly, and when he moves to leave the shack so does she. She has no doubt Jess will be safe, she only hopes she won't be madder than an old wet hen the next time they meet.

Kate stays silent through the good-natured teasing, the walk to the horses, and Jim's open relief. She smiles, and shakes her head.

"I find life is mostly a series of things y'never planned on. S'all right, Jim Craig. I told you when we left the bar that I would follow you, an' so I am."

"True enough."

He checks his girth and gives his horse a once over, slanting an amused glance at Kate; it borders on downright flirtatious.

"Another man might take advantage of that fact."

"But not you. You're a gentleman."

She's all teasing, wild blonde locks catching the light. She adjusts her belt so she can swing into the saddle.

"An' I could shoot you if y'lead me astray."

She would never.

Probably.

"You could try," Jim shoots back, a low rumble of laughter following short behind. "We're in the mountains now."

He swings up and lowers himself into his saddle.

Slowly.

"Up here we make a quick moving target."

With a grin and hiss of air through his teeth, he kicks his horse into a fast canter, then gallop, heading back the way they came.

Her laughter dances like ballerina fuschias on the wind, light and sweet, twirling beyond grasp. She may be in his territory now, but may the gods have mercy if he ever follows her out to Texas.

She spurs Beaut on after him, the mare's hooves falling eager in the mountain dirt, unhampered by fear or wariness.

Once more unto the breach ...

[OOC: Continued here.]

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