Fic: These Old Boots
Title: These Old Boots
Fandom: Original
Summary: He knew all along not to fall in love with the drifter woman.
Rating: PG-13 (minor language, liquor, and implications)
Length: 2,400 words
Genres: angst, romance
A/N: I've always had a fascination with drifters... And one day this idea just sort of came to me. If any of you remember my "Modern Day Drifter" idea, this kind of clicks into that. If WHEN I find time to work on the MDD project, this basic plot outline will probably be worked into an episode.
He knew from the moment she stepped through the door.
He’d heard the bells on the door jingle as it was opened to admit a customer and turned with his customary smile. The words rolled off of his lips without thought.
“Welcome to Williams’ Western Store. Let me know if you need anything.”
It was only after his mouth closed that he actually looked at the customer, and his breath caught in his chest.
She stood tall in straight in an intimidating manner that made her appear larger than her actually small frame. A worn leather jacket, zipped to the collar, added to the allusion that she was bulkier than her tight, stained and torn jeans revealed she was. Her eyes were dark and brooding in sharp contrast to the shimmering golden hair she wore in a long braid hanging down her back.
Intimidating, she certainly was, but she was also unbelievably beautiful.
She nodded at him briefly but didn’t otherwise acknowledge his words or even his presence. After throwing a short glance around the store, she turned and headed off to one see.
He noticed her boots then, as he was watching her walk away. They were average brown work boots except for the pair of biker chains around the heels that clinked when the woman walked. And they were worn-more so than her leather jacket and jeans. Scuffed and battered, he thought they looked as old as the woman herself and certainly worse for the wear.
He knew for sure then. He knew exactly what she was.
This woman was a real (modern day) drifter in the old-fashioned sense. A rambler, traveling around and making a brief stop here in town, probably for a night or two of fun.
As a child, he had been fascinated by drifters. He remembered his mother’s warnings and her threats-that if he ever even thought about drifting, she would make sure he regretted it. Somehow, that had always stuck with him. Despite the occasional dream of travel, he had never really left this sleepy little town.
But being attracted to a drifter was an entirely different matter.
Silently, he watched her.
Given the shape of her old boots, he expected her to head for the wall-display of new boots. Instead, she wandered over to a display of hats. She looked the whole array over with a critical eye, touched a few picked up one or two for closer examination.
But, in true drifter fashion, she saw nothing she really liked and walked out of the store without so much as a word or a nod at him.
He thoughtfully watched her go. The moment she stepped out of the door, he knew.
He knew he was already smitten.
----------------
That night, it didn’t take him long to get to the local bar after closing the store for the night. Even if he hadn’t been fairly certain that a certain someone would be there, he still would’ve been glad to get to the bar. He would have to work tomorrow, but he didn’t have to go in until later in the morning. He called it a weekend, even if he didn’t have it off.
He walked in the front door and several people shouted greetings at him. He waved in return as he crossed the room to take a stool near the end of the bar.
The old bartender nodded shortly at him and moved to get his drink. He was grateful for a bar where he didn’t even have to order a drink because the bartender had known him since before he was even able to drink.
It let him have more time to observe the bar’s other patrons.
He knew most of the others-had grown up with them-but, as usual, a few newcomers lurked here and there. One of which was the drifter woman who had come into his store earlier. Her presence came as no shock to him, but he tried to look at her like she was just another new face.
She’d taken up sitting at a table not far from the bar a little while ago, judging by the pair of empty bottles on the tabletop. Her worn leather jacket was hung over the back of her chair, leaving a basic black tank top to cover her torso. Her blonde hair was out of its braid and fell in thick, full ringlets. And her eyes-bright, mischievous, and sultry-watched everything like a predator.
But, he supposed she was.
She preyed on the unsuspecting hearts of the swarm of men that hung around her table, daring to venture over to the empty chair one after another. Her eyes sparkled as she flirted with each of them and he wondered if they saw or even suspected the dangerous air that lurked behind the sparkles. If any of them realized who and what she was, and that, come tomorrow’s morning light, they would be the ones waking to find her long gone-not the other way around.
The bartender sat a pair of beer bottles down in front of him with a wink.
He returned the wink and, standing, took a bottle in each hand.
And as he crossed the room, he wondered if any of them were like him and knew the danger but were blindly playing with fire anyway.
She was just “subtly” excusing a man from her table when he made it over. Several of the other men hovering around shot him blatantly hostile looks that clearly said, “Wait your turn!” but he slid into the seat anyway.
He held one of the beer bottles out to the woman. She sat the one in her hand with her collection of empty ones and gladly accepted the new bottle.
“I like you better already,” she said with a wink.
His stomach might’ve done a flip-or a more masculine equivalent-but he would never in a million lifetimes admit that, even to himself.
Looking at him over the bottle, she took a long swallow. Finally, she lowered it. “You’re the western store guy.” She frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded firmly and said his name.
He blinked, startled.
She rolled her eyes. “You had a nametag on this afternoon. And they said your name when you walked in, smart one.”
Blushing slightly, he laughed at himself. “Oh, right. Of course.”
She seemed to like that-him laughing at himself. He had two theories as to why: one, she wasn’t one for the serious, considering she wanted no serious attachments; two, it set him apart from the haughty, self-absorbed men who had sat down before him.
He pretended-even to himself-that pleasing her even that little bit didn’t excite him, but it most certainly did.
To hide it, he took a sip of beer, then said, “Yeah, y’know the way you came into the store ealier, I might not’ve even known you could talk.”
She half-shrugged, ”Savin my words for the day ‘til I had somethin worthwhile to say.”
“That so?” he asked, laughing again. “And now you’re wastin’ ’em all on,” he gestured to the men still lurking around, “these fellas?”
“For the most part,” she answered. He saw the faint glint in her eye-like the cat about to eat the canary-and he knew he was doing well.
“Them fools been botherin you?” he asked.
Raising her bottle to her lips again, she shrugged.
“You like it, hmm?”
She shrugged again, but this time, there was a faint smile on her face to accompany it. He knew without her saying that she liked it, though. When she came to town, she came to the bars because she liked the attention, though the beer was probably a factor too. She was here for fun in all the forms, he was sure.
“There you go conserving words again,” he said.
She laughed. “Well, there’s a point where you gotta let your mouth stop doin’ all the talkin’ for you.”
This time, he couldn’t deny that his heart did flips. He was doing really well with her. The other guys were really going to hate him-might come after him with torches and pitchforks-but he almost had her…
But not yet, he reminded himself sharply! Unable to help it, though, he let a grin slip through. “Can’t argue with that, miss.” He took a deep swallow of beer to bring himself back to now. “Oh, and speaking of ‘points,’ there’s a point at which you gotta let go of shoes.” He waved a hand in the general direction of her feet. “I noticed those boots of yours have really had it.”
She laughed heartily. “Shows what you know, mister.” She crossed a boot over her opposite knee and flicked the sole. Her finger struck with a solid thump. “These old boots still got a lot of ground left to cover. A lot of miles left to go.”
A thinly veiled-and probably unintentional-reminder of what she was. His head took the hint and whispered to get out now while his heart screamed to go right ahead, take the opportunity.
Well, he thought wryly to himself, they do always say “follow your heart.”
So he did.
“Well, you know, girl, they don’t have to cover a lot of ground to get to my truck,” he said, hoping yet dreading that she would take the bait. He knew he was setting himself up for heartbreak he knew he didn’t need, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to stop.
Grinning, she winked at him and drained the last of her beer.
------------------
He awoke early the next morning with a start and his eyes flew open in the darkness. It took his eyes a few moments to adjust and he scanned the room for her, straining his ears to hear her too.
When he didn’t see or hear her, his heart sank. But then he saw the light leaking from beneath the bathroom door and he breathed a foolish sigh of relief.
Just as he did, the light turned off and the bathroom door swung almost silently open. He saw her in the dark, already fully clothed, save for her boots, which were sitting on the floor by his side of the bed.
She muttered something in the darkness and moved to get her boots.
Quickly, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Stay.” He tried to make his voice sharp and demanding, but it came out more as a desperate whisper, the cry of a desolate man.
Muttering sharply, she wrenched her wrist from his grasp, nearly dragging him off of the bed with it. Then, as if realizing what he’d said, she laughed deeply while he swallowed against the lump in his throat.
“Sorry,” she said, but there was no trace of apology in her tone. “But I can’t stay. And I’m sure you know that full well.” After bending and grabbing her boots, she walked around to sit on the opposite end of the bed. Thumping a finger against one like she had the night before, she pulled on a boot. “I’ll tell you what, though. I sort of like you. So when these old boots,” she thumped the other one as she pulled it on, “give out, I’ll come see you for a new pair. Stay a day or two, maybe.”
He swallowed again.
Raising an eyebrow at him, she added, “That’s about as much as I’ll ever promise you. You’re lucky to get that.” Muttering quietly, she added, “Especially the way you’re acting now.”
Unable to formulate words, he simply nodded.
She smiled crookedly and tossed him a mock salute as she stood. Then she nodded shortly, and with that, she turned and was gone.
He wanted desperately to get up and go after her. There was a mile or two walk down a dusty road (even in the fall chill) to get back to the bar where her truck was parked. He could easily get dressed, hop in his own truck parked just outside, and catch up to her.
But what would he do?
Nothing he could possibly do would ever make her stay.
Rubbing a hand over his face, he sighed deeply. Chasing after her in the first place had been next to pointless, but chasing after her now would sink him to a new low.
So he promised himself he wouldn’t do it, no matter how much he wanted to.
----------------
Several hours later, he passed by the bar again on his way to work. Foolishly, he looked for her truck even though he knew she shouldn’t be there.
And, just like he expected, it wasn’t there.
His heart broke a little more at that, and he mentally kicked himself for his foolish hope all the way to work.
----
When he’d been at work about half-an-hour, the bells on the door chimed to announce a customer. Being in a terrible mood, he didn’t bother to look up.
“Welcome to Williams’ Western Store,” he muttered drolly. “Let me know if you need anything.”
A female voice cleared its throat and a pair of familiar boots was unceremoniously dropped on the counter in front of him.
He blinked at the dust that rose to his eyes, shaken loose from the boots. When the red cloud of dust cleared, he looked more closely at the boots. They were most certainly hers: same worn leather, same scuffs, same biker chains…
But now, there was a four-inch long nail-rusty, curved, and bent-sticking clean through the toe of one boot from the sole to the top. It irreparably ruined not only that single boot, but also the pair.
Slowly, he let his eyes drift up to hers.
She sighed deeply. “They towed my truck. I had to walk all the way to the impound lot and I stepped on that damn nail.” She rolled her eyes. “Go figure.” Grinning lopsidedly, she winked. “Think you could help me find a new pair, sir?”
His heart practically fluttered an he returned her smile. “Yeah,” he said. “I think I could do that.”
Fandom: Original
Summary: He knew all along not to fall in love with the drifter woman.
Rating: PG-13 (minor language, liquor, and implications)
Length: 2,400 words
Genres: angst, romance
A/N: I've always had a fascination with drifters... And one day this idea just sort of came to me. If any of you remember my "Modern Day Drifter" idea, this kind of clicks into that. If WHEN I find time to work on the MDD project, this basic plot outline will probably be worked into an episode.
He knew from the moment she stepped through the door.
He’d heard the bells on the door jingle as it was opened to admit a customer and turned with his customary smile. The words rolled off of his lips without thought.
“Welcome to Williams’ Western Store. Let me know if you need anything.”
It was only after his mouth closed that he actually looked at the customer, and his breath caught in his chest.
She stood tall in straight in an intimidating manner that made her appear larger than her actually small frame. A worn leather jacket, zipped to the collar, added to the allusion that she was bulkier than her tight, stained and torn jeans revealed she was. Her eyes were dark and brooding in sharp contrast to the shimmering golden hair she wore in a long braid hanging down her back.
Intimidating, she certainly was, but she was also unbelievably beautiful.
She nodded at him briefly but didn’t otherwise acknowledge his words or even his presence. After throwing a short glance around the store, she turned and headed off to one see.
He noticed her boots then, as he was watching her walk away. They were average brown work boots except for the pair of biker chains around the heels that clinked when the woman walked. And they were worn-more so than her leather jacket and jeans. Scuffed and battered, he thought they looked as old as the woman herself and certainly worse for the wear.
He knew for sure then. He knew exactly what she was.
This woman was a real (modern day) drifter in the old-fashioned sense. A rambler, traveling around and making a brief stop here in town, probably for a night or two of fun.
As a child, he had been fascinated by drifters. He remembered his mother’s warnings and her threats-that if he ever even thought about drifting, she would make sure he regretted it. Somehow, that had always stuck with him. Despite the occasional dream of travel, he had never really left this sleepy little town.
But being attracted to a drifter was an entirely different matter.
Silently, he watched her.
Given the shape of her old boots, he expected her to head for the wall-display of new boots. Instead, she wandered over to a display of hats. She looked the whole array over with a critical eye, touched a few picked up one or two for closer examination.
But, in true drifter fashion, she saw nothing she really liked and walked out of the store without so much as a word or a nod at him.
He thoughtfully watched her go. The moment she stepped out of the door, he knew.
He knew he was already smitten.
----------------
That night, it didn’t take him long to get to the local bar after closing the store for the night. Even if he hadn’t been fairly certain that a certain someone would be there, he still would’ve been glad to get to the bar. He would have to work tomorrow, but he didn’t have to go in until later in the morning. He called it a weekend, even if he didn’t have it off.
He walked in the front door and several people shouted greetings at him. He waved in return as he crossed the room to take a stool near the end of the bar.
The old bartender nodded shortly at him and moved to get his drink. He was grateful for a bar where he didn’t even have to order a drink because the bartender had known him since before he was even able to drink.
It let him have more time to observe the bar’s other patrons.
He knew most of the others-had grown up with them-but, as usual, a few newcomers lurked here and there. One of which was the drifter woman who had come into his store earlier. Her presence came as no shock to him, but he tried to look at her like she was just another new face.
She’d taken up sitting at a table not far from the bar a little while ago, judging by the pair of empty bottles on the tabletop. Her worn leather jacket was hung over the back of her chair, leaving a basic black tank top to cover her torso. Her blonde hair was out of its braid and fell in thick, full ringlets. And her eyes-bright, mischievous, and sultry-watched everything like a predator.
But, he supposed she was.
She preyed on the unsuspecting hearts of the swarm of men that hung around her table, daring to venture over to the empty chair one after another. Her eyes sparkled as she flirted with each of them and he wondered if they saw or even suspected the dangerous air that lurked behind the sparkles. If any of them realized who and what she was, and that, come tomorrow’s morning light, they would be the ones waking to find her long gone-not the other way around.
The bartender sat a pair of beer bottles down in front of him with a wink.
He returned the wink and, standing, took a bottle in each hand.
And as he crossed the room, he wondered if any of them were like him and knew the danger but were blindly playing with fire anyway.
She was just “subtly” excusing a man from her table when he made it over. Several of the other men hovering around shot him blatantly hostile looks that clearly said, “Wait your turn!” but he slid into the seat anyway.
He held one of the beer bottles out to the woman. She sat the one in her hand with her collection of empty ones and gladly accepted the new bottle.
“I like you better already,” she said with a wink.
His stomach might’ve done a flip-or a more masculine equivalent-but he would never in a million lifetimes admit that, even to himself.
Looking at him over the bottle, she took a long swallow. Finally, she lowered it. “You’re the western store guy.” She frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded firmly and said his name.
He blinked, startled.
She rolled her eyes. “You had a nametag on this afternoon. And they said your name when you walked in, smart one.”
Blushing slightly, he laughed at himself. “Oh, right. Of course.”
She seemed to like that-him laughing at himself. He had two theories as to why: one, she wasn’t one for the serious, considering she wanted no serious attachments; two, it set him apart from the haughty, self-absorbed men who had sat down before him.
He pretended-even to himself-that pleasing her even that little bit didn’t excite him, but it most certainly did.
To hide it, he took a sip of beer, then said, “Yeah, y’know the way you came into the store ealier, I might not’ve even known you could talk.”
She half-shrugged, ”Savin my words for the day ‘til I had somethin worthwhile to say.”
“That so?” he asked, laughing again. “And now you’re wastin’ ’em all on,” he gestured to the men still lurking around, “these fellas?”
“For the most part,” she answered. He saw the faint glint in her eye-like the cat about to eat the canary-and he knew he was doing well.
“Them fools been botherin you?” he asked.
Raising her bottle to her lips again, she shrugged.
“You like it, hmm?”
She shrugged again, but this time, there was a faint smile on her face to accompany it. He knew without her saying that she liked it, though. When she came to town, she came to the bars because she liked the attention, though the beer was probably a factor too. She was here for fun in all the forms, he was sure.
“There you go conserving words again,” he said.
She laughed. “Well, there’s a point where you gotta let your mouth stop doin’ all the talkin’ for you.”
This time, he couldn’t deny that his heart did flips. He was doing really well with her. The other guys were really going to hate him-might come after him with torches and pitchforks-but he almost had her…
But not yet, he reminded himself sharply! Unable to help it, though, he let a grin slip through. “Can’t argue with that, miss.” He took a deep swallow of beer to bring himself back to now. “Oh, and speaking of ‘points,’ there’s a point at which you gotta let go of shoes.” He waved a hand in the general direction of her feet. “I noticed those boots of yours have really had it.”
She laughed heartily. “Shows what you know, mister.” She crossed a boot over her opposite knee and flicked the sole. Her finger struck with a solid thump. “These old boots still got a lot of ground left to cover. A lot of miles left to go.”
A thinly veiled-and probably unintentional-reminder of what she was. His head took the hint and whispered to get out now while his heart screamed to go right ahead, take the opportunity.
Well, he thought wryly to himself, they do always say “follow your heart.”
So he did.
“Well, you know, girl, they don’t have to cover a lot of ground to get to my truck,” he said, hoping yet dreading that she would take the bait. He knew he was setting himself up for heartbreak he knew he didn’t need, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to stop.
Grinning, she winked at him and drained the last of her beer.
------------------
He awoke early the next morning with a start and his eyes flew open in the darkness. It took his eyes a few moments to adjust and he scanned the room for her, straining his ears to hear her too.
When he didn’t see or hear her, his heart sank. But then he saw the light leaking from beneath the bathroom door and he breathed a foolish sigh of relief.
Just as he did, the light turned off and the bathroom door swung almost silently open. He saw her in the dark, already fully clothed, save for her boots, which were sitting on the floor by his side of the bed.
She muttered something in the darkness and moved to get her boots.
Quickly, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Stay.” He tried to make his voice sharp and demanding, but it came out more as a desperate whisper, the cry of a desolate man.
Muttering sharply, she wrenched her wrist from his grasp, nearly dragging him off of the bed with it. Then, as if realizing what he’d said, she laughed deeply while he swallowed against the lump in his throat.
“Sorry,” she said, but there was no trace of apology in her tone. “But I can’t stay. And I’m sure you know that full well.” After bending and grabbing her boots, she walked around to sit on the opposite end of the bed. Thumping a finger against one like she had the night before, she pulled on a boot. “I’ll tell you what, though. I sort of like you. So when these old boots,” she thumped the other one as she pulled it on, “give out, I’ll come see you for a new pair. Stay a day or two, maybe.”
He swallowed again.
Raising an eyebrow at him, she added, “That’s about as much as I’ll ever promise you. You’re lucky to get that.” Muttering quietly, she added, “Especially the way you’re acting now.”
Unable to formulate words, he simply nodded.
She smiled crookedly and tossed him a mock salute as she stood. Then she nodded shortly, and with that, she turned and was gone.
He wanted desperately to get up and go after her. There was a mile or two walk down a dusty road (even in the fall chill) to get back to the bar where her truck was parked. He could easily get dressed, hop in his own truck parked just outside, and catch up to her.
But what would he do?
Nothing he could possibly do would ever make her stay.
Rubbing a hand over his face, he sighed deeply. Chasing after her in the first place had been next to pointless, but chasing after her now would sink him to a new low.
So he promised himself he wouldn’t do it, no matter how much he wanted to.
----------------
Several hours later, he passed by the bar again on his way to work. Foolishly, he looked for her truck even though he knew she shouldn’t be there.
And, just like he expected, it wasn’t there.
His heart broke a little more at that, and he mentally kicked himself for his foolish hope all the way to work.
----
When he’d been at work about half-an-hour, the bells on the door chimed to announce a customer. Being in a terrible mood, he didn’t bother to look up.
“Welcome to Williams’ Western Store,” he muttered drolly. “Let me know if you need anything.”
A female voice cleared its throat and a pair of familiar boots was unceremoniously dropped on the counter in front of him.
He blinked at the dust that rose to his eyes, shaken loose from the boots. When the red cloud of dust cleared, he looked more closely at the boots. They were most certainly hers: same worn leather, same scuffs, same biker chains…
But now, there was a four-inch long nail-rusty, curved, and bent-sticking clean through the toe of one boot from the sole to the top. It irreparably ruined not only that single boot, but also the pair.
Slowly, he let his eyes drift up to hers.
She sighed deeply. “They towed my truck. I had to walk all the way to the impound lot and I stepped on that damn nail.” She rolled her eyes. “Go figure.” Grinning lopsidedly, she winked. “Think you could help me find a new pair, sir?”
His heart practically fluttered an he returned her smile. “Yeah,” he said. “I think I could do that.”