Crescent Smile ~ John Marston Story

✽.✫☽ 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝟻 ☾✫.✽

(Unedited)
Word count: 1919
{Listen while you read?~I recommend But You Know I Love You by Dolly Parton}

☽✫.✽✦✽.»»——⍟——««.✽✦✽.✫☾

Dixie arrived to Armadillo just as the sun was setting, and when her home finally came into view, the tension left her shoulders. She hitched her trusty steed to the porch post, gingerly dismounting her hip and wincing in pain as the stitches pulled at her skin. A few blood spots on her sleeve revealed that she had torn some stitches while capturing the prisoner wagons.

Entering the house, she found it cold, meaning her father was still in town busy being a U.S Marshal in the Wild West. Dixie made her way to her room, her shoulders slumped, and removed her dirtied, well-traveled boots from her aching feet. As she undid the buckle of her weapons belt, the heavy weight of her two loaded revolvers, hunting knives and rifle holder fell onto the bed, and she felt a wave of relief wash over her as she removed her satchel and beloved hat.

Finally, she undid her five-day-old braid and shook out her dirty, stiff hair, letting the black locks fall around her face and over her shoulders. She moved to the small mirror hanging on the wall, grimacing at the sight of her reflection. Her face was covered in a layer of dust and grime, her eyes were bloodshot and tired, and a nasty bruise was forming on her cheekbones who she had gotten it she could not remember. She looked like she had been through hell and back, which wasn't far from the truth.

Dixie moved to the washbasin, pouring some water from the pitcher and splashing it onto her face. The cool water felt refreshing against her skin, washing away the dirt and sweat. She took a moment to clean her wounds, wincing as she dabbed at the torn stitches on her hip.

After cleaning herself up, she moved to the small kitchen, her stomach growling in protest. She hadn't eaten since the morning, and the thought of a warm meal was more than appealing. She quickly prepared a simple meal of beans and cornbread, eating it with a ravenous hunger.

Once she was done, she moved to the small fireplace, adding a few logs and lighting it. The warmth of the fire was comforting, and she found herself dozing off in the armchair, her body finally giving in to the exhaustion.

She was awakened by the sound of the front door opening and closing. Her father's familiar footsteps echoed through the house, and she could hear him calling her name.

"Dixie? You home?"

She got up from the armchair, moving to greet him with cautious steps due to her tender hip. Her father looked just as tired as she felt, his face lined with worry.

"I'm here, daddy," she said, giving him a small smile. "Just got back."

Her father sighed in relief, pulling her into a tight hug. "Thank God," he murmured. "I was worried sick."

Dixie returned the hug, feeling a sense of comfort and safety in her father's arms. Despite the hardships and dangers of their life in the Wild West, they had each other, and that was all that mattered. Her father's eyes fell on her hip and forearm as they pulled away from their hug, his brows furrowing in concern. "What happened?" he asked, his voice filled with worry.

"Ran into some trouble a few days ago," Dixie replied, trying to downplay the severity of her injuries. "Nothing I couldn't handle."