Crescent Smile ~ John Marston Story

✽.✫☽ 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟹𝟽 ☾✫.✽

(Unedited)
Word count: 3052
{Listen while you read?~I recommend Coat of Many Colors by Sierra Ferrell}
⚠️ smut warning ⚠️
Again beginning 🛑and end 🟢of it will be marked

☽✫.✽✦✽.»»——⍟——««.✽✦✽.✫☾

Dixie woke up before dawn, as was her custom on the ranch she worked at. A fiery orange streak painted the sky as the sun began to peer over the horizon. She loved the quiet of the morning, the way the world seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of the new day.

As she went about her morning routine, feeding the horses and checking on the other livestock, a thought suddenly struck her—the upcoming birthday of Jack Marston. Jack, with his wide-eyed innocence and eager tales of the adventures he dreamed of, had carved his own place in the woman's worn heart.

She remembered the conversation they'd had, the one where Jack's eyes sparkled with excitement at the prospect of a hunting trip in the mountains with his father. A smile played on Dixie's lips at the memory, but it was quickly replaced by a frown of concern. The mountains could be unforgiving, and the chill that seeped into your bones was relentless.

Dixie made a decision. She hurried through her chores, her mind already crafting a plan. As the ranch hands began to stir and the day officially started, she mounted her horse and rode into Armadillo, the dust kicking up behind her.

Dixie sorted through the fabrics, picking out a variety of colors and textures. She wanted this coat to be special, something that would stand out and keep Jack warm. The scraps formed a vibrant pile on the counter, and she could already picture how they would piece together.

She thanked the storekeeper and rode back to the ranch, fabric secured in her saddlebag. The day passed in a blur as Dixie set to work on the coat. Her fingers were nimble and skilled, a result of years of mending her own clothes and those of her father's. The coat began to take shape, each scrap of fabric carefully stitched with strength and care.

She worked long into the night, the only sounds in the room the crackling of the fire and the rhythmic movement of needle and thread. Dixie poured her heart into the coat, infusing it with warmth not just from the materials, but from the affection she held for the young boy who had touched her life.

As she placed the final stitch and held the coat up to the light, Dixie felt a surge of pride. It was more than a coat; it was a patchwork of protection and love, a vibrant shield against the cold mountain air.

She may be a gunslinger and the daughter of a U.S. Marshal, but today, she was simply Dixie Gold Johnson, a friend who had the privilege of contributing to a young boy's birthday, something she's never done in her rough life.

As the day of Jack's birthday arrived, Dixie carefully folded the coat and secured it in her saddlebag. The morning sun cast a golden glow over the rugged landscape as she set off towards Beecher's Hope.

Arriving at the ranch, Dixie was greeted by. The two exchanged a long hug, their unspoken bond palpable in the air. John's eyes lit up as he saw the gift in Dixie's hands.

"Dixie, you didn't have to," he said, his voice reflecting genuine gratitude.

Dixie shrugged, trying to downplay her gesture. "It's nothing much, just a little something for the boy's big day."