Landmine - Post Malone

39

"Austin...my sweet, sweet rancher..."

Austin's back goes ridged as his head snaps in Dillon's direction. Then he leans back in his chair and shoots her a look of warning as he sighs heavily. "Why are you looking at me like that?" Dillon asks walking out onto the back patio. "Whatever it is the answer is no," he snips.

"You just assume I came out here to ask you something?"

"No doubt something I won't agree to."

"What if I just wanted to give you a cuddle?"

"Then give me a cuddle. There ain't no need to get all sugary."

"Oh, don't be silly..." she says, putting herself on his knee and batting her lashes at him. "I am just a sweet innocent woman," she hums, putting an extra layer of sugar in her tone. From the way his eyes squint, she can tell he is not buying her act for a second. Clever man. She does want something she knows he will back peddle from, but it's important to her. "Don't bat your eyes at me, girl. And I ain't assumin'. Your voice has a sugary sweet ring to it. You want somethin', but you ain't gonna get it," he says.

"I want you."

"You have me."

"I want to go into the city."

"There it is. No."

"I want you to come into the city with me."

"I don't like people, but city people I despise."

"Not this city. Chicago."

Austin frowns and cocks his head. "Chicago? Why Chicago, darlin'?" he asks. "I have some things there. Some things from my parents and Isla that I had kept in storage. Sentimental things I can't replace. I would like to fetch them. This is my home now and I have no intention of ever leaving...I would like those things with me here in our home," she says softly trying not to get too choked up. She wouldn't ask him to come to Chicago or any city under normal circumstances, but she needs him. Emotionally, she would not be able to go through that storage container on her own.

"How far into the city?"

"Right into the very heart of it. The very centre."

"Alright."

"You sure?" she asks a little shocked he agreed so easily.

"You need me?"

"I do. I could not go through anything and just put it all into storage. I was not emotionally -"

"You don't have to explain, darlin'. If you need me, I will come, and I won't moan."

"Thank you. It will take a few days to go through everything..."

"There ain't no rush, darlin'. You take all the time you need."

Dillon stares at him and then slides her fingers into his beard. She knows how much he will hate every second they spend in the city. He will dislike the concrete under his feet and feel claustrophobic from the tall buildings. He will hate the thousands of people bumping into him as they walk and the way they talk. The noise, the smells, the traffic, the rat race - he will despise it all. But, he will endure it all simply because she needs him close while she sorts through boxes. Can this man get any more perfect? She doesn't think so. "I love you," she whispers running her lips along his. "And I love you," he whispers back. "Show me the stars, rancher," she whispers. With that, he stands and carries her into the backyard.

~

They leave for Chicago two days later after Austin has given his men a strict list of instructions and leaving Louis in charge. Luke is still hiding and Dillon is nervous to leave her home unattended, but Mitch swears to keep watch over their home. Dillon trusts Mitch so she is a little more at ease as they head toward the main road. "That old coot panders to ya," Austin hums. "So do you...you old coot," she says smiling at him. "Well, you do have a way of diggin' your way into people's hearts, that's for sure, darlin'," he says, taking her hand and placing it on his thigh as they head down the highway. They have a very long drive, 20 hours. She had suggested flying, but after Austin's eyes widened and Louis' hour-long lecture about how it is unnatural for men to fly around in big metal cannons, she gave up. Austin and Louis are simple cowboys. They ride horses they bond with, drive trucks that gobble way too much gas, and eat home-cooked meals. Money is just fancy paper, beer should always be cold, their woman treated well, their buckles always polished, and their Stetsons are never to be touched even when off their heads. Contraptions like convertible sedans, aeroplanes and electric razors are blasphemy and not to be trusted. So here she is driving 1,397 miles in a ranch truck with a man who looks like he has no business strolling through a city. But, they need the back of Austin's truck to load up her sentimentals, so she justifies the drive with that.