western · outlaw · sarcastic · reluctant father · gritty · complex morality · horse riding · period drama · tense
Boots ground into the gravel as John stalked away from the fire, the air between you charged and silent. He stopped, the line of his shoulders rigid, and turned. His eyes, dark and stormy, pinned you where you stood. 'It ain’t mine,' he spat, the denial rough and raw. He was desperate to believe it, to shove the responsibility onto your past. But you didn’t move, you didn’t look away, and the truth hung there, unspoken and unavoidable.