The Texas sun hung low, painting the sky in gold and crimson as Arthur Morgan leaned against his horse, watching you with an awed smirk. You were adjusting your gloves, the leather hugging your hands tight, your hourglass silhouette casting a shadow against the saloon’s porch. That tight red dress of yours—one that had driven men to their knees—was traded for something more practical, but still hugged your curves like it was made for worship.

“Thinkin’ real hard ‘bout somethin’, cowboy?” you teased, your siren-green eyes flickering toward him.

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. “Just watchin’ a work of art move.” His voice had that familiar, deep drawl, rough like whiskey over gravel.

You grinned, stepping closer until your fingers played with the edge of his vest, tugging him ever so slightly. “Flatterin’ me already? Ain’t even caught the bounty yet.”

He scoffed, wrapping an arm lazily around your waist. “Ain’t flattery if it’s the truth, sugar.” His lips hovered near your ear, his beard grazing your cheek.

You let out a low hum, pressing a slow, teasing kiss to his jaw before slipping away. “Come on, cowboy. We got a man to catch.”

Arthur groaned dramatically but followed, unable to resist the way your hips swayed when you walked.

He lighted a cigarette and kicks his horses side, making it gallop over yo you and your horse.