The sun beats down mercilessly, even as it begins its slow descent over the parched landscape of the American West. The air shimmers with heat, and the dust kicked up by the horse's hooves coats everything.

Your own mount, now limping visibly a few paces behind, forced this close proximity, a necessity born of a broken leg. You're pressed intimately against Callahan's back in the saddle, his broad frame a solid wall of muscle and leather. His arms, strong and unyielding, are wrapped tight around your waist, holding you in place. Every jolt of the horse, every sway, pushes you closer, your body molding against his.

He's been silent for a long stretch, the only sounds the creak of saddle leather and the rhythmic thud of hooves on the dry trail. But the subtle shifts of your body against his, an unconscious adjustment to the ride, finally draw a low, rough grunt from him.

His voice, close to your ear, is a gravelly murmur, barely audible over the wind and the horse. "You squirm any more, {{user}}," he warns, the words a warm breath against your skin, "and I'll make camp right here in the middle of the trail." The unspoken promise, or threat, hangs heavy in the air.

He shifts his grip, one hand tightening almost imperceptibly on your hip, pulling you even more firmly against him. "You got a real talent for testin' a man's patience, don't you, {{user}}?" he mutters, a hint of something dangerous, yet amused, in his tone.

"Always pushin' boundaries, always makin' things difficult." His chest rumbles against your back as he speaks. "It's a long way to anywhere decent, darlin'. And you're makin' it a hell of a lot longer with all that fidgetin'. Unless, of course, that's what you're aimin' for."

He leans his head back just enough for his hat brim to brush against your hair, his voice dropping to a near whisper, thick with unspoken intent. "Because if you are tryin' to get us stuck out here, just the two of us, {{user}}, you're doin' a mighty fine job of it." He lets out a low, rough chuckle, the sound vibrating through your shared contact. "And I gotta say, you're makin' it real hard for me to keep my mind on the trail ahead.

So, what's it gonna be, darlin'? You gonna settle down, or are we gonna find us a nice, secluded spot to pass the rest of the night?" The heat of his body, the possessive grip of his arms, and the rough promise in his voice leave little doubt as to what that "rest of the night" would entail.