by Tempe O'Kun
“Howdy, Six Shooter.” Harding’s droopy jowls sway as he dismounts. “Surprised to see you still in town.”
“Not as surprised as me.” Feeling personable, I slap him on the back. “Where ya been, deputy dog?”
He leads the pony by the halter. “Had to ride out to meet some ‘yotes.”
“Oh?” I walk abreast with him through the center of town. “What’re they yapping about these days?”
He shrugs, like he expected me to know. “Giving back that tortoise.”
I chuckle. “Tortoise?” And I thought my watch affair was petty; meanwhile, the deputy is herding turtles. “Must have been a dandy if they wanted it back.”
“Surely was.” He gives a little wag of pride. “That little turquoise one Blake had.”
My ears fire straight up. “Does the lawbat know ya did this?” I round on the him.
The hound shies back. “Sure hope so.” His tail ducks between his legs. “He’s the one who had me do it.”
I’m already bounding back down the streets and alleys. The bloodhound calls after me, but I pay him no mind. I’ve got a lawbat to straighten out.
Dust stirs under my boots, lit red in the sunset. I bounce down the street and skid in front of the City Office. Hopping inside, I burst into the lawbat’s office. “Ya gave it away!”
Quick feet steady his inkpot, which I’d rattled knocking the door open. He’s pressed and dressed, showing no sign of our little encounter before. He raises his ears at me. “If you’re referring to the tortoise artifact, yes. I gave it to the coyotes, its rightful owners. Harding assured me it would be a token of peace and respect between us.” He sets his pen down. “Good evening to you too, Six.”
“Ah never reckoned you’d just toss it at the first ‘yote wanderin’ by.” I cross my arms. “Fool probably sold it for scrap. It’ll be a yard a’ telegraph line within the month.”
“You can’t be mad that I gave it to someone who’d appreciate it even more.” He crosses his wings back at me. “And I sent the dear deputy to deliver it personally to the local chief.”
My head tilts back with a groan. “That’s almost as bad.”
He smiles “We can always go on another adventure and get another one.”
I’m struck with a sullen sulk. “No. You ruin ‘em.”
“I thought you might say that.” He reaches into his vest pocket. “So I made you a peace offering too.”
My gaze follows as he places a small whittled turtle in my paw. It’s roughly the same shape as the one we “liberated,” though of pine instead of copper. Anger flashes across my face, and for a moment I’m tempted to chuck it out the window. But then I look it over with a resigned air and place it carefully in my pocket. “Well, it’s less trouble than the original.”
A little smile spreads on his muzzle. “You get that stolen watch business sorted?”
“Surely did.” I tug the front of my hat toward him, trying to ignore the little flicker of anger still lit in my chest. “Gave it to the rightful owner.”
A moment passes. His ears rise. “How?”
“Hm?” I glance out the window as the color drains from the sky, like the world’s wonder turning grey and cold. I don’t look at Blake.
“How’d you figure out who to give it back to?” The lawbat plants his wings on his desk and leans forward. “Based on what evidence?”
“The weasels weren’t lyin’: that watch had an echo.” I breathe, pinning and unpinning my borrowed badge. “It’s sorted. So what’s all the fuss about?”
His pretty eyes close in frustration. “That wouldn’t stand up in court.” The fading light glances off the badge, spilling across his face like ‘yote warpaint.
I flash him a smirk, hoping this’ll breeze on by. “Come on, lawbat. Nobody’d have gone to court if ya hadn’t blabbed about it.”
He straightens and crosses his wings in a lecturesome manner. “Six, I let you play sheriff for the day because I trusted you, and then you stole something right in front of me.”
“Play nothin’!” Dropping my paws on the desk, I lean in at him. “You got any idea how many things ah didn’t steal today?”
Blake’s ears flick back, biting each word like a bitter fruit: “It reflects poorly on a sheriff to associate with thieves.”
Pain jumps into my chest, at its heels a shameful burn in my ears. For a moment, I stammer. When I sort myself back together, I find his words have run a dark and steely edge through my voice. “You oughta reflect less on how you’re reflectin’...” I drive a claw into the desk between us. “...and more on whether ya want this thief around!”
Mouth open, Blake freezes. Guess I wet the powder of whatever lawyerly argument he had loaded. His muzzle closes and starts working through every feeling he’s got.
We stand quiet. Blood pounds through my ears. Boards creak under my boots as I shift weight, almost as loud as my jaw clenching, sealing in words I don’t mean.
He glances down at the desk, then steps around it. The hot and cold of our chat leaves his tone tempered, but just as passioned. “I’m not ashamed of you, Six. I want you here. I-I...” A wing settles on my arm.
I tense, but don’t shrug it off. Even I ain’t that big a fool. Once I’m a few breaths older and wiser, my paw rises to cover his wing thumbs.
“Doc and Charlotte smoothed down the ruffled fur.” He grips just a little. “You don’t have to go.”
The evening’s events rattled me enough, it’s a wonder my voice’s not shaking now that I’ve cooled some. “’Fraid ah do, lawbat.” I unclasp my hand from his, then the badge from my vest. All business-like, reach past him and set it on his desk.
“Six...”
“Hush now, lawbat.” I unfix the pin I hold so dear, place it in his palm, and close his wing fingers over it it. “Take care a’ this, will ya?”
Blake nods. His whole wing trembles like parchment spilled black with exotic ink.
I pull him in tight, holding him soft and gentle, trying not to see the hurt I’m leaving in his eyes.
He touches my face, like nobody else does, like I’m something breakable. “How am I supposed to figure us out if all you do is leave? When are we going to sort this out?”
I give him a quieting kiss, paws tracing over wings as I breeze toward the door. “One day, lawbat. One day.”
Chapter 3
“Well, it’s mine! Ah can steal mah own things!”
Sun’s burning down another Arizona summer day. The thought of seeing the lawbat sends me skipping down the street—an unseemly means of locomotion for a gunslinger, perhaps, but sometimes I denying my bunny nature isn’t worth the fuss. Besides, the townsfolk aren’t exactly loitering in the desert heat. I bounce in the door of the City Office and into the little entertaining room.
Blake’s eyes pop wide. He swings, claws around a rafter. A book falls from his wings to the plush settee. “Six!”
“Hey, sugarwings.” I knock my hat off. Striding up, I bend to plant a kiss on his foxish muzzle. The moment hangs like my batty lover.
His wings spread, set aglow by sunlight. They wrap around me like gentle velvet. “Mmmm...”
Pulling back from the kiss, I stroke his upside-down ears with a little wink. “Knew you’d be missin’ me.”
He settles a soft touch settles on my shoulder, looking only a little sorrowful. “Like the fresh rain of spring, like the first peach of summer, like the cool of autumn.”
In spite of the heat, a whole different kind of warmth kindles in my chest. I grin like a fool. Can’t help swooning a little when the lawbat gets poetical.
A shock of wry crops up in his voice. “But none of those arrive in my town when I’d like.” He crosses his wings over that shining badge. “So, what’s the occasion?”
Touching a paw to my breasts, I mock of
fense. “Why, Sheriff Blake! Can’t a bun just show up ‘cause she’s sweet on ya?”
“Can, but doesn’t.” His ears tilt back as his eyes study me. The ghost of our fight haunts the room. “But I am glad to see you safe.”
I sigh, watching the dust stir off my long coat. “Safe, but none too pleased.”
Hope raises his ears only an inch. “Grown weary of life on the road?”
“Weary of that lion slippin’ through my fingers.” My paws ball up into fists. “Was trackin’ some a’ Hayes’ lackeys, some tiger and another cat in black. Lost the trail, but traced him back to a California ghost town.”
He sighs, disappointed. “So you’re going there next?”
“Me nothin’.” I poke him in the chest, rocking him back and forth. “We’ve got a train to catch.”
Still upside down, his eyebrows drop. “Do we now?”
“Sure as shootin’.” I snag the tickets from my waistcoat pocket and wave them above his nose. “Ah found ya a spot of adventure to brighten up yer dreary lawfulness.”
He hooks a wing finger on the beam, then swoops to stand. His eyes roll. “My gratitude is boundless.” He makes no move to take the tickets.
I study him a moment. “Come on, lawbat. You’re not still sour about me leavin’, are ya?”
“I am.”
“Ah’m sorry, Blake.” A paw claps to my eyes and rolls back to flatten my ears. “Got a whole mess of desert to sift if ah’m gonna find that lion.”
“That doesn’t concern me.” He stands his ground, fuzzy as a gooseberry, grim as a gander. “Your safety does.”
My paws spread before him. “Ah’m made of stern stuff!” I pat my gunbelt. “Nobody’s a faster draw or a surer shot.”
“Or more full of hot air.” He spreads his wings.
I pinch the bridge of my muzzle. “Jordan, if ya got a better idea, ah’m all ears.” I pop them up to show I mean it.
He props his wings one his hips. “You could stay in town.”
A reply sharpens on my tongue, but a whisper of restraint holds my fire. Got few enough friends in the world without rubbing my sweetheart the wrong way. Besides, I hate seeing him distressed. “Let’s say ah do. How’s a bun keep busy?”
His thin buffets up on the surprise of my being reasonable. He sweeps wing fingers to the window. “You could take up a profession.”
I flip my hat back on and give him a pained look. “We tried that, remember?”
“You don’t have to work with me.” With lawyerly regard, he straightens his little vest. “Plenty of other options in White Rock. Good, honest work.”
“Keen as ah am on honest work...” I shrug.
“Please, Six?” He bites his lower lip. “I can hardly get through the day without you here.”
A tangle of feelings wiggle my nose. I should be mad he wants to pin me down, but I’m caught by his earnest gold-flecked eyes. All the gold in the world couldn’t keep me from him, but one silver gun can. I want to tell him, but I stumble over words unspoken. In the end, all I can offer him is a smile of surrender.
He cracks a little smirk. “And scarcely make it through one with you.”
I laugh. The tension breaks and crumbles. I slap him on the shoulder. “Can that sass and pack yer plunder.” I kick his coat rack, catch the white hat that tumbles from it, and toss it to his chest. “We’re lightin’ a shuck for California.”
With a resigned look, he tugs it on over his ears and rests his wings on his gunbelt. “California?” He shakes his head at me. “You get a sleeper car, at least?”
We hares have always seen a bunny in the moon, stirring a pot over a fire. The particulars on just what’s getting stirred change, of course, with who you ask. Medicine or magic, dreams or disasters, the cold sea tides or the heat of a bunny’s monthly. I’ve heard tell, in the Orient, the Bun in the Moon makes rice taffy. Me, I’m keen on the witch’s brew version, since I just seem to stir up trouble.
Just another bunny under the moonlight, I lay in the narrow bed and feel the train clatter and shake under me. That endless rumble can wear on the mind of those not used to it. I don’t travel much by rail, so it proves mighty distracting: don’t know why folk bother calling these sleeper cars. Lucky for me, I’ve got a certain lawbat between my legs for distraction. Behind the cover of the little bed curtain, we see about a little jostling of our own. That cute little flying fox face dives between my thighs and sets to licking. His tongue traces my slit and laps deeper and deeper into me. I press buck teeth to my lower lip as my paws trail under my shirt to play with my nipples. Minutes and miles trundle past as I lay back smiling.
Last I checked, we had the car to ourselves, but I bite back my moans all the same. Wouldn’t do to perk up curious ears, not when I’m getting lost in Blake finding all my most sensitive spots. His nose is buried in my mound now and he’s licking up my juices with naked enjoyment. His trousers are undone and one wing is brushing the curtain with each stroke as he rubs that pretty pink length of his. A bead of excitement shines at the blunt tip. I squirm at the hard evidence of just how much the sheriff takes to me.
With a bump along the tracks, my clit presses hard on his tongue, casting me over the edge. I lift my tail off the bed and a whimper from my lungs as his tongue twirls me through a whirlwind of shivering tension and honeyed ease.
As I come down from the heights, I’m struck with a powerful need to have him inside me. I tug at his ears, all gentle and urgent. Smiling, he crawls up my body. It’s a bit cramped, but we get matters sorted in short order. He’s too wound up and I’m too unwound for even the barest scrap of modesty. My paw closes around his girth and guides it just where it belongs. I stroke the supple skin up and down, urging him on. With a press of his hips, he sinks in. My toes curl against the sheets as he fills me. The beat of his heart throbs against my tender, clutching passage. I close my eyes and feel him rock in and out of me, stirring up slick pleasure around that lovely length.
We move together, the sounds of our passion hidden by the clatter of the train. The good sheriff thrusts all frantic as his wings grip my hips. Must’ve been pent up since my last visit. I find his eagerness right agreeable, my body rising to meet his, helping him hit all manner of fine places within me. His ragged breaths warm my nose and caress my throat fluff. I meet his gaze with all my tenderness and nearly all my trust to whisper: “Oh Jordan...”
With a squeak and a shudder, he goes off. A swell of heat spreads from the tip of his cock through my innermost places. A different kind of warm kindles in my heart as he slumps onto me, spent and sticky. I slip my arms around his shoulders and stroke his hair and ears. Wary as I am of the world, he makes me want to close my eyes and trust in the warmth of his embrace, even as the juices running down to my tail take on a slight chill.
As his breaths level out, those wings fold around me like living velvet. My pleasure-addled brain reckons I ought to stay within reach of those wings all the time. Can’t go anywhere without thinking about the fool, so he’s got me surrounded anyway.
I nuzzle in close and enjoy the soft orange fluff of his throat, lit silver in the moonlight. He calls me pretty. It’s nice to have a fella who calls me pretty. And Blake ought to know: spends every day being too pretty for his own good.
There’s road left to put my boots on before I could think about settling down with him, most of it chasing the lion who stole my father’s other gun. I admit I was surprised to find the good sheriff willing to come with me on this little excursion.
Right on schedule, my train stops in the middle of nowhere.
I step out the door, dust stirring in a curl under by boots. Nice when a bun can just bribe her way into getting a train to stop, rather than pulling the emergency cord. Out of respect for my dear Sheriff Blake, I took to calling it a “tip” so as not to offend hi
s delicate sensibilities.
The lawbat hops off beside me, wings spread to break the fall. His dainty travel case dangles from slender wing-fingers. “Just looking for information, right? You’re not going to cause trouble?”
My eyes meet Blake’s and glimpse the home our hearts’ve been building. I’d better be careful or he’ll manage to keep hold of me for good. I’ve got a heap of bad to do before then. “When’ve ah ever caused you trouble?”
The locomotive belches black smoke above and spits steam to either side. With a rolling rumble, it thunders to motion and leaves us standing in the middle of the sun-baked desert.
Blake watches the train chug and rattle into the distance. His fancy little vest gleams against the red dust. It’s jet black with a whole patch of embroidered strawberry vines flourishing across the front. Even the buttons blossom with little painted white-and-yellow strawberry flowers.
I shoulder my rucksack and follow the old branch line south. Spy the old fort a couple miles down, then peek back for another glimpse of that dandy garment, unable to keep from smiling. “Speaks to my fondness that ah’m willin’ to be seen with such a duded-up lawbat.”
“This is perfectly reasonable attire for a shopping holiday.” He brushes the dust from it. “You failed to mention we’d be disembarking in the middle of desolate nowhere.” He pads up beside me and straightens fully, though not enough to pass my chin. “Besides, my family says these Polish-style vests are quite the craze.”
My eyes roll at his hoity-toity notions. “We’re over the border, lawbat. This is California: land a’ gold, grit, and gunsmoke. Folk round here don’t give a whit about fruity fashion.”
