Jon lifted me onto Diana’s back, and then mounted my horse behind me. Even with the extra weight of another person, my horse was the fastest around. With Jon pressed against me, his arms wrapped around me, his breath hot on my neck, and the very real threat of danger pressing against my emotions, we couldn’t home fast enough.

There is something about danger that adds an urgency to sex. It makes what is hot even hotter. It makes what is passionate, frenzied, and it turns lust from longing into a pure white hot need.

When Diana stopped outside of the cabin, Jon jumped from her back and pulled me into his arms. Diana snorted and whinnied, and once we were dismounted, she trotted away, clearly annoyed.

Jon brought me to the grass and lay me on my back. There was no time to make it inside. No time for beds or baths or foreplay. He tore open my shirt, and I pushed my hands underneath his, relishing the feel of his tight stomach against my palms. My chest heaved as I struggled to pull in enough air to satisfy my lungs. Lust pulsed through me with each beat of my heart. Overhead, the stars were bright—and appeared to shine even more as I let Jon undress me.

How could I have ever thought the Vigilante was exciting? How could I have ever wanted anyone else? Had some part of me recognized my lover—my true love—in disguise? Magic is a strange beast and it isn’t impossible for that to be the case. Magic had always behaved weirdly with me. Maybe some deeply buried animalistic part of me recognized my other half the entire time. Could that explain the dreams? John said he had the same dreams—about he and I and himself in disguise.

Jon ripped open the button of my pants, crashing me back to reality. I pushed at his shirt until he paused and pulled it over his head. His fingers scratched along my hips and he worked my pants down. Then my underwear. They made it to my knees—that was far enough. Jon pulled his hard cock from his pants, and with a thrust, he entered me. He fucked me hard and primal. Every thrust made me gasp. Every push made me moan. He worked in and out and pressure grew inside me, building, until all at once I orgasmed with a release that worked from inside me all the way to the tips of my fingers and toes. Every muscle in my body tensed and flexed with pleasure as Jon pushed and with a final bucking thrust, finished.

***

I AWOKE BEFORE JON the following morning. I didn’t trust him not to leave without me. He kissed me on my forehead without a word—he knew better than to think I could be talked out of a decision I felt so strongly about. I was the Sheriff, I was a Davis and that had implications. Implications that meant I wasn’t the type to need protecting. Implications that said if anything—it was my job to do the protecting. Jon was my lover, my love, and I’d be damned if I was going to let him go off alone.

We packed water and biscuits and jerky and left with the sunrise.

Jon’s black stallion led the way. Diana, though she was faster, was happy to let the other horse lead. We made the journey in easy silence, slicing through the mostly barren countryside, not stopping the entire time until we reached New Duluth. We watered the horses, but didn’t enter any of the businesses, and did our best to blend in. Jon’s face was stone. He wore no expression and his eyes gave nothing away, but I could feel the anger rolling from him.

We were getting close, and I understood that he was thinking of what he was going to do to the person who held his son captive.

When our animals were refreshed we again mounted. I followed Jon through the mud road, trusting he knew his way. We had no plan to speak of, outside of barging onto the ranch, killing the son of a bitch, and bringing home Jon’s son. I realized that I didn’t know Jon’s son’s name. He’d only referred to him as son or his boy. It was strange to consider that the man I loved, in reality I knew almost nothing about. I knew my feelings for him were true and strong, but other than that, he’d been a stone wall giving little away. I’d gleaned what I could from our whispered bedroom conversations, but I’d never felt the need to push. I’d thought what we had was fragile and I guess a part of me had been afraid that if I pushed then I would risk shattering it. Now I knew that what we had wasn’t fragile at all. It was tough and real. Malleable as clay and hardy as leather.

A man stood smoking a pipe under the wooden overhang of the whorehouse, and as I rode by, his eyes followed me. He nudged his friend, a plump red faced man with pig eyes. The two watched a little too closely. I pulled my hat lower on my head and trained my gaze straight ahead. Drawing unnecessary attention to us would be folly, no matter how badly I wanted to kick in the men’s teeth.

We’d made it almost out of New Duluth—almost home free—when the shit hit the fan.

I wish I could pass the blame, but it rests solely on my shoulders.