Ace Westley || Cowboy

The morning sun stretched across the endless Texas plains, bathing the fields in warm amber light. Ace Westley sat tall upon the broad back of his black stallion, Bucky, whose ears flicked attentively with every distant sound. Beside them bounded Bullet, Ace's faithful cattle dog, darting through the tall grass with boundless energy. Every so often the dog would glance back at his master as though making certain he was still following.

Ace sighed beneath the brim of his weathered hat. "Damn coyote..."

One of the younger goats had been found dead at dawn, taken cleanly despite every trap Ace had painstakingly set around the pasture. The predator had slipped around them all as though mocking him. "Clever little devil."

He clicked his tongue softly, and Bucky continued at a measured pace along the fence line while Bullet sniffed eagerly through the brush, determined to redeem himself after failing to notice the intruder during the night.

The farm depended on every animal. Losing even one weighed heavier on Ace than most people realised. He had raised them all himself, fed them, named them, and watched them grow.

His father had taught him that every creature under his care deserved the same respect one gave another person. Even after his father's passing, Ace had held tightly to that lesson.

Walter would probably tell him again next week to hire ranch hands. "One man can't do everything forever." Ace would refuse time and time again.

His eyes wandered toward the distant road leading away from town. Something looked... Off. Wood?Splintered wood?

His brow furrowed. "Bullet." The dog perked up immediately before bolting towards the road, barking loudly enough for the prairie to echo with each sharp cry. Ace nudged Bucky into a gallop.

Within moments they reached the wreckage. It was a carriage! Completely overturned. One wheel had snapped clean off, while shattered luggage lay scattered amongst the dirt. Bullet circled it anxiously, barking before whining softly. Ace dismounted in one smooth motion.

"Bucky, stay."

The stallion obediently remained still. Ace crouched beside the coachman. One leg had been crushed beneath the carriage. He reached for the man's wrist. Nothing... No pulse.

Ace slowly removed his hat. "...Rest in peace." His voice was quiet and respectful. He gently closed the man's eyes before standing.

He then saw hoofprints leading away into the distance. The horses had fled. At least they had survived. That thought eased him slightly. He then decided to check inside the carriage to see if there was anyone inside. He climbed over the broken frame and carefully looked inside.

His eyes widened. Someone lay unconscious beneath the collapsed seat. Their clothing alone was worth more than several months of the farm's earnings. Elegant fabrics. Fine stitching. Jewellery. Whoever they were... They certainly do not belong on a lonely Texas road.

Ace reached for a leather satchel nearby. Inside were several belongings untouched by the crash. A folded letter caught his eye. "Natchez, Mississippi." His eyebrows rose. "...An aristocrat?"

Only the wealthiest families came from places like that. What in God's name were they doing travelling this far west?

He reached for their wrist. There was a pulse. Thank god. They are alive... "Well..." He slipped one arm beneath their shoulders and another beneath their knees before lifting them effortlessly from the ruined carriage. "They're heavier than a sack of feed. It's mostly in their heavy clothing..."

Bucky lowered his head, almost inspecting the unconscious stranger. "They're alright."

Ace gently adjusted them across the saddle before climbing up behind them, making certain they remained secure against his chest. "Easy now." Bullet barked happily and sprinted ahead as though already leading them home.

---

By the time the sun had disappeared beyond the hills, the farmhouse had settled into its familiar evening routine. The cows had been returned to the barn. The chickens safely locked away. The goats fed. Only then did Ace finally wash his hands and make his way upstairs.

His boots creaked softly against the wooden floor. The bedroom door remained slightly open. He peeked inside, the stranger was awake!

"Oh!"

They blinked slowly, clearly still disoriented. Ace immediately disappeared downstairs before returning moments later, carrying a cup of fresh water. He placed it carefully upon the bedside table before dragging over the only wooden chair in the room and sat down on it. The silence lingered before he sighed and began.

"...Name's Ace." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Ace Westley. I own this farm..."

His voice remained calm and straightforward.

"I found your carriage overturned a few miles east of here. The driver..."

His expression softened.

"He didn't make it. I already rode into town and informed the sheriff."

He gestured towards the corner of the room.

"Most of your belongings survived. They're over there. I figured it'd be better not to rummage through anything."

His eyes briefly met theirs before looking away again.

"You can stay here until you're feeling well enough to travel. It ain't much... But it's clean."

As they reached toward their forehead, Ace instinctively leaned forward. "Hold still."

Without thinking, he gently placed one rough hand beneath their chin, tilting their face towards the lantern's light. His thumb brushed near the bandage wrapped around their forehead. "Hmm.. It's still holding." No bleeding. Good.

Only then did he notice the faint colour rising in their cheeks and he froze. His own eyes widened. Oh. Right... People didn't usually grab strangers like that. He immediately withdrew his hand.

"...Sorry." The apology came quietly. "I was only checking the bandage." His ears warmed beneath the brim of his hat.

Good grief. Grandpa is right. I really did have the delicacy of a runaway mule.

From downstairs came an enthusiastic bark. Bullet! Followed by a loud snort from outside. Bucky!

Ace sighed softly. "They're probably wondering why I'm taking so long." He stood, dusting off his trousers. "If you're hungry... I've made stew. It isn't fancy. But I reckon it's decent."

For a man who could calm frightened horses, wrestle stubborn cattle, and carry feed sacks as though they weighed nothing, speaking gently to another person remained, by far, the hardest thing Ace Westley had ever learned.

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