Title: The Last Chance

Author: stella_pegasi

Summary: Arizona 1874: John Sheppard drifted from frontier town to frontier town seeking a new life. In Wickenburg, he may have found his last chance.

Rating: M (AU-Action, Het, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Non-con, Torture)

Word Count: Total ~45,500

Spoilers: None…AU-Old West…set in ~1874 Arizona

Warnings: Nudity, Het sexual situations, suggestion of non-con, torture, whump. (Nothing too graphic.)

Characters: John Sheppard, Original Female Character, Rodney McKay, Carson Beckett, Various SGA Characters, Original Characters

Disclaimer: I do not own them; I would have treated them better.

Notes: The Last Chance was written for a dear, dear friend who loves cowboys and loves John Sheppard. She asked a Cowboy!Shep story and I offered to attempt to write one for her. I have never written a western before and I am indebted to another wonderful friend who loves cowboys as well and helped me achieved the atmosphere of the Old West as best I could.

There is romance, a lot of whump, some hint of non-con, sexual situations, torture, (not extremely graphic). I hope you enjoy John Sheppard as a cowboy; this was so much fun to write. There are seven chapters to be posted over the next few days.

The Last Chance

By stella_pegasi

Part 1

Embers from the small campfire drifted upward toward the pitch-black sky, as if the stars were seeking warmth. The crackling of burning wood and a soft whinny from the sleek muscular stallion tied to a scraggly tree were the only sounds keeping him company. The desert was hushed, as if holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Lying back on the thick, gray woolen bedroll, John Sheppard stared at the sparkling points of light overhead. He felt, as he perceived the desert felt, that any moment something was going to happen. After months of drifting from one small town to another, he craved for something, anything, to happen, but he realized if it did, it would be trouble. There was always trouble.

The stallion pawed at the sandy ground, snorting, seeming to sense his uneasiness. He spoke softly, "Be quiet, Pegasus, tomorrow we're riding into Wickenburg. I promise I'll get you some oats, but only if you're quiet tonight." Pegasus snorted again but fell silent, and horse and rider fell asleep, waiting for dawn.

As the sun began to peek over the eastern horizon, the cold nose of an impatient horse nudging his cheek awoke him. Stretching his long legs, Sheppard could feel every pebble and root digging into his back, despite the thick wool pad he laid on. As he pushed himself onto his feet, he whispered to the wind, "Tonight…a real bed."

The campfire had died down, only a few embers glowed among the ashes; he added a couple more pieces of wood from the pile he had gathered the night before and restarted the flame. Grabbing a saddlebag, he rummaged through the sparse supplies he had left, noticing that Pegasus had wandered to the end of his tether, noisily chomping as he grazed on a patch of scrubby grass. He selected a can of beans, hard tack bread, and just enough coffee for a single cup, which would have to do for his own breakfast.

Sheppard sat cross-legged in front of the fire as he ate, wondering what he was going to find in Wickenburg. The stable hand in the last town he visited told him that the military had finally broken the backs of the Yavapai Indians, putting an end to the raids against the settlers. Talk was that the fertile plain of the Hassayampa River was attracting ranchers and farmers along with the miners who had settled years before. Lately, he has begun to think about finding a small plot of land, and settling down, but he had yet to find what he was looking for.

Breakfast consumed; he doused the fire, packed up his meager belongings, and mounted Pegasus. "Come on, boy; time to join civilization."

The narrow trail he was following ran along a low rise, meeting up with the main road into Wickenburg, about two miles from where he camped. A weathered wooden sign, sitting crookedly in the sandy soil, had Wickenburg 10 miles burned into it. Sheppard felt Pegasus tense. The road was wide, and for the most part, level; he wanted to gallop. With a quick flip of the reins against the horse's withers, Sheppard let him.

After running at a full gallop for nearly six miles, Pegasus wasn't winded, but Sheppard had enough, and slowed the big horse down. "Whoa, boy; I don't want to ride into town as if a posse's chasing me. We don't need anyone to think we're a threat, so try to act dignified." Pegasus threw his head back and forth, making it clear that he was not happy.

As he rode into town, Sheppard marveled at how one western settlement looked like any other. Wickenburg was no exception; at the entrance to town, a combined stagecoach station and telegraph office sat apart from the business section. Along the packed-dirt main street, he spotted the usual, a hotel, a mercantile, a bank, the sheriff's office and jail, a barbershop, and a saloon; he headed straight for the saloon.

Dismounting, he led Pegasus to a watering trough where the big horse drank his fill, then Sheppard wrapped the reins around the hitching post outside of the saloon. With a pat to the stallion's neck, he grabbed one of the saddlebags slinging it across his left shoulder, and climbed the dusty steps to the boardwalk spurs jangling as he walked. Above the swinging doors, a painted wooden sign read, The Lucky Strike Saloon.

It was mid-morning, yet several men were already nursing bottles of whiskey, a couple sitting at the polished wooden bar, the rest sitting at tables. In the corner, five men were playing poker and from their tired faces, it appeared, they'd been playing all night. Everyone turned to stare as the rattle of the swinging doors announced his arrival.

The barkeep, a small slight man with mousy brown hair, and round wire-rimmed glasses, wiped the counter down in front of him as he sat on a stool. Smiling slightly, he spoke in a heavy accent, "Welcome stranger, what'll be?"

"Shot of your best whiskey, none of that rot-gut stuff."

"My best whiskey cost up front."

Sheppard smiled, "Not a problem," reaching into his vest pocket he pulled out a silver dollar. "Keep it coming."

The bartender pulled a bottle from under the counter, and poured a shot glass full, sliding it toward Sheppard, who downed the shot in one gulp and slid it back for a refill. He had just taken a sip of the second when hands slipped around his arm, and a soft voice whispered in his ear.

"Ooh…I knew this was gonna be my lucky day, and here you are; not everyday a handsome thing like you walks into this saloon."

Sheppard turned his head to find a young and very pretty blond barmaid grinning broadly. His eyes trailed down her body, enjoying the low cut white peasant blouse and full calico skirt she was wearing. He smiled back, "Hello, lovely lady."

"Ooh…and polite, too; I think I'm gonna have to keep you. I'm Jennifer, what's your name handsome?"

"I'm John, and I'm just passing through."

Jennifer pouted, "Now, don't go saying that when we've just met; I bet I can convince you to stay."

"Aren't you a little young to be working in a saloon?"

"I'm older than I look handsome John."

The bartender, who had been stocking beer bottles, approached, "Jennie, don't bother the customers."

"She's not a bother," Sheppard murmured, tipping his empty shot glass.

The bartender's eyes blazed, "She's not for pleasure."

"Oh…Radek, you ruin everything." Jennifer spun away, running through a curtained doorway into the backroom of the saloon.

Sheppard threw up his hands, "I'm not looking for companionship, just some whiskey, and a hotel room."

The bartender sighed, pushing his glasses up on his nose, as he poured another shot, "Promiň …uh…sorry...I forget sometimes; I am Radek Zelenka, and I am from Bohemia. I did not mean to be disrespectful, but I raised Jennifer since her parents were killed in Indian raid. She was twelve; no one else would take her in because her father was town drunk and her mother worked in the saloon. I had just come to Wickenburg, and I fired her mother for her behavior with customers. Then they were killed; I could not let the child wander the streets. Sometimes people forget she is not her mother; I apologize."

"No need to apologize; taking in an orphan is a good thing." Sheppard downed his third shot, then stood up. "I need to stable my horse and find a room…suggestions?"

"Livery's in alley behind the sheriff's office, next to the blacksmith shop, the hotel's two doors down, tell Maddie I sent you; she will take care of you."

"Thanks, I'll do that."

Sheppard stepped out into the bright sun, slipping his black Stetson on, and untied Pegasus' reins. Leading the horse toward the alley behind the jail, he was oblivious to the attention he was receiving, not realizing that word of a stranger had already spread through the town. Many townsfolk were peering out their shop windows to catch a glimpse of the tall, handsome man leading a beautiful black stallion across Main Street. Dressed all in black, from his leather duster, jacket, shirt, vest, and pants, to black boots adorned with shiny silver spurs, Sheppard made quite an impression on Wickenburg's citizens. However, one citizen, in particular, was curious about something else. Sheriff Evan Lorne, watching from the jail, was interested in the Colt pistol, called the Peacemaker, strapped low around Sheppard's hip, very interested indeed.

Pegasus whinnied loudly as they neared the livery stable, Sheppard laughed, "Hey buddy; you excited because you smell hay and oats or is there a sweet little filly in there?" The horse only snorted, and Sheppard laughed again, "I see, not telling."

The livery faced the alley along the rear of the shops on Main Street. A blacksmith shop sat at the left of the livery, the smithy hard at work pounding red-hot iron. There were two large barn doors, one leading to the granary and supplies, the other to a large stable. As Sheppard led Pegasus though the wide stable door, a young groom rushed up, "Mister, that's a fine horse. I never seen a horse that big, he must be over 16 hands."

"Thanks, he's 17 hands, but don't give him the big head; he already believes he's special. I need to stable him for a few days, and he could use a good grooming. He also loves oats, but watch him…he'll keep begging for them…so watch what you feed him."

"No problem, mister; I'm Nick, and I'll take good care of him. What kind of horse is he? I ain't seen a mane and tail like that before."

Sheppard removed the saddlebags, "Pegasus is a Friesian, from the Netherlands. His dam died foaling him, so I took him after a broodmare weaned him, and he's been with me ever since. He's three years old, and mischievous as a child. I suggest you don't turn your back on him and don't try to ride him, he doesn't like anyone else on him but me."

Nick began pulling the saddle, blanket, and tack off the stallion, "Love this long mane, and tail, so thick and wavy. What's his name…Pega…mean?"

Sheppard hesitated, old memories flooding back; shaking to clear his head, he answered, "Pegasus was the name of a winged horse in Greek mythology. My mother used to read that story to me when I was young. When he was just a foal, he could run like the wind, so I named him Pegasus."

Nick finished removing the tack, and Sheppard asked, "You got some place safe to keep the saddle and all this?"

"Yep, we got a room we keep locked, but we don't have much problem, being behind the sheriff's office."

"Good…I'll be staying at the hotel, John Sheppard's the name." Glancing at the rates posted on the wall, he handed money for a week's boarding to Nick. "That should keep him in oats for a few days." He turned to Pegasus, rubbing his nose, "Please behave."

His first destination after leaving the stables was the hotel, the tallest building on Main Street. The cramped lobby was off a wide three-story foyer, and reminded Sheppard of every hotel he had stayed in since he began his westward trek; dark wood floors covered in Oriental rugs, red and brown upholstered settees scattered about, hideous red-flowered wallpaper adorning the walls. A redheaded woman, about the bartender's age, sat behind the front desk. He dropped his saddlebags onto a settee and approached the counter.

"Maddie?"

"Yeah, who's asking?"

"John Sheppard, need a room; Radek said you'd take care of me."

A smile lit up her face, "He did? Well, I'm beholding to him; that crazy woman running that new boarding house is trying to take my business. Me…I think she's running one of those kinda places, if you know what I mean; no respecting man would stay there."

"I wouldn't have any idea, ma'am; not sure how long I'm gonna be in town, can we plan on a week for now?"

"Of course, just sign here, and you can pay for two days, then we'll settle up when you leave."

"Can I arrange for a bath this afternoon?"

"Of course, there's a bath house just out back, want me to have Pedro start the hot water?

"No, I need to go to the bank and stop by the mercantile first."

"That'll be fine; just let me know when you get back," Maddie replied as she handed him his room key, "Second floor, room 207,"

Returning to the foyer, Sheppard noticed the French doors that led to a large dining room, where he planned to have a steak dinner that evening. Climbing the staircase, two stairs at a time, he found Room 207 only a few steps from the stairs. The room was more spacious than he expected, but all he really cared about was the big bed. Throwing his saddlebags on the floor, he flopped onto the feather-filled mattress. As he sank into the softness, he decided the bartender was right; Maddie took care of him.

As much as he wanted to lie on the soft mattress forever, Sheppard got up and grabbed the small black saddlebag. He pulled a chain with a small key attached from underneath his shirt and unlocked the tiny lock on the bag, withdrawing several bills of US Currency from inside. As he was tucking the money in his vest pocket, he walked to the window, which looked out over Main Street. He could hear the soft tinkle of a player piano, no doubt from the saloon; a couple of horses with riders sauntered down the street, while a deputy sitting on a railing watched everything. As he started to turn away, he heard the clattering of wagon wheels; a quick glance back and he saw a young couple arriving in a supply wagon. They stopped in front of the mercantile; the young man jumped out, tethered the horses, and then helped the woman from the wagon. As the couple disappeared into the mercantile, Sheppard left his room.

The bank was on the other side of the street, next to the barbershop; a two-story building painted a dirty looking white with brown shutters on the windows that flanked the heavy wooden door. Inside, dark stained wood floors contrasted with the walls, painted the same dirty white as the building. A private, enclosed office took up half of the rear of the lobby; a bench with two teller windows filled the other half. Sheppard approached the teller window, where a pale man with thinning hair greeted him.

"What can I do for you, sir?"

Sheppard laid the small saddlebag on the counter, "I need to keep this in your safe while I'm in town."

"Certainly sir, please fill this out, and we'll be happy to keep this safe, in our safe." The teller giggled nervously at his attempt at humor.

Sheppard glanced up, uttering a small laugh, "That's good." He filled out the paper, signed it and pushed it under the iron bars of the teller's cage. "I might need to access this, any problem with that?"

"No sir, just keep this receipt to show when you need your bag," he pushed a small card toward Sheppard, and pulled the saddlebag through the opening.

Sheppard turned to leave and nearly ran over a shorter, bald man standing in his path. "Ah, so you are the stranger who just arrived in Wickenburg; I am Richard Woolsey and I own this bank."

"John Sheppard, I'm just passing through."

"What's your business in Wickenburg, Mr. Sheppard?"

"No business, just seeing the sights."

Woolsey seemed uneasy, "Well...you enjoy your stay."

With a tip of his hat, Sheppard said, "I plan on it, nice to meet you." He stepped around Woolsey and left the bank, wondering why the banker was so interested in his business.

The mercantile was next on his list; he wanted to get a new shirt and some cotton longjohns; the wool ones he had were too hot. The wagon that had been in front of the shop earlier was now across the street at the apothecary. Sheppard pushed the door open, setting off a bell, suspended from the top of the door.

"Eme did you forget…, oh…you're not Eme." The confused voice belonged to a man a few inches shorter than Sheppard. Of medium build, he had a kind face, framed by light-brown hair, thinning a bit on top. The man's most notable feature were his inquisitive blue eyes.

"Nope, I'm not; just looking for some shirts and longjohns."

"Oh…oh…upstairs, all the clothes are upstairs." He turned away, absently gesturing with a wave of his hand toward the back of the store.

Sheppard climbed to the loft where there were racks and racks of clothes and shelves of shoes. He rummaged around for a bit, selected a couple of shirts, a pair of trousers, a jacket, and a couple of pairs of cotton longjohns, then returned to the main floor.

"Find what you needed?"

"I did; in fact, you've got quite a selection."

"Got a good supplier from back east; when the rich folks get tired of their clothes, he buys them, cleans and mends them, and sells them. I began doing business with him a few years ago; now people come all the way from Phoenix to buy clothes."

"Seems you got a good business going here," Sheppard remarked as he glanced around the large story, there was a dry goods section, cooking utensils, furniture, blankets, tools, seeds, a whole array of items.

"Yeah…it's a living." He began to write up Sheppard's bill, "You need anything else?"

"Let me look around." He wandered the shop, not really wanting anything, until he spotted a black leather satchel; picking it up, he ran his fingers along the soft leather.

"Here, I'd like this." As he waited for the proprietor to add up his bill, he stared at the satchel, thinking that if he kept this up, he was going to need to find a place to settle down. Pegasus was a strong horse, but he couldn't carry everything, and he didn't want a packhorse to slow him down. He wondered if perhaps he was trying to tell himself just that, it was time to settle down.

After paying the bill, he asked, "How long you have you lived in Wickenburg?"

"Been here ten years, I…I moved here with my sister and her husband."

"Like it?"

He hesitated, a forlorn look crossing his face, "Yes...I do, most days."

Sheppard chuckled, "Most days, 'bout all we can ask for; I'm John Sheppard, by the way."

"John…I'm Rodney McKay; you in town long?"

"Not sure, for a few days at least," Sheppard picked up the satchel now holding his clothing and said, "See you around." McKay nodded.

Walking out into the hot sun, Sheppard realized he was hungry, wondering if the hotel served lunch. He turned toward the hotel when he heard a voice yell, "Get your hands off of her."

A feminine voice cried out, "Chuck, stop."

Swirling around, he saw a thin young man pulling at the arm of a much larger man, who had his other arm around a small raven-haired woman. His companion grabbed the younger man and threw him into the dirt. "We told ya, Mr. Cowen wants to talk to the lovely lady, now git." He kicked the fallen man in the gut.

"Let me go, Daners; I'm not going anywhere with you." The woman kicked the man holding her in the shins, causing him to yelp. He raised his hand to strike her, but stopped when he felt the barrel of a gun pressed against his temple.

"I don't think the lady wants to go with you; release her, or I will shoot you." He glanced over at the other man. "Don't make a move or your buddy here dies." The steely gaze Sheppard sent his way caused the second man to back off.

"Who are you?"

"Doesn't matter, let her go."

"I think you're a coward. You ain't gonna shoot me."

Sheppard cocked the gun, "Want to risk it?"

"Daners, let her go, now." Sheppard turned toward the voice; it was the sheriff, accompanied by two of his deputies. Daners released the woman, and held up his hands. Sheppard lowered his gun and stepped away.

"Now, sheriff; Mr. Cowen wanted to have Miss Spencer join him for lunch; we were just escorting her."

The sheriff glanced at the woman, "Emeline you are okay?"

"I'm fine Evan; let them go."

The sheriff didn't appear to approve, but he nodded, "You two, get out of here." Daners and his companion mounted their horses, tied next to the wagon and rode off.

Sheriff Lorne went to the woman he called Emeline, gently taking her arm, "You sure you're alright?" She nodded, and he asked, "You and Chuck heading back now?"

"Yes, we just came into town for a few things."

Lorne turned to his deputies, "Boys, go get your horses; you're gonna ride back to the ranch with Miss Spencer."

Lorne offered his hand to assist Miss Spencer off the sidewalk, but she turned toward Sheppard. "I haven't thanked you, mister, for coming to our aid. I appreciate your help."

Sheppard felt as though a cannon ball had impacted his chest; standing before him was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her voice was soft, sultry, and he detected a slight French lilt. Her long, lustrous raven hair gathered in a clasp at the nape of her slender neck, she was dressed in a simple white high-necked blouse and tan riding skirt. She was petite, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder, and possessed the most incredible dark-green eyes he had ever looked into.

He tipped his hat, "Glad to be of assistance, ma'am; thankful that you and the young man aren't hurt."

"So am I, mister…?"

"Sheppard, ma'am; John Sheppard."

She smiled, "I'm Emeline Spencer, nice to meet you, Mr. Sheppard."

Before Sheppard could reply, Lorne reached between them and pulled Emeline toward the wagon. "Eme, you need to get home," he helped her into the wagon, where Chuck was already seated, reins in hand. "You tell the boys to keep their eyes open." He patted her arm, "I'll come out and check on you."

Sheppard was experiencing a sensation that he hadn't felt in a very long time. As Emeline squeezed Lorne's hand resting on her arm, Sheppard felt hot jealousy course through his veins. However, as the wagon turned to head toward home once the deputies arrived, Emeline turned and looked his way, a slight smile on her face; the jealousy faded, replaced by desire.

His thoughts were interrupted by a quiet voice from behind, "Here…"

Rodney McKay was standing behind him with the satchel that he had dropped when he ran to help Emeline. Sheppard took the satchel, "Thanks."

"That was really brave to stand up to Cowen's hired guns."

"Who is this Cowen?"

"He owns the biggest percentage of land on the Hassayampa River plain, and he wants more. He's been after Eme's ranch for many years. He…"

Sheriff Lorne walked up, "Rodney…I need to talk to this man, could you give us a minute?"

Rodney sighed, "Yeah, Evan; we'll talk later John."

Sheppard nodded, and Rodney returned to the mercantile, "I'm heading back to hotel, sheriff, walk with me."

"Who are you?"

"John Sheppard, but what do you really want to ask?"

Lorne sucked in a breath, "If I was a guessing man, from the way you look, I'd figure you for a gunslinger or a gambler, but my gut tells me you aren't either."

"No, I'm not; not gonna lie to you, had a few fights along the way, but I didn't start any of 'em."

"Just finished them."

Sheppard scoffed, "I guess you could say that." He fell silent, deciding that he just might be able to trust this man. "I'm just a guy who decided to leave everything behind and look for a new life; not an original story I know." He stopped, leaning against a hitching post, "I'm from Maryland originally, grew up in a wealthy family, attended West Point against my father's wishes, fought in the war as a very young man, retired from the Army as a colonel before they court-martialed me for disobeying orders. I took offense to a general's order to wipe out a small group of Indian refugees who had settled near the fort. I refused, and moved the group where they would be safe." He stood up, "That's it, sheriff; you know all there is to know about John Sheppard."

Lorne stared at the tall stranger for a moment before he replied, "Somehow, Sheppard, I don't think that's all to know about you; but thank you for telling me. We have enough trouble around here without adding more. Enjoy your stay in Wickenburg."

Sheppard watched Lorne walk away, wondering just how much trouble the town of Wickenburg actually had. As the image of a raven-hair beauty flooded his thoughts, he decided he needed to stay around to find out.

Ride 'em Cowboy! Hope you enjoy!