AN: Surprise! I wrote "a short thing" that really got away from me and here we are. There are plotholes. There are melodramatic moments. There are cliches.
I wrote this for funzies-please don't take it too seriously. Pairs nicely with the Magnificent 7 soundtrack, or any other western music you happen to fancy.
A BIG THANK YOU to justinegraham and alderaanallday for beta-reading this! AND AND EXTRA HUGE MEGABIG THANK YOU to graciecatfamilyband aka imnothere24 for convincing me to write this out in the first place, for listening to headcanons, reading through half-done sections back when this just had a cow emoji as a title, providing suggestions to make it better, and for giving me the support and encouragement of a hundred good men while I pushed through this! I HEART YOU GIRL.
The West's New Hope
A Spaghetti Western by Organanation (with lots of help from graciecatfamilyband)
Chapter One
The Paper That Made A Man
Han Solo walked out of the land office, beaming at the piece of paper in his hands. Things hadn't been going right for him for a while now, but that was all going to change. He had the deed to a 200-acre ranch in his hand. He'd been saving every nickel he could for as long as he could remember, and now… land. His own land.
Chewie, his oldest friend and now his cosigner, gave him a nudge out onto the raised walkway.
"Come on, Han. We gotta go pay Jabba, and we can have a drink to celebrate while we're there." A massive hand on his shoulder pushed Han toward the saloon.
The barroom was busy even though it was the middle of the afternoon. Chewie got them each a glass, and they toasted to that little piece of paper that made Han a man. A real, successful, land-owning, cattle-ranching man.
"Before we know it, you'll have a bunkhouse full of ranch hands and a cabin full of kids," Chewie teased.
"Woah, there, pal. Ranch hands, I can handle. But a cabin full of kids? Need a wife for that, and I don't plan on findin' one a' those anytime soon," Han retorted.
"Sure. We can talk about it again after you're sick of eatin' bachelor cooking and wearing half-clean clothes with holes in 'em, and livin' in a cabin dirtier n'your barn," Chewie returned.
"Where am I gonna find a woman to marry in this town? They're either way too young or already married."
"You could write for one back East. I hear there's lotsa gals who are lookin' for husbands back East."
"The last thing I need is some frilly Eastern woman clutterin' up my ranch."
"Just a suggestion."
"I thought we were celebrating," Han countered. "I don't wanna think about that stuff right now; I just wanna finish this drink and get out to my land."
"Someone's comin' towards us," Chewie said, lowering his voice and looking pointedly toward two men making their way purposefully across the barroom. The pair dropped down into the vacant chairs on the other side of the table, and the older of the two men spoke up.
"You are Han Solo, the new owner of Jabba's ranchland?"
"News travels fast. Yeah, I'm Han Solo. What's it to you?"
"My name is Ben Kenobi. This is Luke Skywalker. We're looking for work."
"You ever worked on a ranch before?" Han asked.
"Yes, in Texas," the man replied.
"Can't pay much," Han warned.
"We need only food and a place to bed down—for us and our horses—and no questions asked," Ben assured cryptically. The young man still hadn't spoken, and Han wasn't sure how he felt about the whole situation. "There may come a time when we have to leave suddenly. I can't guarantee more than a few days warning."
Something still felt off, but he couldn't pass up the offer of free labor.
"There is one more thing," Ben added. 'Course there was. "We have one more man. He's called CP, and he's a bit…strange. He's waiting outside."
"What's wrong with him?"
"Nothing," the younger man cut in. "He's from back East and he's just not that great at bein' a rancher, yet. Oh, and I have a dog, too. Rusty."
"A dog?"
"Yeah. He's a herding dog; he'll be real helpful."
"Whatever. If he hurts my cattle, though, he's gone, and you won't be far behind. You got that?" Han stated. The kid nodded. "This is Chewie, my foreman. I gotta go talk to Jabba for a minute; I'll be right out," Han said, turning to Chewie. The tall man nodded and stood, leading the others out of the crowded saloon.
"Hear you bought my land," rumbled the greasy man standing at the cash register.
"Heard right. Here's my first payment," Han said, handing the man a stack of bills. He flipped through the stack, counting mentally.
"Little thin, ain't it?"
"I still gotta buy the cattle, Jabba. But I already got a few sold to some townfolk at the end of the summer, and I'm sure I can do some decent business sellin' milk this summer if I have to, too. Don't worry. You'll have the full payment soon enough," Han promised. The saloon owner looked Han up and down.
"I better, or that land reverts to me."
"What are you gonna do with a fallin' down ranch, Jabba? I'll have the money to you by the end of the season."
"With interest." It wasn't a question. Han's teeth ground together.
"You'll get it." Han strode from the crowded barroom.
AN: Five more chapters in today's posting-gitalong, lil' doggies (after a quick stop by the review box...)