A/N: Thanks for choosing to read this AU! I've never done one before, but it seemed like fun! It's the American Old West, so I did change a few names, take some liberties, etc. to make things fit into the niche.

I have it rated T for now, but I may bump it up to M if I decide to get some smut going. Also, if you are new to my fic, you can find me on Tumblr at womp-rat-fever.

"Well, Creed, why don't you go ahead and run my winnings over to your boss?" Han coyly sneered. With a sly grin, he had laid out his winning hand, spreading it flat for the entire table to see: a royal flush. Leaning back in his chair, he kicked up his boots onto the table, spurs jingling as he tossed his hands behind his head. He kept his eye on the man across from him, who's brief, wide-eyed shock turned to rage as his bloated face turned crimson.

He'd always been a weird looking man, Creed, with his eyes too wide, his head too large, and his body too lanky. If anything, Han was everything that Creed wasn't and he hated him for it. He had always thought himself to be the perfect male specimen, beyond for a few scars and the tilt of his nose that had poorly healed after a break.

Han had watched him the entire game, catching his tells on that awkward frame of his, reading him like an open book. Every time he gulped hard, he thought he'd had a winning hand. Every revelation that he'd lost, his eyes darted in a frenzy between their two hands. Now, his expression wild with anger, Creed's reaction only caused his grin to spread wider across his rugged jaw.

"You cheated, Solo!" he choked as he slammed his fist down, revealing his own hand: four of a kind, all kings. With a sweep of his arms, the poker chips went clattering to the floor of the dark, smoky corner of the saloon where the two men had sat to cut the deck, and settle a debt between Han and Creed's employer, Jedidiah Hutt.

The deal had been simple enough. Either Han would win five out of five hands, paying off his debt, or he lost and entered an unofficial indentured servitude to Jedidiah, joining the man's posse until his debt was sufficiently paid.

"You owe Hutt his due!" the other man snarled. As Creed reached for his gun, half a deck of cards fell from his sleeve, spreading across the table in a clattered mess. It left the man fumbling at his holster only to look up and find Han's revolver in his face.

"I'm not the one who just poured half a deck of cards from his sleeve," he said coolly, eyes narrowed as he pulled the hammer back and aimed his trusty .44 Colt, his finger on the trigger. Slowly, Creed rose his hands up in surrender, his chest shuddering heavily as he breathed out his nose. "So, you're going to tell your boss that my debt is paid in full, right? Or, do you really want a bullet between your eyes, Creed? A deal's a deal."

"I'll tell Hutt that your debt is paid," he replied, swallowing hard. Han lowered his hand only to watch Creed reach for his holster once more. In one fluid movement, Han brought his gun up and shot the man dead in the center of his forehead. Creed's bug eyes went wide as his corpse clattered to the floor and gun smoke filled the air as the saloon went silent.

"You've got a mess to clean up, Eisner," Han grunted as he slid a deck of cards from his own sleeve and placed it into the pocket of his duster. With a few hungry grabs of his fist, he collected the cash from the table. The silence started to break once more as the rest of the saloon went back to their assorted affairs.

Quickly, a man jumped onto the piano as a scantily clad, busty blonde joined him to flood the building with a jaunty tune. Creed's death wasn't the first to ever happen in Mose Eisner's saloon and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

Gently, he nudged his foot underneath the table were a large, shaggy mutt snored despite the commotion that had just happened only four feet away from him. With a hard snort, the dog woke and stretched before meandering from out underneath the table as Han took long strides through the crowded room towards the exit.

"Ex… Excuse me! Are you Mr. Solomon? Johanne Solomon?" a voice, with a brief hint of nervousness before rushing into the question with a determined fervor, called.

He tensed at the sound of that name hitting the air, somehow managing to rise up above the noisy bustle of the bar patrons and the jangling piano. He spun on his heel, whirling around to see no one. At the sound of someone clearing their throat, he looked down to see a girl, no older than nineteen, straining her neck to hold her head high as if she were trying to hold her own in this place.

Instead, she looked like she was trying to hold her head above water.

In the murkiness of the seedy tavern, she looked too clean, too put together, too pretty. Everything from her perfectly milkmaid plaited, chestnut hair to the white cotton of her dress made her stick out like an angel would had wandered into the pits of hell by mistake. All he could see was a lost girl. That was until he met her gaze, dark and fierce. For a moment, he felt trapped by her eyes.

"Who's asking?" Han asked, his voice low as he took her by the arm, leading her over to an empty booth. Sharply, she pulled her arm away from him.

"My name is Leia Ortega," she replied, seeming to shake his touch from her arm as she settled at the table. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't put your hands on me."

"You're the one shouting out the name of a dead man in the middle of the scummiest saloon west of the Mississippi," he replied as he slumped back into his chair, his dog sitting down beside the chair before releasing a long yawn. "Now, Miss Leia Ortega, who the hell are you and how do you know that name?"

She sat there in silence for a moment, taking him in as she had done with her, sizing him up as she mulled over her response.

"Miss, I've got a pocket full of dimes and time that I don't want to waste in this hole," he sighed as he leaned forward, folding his hands on the table as he watched her lips pucker. "Why are you looking for Johanne Solomon?"

"I was sent by a man named Old Ben," she answered, seeming unsure of the man's moniker. "He said I would find Johanne Solomon in the 'most wretched hive of scum and villainy.' Apparently, that's here." She gave a nervous glance to the side as a bar brawl erupted. He snapped his fingers, bringing her gaze back to him. "Old Ben also said that he'd be the only man in the bar being trailed by a flea-bitten mutt."

"Hey, Chewie's not that flea-bitten," Han hissed defensively. He knew Old Ben. He was a local drifter, a desert hermit with an odd way of talking and an off-putting aura. Over the years, he had bumped into him from time to time, each instance bizarre as he casually spouted off his peculiar religious beliefs. The last time he had wandered in, he had a bright-eyed kid with him, no older than the girl sitting in front of him, and they'd needed one of his connections. He had come through for them and they had gone on their way.

That had been a week and a half ago, and now it seemed the hermit had sent this girl along with a name he had never wanted to hear again.

"So, you are him," she said, a smug smile crossing her lips.

"Maybe I was once, but that's not who I am now," he murmured, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing. "So, what? What does a prim and proper girl like yourself wander into a place like this for, huh? Looking for a man?"

"I'm not a girl," she replied, those dark eyes striking like a stormy sky. If he hadn't known better, he could have sworn he could hear thunder rolling from her fury just from that slight comment. He felt a smirk rise to his lips once more. "I'm nineteen, and I'm a grown woman. Now, I am looking for a man, mister… whatever-your-name-is, but… not as profanely as you're putting it." Before he could make another quick remark, she got to the point. "I need an escort to the military outpost in Yavin, and I need that escort to be fast and be quick on the draw. Old Ben said that you would be that man."

"They call me Han Solo, sweetheart," he smirked before asking, "Why do you need to get to the military outpost?"

"Do you always ask so many questions?" she asked as she gave him a flustered glare.

"Only when it comes to the girl that Old Ben dropped into my lap."

She glanced away from him, her gaze settling on a dark knot on the wooden wall as she took a deep breath and held it for a moment before releasing it. As he watched her, it was as if she were looking a million miles away.

"The men at that outpost know—knew my father," she murmured softly, her brows furrowing as she seemed to be determined to hold to her stern way of speaking. "I need to inform them of his death. Look, I'm willing to pay you two-hundred dollars now, and five-hundred when we reach the militia outpost."

"You can't send them a letter through the post?" he asked, finding himself surprised at the softening of his tone. "Don't get me wrong, that is a lot of money for an easy job, just getting you here to Yavin, but this seems like a lot of work to inform them of your loss, Miss Ortega."

"It's not that simple," she sighed, running a tired hand over her face. For a moment, she did look like the woman she thought herself to be instead of the girl trying to project womanhood onto herself. "My father, Bail Ortega, was a rancher. He owned quite a bit of land; land that a man named Palpatine, apparently some sort of railroad tycoon, wants to buy so that he might expand his railroad empire. My father wouldn't sell. The tracks would block all access to the river, so—"

"No water for your father's cattle, I get it," Han finished for her before nodding. "I've heard of this guy. He's made his living on bullying men into selling their land and then building his tracks once they've signed their property away. So, the way you're talking, I'm assuming that he killed your father?"

"He sent a gang to our ranch, El Dorado," she murmured, keeping her voice steady even as he watched her fight tears. She blinked once, seeming to conquer that moment of grief. "They waited for night, and they managed to block the doors of the main house, the ranch hand's cabin, and our barn… They locked everyone in. They lit it up and burned my family's ranch to the ground. They burned..."

"But you're alive," he pointed out as an unsettling silence passed between them, his brow furrowed.

"The posse had taken me from my father's estate," she said, shaking her head. "They got in and out, I don't know how. This man, he was dressed all in black and he had most of his covered, but I could see that around his eyes that he was just… scarred. His skin… That doesn't matter." She shook her head. "The posse, had apparently, taken me hostage in hopes that I would sign the deed over to Palpatine along with all other assets that came with my mother's death."

"Your mother?" he asked. "I thought this was about your father."

"My father owned the land, but my mother was from an old New York family," Leia murmured, seeming uncomfortable by the fact. "A family with money. Money that is now, in the event of her death, mine."

"Ah, so," Han said, nodding as a slight chuckle escaped him. "You're a regular American princess."

"No," she insisted that heated fury breaking her from her melancholy story. "No. I am a woman who needs to reach that outpost, and you are the man who's going to take me there."

That intensity, he found, was both enticing and infuriating to him. She was already speaking to him as if she were in charge. He felt as if he had been struck in the face by her bluntness as he stared her, feeling slightly slack-jawed by the interaction.

Mostly, though, because she was right. He would be taking her to that outpost. Seven-hundred dollars, he knew, would be more than enough to help him blow out of the territory. Far from Jedidiah and his men, far from the past that seemed to be dogging him at his heels.

"Two-hundred now, and five-hundred when I drop you off at that outpost?" he asked.

She gave him a firm nod, meeting his gaze once more with shining obsidian.

Damn, those eyes…

"Then, I'm your man."

"It'll take at least fortnight to make it up there by foot," Leia insisted as she took quick, short steps to run along Han's long pace. She clung to her skirt, praying that by some miracle, her dress would stay clean. Meanwhile, his dog danced around their feet.

They had exchanged the money in the saloon, a quiet exchanging of hands. He had taken the two-hundred dollars without a second thought, making her wonder if she had offered him too much. He thought himself just a highly paid chaperone, it seemed, rather than a hired gun no matter how she explained the situation. She didn't know if he was a fool or just arrogant. She was starting to think that it was likely both.

The moment that the railroad baron knew where she was heading, she had no doubt that his scarred lapdog would be on their heels, chasing them all the way to Yavin. It had been a week since the incident and she still dreamed of him, his fierce eyes that in the light of the fire had glowed like embers. He had looked through her as if she were nothing.

"Be grateful, girl," he whispered in her ear, chilling her despite the roaring heat that rolled off of El Dorado. His voice was raspy, crackling like the flames before them. "That you don't share the fate of your pathetic father."

If Old Ben and that boy, Luke, hadn't come when they had—

"Good thing we're not going on foot," he answered, breaking her from her reverie, not sparing her a glance as she struggled to keep up with his gait. In the darkness of the bar, he hadn't seemed like much. He'd seemed to be nothing more than another scoundrel wasting his Sunday in a house of debauchery.

In the light of the sun, away from that saloon and the criminals that crawled within it, he was almost handsome. If he found a razor to properly shave the stubble on his cheeks and a fresh pair of clothing, he would have been dashing. Instead, he was shabbily dressed in the most well-worn duster she had ever seen, paired with dusty trousers, and a shirt that she assumed that was once white.

"We're going by carriage?" she asked, unable to hide the hopeful tone in her voice. At least that would mean that her last dress would most likely stay clean, and she wouldn't have to spend the two weeks trying to make unpleasant conversation with Han. So far, from what she had seen, he wasn't entirely likeable and he didn't really seem to keep good company besides for his dog, Chewie.

How Old Ben had met him, she didn't know, but she found herself to be more and more curious the longer she spoke with Han. Old Ben had been an old war hero from the way her father had spoken about him. Why he was associating with the likes of criminals was beyond her. Why he had recommended Han Solo as her escort, that was even further beyond her, but she owed him her trust.

"Ah… no," he replied as he slowed his pace as he ran a hand over the back of his neck, seeming to be lost in thought for a moment.

"Then we're going by horse?" she asked.

"Sort of."

"What do you mean, 'sort of?'"

"I have one horse," he answered as he turned to look down at her once again. "So, unless you want to go and purchase a horse… we'll be riding together."

"I gave you all the money I have," she breathed, blinking as she shook her head. "I don't have the money for another horse. Not until we reach that outpost."

He rose a brow suspiciously, but didn't question her as he turned to start walk once more. "Then, princess, you'll be riding with me. Falcon can hold two, don't worry about a thing. Just make sure to hold tight. She's fast."

Glancing back at her, he shot her a cocky grin. In that instance, she wanted nothing more than to smack it from his face. She also made a silent vow that she would never be holding tight to Han Solo. He was cocky, arrogant, and, by the sound of gunfire in the saloon that had erupted when she had entered, a killer. The latter, though, was the least of her worries. If anything, it was one of his few qualities that made her sure that her seven-hundred dollar investment wouldn't go to waste.

Finally, they approached a brown stock horse drinking at the trough.

"She's fast?" she asked, a frown on her lips.

"She made the Kessel run in twelve miles!" Han scoffed as he started to saddle up the creature. He shot her a disbelieving look before waving off her concern.

"I don't know what that means," she sighed as she placed her hands on her hips as she watched him prepare the horse.

"The trail is sixteen miles," he explained, talking slowly as he once again treated her as if she were a child. "I managed to cut off two miles because of this hardy girl. We went off path and beat the boys we were racing by nearly half an hour." He patted her side lovingly before he turned to face Leia. "Do you know how…" He gestured at the horse.

"Of course, I do!" she huffed as she approached the creature. It was a clumsy feat, to say the least. While she did know how to ride a horse, her short stature had always made it nearly impossible to get up on her own. If anything, she had always preferred traveling by carriage. She could study and read within a carriage. She didn't need him to know that. What she didn't want, was the teasing that seemed to spill overflowingly from the rogue's mouth, to accompany her poor mounting technique.

"I bet I could go and get a crate from the general store," he said, covering his mouth as he watched her struggle to get footing. Chewie seemed to bark a laugh at his joke. "A nice box for you to stand on, huh?"

As she fumbled once more, she felt herself slipping back. Instead of meeting the ground, she met Han's embrace. His hands found hers. They were rough, the hands of a man who had worked for everything he had ever earned. As soon as she was safely on the ground, she felt him lower his grip to her waist, lifting her quickly and placing her on the back of the horse.

"You can't just toss me around like I'm luggage," Leia felt a gentle thrumming in her chest. It was unfamiliar and frightening, but at the same time it felt exciting.

"I could have let you hit the ground," he smirked as he climbed in front of her. "Now, you can hold on tight, princess, or you can hope that Chewie's learned how to catch."

"What—?" With a jerk, she felt herself briefly slide before her hands reached for Han, wrapping tightly around him, her face pressed briefly to his back as she caught herself. He smelt of firewood and frontier. "I hate you, Solo!"

"Sure you do, sweetheart."

A/N: Thanks for reading! If you liked it, please follow/fav, and review!