Disclaimer: I do not own The Young Riders

Preface: I humbly recommend listening to Ray LaMontagne while reading this. Perhaps Hold You in My Arms or Be Here Now. Ike really connected with Ray. Started pouring his heart right out while I listened to the amazing Ray.

Ike caught her as she slammed into him and he wrapped his arms around her as he both hit the ground. The collision knocked the air out of both of them and they lay on the ground for a minute just trying to catch their breath. Ike realized his arms were still protectively locked around Polly and he let go, letting Polly scramble away from him and pull her skirt from her knickers.

Ike closed his eyes and looked away, trying to give her as much privacy as one could give a person who was half naked a foot away, but he could still see her in his mind. The knickers didn't actually show all that much, the beige fabric did synch well below her knees, but Ike knew it didn't matter – he'd be thinking about her wearing them, and her not wearing them, for a long time.

"Are you okay?" Polly's voice was quiet and embarrassed and Ike figured it was safe to look. He nodded, still flat on his back, and asked if she was. Polly nodded and Ike wasn't sure, but he thought he saw tears welling in her eyes before she turned away from him.

Pushing up into a sitting position and ignoring the searing pain from his back, Ike reached for her, touching her arm and, when she didn't pull away, he reached under her chin and lifted her face so he could see. Tears were streaming down her face and Ike went still. He had no idea what to do with a crying girl.

Tentatively, he rubbed a hand over her back, but that just seemed to make her cry even harder. Ike pulled his hand away, but it didn't feel right to just let her sit there and cry while he did nothing. He couldn't tell her it'd would be alright or even ask her what was wrong because she wasn't looking at him and, if she was, she wouldn't understand him anyway.

So he did the only thing that he could and the only thing that felt quite natural. He reached over and carefully lifted her into his arms. There was no one around to see, no one ever came this way unless they were riding to Salt Lake City, so Ike let her down in his lap and held her close, letting her bury her face into his chest as he gently rocked her back and forth.

He could have sat like that for hours. One of her hands was knitting in his shirt and the other was wrapped around his back. Her tears wet through to his long johns, but Ike didn't care. He held her tight, a hand on the back of her head and his cheek pressed to her silky hair. He'd never get to hold her like this again, Ike knew, so he might as well enjoy it as much as he could, commit the soft form in his arms to memory.

If he didn't show up in the waystation soon, Teaspoon would send someone out to look for him, but Ike stayed. She stopped crying, but didn't make to move, so Ike didn't move either. He wasn't going to forfeit what he wanted most before he had to. When Polly finally stirred in his arms, Ike let go obediently, giving her space to move away into a proper distance, but her hands didn't let go of him and his eyes flew open when her mouth touched his.

Her lips were insistent upon his and the hand in his shirt fisted tighter while her other hand touched his neck. Her eyes were tightly shut. Ike took two seconds to be dumbfounded before his arms acted of their own accord and wrapped her up again. Holding her closer than he had been before, the kiss deepened and Ike slipped his hands up to cradle the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair.

Ike pulled back for a breath, dropping kisses on her cheeks and jaw before Polly attacked his mouth again. Her tongue touched his lips and Ike didn't think twice before opening his mouth to her, exploring her as much as she explored him. Polly moaned softly into his mouth and Ike's eyes rolled into the back of his head. He lowered a hand down to her hips and had to fist his hand in her skirt to stop him from doing something stupid.

Polly blinked and her eyes went wide.

"Oh my God," Polly whispered and then scuttled backwards off him as quickly as possible. She clambered to her feet and Ike followed quickly, his back screaming at him for moving so suddenly. "Oh my God, what are we doing?"

Polly turned and started running back to town, but she didn't get very far before Ike caught her. She was crying again, scared, ashamed tears that Ike recognized from himself and never wanted to see her cry. He barely knew her, really; he knew her name, how pretty he thought she was, how she was sweet and smart and he really liked kissing her. He also knew that he never wanted to see her in pain and that seeing her cry was like a knife in the chest.

Ike was gentle, careful, as he held her lightly and let her cry until she cried herself out. She stood in his arms, sniffling and trying not to enjoy the way it felt to be held so lovingly, to have her hair caressed and to feel safe in a man's arms. This wasn't hers to keep and she shouldn't let herself get used to it.

"What must you think of me?" The sentence was nearly lost in Ike's shirt, but Ike squeezed her arm slightly to let her know he heard her. "Kissing you like that, you must think I'm some sort of harlot."

Ike shook his head 'no.' He lifted her head and gave her a smile, shaking his head again. He searched in his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, but it was so dirty with dust it was practically brown and they both stared at it for a moment.

Polly laughed first. She laughed so hard and so happy that Ike decided it was easily the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard in his life and he'd do anything to hear it again. Polly's laughter was infectious and Ike found himself laughing right along with her as he tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket.

He wanted to kiss her again, but didn't dare. It was one thing to kiss her after she'd kissed him sitting in his lap, but to kiss her here when they were both fully aware of what they were doing? No, he didn't dare to that. Letting go, he took her hand and tugged in the direction of where Marie had decided to lay down in the shade. Polly stood rooted to the spot and Ike tugged again, motioning for her to come with him with his free hand. Unsure, she took a step and then another, following. When they got closer, Marie stood in anticipation.

"I have to go," Polly tried to pull her hand away. "Reverend Williams is going to wonder where I've been." Ike touched her raw cheeks and turned her hands over to show the scraps. He fingered the rip in her sleeve and then tapped the mailbag over Marie's saddle. "I can't deliver mail!"

Ike started laughing, shaking his head and waving a hand to say that wasn't what he meant. He touched her hair again and then the mailbag, as if that would further explain what he meant. Polly just stared at him. He touched the rip in her sleeve again and mimed sewing it shut, touched the mailbag and pointed in the direction of town.

"You're going to sew up my dress?" Polly's eyebrows were raised and Ike grinned, laughter lighting his eyes. Shaking his head, he touched her hair again. "I'm going to sew my dress? Ike, I'm really confused."

Ike pointed at himself, back towards Sweetwater, then outlined the shape of a woman and immediately realized that was the wrong thing to do. Polly went pale and backed away from him, horrified.

"You have a wife? Oh my God. Oh my God, oh my God. What did I –"

"No!" Ike practically shouted with his hands and he reached to the mailbag again. He didn't know how to make her understand about Emma and everything he was saying was wrong. He didn't have anything to write on, much less anything to write with. Something to write with. Ike broke a thin stick off the branch Polly had broken and tugged her hand, getting her to watch the words he wrote in the dirt.

"Emma runs station. Help you. Fix dress. Hands. Face." Ike didn't bother writing complete sentences and he looked up to see relief across her face just as she covered her eyes with her hand.

"Oh thank the Lord."

A/N:

Ike won't shut up. I was driving and Ike decided to spill his guts to me while I was driving. Asshole. What the heck am I supposed to do while I'm driving? Honestly, Ike. Have some consideration.

But, yes, Ike has a real connection with Ray LaMontagne. I have a real connection with Ray LaMontagne. He's amazing and he makes me cry like a baby. I had to up the rating on this story because Ike got a bit handsy under the influence of LaMontagne. Tsk tsk.

Okay. I'm going to bed because I'm tired and Ike finally shut the heck up. Thanks so much for reading and lemme know what ya think!

Love, Thalia

P.S. My lack of sleep is all your fault and I hate you with my entire heart. xoxo