Cowboy Casanova

Lavender/Charlie

[Off The Block Competition: Butterfly, Extra Hard - write an AU]

[Interesting Words Challenge: Alharaca (Spanish) - an extraordinary or violent emotional reaction to a small issue]

[Book Thief Quote Competition: "If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter."]

[Disney Character Competition: Snow White - write about the results of someone trusting a stranger.]

[Oh The Thinks You Can Think Challenge: Wickersham Brothers - write about a bully.]

[Duct Tape Challenge: Mustache - write about what a person finds attractive in an ideal spouse]

He's a good time Cowboy Casanova

Leaning up against the record machine . . .

Lavender Brown hated everything about the saloon.

She hated the way it smelled, and the way it got crowded and stuffy after three o'clock, and the undignified way the patrons behaved. She hated cleaning the sticky counters once they'd closed up for the night. She hated all of it, and every single day she asked herself why she hadn't left yet.

(She already knew why: if she left, he'd never be able to find her again.)

Ronald Weasley had come into the tavern years ago, when she was sixteen and still pretty and not yet scarred by long hours of hard work. He'd walked in, tipped his hat back to reveal a head of tawny hair, and asked for three things: a chair, a bourbon, and her name.

She was hooked from day one.

She hadn't even realized how much he meant to her, not back then, not until after he'd left, and she would have given anything to go back to the blissful oblivion of the days when she'd mistaken love for laughter.

But Ron had only stayed for a month, and then he was gone again, leaving behind a kiss on her lips and a promise to return. So here she was, three years later, standing behind the same sticky counter and glancing up at the door every so often, just in case.

"Lav," one of the drunken patrons called, waving his glass in the air. "More rye!"

"Not until you pay off your tab, Greyback," she said.

He snarled. "I'll pay it off when I pay it off. Fill me up."

She shook her head. "I can't. Not until I have my money."

He slammed his glass down hard on the counter. It shattered. The saloon went silent. "This is a dangerous game you're playing."

Lavender stood her ground. "Pay up, Greyback. You owe more than half the people in here combined."

He reached across the counter, hands bent into claws, and caught her by the collar of her blouse. "It would be a shame," he said, baring yellow teeth, "if something happened to you, Lavie. A real - "

"Is this man bothering you, Miss?" came a voice from the door.

At first, all Lavender could see of him was his tawny hair, and her heart positively leaped.

But it wasn't Ron. He was shorter than Ron, and a little huskier, but he had a stronger jawline and a wicked gleam in his eye. "Put her down," the man said lazily, drawing a silver pistol from a holster and aiming it at Greyback's heart.

Greyback didn't let go of Lavender. "You won't shoot," he said, rolling his eyes. "You aren't that stupid."

Lavender took advantage of the distraction to pull her fist back and hit Greyback as hard as she could. Her blow landed just below his left eye; if he'd been sober, he would have been able to keep his hold on her, but with four drinks in him the force of her punch sent him reeling backwards. "Get out of here," she said, sweeping the broken glass from the counter with her dishrag. "And don't come back without my money."

The man kept his gun trained on Greyback until he slunk out of the tavern and into the dusty twilight. The noise in the bar picked up again, and Charlie walked up to the counter. "Are you all right?" he asked Lavender, pulling off his hat.

She nodded. "Ron?" she whispered, just in case.

But the man only blinked. "Charlie," he said, extending his hand. When she took it, he pressed his lips to her fingers. "And what do you call yourself?"

Mrs. Ronald Weasley. "Lavender."

"Lavender. Like the color." He leaned against the record machine. "That's beautiful."

She gave him a smile. "Thank you. And thank you for helping me."

He pushed a hand through his hair. "My pleasure. You didn't need much help, to your credit."

"I can handle Greyback," she said. "He's not as tough as he acts. Flick him on the nose and he whimpers, just like any other dog."

Charlie laughed, and just for a second she saw Ron in his face.

"So what do you do, Charlie?"

"I work with horses." He gestured outside, where a black bronco was tied by his bridle to a feeding trough. "Train 'em, breed 'em. What can I say, I'm a sucker for anything wild." And he made a point of looking her up and down.

And when she squinted, he looked just like Ron.

"Would you like to come upstairs?" she said before she could think about it.

Charlie raised his eyebrows. "Depends," he said after a moment. "Will you be joining me?"

She smiled and picked up his hat off the counter. "You wild horses couldn't stop me," she said, dropping the hat over her head, and he grinned and followed her up to her room. And she knew that lust didn't necessarily promise love - she'd gone to bed with Greyback enough times to know that - she couldn't help but hope. Because her Ron had mysteriously showed up on a horse, too, and he'd stayed for a month; maybe the stranger who looked like her Ron would decide to stay forever.

(When she woke up the next morning, he was gone.)