Author's Note: Hey ya'll, we're coming up on summer and seeing as how I'm trying my best to fail my finals I thought I'd start a new story for you, and myself, of course. Jokes aside, I'm hoping I can keep this one running through the summer, and finish it too. Either way, hope you review and favorite and follow and everything else like that!

Also, I live in the south now so y'all're gon' be hearin' Mr. McCree speak like a right southern gentleman. Or like a good ol' boy, 'cause why in the hell not?

Chapter One: Good Girls Are Made Of…

"Whiskey on ice." It sounded strange on her accented tongue, much too coarse and unrefined for a woman such as she to be ordering, but there it was all the same. Getting lost in the middle of nowhere New Mexico will do that to a girl.

"Comin' right on up for you, darlin'." Said the bartender, but not before shooting her a strange glance.

Could she blame him? There she was in some little southern saloon, dressed like she should be out shopping on the champs elysees, which she would really rather be doing, mind you. "Go see the Grand Canyon," they said. "It'll be fun," they said.

She downed a strong shot of liquor just as the bartender placed it in front of her. Angela just barely heard him whisper "oh boy" after witnessing that.

Whatever. She'd had a long day. And now she needed a strong drink. Particularly if she was supposed to be shacking up in this dump. Angela was beginning to wonder if it would really be that unsafe to sleep in the rental car…

Another swig.

She should be slow with her alcohol, she knew. She was very well aware of the side effects of drinking, and yes, she recognized that she was a slender woman, and of course, of course she understood that because she hadn't drank much in the past the whiskey was going to hit her fast and hard.

She knew all that, but sometimes a woman needs to relax.

So she tipped back her head and set the cold glass of whiskey to her mouth.

She might have pinched her nose too, to down it without flinching, but who needed to know that?

"You're workin' mighty fast on that whiskey there miss." Noted the bartender.

"Never you mind what I'm working on." She waved him off.

He started to wander off, but not before adding, "All I'm sayin' is that that tarantula juice will do you in real fast, you hear?"

She coughed dramatically.

"This what?!"

He chuckled. "Oh, I, er, should'a know you ain't from 'round here given that accent o' yours and-"

But the bartender never did finish his sentence. From the sound of it, someone had stepped into the dim, dusky, and heavily under-populated joint, and judging based on the expression of tarantula juice man, they were someone to be feared.

Angela turned her head curiously towards the door to come eye to eye with what she suspected were, in the western tongue, "outlaws."

There were only three, which surprised her. She figured three gang members, at least she had assumed they were gang members based on their scrappy dress and the bartender's reaction, were not that many to strike such fear into the man. Also, didn't they tend to travel in bigger packs than that?

"Howdy Tucker." Smiled a charming looking man in the front. He was likely somewhere in his twenties, had a scruffy beard, tanned skin, and a cigar hanging lazily out of his mouth. There was no denying the newcomer was the handsome sort, what with his tall stature, broad shoulders, and strong jaw, but it was his belt that caught Angela's attention the most. It read "BAMF", and she had absolutely no idea what that meant.

"G'day, Jesse." The bartender replied. "Always a pleasure to see you stoppin' by."

Though Angela rather suspected the bartender didn't quite feel that way.

The man named Jesse sidled up to the bar and took a seat beside her, flashing her a heart-stopping smile on his way. At least, it probably would have been heart-stopping if Angela weren't so confused - and curious - by the recent sequence of events.

"Howdy ma'am." He said to her kindly.

But the BAMF man turned back to the bartender before she could respond.

"Tucker," Started the cowboy, "My boys and I are lookin' for a couple a drinks right about now. Long day's ride, you know. That right by you?"

It was then that Angela noticed two more men had stepped menacingly through the door, and the other two that had been there previously had terribly grim expressions on.

"Of course, Jesse." The bartender smiled nervously. "You know my place is always welcome to you."

"Right." The cowboy casually took the cigar from his lips and smeared the butt on the bar. "You'd call yourself a loyal man, that right, Tucker? Always willin' to help out a friend in need?"

"On my mother's grave I would."

The man named Jesse chuckled low and deep and menacingly. Angela thought that was probably a good signal she should leave. Digging through her purse, she found her wallet and extracted an american ten dollar bill.

Placing it on the table, she said, "Thank you for your services. I'll be, uh, going now."

"Well now, that's a mighty foreign accent you got there." Noted the outlaw as he turned his attentions to her. His eyes drifted up and down her body, soaking in her tight jean shorts and silk blouse, as if he hadn't really noticed her before. "German, is it?"

"Swiss." She said politely, making to turn for the door.

But the cowboy didn't let her out of the conversation. "Swiss! My, you're a long way from home, little lady."

"Indeed." She noted. "So I really must be going, you see."

"Hmm." BAMF man considered it for a second. "That red mustang outside yours, darlin'?"

It was. He didn't need to know that.

She took a step backwards, but stumbled slightly from the oncoming effects of alcohol.

"Noticed it were a rental from the barcode on it and all." He remarked casually. "You alright there, miss? Seemin' awful tangle-footed."

"No, I'm not… Whatever it is you said." She scowled strangely at the man. What was even going on?

Angela vaguely noticed the bartender stepping away towards the back while the attention was off of him, and that's when things went bad.

The cowboy had his gun pointed at the bartender in an instant. How he drew it so fast, she had no idea how, but there it was, weapon ready, cocked, and aimed.

She gasped softly.

"Oh no you don't ol' Tucker!" He chuckled. "Ain't done with you yet. Been workin' behind our backs, ain't you? Deadlock Gang don't stand for that, no sir."

The Deadlock Gang?! This was far worse than she guessed.

"Look I'm just an innocent bystander, if you'll just kindly-"

"I ain't done with you yet either, missy." He flashed her another charming smile, although this time it rather scared her instead. "You'll find my man Hal's got a thumb buster pointed at your pretty little head, and we wouldn't want to harm an innocent Angelica, now would we?"

Angelica? Did he know who she was? And had just gotten the name wrong? What on earth?

"My name's not Angelica." She stated confusedly.

The cowboy sighed. "It's a turn of phrase, sweetheart. Means a young, unmarried woman. That is what y'are, ain't it?"

"I guess, but-"

"Jesse, just what in tarnation is taking you so damn long!" Hollered a new voice from the entry way. Angela turned her head to see the man, some weathered looking gang member definitely in his middle years, and one who had not done a very good job at keeping out of fights at that. He was riddled with scars.

"Well boss, I was just about to give ol' Tucker here the business when this young lady done stuck her nose in this mess." The cowboy explained. Curious how she didn't remember sticking her nose in anything, really.

The boss turned his eye to Angela. She stared at the ground.

"She the one with the mustang?"

"I reckon so."

"Right. She comes with." She what? They weren't actually planning on kidnapping her, were they? "You bring her back to the compound, I'll take care of Tucker."

Angela had her phone out faster than one can imagine, dialing her comrades at Overwatch for help.

"Damn it, woman, put that thing down before we shoot you!" Commanded the boss.

"I'm just an innocent bystander I don't see why I need be kidnapped!" She exclaimed, tears welling up in her eyes. "All I wanted to do was see the Grand Canyon but I got lost and now it's night time and I have to stop here and sleep in that stinky car overnight and I just wanted to have a drink and now you guys are kidnapping me, please, please just let me be!"

"This yours?" The middle aged man pulled her caduceus blaster from his jacket.

Her mouth dropped open. They'd broken into the car?! She'd left it in her trunk on account of some concealed weapon law, and since Jack told her she wouldn't have needed it anyways, she'd thought it would have been safest in her suitcase. But, there she was, desperately in need of a pistol.

"As you can imagine, we tend to be awful suspicious of foreigners carrying around weapons in our neck of the woods."

"It's not what you think!"

"That's mighty fine, but like I said, right now, you're coming with us."


It was pretty clear from the way of things that Miss Swiss hadn't too much experience with being fuddled. Now that flush face of hers was awful cute, especially when coupled with her windblown blonde hair and oh-so-tight jean shorts, but the poor woman could hardly stand on her own. And Jesse reckoned her fashion cowboy boots hardly helped, either.

"No, no, no…" And her speech was starting to slur too. Just exactly how much had she drank? "You can't kidnap me! I'm Angela Ziegler!"

"Well, Miss Angela." Jesse smiled at her as he tugged her outside by the upper arm. "I rather do think we can kidnap you. 'Sides, we ain't bad men. We'll treat you right."

Her eyes went wide at that. Poor girl was scared shitless, and yet he just laughed.

"No you don't understand!" She exclaimed, tripping on the gravel outside. "This is an international offense!"

"What, you some high and mighty person up in Switzerland, are you?"

"As a matter of fact, I am!" She tried to hold her head high, but stumbling in the darkness didn't really help with that.

"Well then." He chuckled. "I reckon we ought to be able to rake in a large sum of money for you."

"What no!" She yelped. Damn, she was actually crying, her voice was starting to crack. Not exactly what Jesse had planned. "You'll spend years in prison for this! It's highly illegal."

"In case you hadn't noticed, little lady, our whole business is at least five kinds of illegal."

It was then that the woman decided she'd give up walking altogether. She flopped dramatically on the ground, gathering her knees in her arms.

"Please don't murder me! Or rape me… Or torture me…" She sobbed gently.

Jesse sighed, then crouched down beside her. "We'll treat you right, Miss Angela. Ain't gonna do none of that to you, now get on up and let's go."

"I don't want to." She cried.

The cowboy rolled his eyes. Figures that she'd play difficult, so he did what he had to.

Leaning forward a touch, Jesse scooped the woman into his arms and damn right carried her over to the bikes.

Much to his surprise, she didn't protest. Just cried, mostly.

"Surprised you ain't puttin' up a fit." He muttered as he sat her down straddled across the motorcycle.

"What you, you," She choked on her tears a bit before continuing. "You think I'd try and run away? Try my hand at this god forsaken desert? When you can put a gun to my head?"

Hopping on the bike behind her, Jesse replied, "Well, I always just figured women don't much like being kidnapped."

"We don't!" She exclaimed.

Leaning forward, he pressed his chest flat against her back and revved the engine.

"Then why don't you put up a damn protest?" He asked again.

"It's useless." She cried, clearly exhausted and overwhelmed.

Now, Jesse knew it was awful improper to be getting a rise out of being so close to a pretty woman who he happened to be kidnapping, damn improper indeed. But did that stop him from feeling a twinge of guilty pleasure in his gut? It sure as hell did not.

If Miss Swiss minded, though, she didn't say much. The soft sound of her crying was about all he heard until it was drowned out by the harsh rumbling tone of his bike. They were on the road within seconds. She stayed silent through the whole trip too. Some five minutes after they departed, Jesse reckoned her silence was more out of sleep than anything, if the slow rising and falling of her back against him was to be trusted.

They chugged up to the warehouse in the suburbs of Santa Fe some three hours later. The Swiss lady was still out cold, and poor Jesse was feeling rather beat himself.

Popping the kickstand, he dismounted, and nudged the blonde riding with him in the process.

"Up and at 'em, Miss Swiss." He said to her.

But she just groaned in reply, falling backwards slowly, as if she was trying to settle her back on the bike and return to sleep. As it happened, that didn't work out too well for her.

She tried to adjust to make herself comfortable, but in her half-asleep stupor she started to roll off the bike instead, flailing as she fell towards the ground. Luckily enough for her, Jesse was there to save the day. He caught her by her waist as she fell and made to hoist her up so that she could stand. Turns out, Miss Swiss had something different in mind.

As he wrapped his arms around her midsection to support her, she snaked her arms around his neck, pulling herself towards his body. Then, most surprising of all, instead of trying to stand, she coiled her legs around his hips and clung to him like some kind of monkey.

Well, Jesse rather tried to think of her as a monkey then, seeing as how other interpretations would have her pressed up against the wall and him with his pants around his ankles. Not that he would have minded, but Jesse was a gentleman, damn it, and he wasn't in the practice of taking advantage of drunk women, even when he really wanted to.

And god damn did he want to.

Just thinking of her flush with the wall, light blonde hair tousled and mouth open breathing out a steady stream of small gasps from his ministrations, well, it made him ache something mighty furious.

Best to get off of that line out thought while he could. Jesse McCree weren't no rapist or molester of innocent women. So he set his eyes to the paved road in front of him, put one foot in front of the other, and began walking on over to the warehouse. But when Miss Swiss cradled her nose in the crook of his neck, her slightly parted lips tickling along his skin, it took about all the fucking willpower Jesse had in him not to set her against the bike right then and there and get down to business. He just let out a soft, strangled groan instead.

"Angela." He used the name she'd given to him back in the bar to try and rouse her from her drunken stupor. But just why in the hell was he trying to do that? To get a beautiful foreign woman off of him? Damn he considered himself a certified fool sometimes.

She just mumbled incoherently in reply, moving her lips teasingly along his skin, and Jesse decided he'd better not try anything else.

Carrying the woman proved to have its own set of difficulties as well. She had not latched on to him in a particularly secure manner, and slowly began to slide town his torso. At first, Jesse had it in mind to just let her fall and see her ass flop on the ground after she'd tested him like that, but then that area between her legs, you know which, slid at an agonizing speed right over his crotch and - fuck did she just moan?

Her tongue flicked against his skin. Well, at least, Jesse was pretty fucking sure it was her tongue, what else would it have been? And she sucked in a small sip of breath, softly, as if she knew exactly what was going on and fuck Jesse if that didn't turn him on like who knows what.

So obviously he had to readjust.

A small part of him, no, actually, a really fucking large part of him hated himself for hooking his arm below her rear side and hoisting her back up (it maintained that he should have at least set both of his hands to her ass, but Jesse knew that was far too perilous), his spare arm coming around her back and setting her to him securely, just so that he could keep hold of the last bit of sanity he had.

And fortunately enough for him Miss Swiss decided not to torment him much more, allowing him to get up the steps without too much trouble and set her down on a spare bed easily. She even detached herself from him without protest, which kind of disappointed him.

The woman rolled around on the bed as if she were enjoying its comfort, although Jesse knew very well that had to be one of the worst mattresses in the compound. Taking that as his queue to leave, Jesse turned towards the doorway, wondering exactly how he was going to rid himself of the raging erection he had recently acquired.

But damn him if he thought he was going to get away that easily. A small, soft hand caught his wrist and a delicate, sleepy voice said, "Please stay."

Oh and he knew it was a mistake, he knew. There was nothing good that could come from sleeping with your kidnappees, even if you don't fuck them, especially if you don't fuck them, but damn him, his composure was already worn too thin.

So, instead, he replied with a simple, "Ok," tore off his jacket and boots, and hopped into bed beside her.

Almost immediately, she rolled towards him and cradled into his chest, her head lying gently on his pectoral with her soft blonde hair scattered in disarray.

He sighed. It was going to be a long night. But, unfortunately for Jesse, it was going to be a hell of a lot longer than he thought.

The Swiss woman let loose a content breath as she settled into his body, clearly feeling comforted and at ease. Then, just when Jesse though he might, just might, be able to find some way to fall asleep, she said to him, in a voice that was equally endearing as it was sexy, four words that never left his mind.

"I love you, Jack."