A series of (mainly) Mattie and LaBoeuf-centric drabbles and snippets. True Grit threatened and destroyed my writer's block, and I'm thankful for it. I cannot put into words how much I love Rooster Cogburn, Mattie Ross and our favorite Texas Ranger.
Mumford and Sons really encouraged my obsession, they just go hand in hand. Also, this first snippet was inspired slightly by the Coal Miner's Daughter. If you've seen it, you'll know what I mean!
Thank you for reading and reviewing
Author's Note: I own nothing. And I mean it.
Sunlight was steadily filtering into the bedroom as he stood there, waiting. But she had not, and would not, budge.
Her right hand was placed gently on her tweed skirt; she was absorbed in staring at the silver hand-hewn wedding band that bedecked the ring finger she had.
"Mattie? You comin'?" He prodded gently.
She raised her dark stare and he flashed her an impeccable grin that he reserved for special occasions. LaBoeuf hadn't realized that the morning after their wedding would be warranted as yet another 'special occasion'.
Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head. Her unruly locks swayed, as she had yet put her hair up in any sort of fashion.
Unruly hair that might have been attributed to how he had manhandled it the prior evening, along with a few -ahem- other items.
"You can't stay in here for eternity. You'll starve." Thoroughly he enjoyed this, their camaraderie. The banter between them that stood as a guise for the desire they craved from each other. As he should, undoubtedly. Since a lifetime of it awaited him.
Her gaze was steady. "Eternity, Mr. LaBoeuf? In a boardhouse bedroom? Truly you know me better than to throw such ill-mannered exemplifications my way. Eternity? No. For as long as I damn well please? Why, yes."
Her sudden and sharp curse made him chuckle, and she threw him a glare.
"May I ask to why all the fuss?"
Were all young brides this queer? He could only imagine whatever else nonsensical lay before him. Horsefeathers, it was. It also didn't help matters much that his extensive knowledge of young brides (and the female species, to be perfectly honest) was fairly new and limited.
She had not answered him yet.
LaBoeuf could hear and smell the bacon frying just beyond the first floor.
Mrs. Hemsworth, the board house keeper didn't look too kindly on those who were tardy to breakfast. But then again, Mrs. Hemsworth had not yet met the iron will of a certain Mattie Ross. He halted and corrected himself. LaBoeuf.
The surname now counted for two.
"They'll know." Mattie lowered her voice to just above a whisper. And before he could ask, she finished with: "They'll know what we have been doin' in here." She blushed.
"We have more than a day's ride to Yell County. I insist you gain your bearings, Mrs. LaBoeuf." And with that his spurs against the floorboards and a final hearty chuckle were all that could be heard.