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Chapter Text

Charlotte wouldn't consider Annesburg a pleasant town. Ashy and unwelcoming, the mining factory didn't allow its presence to be ignored. Charlotte usually avoided it all together whenever she had to come to town for supplies. She'd skip straight to Van Horn. It was smaller and full of more drunks, but at least she wasn't dusted in soot by the time she left.

She had just reached the post office when a young man arrived driving a cart.

“Miss Balfour!” he greeted cheerfully.

“It's missus, Johnny. And good morning to you.” He was a farm laborer who always seemed to catch her in town despite her rare stops. She had to remind him every time she saw him that she was a widow. At first, it had stung to have to inform him, a constant reminder that she was out here on her own. But, nowadays, it served as a way to keep people at a distance.

“You're in town awful early.”

She nodded. “I'm expecting a package from Saint Denis. On my way, I thought I'd go out on a short hunt.”

Johnny hopped from the cart and grinned at her. “I'm doing the opposite. I've got some deliveries to send out for Mr Easton.”

She opened the door for him as he balanced three boxes and then followed him in.

“Here's your mail, Mrs Balfour.” The mail clerk slid a thin box across the counter.

She took it from him. It was nothing more than a book. Worthless to some, but she'd wanted to get back into reading again. Three weeks ago, it hadn't stopped raining for two days and she'd been bored out of her mind, trapped in her house with only cleaning and cooking to do.

She went to turn away when the mail clerk added, “Oh, one more thing for you. A letter, from Chicago.”

She cringed, but accepted it with a thanks. She stared at the letter from her family. An ache started in her heart. She missed them, she truly did, but she didn't look forward to reading this. Her mother always wrote a lengthy essay trying to convince her to return home. She just didn't understand Charlotte could never go back.

That life wasn't hers anymore. She couldn't be the mild-mannered daughter who attended weekly dinner parties and giggled with friends. She wasn't that person now, if she ever was. She now knew that life was stifling. She hadn't realized until Cal pulled her from it that she'd been miserable in Chicago.

While she was stuck mulling over tossing the letter and claiming to her mother it had been lost in the post, the mail clerk and Johnny struck up a conversation. Something about gun shots keeping them up and the lawmen.

“Could you hear all that shooting from up at the farm, boy?” the mail clerk asked.

“Oh, yes, sir.” As Charlotte reached the door, Johnny directed a question her way. “You see all them Pinkertons come through town, Miss Balfour?”

“Missus,” she corrected automatically before processing what he asked. “What's this now?”

“Pinkertons!” he said excitedly. “They've been chasing a gang of outlaws from Van Horn and up to the hills west of here. Apparently, they were hiding up in them caves the Murfrees been livin'. They're probably getting taken in today.”

A gang? She shuddered. She'd faced a pair of Murfrees in this area on one hunt. She'd scared them off and hadn't come across anymore for a few months. Usually, she contended with bears, wolves and a cougar once. Now, she had to worry about gangs?

The mail clerk shook his head. “If Pinkertons is involved, then they ain't getting taken in, son.”

Johnny's eyes boggled. “Really?”

“It is a shame too,” the mail clerk sighed. “There was a friendly enough cowboy running with them outlaws.”

“You mean that feller with the white stallion?”

Charlotte stilled at his words. “White stallion?”

Arthur had a white stallion. How many men did? He was proud of that horse. Was he truly a member of a gang? She'd always known he was a rough and tumble type, but he'd always been kind to her and it didn't stop her high regard of him.

“I didn't know he was in a gang,” Johnny's eyes widened further. “He was always so helpful.”

“It just proves that you can't trust no one.”

Charlotte remembered one of the last times she'd seen Arthur. He'd come up to the house, checking in on her. When she'd called him a good man, he'd denied it.

If he was being chased by the law, was he even still alive? The question had her heart wrenching. No matter his crimes, he was a good friend, the most trusted person in her life here. So much so, she'd never felt as if she'd properly repaid the debt she owed him. He'd lifted her up, saved her at her lowest, most vulnerable point. She had no qualms admitting she'd be dead if not for him.

That settled it in her mind. She wouldn't be much help in a shootout, but if he was injured or needed a place to lay low from the law, she could supply that. She would repay the good deeds he'd done for her.

“Where is this gang hideout?” She hadn't been following the continuing conversation so her interruption startled Johnny and the mail clerk.

The mail clerk's brow furrowed. “What you want to know a thing like that for, missy?”

“I think you know, sir.”

Johnny gaped. “You want to go to the hideout, Miss Balfour?”

Charlotte looked between the two resolutely. “I have to see if a friend needs my help.”

Chapter Text

What was she thinking? Was this the most foolish thing she'd ever done? Her heart pounded faster than the hoof beats of the horse in front of her.

Charlotte hadn't left Annesburg alone. When she'd determinedly proclaimed she was headed to Beaver Hollow, Johnny jumped in and insisted on taking her. He offered her a ride in his cart and while it wasn't as quickly as she wished to travel, she was grateful she didn't have to walk the distance, especially when the sun hadn't risen yet.

Twice on the path, Pinkertons passed them, racing past as if the devil was hot on their heels. When her and Johnny reached Beaver's Hollow, he slowed the cart. There was a camp set up, in disarray and at its bare minimum. Her gaze worked frantically, eyeing every face, looking for Arthur. But none of the dozen men searching the camp and going in and out of the cave mouth, were him. Charlotte looked to the brightening sky. Was his absence a good thing?

“What do you want to do now, Miss Balfour?”

An array of gunfire sprayed from the west and Charlotte's eyes trailed, across the river. Should they push on? She sighed. Perhaps, this was all a fool's errand.

“We don't need to stick around, Johnny. Take me home, if you wouldn't mind.” She pointed. “Continue on the trail so you don't have to turn the cart around.”

He set the horse in motion again and they moved onward. Charlotte inwardly scolded herself. What had she been thinking? Foolish, foolish girl, her mother would tell her if she were here. Reckless, her father would say, and she couldn't afford to be reckless out here.

As they crossed the river, Charlotte's attention was drawn when the cart veered left. She said immediately, “You should've taken the right fork, Johnny.”

He pulled on the reins, but the turn was already complete. “Sorry, miss.”

Charlotte studied the narrow path. “It's fine. This trail will eventually converge in the correct direction. Just keep on and take the next right.”

“You sure do know you way around these woods.”

She smiled, feeling some of her tension slip. “I have a map at home. When I don't have much to do, I study it.”

“You know,” Johnny said slyly, “if you'd let me take you out Miss Balfour, you'd have plenty to do.”

The sound of continuous gunfire saved her from responding. It was louder now, as if they were traveling closer to the action, rather than farther away.

Charlotte slipped her rifle off her back, just in case they ran into trouble. It was hard to see if anyone was in the trees, but she kept her eyes sharp. The gunfire went on for a few more minutes before abruptly stopping. They were passing a bluff on their left when she saw something that made her stomach drop.

It was a horse, its body collapsed on a hill. The white stallion wouldn't be difficult to miss except on a snowy hillside. There was blood and the saddle remained. Higher on the hill was a second dead horse.

“Stop, Johnny.”

He led the cart to the side of the trail. Charlotte jumped down and went to the poor animals. As she approached the horses, there was no way to deny this horse was Arthur's. She hoped it hadn't suffered. Tears pricked at her eyes. Where was Arthur?

They heard hollering and a shabby blonde man with a long yellow mustache came tearing down the hill in the distance. He looked back up the cliff, but not their direction before disappearing into the woods. Three Pinkerton agents chased after him in the next moment.

“I think we should get out of here, Miss Balfour.”

He was right. They couldn't linger here. Even if there hadn't been a battle between the law and a notorious gang, this area was known for wolves. As for the agents, the men at Beaver Hollow were sure to arrive as back-up with more fire power.

“Miss Balfour, we shouldn't stay any longer,” the farm boy repeated nervously.

Charlotte gazed upward, at the rock formation. The sun was shining on it now. She turned to the cart to rejoin Johnny, took one step and then abruptly changed her course towards the rocky cliffs.

“Miss Balfour!”

“I'll be right back,” she called over her shoulder.

She'd get some height, to see if Arthur was nearby. She climbed. It wasn't difficult terrain, except that she was in a skirt. She struggled up the boulders. When she crested the top, she paused to catch her breath. She looked around. Nothing. The area was flat, with some quashed flowers as evidence someone had been through, but no one was here. She felt a fool after all her efforts.

She stared at the surrounding area in shock. The sun revealed dead Pinkerton agents strewn across the mountainside. This had been a deadly last stand for those men.

“Miss Balfour!” she heard Johnny's voice echoing on the other side of the hill.

She supposed she'd better reassure him before he abandoned the cart and made his way up here too. She strode over the trampled flowers, to the side of the cliff where Johnny would be standing below.

That's when she found Arthur.

There, on the ground, facing the sunrise. He looked awful, as if someone had tossed him off the mountain and he'd tumbled on every rock all the way down. Was he even breathing?

She dropped beside him, putting her hands out, but paused and curled them closed again. She wanted to lay a palm on his chest, but fear took hold. Memories surfaced, traumatizing images of her husband Cal's slashed body. He'd been mauled by a bear, but he hadn't died instantly. For two days she'd begged God hour after hour for Cal's survival. It had been all for naught.

Her nightmarish memories halted when she heard a rattling, wheezing sound. There was the slightest rise of Arthur's chest. He was breathing. “Arthur?”

He didn't open his beaten eyes. He didn't respond at all.

She stood and spotted Johnny and the cart. She called out frantically, “Johnny! I need you up here.”

The young man took off at a run towards the base of the cliffs.

Charlotte went back to Arthur, kneeling beside him. She rested a palm on his bearded jawline, telling him softly, “I'm here to save you, Arthur.”

Chapter Text

Her and Johnny loaded Arthur as carefully as they could, carrying him cautiously down the cliffs and resting him in the cart. Charlotte jumped in beside Arthur, bracing him so he wouldn't shift carelessly around when they moved.

“Should we take him into Annesburg, Miss Balfour?”

She bit her lip. There wasn't a doctor in Annesburg. Not a good one anyway. The man worked for the mining company and only tended to mining-related injuries. The nearest legitimate doctor was in Saint Denis and that would be at least a full day's ride. But Charlotte wasn't giving up yet.

“Drive to Willard's Rest, Johnny.”

He frowned. “Your place?”

She wasn't sure the extent of Arthur's involvement with the Pinkertons, but she didn't want him captured or killed in Annesburg. She told him firmly, “I'll tend to him there.”

Charlotte wasn't altogether without knowledge. Her father was a doctor. If she were a man, she would have joined the profession too. Right up until she'd met Cal, she'd worked in her father's office. Mostly, she had handled his appointment book, but she'd been utilized more than a few times when her father needed an extra hand and his assistants were out of the office.

Johnny pushed the horse to its limit. Luckily, the trail heading north to Willard's Rest wasn't nearly as rocky and hilly as the cliffs near Beaver's Hollow. Johnny concentrated on the road, leaving no room for conversation.

Charlotte focused on Arthur, holding him tight when they went around corners so he wasn't thrown against the cart wall. She couldn't do a true examination of him in this bumpy wagon, but the swelling and bruising on his face told a grim tale. His fists were bloody and his clothing was also splattered in blood. His or an enemy's, she didn't know. She couldn't see any bullet wounds, which had her hopeful. None of his limbs were bent at an odd angle so maybe nothing was broken.

When they reached her house, Johnny jumped off the cart and together they carried Arthur inside, in the extra bedroom. Charlotte started removing his boots and opening his buttoned shirt to inspect his injuries.

“Bring in that basin by the sink, will you? And a washcloth.”

Johnny went to fetch both. He set the tub with water on a chair in the room and handed her the washcloth. “He sure must mean a lot to you if you're going to all this trouble.”

“Yes,” she answered softly as she dipped the cloth in the water. “He saved me when I was at my most helpless. I owe him a life debt.”

“If he means that much to you, I might know someone who can help,” Johnny said hesitantly. “The rancher I work for has a daughter, who just had a baby. 'Prematurely' is the word they keep using. They paid some fancy doctor from Saint Denis to come stay for a couple weeks to make sure the babe lives. I could see if he'd come by here.”

“That's wonderful, Johnny.” Her spirit lifted. “I'll owe you a favor for this.”

“I'll go fetch him. It'll be faster if I unhitch the cart.”

“Wait.” She dug in her pocket until she came up with cash. She thrust it at him. “Take half of that for yourself and offer the other bill to the doctor. If he doesn't find it enough, let him know I have more for him if he'll make his way up here.”

“This is too much, Miss Balfour.”

She told him firmly, “Just take it and go.”

He nodded. “I'll be back in half an hour, ma'am.”

While Johnny went for the doctor, Charlotte returned to Arthur. She unbuttoned her sleeves and rolled them up. It was time to get to work.

OOOOOOOOO

The doctor who arrived was an older gentleman and clearly travel weary. But Charlotte liked the look of him, professional, with intelligent eyes behind small, round glasses.

“Thank you for coming, Dr...?”

“Barnes.”

“Charlotte Balfour.” She led him into the bedroom on the right, where Arthur lay, shirtless now. He looked a mite better than when Johnny had left, but his breathing was shallow and he was sweating from a fever. She was just grateful his breathing persisted.

His brow furrowed. “Was another physician here?”

“No, sir, this was my doing.” She moved out of his way as she explained, “I cleaned him up, bandaged the worst of the cuts as best I could, but I think his ribs might be cracked. I couldn't bind his chest without help.”

“Hmm.”

His noncommittal reply sent her mind back to when she'd worked with her father. He never complimented her work either, but she'd learned that if he wasn't correcting it, then she'd done well.

Dr. Barnes inspected Arthur top to bottom in silence. A few times, he uncovered her bandages to peek at the injuries. He listened to his lungs with a stethoscope for so long that Charlotte began to fidget.

When he spoke again, it startled her. “I don't recommend we bind his chest. It'll affect his lungs too much and they're strained enough as it is.”

Charlotte nodded and swallowed. “Alright.”

As he was wiping his hands in a second basin of clean water, Dr. Barnes commented, “I know this man.”

She faced him in surprise. “You do?”

“Sure. I diagnosed this fellow with TB months ago. I advised him to come up north and get some rest.” He eyed Arthur critically. “I see he chose to take only some of my advice.”

Tuberculosis. Charlotte cast her gaze to Arthur. If he'd have asked for a place to rest, she would have granted it. She'd told him before, what's mine is yours, and she'd meant it. Had he been too proud to ask? Guilt filled her. She'd seen him sick. Why hadn't she simply offered?

Dr. Barnes moved to the table and started loading his medical tools into his leather bag. “I'll return in a week and help you move him, if you haven't already.”

She frowned and turned to the doctor. “Move him? Do you think his ribs will heal that quickly?”

Dr. Barnes paused. “I'm sorry, ma'am. I thought you realized. There's not much we can do for the fellow. He's been beaten badly. If he doesn't die from pneumonia, it'll be the TB soon enough.”

“TB isn't a death sentence,” she argued. “Not necessarily.”

He eyed her strangely. “Ma'am, I can tell you are an educated woman, from the city even. Maybe, with the proper care right from the get go, he could have prolonged his life. But this man pushed his body to its limit. He doesn't have long in this world.”

“I refuse to believe that.” She knew she sounded stubborn, unladylike, but she couldn't help it.

Dr. Barnes sighed as if he'd heard such denials before and was tired of hearing them. “The best you can do, Mrs. Balfour, is make him comfortable. I'm just saying, for your sake, it would have been better if you'd found him already dead. It would have saved you a lot of inevitable grief.”

Coldly, Charlotte told him, “I think you ought to leave, Doctor.”

Barnes wasn't offended at her tone. He reminded her, “I'll be back next week, before I leave the McKinley's.”

She didn't answer him, didn't look at him as he shut the door behind him. She walked to the doorway, watching Arthur as he lay unconscious. She stood still, held her breath as she listened for his. It was there. A whisper of life, but it was there.

She wasn't a doctor, but she wasn't ignorant either. There was life in Arthur still. Otherwise, he'd already be dead. She and Johnny hadn't dragged him off that cliff side and carted him all the way home just for him to die. She wouldn't allow another man she cared about to die in this house.

OOOOOOOOO

When Dr. Barnes returned a week later, Arthur's fever had broken, most of his cuts had scabbed over and the swelling on his face was down. His bruises had went from dark purple to mostly yellow. After Dr. Barnes examined him, he cast her a frank, impressed look.

“I don't know how you managed it, Mrs. Balfour, but you got him through the worst of it.”

She gnawed her bottom lip. “Then why isn't he awake yet?”

“Now that, I couldn't say for sure.”

Dr. Barnes opened Arthur's eyelids, used a tongue depressor on his tongue, and finally listened to his heart and lungs with a stethoscope. Charlotte didn't have a stethoscope on hand, but she'd listened every morning and evening, ear to his chest, and knew it didn't sound good.

“Has he been conscious at all? Taken any drink or food?” Dr Barnes asked.

Charlotte sat on the bed, then moved to adjust the pillows behind Arthur's head. “I've fed him broth as best I could. He's not awake, but he's not in a comatose state.” She brushed some of the hair out of his face. “He suffers from nightmares. Stuck reliving something terrible. Sometimes, he'll thrash about and work himself into a fit, but he never wakes.”

“Hmm. Only time will tell, I suppose.” Dr. Barnes rubbed his glasses on his vest. “And how are you holding up, Mrs. Balfour? Had any symptoms?”

She turned to face him. “You mean, of TB?”

“It is highly transmissible,” he warned. “Are you having any issues?”

“No.” She looked to Arthur again. “I'm quite familiar with TB. I don't have any symptoms.”

“Yet you appear exhausted. I suspect, from taking care of this man all on your own.”

He could say that again. She'd hardly had a chance to make herself a meal. She was constantly cleaning Arthur's room and the kitchen. Running to the well for fresh water. Changing his bed sheets, which were the hardest because she had to be careful pulling them out from under him. It had to been done daily because he sweated through them by the next morning. Her hair was a mess and her clothing wrinkled.

“Well, I've finished up at the McKinley's. I'll be catching a train back to Saint Denis this afternoon. But, please, write to me should our friend awake. I can mail some tonics your way, if you so desire.” He nodded to her. “Don't forget to take care of yourself now, Mrs. Balfour.”

Chapter Text

Arthur opened his eyes. Sun streamed in from an open window and a warm breeze blew across his skin. He looked down at himself. He wasn't wearing a shirt and a thin blanket covered him up to his chest. Confusion clouded his mind. Where was he?

He turned his head to see the rest of the room. A wardrobe stood against the wall, next to a couple of boxes and a dresser. A chair was set up next to the bed. A pitcher of water and a glass sat on the bedside table. There was gentle humming coming from the other side of the door.

He tried to sit up, but pain struck across his chest. Not the normal chest pain after his coughing fits, but somewhere on the right side of his ribs. Had he been knocked from his horse?

Another glance around the room and he realized he recognized this place. He'd woken up here before. Just as he reached this conclusion, the doorknob twisted and a dark-haired woman stepped in. She caught his eye and froze, her mouth dropping open and her eyes widening.

Charlotte Balfour.

She quickly made her way to the bed and flung her arms over his neck, startling him. “You're awake!” she exclaimed with an excitement no one in their right mind had ever greeted him with.

“It appears so,” he told her, his voice hoarse.

She leaned away from him and dropped her arms, her cheeks pinkening. “Pardon my exuberance, Arthur. I've just been so worried.”

“Worried?”

“I...” she hesitated. “I didn't know if you'd make it.”

He rubbed his jaw, feeling a beard he didn't remember growing. How long had he been out? “What happ--”

And then it all came back to him, walloping him with the force of a horse's hoof to the face.

Dutch...“It pains me to say it, Arthur, but he's right...”

Milton...“You're losing your strength, Mr. Morgan...”

Sadie…“Arthur, there's no time...”

Dutch...“Who amongst you is with me and who is betraying me...”

John...“You're my brother...”

Dutch...“It is over now, Arthur. It's over...”

“Arthur?”

Charlotte's voice brought him back to the present. She'd placed a hand on his arm, a look of concern on her face.

“Why...ain't I dead? How did I get here?”

“I brought you here. Well, me and a farmhand.”

He indicated the bandages. “You did all this?”

“Most of it.” She shrugged, her fingers twisting in her skirt. “A doctor's been here a couple of times. He told me to order some tonics when you woke.”

He remembered Dutch turning away from him, Micah leaving for him for dead. Crawling to the cliffs... “You shoulda left me to die.”

She flinched. He supposed he'd never spoken so harshly to her before. “Please don't say that.”

“It's the truth. I ain't worth the time.”

“I disagree and now that you're awake, you can eat something--”

“I don't give a damn!” he snarled and felt awful the moment the words were out. Before he could fumble an apology, she bristled, abruptly turned on her heel and slammed out the front door.

Damn it. What the hell was wrong with him? Comes back to life and the first thing he does is scare off his caretaker. Arthur flung off the blankets and swung his legs over the side of the bed, groaning at the pain that wracked through him from the simple movement.

He stood, but swayed, clutching the bedpost for support. How was he in so much pain? It was a stupid question. He'd been shot out by Pinkertons, Micah had thrown him off a cliff and nearly beaten him to death.

He gritted his teeth and took a step, jolts of lightning reverberating over him. He pushed on, taking another couple of steps. Pain radiated through him and his legs trembled from the effort.

He stumbled, hitting the wall. He was breathing heavily, and over hardly moving at all. He rested his back on the door frame and thought he couldn't feel worse.

He was wrong.

A coughing fit came over him that didn't want to stop. His head whirled, darkness creeping the edges of his vision. His legs gave out from under him and he slid to the floor.

Somehow, he managed to stay conscious. When his coughing subsided, he tilted his head back against the door frame, using all his energy to heave air in and out. Even that hurt to do.

He'd rest another minute and then...and then what? He was weak. He couldn't walk across a goddamn room, much less find himself clumsily climbing atop a horse. He closed his eyes, imagining the torment if he tried to ride. He'd feel every bump. Hell, by the first turn, he'd probably be passed out and slipping out of the saddle to the ground.

Damn, he was in rough shape. The worst ever. Maybe. Probably. He wheezed painfully, and it mercifully didn't turn into coughing.

“Arthur!”

Charlotte was back. He hadn't even heard the door open. Maybe he was halfway in the grave again already.

She slid to his side. “Are you alright?”

He tried to stand, his foot slipped and he fell on his ass, jarring his whole body again. He groaned.

“Stop!” She pressed her hand to his shoulder. “Stop, before you further injure yourself.”

He glanced up and told her roughly, “I didn't mean to snap at you.”

Her eyes softened. “I know, but I might have expected it. You look like you've been through a lot.”

“To hell and back, it feels.”

“I don't know all that's happened to you, but it won't end here, sir, on this floor.” She offered her hand and added kindly, “Now, come on. Let me help you, Arthur.”

He took her hand, and she heaved him upward with surprising force. Clearly, Mrs. Balfour had only gotten stronger while he'd gotten weaker.

As she helped him walk, she scolded, “You shouldn't be getting up on your own until you get your strength back.”

"It don't matter," he told her bitterly as he eased onto the bed. “I ain't never gettin' my full strength back.”

Unexpectedly, she said, “Because of your tuberculosis diagnosis?”

Likely, that nosy doctor she'd mentioned had revealed the worst of it to her. “Yes.”

She sighed. “Arthur, you won't be bedridden for the rest of your life.”

“It would serve me right if I was.”

She poured him a cup of water and handed it to him. “Tell me this, what was the last thing you were doing before...” she gestured at his injuries. “...this happened?”

He wasn't about to get into particulars over all of that. What little she knew of his life as a gunslinging outlaw were for the best. She might reconsider her stance on keeping him alive.

“Riding your horse?” she prodded when he said nothing. She added teasingly, “Perhaps brawling?”

He grunted and sipped his water, not looking at her.

“Your TB feels worse when you're exerting yourself, pushing your body too hard. With rest and mild exercise, you can get back to a life.”

“You can't know that for sure.”

“The brawling wouldn't be recommended,” she told him with a twinkle in her eye. “But you could ride a horse again. You just have to take it easy.”

“Can't say I'm too familiar with 'taking it easy'.”

“Well, I hope you'll try your best.” Her gaze slipped past him and far away. “We don't all narrowly escape death.”

“I don't know.” He scratched at his beard. “Folk like me don't tend to get second chances at life.”

She refocused on him. “Then please cherish the one that's been given to you.”

She said it so meaningfully that he stopped to think on her words. Aw, hell. She'd been talkin' about her husband. “I don't mean to sound ungrateful, ma'am.”

“It's quite alright.” She straightened. “Now, you haven't had a decent meal in awhile. I'll get dinner ready. Are you up for that?”

“That sounds fine.”

Before she left, Charlotte offered, “How about a book in the meantime?”

“I ain't much for reading.” He was staring out the window, but turned his head in time to see disappointment flicker across her features. Damn. He couldn't deny her. He added reluctantly, “I'm partial to journaling though.”

Her smile couldn't have been any brighter. A real smile, one he wasn't sure he'd seen on her before. “I might have an old sketch book from school. Will that do?”

He leaned back against the bed. “Sound's perfect.”

Her skirts rustled as she left. He heard her rummaging in the other room and closed his eyes as he waited for her return.

“Arthur?”

He opened his eyes. The room had darkened. Had he fallen asleep? Damn. He was weaker than a newborn babe. “How long was I out?”

Charlotte was lighting the lamp beside his bed. “A couple of hours. I would have let you sleep longer, but I want you to eat a full meal.”

That's when he noticed the tray at his bedside table. Food, a leather journal, and pencil. She'd cooked and kept busy while he wasted away.

He sat up, wincing despite his care. “Charlotte, you don't got to go through all this trouble just for me.”

“I don't mind.” Charlotte said easily as she adjusted his blankets and transferred the tray over to him. She smiled. “Besides, it's time I learned what I put my caretakers through during my rebellious years.”

“You, rebellious? You don't seem the rule-breaking type.”

“You'd be surprised.” She chuckled. “I grew up with two brothers and was always getting left out of their games. It makes for a defiant child.”

She was about to leave the room, and he found himself blurting, “Where are you going?”

She paused and looked back. He frowned at himself, realizing he'd expected her company. Don't get greedy, Morgan. She's been more than accommodating. More than he deserved.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I was going to fetch my tray, but I should have asked first. Do you mind if we ate together in here?”

He felt a thousand times a fool. He said gruffly, “'Course I don't mind. This is your house. You do what you want.”

She smiled and left the room to return with her own tray. She settled down in the chair next to his bed.

Even though Arthur wanted her company, he thought it might be awkward conversation, that she would ask him the particulars of what happened to him on the mountain. The likes of which he didn't want to ponder yet. However, he slipped into unexpectedly simple conversation with Charlotte. Mostly, she told him what she'd been up to since they'd last met. She apologized for what she called the 'inadequacy' of the meal, but he didn't mind it. She liked to talk and he found he liked to listen to her.

All in all, it weren't a bad afterlife to wake up to.

Chapter Text

Charlotte provided Arthur a stack of clothing from the wardrobe and he didn't ask whether they had been her husband's or not, simply accepted them with his thanks. Over the next few days, he got up and moved around when he could, which was usually only to use the outhouse. Any more than that and Charlotte scolded him about overworking himself. He would be irritated about it if he didn't grow fatigued just from that little bit of walking.

One morning, Charlotte told him, “You should come outside for some fresh air today, Arthur.” She cleaned up their breakfast and returned to the kitchen. “I'm sure it would do you a world of good.”

“I'll think about it.” Did he want to embarrass himself and faint on the goddamn steps again? It'd happened the first day he'd tried to walk to the outhouse by himself and Charlotte had fussed over him the rest of the night afterwards.

“I have some chores to accomplish today, but I'll join you at lunchtime if you can't make it out.”

Arthur sat in the empty house by himself, trying to journal, but he couldn't think of much to write or draw. He glanced out the window. Nature always inspired him and he did itch to leave the house.

He eased out of bed. It weren't as difficult today, especially since he hadn't had a coughing fit in awhile. He was starting to believe the doctor when he'd recommended rest and relaxation.

There was a plate in the kitchen with some leftover meat and he picked it up for a snack. Next, he collected his journal and pencil Charlotte had provided and walked onto the porch. He settled himself down on the bench, sketching some of the foliage nearby. He watched Charlotte for awhile as she did her various chores on the property. Today, she was taking on clearing the shed. He wished he weren't so useless and could help her, but he still felt pain in his chest if he exerted himself too much.

Arthur closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of the breezy, summer morning. He dozed off a bit, stirring awake when he heard Charlotte walking to the patch of garden she'd started in front of the house. She smiled when she saw him and waved. He lifted a hand in greeting. He watched as she knelt and began her weeding.

After a few minutes, she paused and turned her face up to the sky, her eyes closed as she took in the sunlight. Charlotte had adapted well since he'd last visited. She'd been pale, frail and uncertain when he'd stumbled upon her up here. Now, her skin had tanned, adjusting to a life outside, and her gaunt cheeks had filled out healthily.

Before she moved, Arthur opened his journal and started a sketch, trying to capture her tranquil expression. For the first time since their acquaintance, he realized she was an attractive woman. He hadn't recognized it before, but now, with her features relaxed, he saw she was more than a sorrowful widow.

He'd always liked Charlotte. When her husband got killed, she'd grieved, but she hadn't drowned in self-pity or given up on life. She hadn't even escaped back to the city like she could have. She persevered out here and look at how much she'd accomplished, at the confidence she'd gained. It was a quality he admired in almost anyone.

Something caught his eye on the empty spot on the bench. He turned and found a gray cat trying to snag the meat strips he'd brought out. A dirty, feral-eyed thing with more bones than fur.

He murmured, “Miss Charlotte is just a magnet for strays, ain't she?”

The cat didn't answer, having frozen in place when Arthur had turned his head.

“Go on. You look like you need them scraps more than me.” It was a surprise the thing hadn't become a predator's meal out in these woods. After it finished the bits, the cat didn't flee as Arthur expected. The odd thing padded onto his lap and settled down as if it had done it a hundred times before. Hesitantly, so as not to scare it off, Arthur laid a palm on it, gently stroking its fur.

“You got Puck to come to you.”

Charlotte had made her way to the porch and leaned on a wooden column, wiping her forehead. There was admiration in her voice, as if he'd accomplished some magnificent feat. Charlotte always had a way of making his actions feel more impressive than they actually were.

“Puck?” he asked.

She quoted, “'I am that merry wanderer of the night/I jest to Oberon and make him smile.'” At his bewildered expression, she crooked her own smile. “It's Shakespeare. Puck is a mischievous sprite who likes to cause pranks.” She took the seat next to him and petted the cat too. “Like this one. I've been trying to feed him all week, but he kept running off.”

“I guess he was just tired of running.”

Charlotte nodded and then inquired of him, “How are you feeling, Arthur?”

“I don't know. It seems I keep waking up when I didn't know I'd fallen asleep in the first place.”

“That's good though. It means your body is healing.”

“My body needs to heal a little faster so I don't feel so damn useless around here.”

“I brought in some potatoes, if you want to do some peeling.” She peeked up at him. “That is, unless you consider that women's work.”

“You're tryin' to bait me, but I ain't afraid of making my own food.”

She chuckled. “That makes one of us.”

They settled into a comfortable silence, both watching the trees blowing in the wind. Birds chattered to each other atop the well and the sound of a train whistled in the distance.

Charlotte was close to him, but now she sighed and laid her head on his shoulder, her easy familiarity surprising him. “It's peaceful here, isn't it?”

Arthur looked down at the cat purring in his lap, to the woman leaning on him, listening to the sounds of the woods and the river beyond. He said quietly, “Yes, it's peaceful.”

“Do you like it here, Arthur?” she asked softly.

'Course he liked it here. Probably too much for Charlotte's own good. He could impose on her like this for a long time, if she let him. He wondered what she'd say if he told her that. He wanted to laugh. The woman was so selfless, she'd likely take it as a compliment.

Before he decided what to say, he heard light snoring. She'd fallen asleep on him. Poor woman had worked her ass off this morning. Meanwhile, he'd been sitting here as useless as Uncle. But it was difficult to hold on to frustration when the world was this quiet.

The warmth of the sun lulled him into sleeping too, but he awoke when Puck the cat jumped off his lap, pressing its weight into his legs. He blinked at the lowered sun, drowsily wishing he had his gambler's hat to shade his eyes and continue his nap.

Charlotte stirred and sat up. She stretched and then eyed him guiltily. “Pardon my manners, Arthur. I didn't mean to fall asleep on you like that.”

He grunted, “Didn't bother me none.”

She stood. “Come on, help me start dinner. We've slept straight past lunch and I'm starving."

OOOOOOOOO

Arthur did end up peeling potatoes with Charlotte, as she'd offered. They sat at the table together, peeling in a bucket and sorting the potatoes into a pan.

“Arthur, I've been meaning to ask,” Charlotte said when they were settled. “Do you have any family for me to write, to let them know you're okay?”

Thinking of John, the girls, and Dutch, he said, “I don't know what I got anymore.” He continued peeling. “What most folk call family, died a long time ago for me. There are a couple of people who'd care I'm alive, but where they are is anyone's guess.” He hoped John and his family had made it out and far away. Sadie. Charles. Mary-Beth and Tilly. He wished the same for them too. “There are some who want me alive only long enough to see me swing.” Pinkertons. Micah, if he didn't shoot him first. Maybe Dutch. He didn't know for sure. “I reckon it's best if everyone thinks I died on that mountain.”

Arthur had avoided looking at Charlotte because he didn't want to see her reaction. Whether it be pity or fear. Therefore, it surprised him when her hands covered his. He peered up at her.

She told him firmly, “Arthur, you are welcome here for as long as you want. My home is your home.”

While he appreciated the kindness, he thought she might have missed his meaning. He'd felt bad not being straight forward with her from the start and it was time he corrected that. “I reckon you don't understand what you're offering. What kind of man you're offering your home to.”

She pulled away from him, but slowly. Unexpected, but clear amusement twinkled in her eyes. “Are you implying you're some sort of outlaw, Mr. Morgan?”

“Yes.” Baffled at her expression, he narrowed his eyes. “It ain't a joke.”

She further confused him when she chuckled. “I know you've been a wanted man, Arthur. I saw a poster up in Annesburg months ago.” She eyed him. “Besides, even if I hadn't, you were never exactly...inconspicuous.”

His brow furrowed. “How you mean?”

She snorted and resumed peeling her last potato. “I haven't lived here long, but even I know a man doesn't wear two gun holsters and a bandolier full of cartridges if he's not heading into a gunfight.”

Arthur had thought he'd hidden that part of himself from her well enough. Thought it was the reason she'd welcomed him so readily. “And you ain't concerned? About me? Or bringing the law or worse down on you?”

She paused and said simply, “You've always been a good friend to me. That's what I want to be for you.”

Good friends with an outlaw? Arthur stared at her, at how sincerely she was looking at him. She truly meant it. He shook his head in disbelief. “You're an odd stick, Charlotte Balfour.”

Her mouth dropped open. “I am not!”

He drawled, “The proof is in the deplorable company you keep.”

She plucked up a potato skin from the bucket and flicked it at him.

Arthur clutched his chest as if he'd been wounded. “That ain't no way to treat a house guest.”

“It's how I treat a mouthy one,” she retorted and he had to chuckle. She let slip a smile before she stood and put the potatoes on to boil.

OOOOOOOOO

After dinner, Arthur helped Charlotte clear the table. He wanted to get something written down today and Charlotte mentioned needing to read. She settled across from him, lighting a lantern for the table so they could accomplish their activities before bed.

'I've never lived life this slow before. I'd always gotten restless when there weren't much to do, but these days my body only allows me so much time in a day.

Charlotte's been a saint, don't know how or why she puts up with me, but I like how intently she listens when I got something to say. The woman's heart might be too big though. She knows I'm an outlaw, said she's known for awhile, but it don't seem to bother her. I'd reckon it was ignorance on her part, but Charlotte's no fool. She might not have been born to this kind of life, but she's taken it head on...'

“Damn.”

Arthur looked up from his journal, frowning since Charlotte weren't normally one for cussing. She was perusing a letter, and growing more flustered the further her eyes roamed. She stood abruptly and began pacing the small room.

“What's got you all agitated?” he asked after her third pass in front of him.

Charlotte stopped and looked at him, her brow furrowing. “My family plans on visiting.”

“Your family,” he repeated. For some reason, he'd gotten it in his head that her dead husband had been the only family she'd had. Although, now that he thought about it, he was fuzzily remembering her mention an overbearing father and them two brothers.

“I received this letter the day I brought you here and had forgotten about it until tonight.” She bit her lip. “They're likely in Saint Denis right now.”

“I take it you're not excited to see this family of yours?”

Charlotte started her short, anxious striding again. “Of course, I'd love to see them. They're my family and it has been awhile. It's just...”

Arthur knew where this was going, but she couldn't say it to his face. He was all too aware how he was received by folk in 'polite society'. He stated flatly, “You want me to make myself scarce before they turn up.”

She stopped and turned to him with a frown. “I wasn't thinking that at all.”

Her genuine response surprised him. After all, he'd been through it before with Mary and her family often enough. “What are they gonna think finding me here?”

She rubbed her temple and sighed. “Oh, Arthur. That's the least of my worries.”

He said dryly, “I highly doubt you harboring an outlaw is the least of your worries.”

She sent him a look and sat down once more. “My father is unlikely to travel this far into the country. Not with how severe his hay fever can get. As for my mother...” She fingered the paper absently. “Every letter I've received from her since I arrived has been to try and persuade me to return to Chicago. I've refused her in writing, but what if, when she gets here...” Her eyes met his anxiously. “I won't be able to tell her no?”

Without thinking, Arthur reached across the table and placed a comforting hand over hers. “Charlotte Balfour, I reckon you're a lot stronger than you realize. If you don't want to go, you'll be able to tell her off easy enough.”

She gave him a small smile and turned her hand to squeeze his. “Your faith in my resolve is admirable, but perhaps somewhat misplaced.”

He liked the feel of her hand in his. His were dry and callused, the result of working every damn day of his life. Hers were small and soft, proof she'd only just started a life of hardship. Her slender fingers still yet without calluses. He wondered how they'd feel combing through his hair...

Where the hell had that thought come from? He cleared his throat awkwardly and pulled away.

To hide his inner tension, he teased, “If worse comes to worse, maybe you can scare her off with that cooking of yours.”

Her mouth dropped open in mock offense. “Watch it, Mr. Morgan, or your next meal may contain poisonous berries.”

He scratched his chin, saying lightly, “How I hear it, you are the expert at finding 'em.”

She raised a dark eyebrow. “Then you understand my meaning clearly.”

“Can't say I take too kindly to threats.”

Her lips twitched upward. “Then I expect you to keep the rest of those comments on my cooking to yourself.” She stood again, sighing. “Well, I suppose I had better unearth something suitable I can wear that my mother won't criticize.” She muttered grimly, “I may not return.” She still managed a smile his direction. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

“Goodnight, Charlotte.”

She retreated to her room, closing the door softly and he settled back into his chair, a smile on his face. He liked this. Simple living. He'd always scorned the idea of civilization. He'd thought he'd get bored and disgusted with himself for growing soft. But he reckoned he could settle down in a place like this. A remote cabin in the woods, close to a river and nowhere near town.

That specific image had him pausing. It weren't simple living he liked. It was Willard's Rest, with Charlotte. He liked waking up and hearing her cheery 'good morning', teasing her throughout the day and making her laugh.

He groaned. When had he turned into such a damn fool? Well, he'd always been a fool, but when had he gone so mellow? This soft life weren't for him, never had been. Ain't he learned by now good things his way were short-lived?

Chapter Text

Right on schedule, Charlotte's family arrived in a coach the next afternoon. Charlotte had been tense all day, spending the whole morning tidying the house. Although Arthur didn't think it was any cleaner than when she'd started, he knew when to keep his mouth shut.

To get out of her way, he found a shaving kit, took a stroll to the river and shaved his beard. He wanted to look presentable for Charlotte's sake, even though he had a feeling it wouldn't make much difference. It never did with these uppity types.

When he returned to the cabin, Charlotte had resorted to pacing. He'd never seen her so worked up. However, she paused when he stepped in, stopping mid-stride to stare.

He rubbed a hand across his jaw self-consciously. “Don't tell me I nicked myself.”

She blinked and seemed to come out of her trance. “Um, no. Sorry. I—you look quite handsome.”

He wanted to make a smart aleck retort, but found himself saying instead, “You're lookin' mighty fine yourself, Mrs. Balfour.”

And she did. She'd combed through her dark hair until it shined. Her dress was midnight blue and there was a light floral scent wafting from her direction.

She lifted her gaze. “It appears we both can spruce up well enough when society commands it.”

As her light eyes met his, the surrounding room grew small and Arthur couldn't stop himself from staring. Those eyes fairly mesmerized him. A black strand had escaped her tidy updo, gliding down her cheek. His fingers twitched with an urge to curl the thread behind her ear. Maybe he'd pause to skim his fingers over her cheekbone...

They both heard the sound of a carriage at the same time and it broke the unspoken spell between them. Charlotte flushed and looked away, saying, “That'll be them.”

“Sounds like,” Arthur answered unnecessarily. Get your head out of the clouds, Morgan, he scolded himself.

To cover up his awkwardness, he opened the door for her and Charlotte silently glided past him, pausing on the porch. As she watched the coach coming up, her hands bunched in her skirt, twisting and creating new wrinkles.

Arthur couldn't resist pressing a reassuring hand between her shoulder blades. “Steady now. Best not let them see your fear.”

Charlotte turned a smile to him. “Thank you, Arthur.”

He felt his stomach flipping in reaction to her earnest gratitude. He ain't never met a person so open with their appreciation. Damn near undid him every time.

But he didn't have another minute for cumbersome sentiment as the carriage with two horses pulled up. A man who was tall, thin and dapperly dressed hopped from the driver's seat. His hair was as dark as Charlotte's. Arthur assumed it had to be one of her brothers. Which meant...

“They ain't got no armed guard on their coach?”

Charlotte frowned. “Father can be a bit frugal when he wants to be.”

And the man allowed his family to travel unprotected through the country. Unbelievable. These were just the sort of rich fools the gang had targeted. A small, dormant part of him itched to do it now. He shook his head. Easy, easy marks.

The man opened the coach and helped a silver-haired woman down. Her first expression was an appalled look at the cabin. From the other side of the coach, another dark-haired young man hopped out, staring around with open curiosity.

Charlotte stepped lightly down the stairs and greeted them happily enough. Despite her outward apprehension all morning, she was clearly glad to see them. Arthur hung back on the porch, not wanting to intrude on their reunion.

Soon enough, Charlotte had looped a hand through her mother's arm and was pulling her to Arthur, making introductions.

“This is my dear friend Arthur.” To him, she said, “These are my brothers, Clark and Benjamin. My mother, Mrs. Martha Dorsch.”

He stuck out a hand. “Arthur Callahan, sirs.” He nodded. “Ma'am.” He and Charlotte had agreed he use an alias in case any of them recognized his name from the papers.

They eyed him suspiciously anyway, but these city folk never could resist responding politely to politeness, even if it weren't genuine. First, Clark, the older and then Benjamin, the younger shook his hand.

The mother didn't acknowledge him, but turned to Charlotte and commented immediately, “This is a highly irregular arrangement, isn't it, Charlotte?”

Charlotte pressed her lips together briefly before she said, “Things are done differently out here than the city, Mama.”

Mrs. Dorsch sniffed. “How uncivilized.”

“Just the way I like it,” Arthur said pleasantly.

Mrs. Dorsch shot him a quelling glance and he wished he had a hat to tip at her cheekily.

“Why don't we settle down for some coffee and biscuits?” Charlotte suggested and moved to open the door for her mother.

“Fine, dear. Let me see inside this cabin you're always going on about. It certainly doesn't look like much from the outside.”

Charlotte led her relatives in with Arthur following last. After he entered, he crossed his arms and leaned against the front door.

While her family inspected the main room and then into Charlotte's bedroom, discussing amongst themselves, Charlotte sidled up to Arthur and whispered, “If you wanted to abandon me now, I wouldn't be offended.”

Despite his own uneasiness to these strangers, he grinned. “That wouldn't be very gentlemanly.”

“When it comes to my mother, you have my permission to save yourself.”

“You just say the word and I'll...” He dropped his voice low, deadly. “...frighten 'em off.”

It was the growl he once reserved for threatening people for money and information, for scaring off those that didn't listen the first time.

But all Charlotte did was laugh and smack his shoulder playfully. “Oh, stop it, you. They'll never come back.”

“Ain't that the point?”

The three returned to the main room, cutting off anymore private remarks. After all, it weren't a large cabin in the first place. Mrs. Dorsch and Clark looked offended being here at all, but Benjamin continued his inspection with interest.

Charlotte gestured at the table. “Why don't we all have a seat and I'll get the coffee?”

“You made this place sound a lot bigger in your letters,” commented Clark as he took a spot.

Charlotte said shortly, “I described it exactly as it is.”

While Charlotte poured, Arthur grabbed the basket of biscuits and placed it on the table. Charlotte made it around and when she reached him, she handed him a cup.

“Have a seat, Arthur.”

He'd rather stand, but he accepted the cup and their fingers brushed. For a brief moment, their eyes met and a crackle of the energy he'd felt earlier sparked to life.

But then Mrs. Dorsch cut in, “No sugar?”

Charlotte broke eye contact and turned to her mother. “I'm afraid that's a luxury up here, Mama.”

Clark sat at one end of the table and Charlotte on the other. Mrs. Dorsch took one side for herself and that left Arthur to squeeze in next to Benjamin. At least he had Charlotte to his left, because he felt damn uncomfortable with these posh strangers.

Charlotte addressed Clark, “Are you working at First National now?”

“Yes,” Despite the sour face he'd had since he walked in, Clark practically preened at the attention. “I'm a bookkeeper right now, but I've been working closely with the vice president of the bank. It shouldn't be long until I earn a promotion.”

“That's wonderful,” Charlotte said, too generously in Arthur's opinion. “And you, Benji? Have you decided what you want to go into after school?”

The younger of the brothers looked startled, as if he hadn't expected to be spoken to. “Not fully. But the sociology department at the university seems interesting.”

“That sounds fruitful.”

They went on talking about the different classes Benjamin was taking and schedules and whatnot so that eventually Arthur couldn't follow the conversation fully. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He'd never felt more out of depth in a situation. Not even when he, Dutch, Hosea and Bill had crashed the mayor's party in Saint Denis. These people were wealthy and prized education. He had nothing to contribute to that.

Benjamin asked, “How have you been, Char?”

“Well, I—”

“What a ridiculous question, Benjamin,” Mrs. Dorsch interrupted. “Clearly, she's in dire straits. She's lost weight and her once fair complexion.”

Charlotte's apparently not-fair complexion was turning pink now. “Mama.”

Her mother wasn't finished. “She's wearing old clothes, her hair's a mess and she's marked with freckles.”

Arthur glanced at Charlotte. She did have freckles. Lightly dappling across her nose. What was so sinful about that he had no idea.

“Mama, I no longer mix in society's circles so it's unnecessary for me to maintain certain beauty standards.”

“Not necessary? How outrageous.” Mrs. Dorsch shook her head and then gestured with her eyes at Clark as if to convey something.

With little subtlety, Clark turned to Arthur. “Mr. Callahan, why don't we go for a walk around the property?”

Charlotte protested, “You don't have to—”

“Yes, you boys run along,” Mrs. Dorsch broke in. “I want to speak with my daughter alone.”

Charlotte grimaced and passed Arthur a pleading look, but he couldn't determine if she wanted him to decline and stay or allow himself to get stuck alone with her brothers. One glance at the stern Mrs. Dorsch and he decided he'd take his chances with the brothers.

“It would be my absolute pleasure.” He stood and went to the door, flourishing it open like a right buffoon. “After you, gentlemen.”

Charlotte raised a brow at his antics, but he only winked at her and followed the boys out the door. He led them down the path, heading for the river. He expected some kind of confrontation and he didn't have to wait long.

Behind him, Clark stated noncommittally, “Nice little situation you have here with my sister.”

Here we go. Arthur stopped and faced the two. He missed his revolvers and his hands itched now for their presence on his belt. Not that he had any fear of these city boys. More just wishing for the habit of resting his hands on something. “I reckon, I don't know what you mean by that.”

“Come on. Look what you've got here,” Clark needled. “A nice house, secluded and alone, with a good woman to keep you warm at night.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “It ain't like that.”

Clark scoffed. “You dare to stand there and claim you aren't dishonoring my sister?”

“Char—Mrs. Balfour and I are friends. Ain't nothin' deeper than that.”

“Do you know what I think, Mr. Callahan?”

Arthur crossed his arms. “I didn't know a dandy could think.” He thought he heard Benjamin snicker.

“I think,” Clark went on, “You're hanging around my sister for her money.”

“I don't want nor need none of her money.” All the pursuit of riches had ever done was cause him problem after problem.

“Then why are you here?”

“Charlotte asked me to stay on.” Which was true enough.

“I don't like the idea of our sister alone in the wilderness with some cowboy.”

“I reckon,” Arthur's voice had an edge to it now. “It ain't none of your business, mister.”

The man couldn't take a hint as he carped on, “It isn't right, an unmarried woman sharing a house with a man who's not her husband.”

Some of Arthur's held-in anger boiled over. He grabbed Clark by the perfectly ironed lapels and pulled him up close. “Charlotte is a grown woman, a widowed woman. And the way she tells it, her husband's death weren't a peaceful one. I reckon, she's earned the right to live the rest of her days the way she pleases.”

Clark dared to argue, “She belongs in Chicago, back home. Not depending on a stranger to barely survive out here.”

“Her depending on me?” Arthur had to laugh at that. “Boy, you're a damn fool if that's what you think.”

“What do you mean?” the younger brother finally piped up.

Arthur released Clark, who straightened his collar indignantly. “Sure, I met Charlotte right after her husband was killed, but I didn't stay on then. I taught her how to hunt a little and shoot a rifle straight. The rest she's been doing on her own.”

The boys exchanged confused glances. Benjamin asked, “Charlotte can shoot a gun?”

“Probably a lot better than you two fools.”

Clark asked skeptically, “So, you're not the reason she's refusing to return home?”

“I ain't got no more control over Charlotte Balfour than you boys.”

Surprisingly, they both nodded their understanding at that statement. Mayhap the brothers weren't completely ignorant of Charlotte's resourcefulness.

“She is stubborn,” Benjamin said. “And clever.”

Clark conceded, “Father allowed her in the surgery room sometimes.”

“I don't know why we doubted her.” Benjamin said to Clark, “Remember that year she took care of Aunt Rose? She stayed all summer, even when Aunt Rosie got tuberculosis. We should have known if Char could survive that, she could get through anything.”

Arthur looked between the two. “What's this now, about surviving TB?”

Clark eyed him as if he was debating saying anything else, but Benjamin explained easily, “A few years ago, Charlotte spent a summer with our aunt, caring for her when Aunt Rosie caught pneumonia.”

Clark added, “That's what everyone thought it was until Father had a look at her.”

“No one wanted to get sick. Most of our family cut ties with her. ” Benjamin said guiltily, “Even we did.”

“You were in school,” Clark protested. “And I had my apprenticeship.”

“We could have stopped in for Christmas.” Benjamin argued and faced Arthur again. “Anyway, Charlotte was the only one of us who continued to visit Aunt Rosie and never got sick.”

Never got sick? Arthur took a moment to ponder that. He supposed it were possible. After all, Thomas Downes was sick as a dog, but his wife and son never showed signs of TB. Was this why Charlotte had never flinched at his illness?

Thinking of his own inevitable death, Arthur forced himself to ask, “How'd Charlotte take it when your aunt died?”

Benjamin made a puzzled frown. “Aunt Rosie is still alive.”

That surprised him. “The TB didn't take her?”

“Not yet, at least. She's a tough old bird.”

Clark remarked offhandedly, “Father sent her to one of those sanatoriums. She's waited on like the queen of England.”

“Well, I'll be damned...” No wonder the woman was so keen with her positive outlook on his own life. “Is your aunt...er...happy?”

Clark shrugged. “You'd have to ask Charlotte. They still write to each other and—what the hell is that!”

Arthur didn't know why, when he turned, he expected to find a wolf or cougar, something deadly. Instead, it was little Puck, hissing at them and then darting between the bushes before disappearing.

“It's just a cat.” He eyed Clark. “Don't they got cats in that big city of yours?”

Clark scowled. “Of course. But there's something wrong with that one.”

“Ain't nothing wrong with the cat. Just needs some takin' care of is all. But, it's stubborn. Doesn't know what's good for it.”

Clark shuddered. “Uncivilized, indeed.”

“Does Charlotte truly like it out here?” Benjamin asked quietly.

Arthur turned to him and answered honestly, “I'd say so. Took her some time getting used to, sure, but she's adapted just fine.”

Benjamin commented thoughtfully, “She puts on a brave face sometimes, when she doesn't want us to know she's struggling.” He turned to Arthur. “I don't want to pull her away from this, if she's happy.”

“Benji!” Clark stomped up to his brother and said in a low voice, “We agreed to help Mother.”

Benjamin pointed out, “We didn't expect to find Charlotte content.” He frowned. “Unfortunately, Mother will be trying to sway our sister. She'll lay it on thick, guilt trip her, bribe her, whatever she thinks will convince Charlotte to leave.”

Arthur looked in the direction of the house, wondering if Charlotte needed rescuing. What could he do to help anyway?

A glimmer of an idea came to him. He slid a sly gaze to Benjamin and Clark. “You boys know how to hunt?”

Chapter Text

Charlotte most definitely needed rescuing. The moment Arthur shut the door, her mother started in on her with a barrage of commentary. Despite Charlotte's best efforts, her mother picked at the inadequacy of her dress, her lack of jewelry and her untidy hair. She pointed out a cobweb in the corner Charlotte had missed. Then there was the quality of the dinnerware, the state of the table and chairs and the cramped quarters of the cabin.

At that point, her mother took in a breath and, before she could continue her attack, Charlotte asked quickly, “How have you been, Mama?”

“Eternally lonely without you at breakfast on the daily.”

Charlotte blew out a breath. As she expected, she wouldn't be getting any relief, but she tried again. “What about Father? How's the office?”

“He will be much better when you're home. I'll arrange a ticket for you once we're back at the hotel. No need to pack up whatever meager belongings you have here. We'll take time to fix you up in Saint Denis before we leave.”

Charlotte frowned. At first, she didn't understand what her mother was saying. A ticket? Did her mother truly expect her to just hop on a train without a discussion? Unbelievable.

She said firmly, “I'm not going with when you head back to Chicago, Mama.”

“Of course you are, dear. Don't be foolish. Now that I've journeyed all the way out here, I'm even more certain you need to come home.”

“This is my home now.”

“This is no place for a lady. You can't expect me to allow you to continue living in this tiny, decrepit building with only a heathen to keep you company.”

“Arthur is a gentleman,” Charlotte said defensively. “He's more decent than most of the men you used to try and marry me off to. I won't hear another word against him.”

“Very well.” Her mother narrowed her eyes on her. “But, you failed to mention this Mr. Callahan in your letters.”

Charlotte said with patience, “He hasn't been here long and he's just a friend, Mama. Nothing more.”

“Hmm. I don't like him.”

“Somehow, I didn't expect you to.” Arthur was built for a life outdoors, rugged-looking and scarred. There was no hiding his rough edges. He'd stick out in a crowd of refined men even in expensive clothing. He just had the air of someone...dangerous. No one in her mother's acquaintance could compare.

Her mother sniffed. “None of this would have happened if you had went for that Waverly boy.”

A boy, indeed. Six years her junior with the maturity to match. “Well, I didn't.”

“I always knew Calvin Balfour was no good.”

Charlotte barely refrained from rolling her eyes. “Mama, you liked Cal just fine when we married.” Right up until the moment he swept her away to country life.

“He was a banker, Charlotte. Why on Earth did he want to move out here?” She eyed the room distastefully, but Charlotte thought she detected a note of hurt in her tone.

“We wanted...something simple.” She said it even though her mother wouldn't understand.

“Foolish,” she said in a brusque manner, right on cue.

“Maybe so,” Charlotte conceded, remembering the excitement in her husband's eyes and the way he'd twirled her about when they'd first set eyes on the house. “but we were happy, for the short time we had together.”

Her mother's expression softened. “Charlotte, I understand if you have some sort of sentimental attachment to this place because of Cal, but he's gone. You need to think of what's best for yourself now. You need to come home.”

This was it. This was the moment she had to be firm or her mother would aggressively contest any reasoning she presented. Arthur's words of encouragement echoed in her head, Charlotte Balfour, I reckon you're a lot stronger than you realize.

“Mama, I am thinking about what's best for myself. Remaining at Willard's Rest is the right thing.”

“You want to live the rest of your life in the wilderness in moth-eaten dresses, mud-caked shoes and dusty hair?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said emphatically.

Martha Dorsch stared at her daughter as if she didn't recognize her. “You've lost your mind out here.”

“No, I'm seeing clearly.” She placed a hand over her mother's. “Mama, you know I wasn't satisfied where my life was headed well before I married Cal.”

Charlotte thought her mother might disagree, but instead she released a hint of a smile. “I suppose that's true. We'd throw a party and you'd stick your nose in a book and hide in a corner.” Her eyes glimmered. “That's why I was elated when you took such an interest in Cal. I thought you'd finally have some fulfillment when you started a family.” She looked around. “And then you moved out here, to get away from me.”

“Oh, Mama.” Charlotte released an exasperated chuckle and wrapped her arms around her mother. “I didn't leave to get away from you. Cal and I had a dream for a simpler life. I just...I want to see it through.”

Her mother sighed and suddenly looked tired, older. “I don't know if I entirely understand, but I'm too weary to argue with you anymore. You're as bullishly headstrong as your father, much as he denies it. I can see I won't be convincing you today.”

Charlotte squeezed her once more before letting go. “Thank you, Mama.”

“However,” her mother added, “if all you want is a little house to yourself, you know that could be arranged closer to home.”

She opened her mouth to tell her mother she'd missed the entire point of the discussion when the door opened abruptly.

“Mrs. Balfour!” Arthur strode in, grinning. “Look at this ripe, juicy one me and the boys caught.” Arthur slapped the skinned carcass of a jackrabbit on the table with a thump. He looked around as Clark and Benjamin walked in. “You folks are stayin' for dinner, right?”

Her mother jumped from the table and backed away, appalled. “Get that thing away from me!”

Arthur frowned, but Charlotte swore she saw mischief in his eyes. “Well, it's dead, ma'am. It ain't going to hop to you clear across the room.”

Benjamin said excitedly, “Arthur showed us how to track it.”

Arthur thumped a hand on her brother's shoulder. “Got your boy Ben here to skin it.”

Her mother gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in shock. “Benjamin!”

“Boy's a natural,” complimented Arthur.

Benjamin beamed at the praise. Meanwhile, Clark looked like he was about to be sick all over the floor.

“That's wonderful, Benji,” added Charlotte. “Arthur showed me how to skin a rabbit too. He's an exceptional teacher.”

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. “Well, I don't know 'bout that, ma'am. Also takes someone willin' to learn.”

“Very true.” She turned to her mother and asked innocently, “Will you be staying for dinner, Mama? I can show you how to cut this rabbit up for a stew.”

Her mother's mouth pursed into a thin line. “That won't be necessary. I think perhaps we should take our leave. I don't need another one of my children tempted into running off into the woods.” Her mother embraced her. “However, I expect a visit in Saint Denis from you before we return home.”

Charlotte protested, “But, Mama—”

“I won't hear any arguments. I am allowing this—” she fluttered her fingers aimlessly, “— situation. You owe me a day in the city—or what amounts to a city down here—by the end of the week. Besides, you need to visit with your father.”

Charlotte sighed. “Alright, Mama. I promise to make the trip.”

“I'll hold you to it.” Her mother cupped her face gently. “You know I love you dearly.”

“I know, and I love you too.”

“We'll be at the Hotel Grand.” She patted her cheek gently. “Don't forget.” Her mother kept a wide berth as she walked around Arthur, not bothering to acknowledge him. “Help me into the carriage, Clark.”

Charlotte followed them outside. After her brother assisted their mother, he returned to her in front of the porch and she gave him quick hug. “Good luck at the bank.”

“Good luck with your country living.” He scrunched up his nose as if he smelled something odious. “I can't say I envy you.”

Benjamin was talking with Arthur in high spirits, shaking his hand before he reached Charlotte. “Thanks for having us, sis. It was much more enlightening than I thought it would be.”

Charlotte smiled. “I'm glad you enjoyed your time here.”

She hugged her younger brother and he whispered to her, “I like him, Charlotte.”

She glanced at Arthur, who was mock saluting Clark a goodbye. “So do I.”

“Keep him around for our next visit.”

She promised, “I'll certainly do my best.”

As Benjamin hopped in the carriage, Arthur asked, “You boys got a gun or any sort of weapon on that coach?”

Clark said defensively, “Of course. I have a revolver under the seat.”

“I suggest you keep it on you. Ain't telling what you could run into out there. Beast or outlaw.”

“This is such savage country,” muttered Clark with irritation as he pulled himself up into the driver's spot. He snapped the reins and the coach was on its way.

Charlotte waved until she couldn't see the carriage anymore and then she rounded on Arthur. “What on Earth was that?”

The silly man looked startled at her accusatory tone. “Pardon?”

She raised a brow and rested a hand on her waist. “With the rabbit?”

He avoided looking at her. “Don't know what you mean.”

“Mm-hmm. You're not fooling me, Arthur Morgan. You were trying to scare them off on purpose.”

He crooked a grin. “Hey now, I didn't hear you objectin' any.”

“You're right,” she admitted and blew out a breath. “I think my mother was about to bribe me with an entire cottage so your little performance was well-timed.” He looked smug about that so she added, “But I'm not helping you clean up the mess you left on my table.”

His smirk turned into an affronted frown. “I ain't no good-for-nothing. I'll clean it up. Hell, I'll cook it too, if you want to take it easy for a couple hours.”

Charlotte hesitated. She was tempted. She'd been tense all day and then sparring with her mother, even so briefly, had left her emotionally drained. Still, she asked, “You're sure?”

Arthur told her, “Lie down and read one of them books you got stacked up.”

That sounded brilliant to her mind. Although, there was another small task she wanted to make some progress on...

“Alright, Arthur.” She smiled. “I think I'll take you up on that.”

OOOOOOOOO

The sun was low when Arthur knocked on her bedroom door. “Charlotte?”

“Coming.” She left her sewing and went to the door, turning the knob. “You were so quiet out here. I didn't even hear you moving about the cabin. Did you start dinner?”

“'Course. Finished it, too.”

She raised her brows. “Very funny.”

“I thought so.” He chuckled. “Let's go for a little walk first.”

“Okay...” She cast a glance to the table, but it wasn't set. Nothing was on the stove and there wasn't even the smell of food filling up the cabin. She eyed him askance, but he only started for the door.

They walked side by side down the trail. A cool, but comfortable night was blowing in and Charlotte breathed in the evening air, loving the serenity of the area. She heard the yips of coyotes somewhere in the woods, an animal she'd only recently learned how to identify by its howls. She frowned a bit as she thought of the little cat who could be sleeping nearby.

“Have you seen Puck today?” she asked, wondering if she should leave a little something on the porch tonight.

“Actually, I did.” A smile tugged on his lips. “That cat was lurkin' around down here a ways. Scared the livin' daylights outta Clark.”

She laughed. “I told you Puck was a prankster sprite.”

“That boy looked at him like it was the devil himself.”

“I don't doubt it. Ever since we were children, Clark has burst into sneezing fits around cats.” She frowned. “I wish I could tempt Puck to come inside the house. I'd clean him up so he at least wouldn't look so wild.”

“I don't know about that. Sounds like a lot of work for very little pay off.” Arthur lightly steered her elbow to the right. “Just over here now.”

Charlotte peered around curiously. “What are you up to?”

“Just another couple a steps, ma'am.”

Charlotte opened her mouth to challenge him when she spotted something odd on the top of the rock ledges overlooking the river. A small table was set up with two chairs from the house. A candle flickered on the table, revealing set dinnerware.

“Arthur.” Her mouth dropped open. “What is this?”

He waved. “Ma'am, I give you, the finest dining in all of New Hanover.”

Arthur grabbed a hold of the edge and pulled himself up. “I found that little table in the shed and brought up the extra chairs. Now, come on. I'll help you up.”

He offered his hand and she clutched it. He hauled her up as if she weighed nothing. She stumbled when she landed on her feet again. She braced herself on Arthur's muscled forearms, a little startled at the skin contact as she hadn't realized he'd rolled up his sleeves.

Arthur cleared his throat and stepped back, but offered his elbow. “Allow me to escort you to dinner, Mrs. Balfour.”

She mock curtsied. “Why, thank you, Mr. Morgan.”

Arthur walked her over and pulled a chair out before taking his own seat. Her view was gorgeous. The setting sun's light streamed across the river where she saw elk drinking. The waterfall sprayed delightful mists to her right. It could have been a painting on the wall of her father's den.

Arthur reached over the side of the table and revealed a covered basket. He drew back the cloth and started filling the small table with biscuits, boiled potatoes and what she believed to be the rabbit. The way he had cooked it, its appearance was more akin to grilled chicken. Lastly, he pulled out a bottle and poured a little of its contents between two glasses.

“Found this bourbon in a cabinet,” he commented. “It ain't wine, but it'll do the trick with a meal.”

“How did you have time for all of this?” she marveled. “All I was expecting was simple rabbit stew.”

“It ain't much. Most of it's leftovers from this afternoon and yesterday.”

Charlotte picked up her fork and took her first bite into the rabbit steak. Her eyes widened at the savory seasoning and tenderness. She chewed and swallowed. “Arthur, this is divine!”

“Ya don't got to exaggerate. It's barely camp food.” But he appeared pleased at the compliment.

She happily savored the next bite, exclaiming, “Why have I bothered to cook at all? You must think I'm a wretched chef.”

He chuckled. “Your dishes ain't the worst I've eaten.”

She replied wryly, “That's the most backhanded compliment I've ever received.”

“Now, now, hear me out. Cooking's just one of them skills that takes practice is all. Like shootin', and you can do that just fine now.” He took his own bite before saying, “If you want, I can show you which herbs to pick 'round here to make your meat tastier.”

He'd already shown her so much, but he was always patient with her ignorance of country living. “I would love that.” She smiled warmly. “Thank you for this, Arthur. It's perfect.”

“You don't got to thank me for every little thing I do.”

“I want you to know that I'm grateful,” she said and added with earnest, “Your words of encouragement truly helped me today, with my mother.”

He shrugged. “Aw, you did it all yourself. I weren't even there.”

She tilted her head, studying him. “Why do you do that?”

He paused, mid-chew. “What?”

“Anytime I compliment you, you brush it aside.”

“Believe me, ma'am, I don't deserve no thanks on what you accomplished.” He changed the subject, “Now, 'bout this seasoning, oregano grows near the house...”

Charlotte listened to what he was telling her about herbs, but she was also thinking. Arthur was always saying things like that. That she didn't know him well enough, that he didn't deserve thanks, or wasn't worth the time.

It bothered her that he dismissed compliments to his character as if he didn't accept them as truth. How could he find himself so undeserving of praise when he handed it out to others easily? Somehow, Charlotte had to make him see he was worthy of appreciation.

Chapter Text

Arthur had wanted to do something special for Charlotte, since he couldn't do much of nothing else as it were. He reckoned some decent food could be made on what they had out here. Then he got the bright idea to eat at sunset overlooking the river.

Every step closer to finishing his set-up, he'd felt less sure of himself. Was this stupid? Would she even like a dinner outdoors?

When Charlotte's eyes lit up at the sight of the table, all his efforts had felt worth it. He hadn't expected her to enjoy the meal so much, but he supposed her palate was used to blander food nowadays.

Charlotte asked him now, “By the way, what did you say to my brothers?”

He shrugged. “Nothin' much. Just told them to leave you be.”

“Well, Benji's fairly enamored by you.” She sipped her bourbon. “But I bet Clark didn't accept that without comment.”

“No offense, but if that boy don't keep his mouth shut, he's gonna wind up in serious trouble.”

Her brows creased. “They didn't hassle you too much, did they?”

He liked the concern in her eyes, that she'd been worried over him of all things. “Nah. They was just tryin' to look after you is all, even the pompous one.”

“Thank you, Arthur. For sticking by me.”

“Weren't a problem. Besides, Ben seems likable enough.”

“Yes, I think he'll do well once he gets out from under Father's thumb.” She finished her last bit of meat, closing her eyes. “I honestly don't know how you made rabbit taste like this.”

He chuckled. “Believe me, I couldn't cook a damn thing 'til Hosea taught me.”

She opened her eyes and asked curiously, “Who's Hosea?”

Arthur frowned. How had he let that slip? He'd told himself he wasn't gonna reveal nothing about the gang. Even though it felt like a betrayal to deny the existence of someone who'd raised him, he said, “No one.”

She remained silent for a moment and then stated, “I know you were in a gang, Arthur.”

No denying that one. “Yes.”

“Why won't you talk about them?”

Weren't it obvious? “They're outlaws. Dangerous folk.”

“And people,” she argued. “Same as you or me.”

He laughed shortly. “There ain't a goddamn one of them as innocent as you, Charlotte.”

“Do you think my opinion of you will change if you told me more of your past?”

Yes. “We weren't good folk,” he answered coarsely, “None of us. Aimed to rob the rich, but that don't mean good people didn't get in the way.”

She fidgeted with her fingers before informing him softly, “You spoke in your sleep, during your fever.” She watched him. “Calling out for Dutch. For John. These men mean something to you.”

Damn. Betrayed by his own self before he was even conscious. “Maybe.”

“And Hosea? He's someone you really care about too, isn't he?

“Was,” Arthur corrected gruffly.

“Was?” Her face fell. “I'm sorry, Arthur. It's difficult to lose someone dear.”

“I know it, but talkin' about 'em don't bring 'em back.”

“In small ways it can,” she said lightly. She rested her chin in her hand, elbow on the table. “Tell me a little about him.”

“Hosea was...” She made it sound like an easy task, but he found it difficult to find the right words. How did he describe a man he'd known for twenty years and had lost in an instant? Charlotte waited patiently for him to finish. He drew in a breath and released some of his tension. “Hosea was like a father. Better than my own anyways. He taught me, well, a lot. Huntin', fishin', writin', pretty much everything.”

“He sounds like an incredible person,” Charlotte commented. “He must have cared for you deeply to teach you so much.”

“I reckon he did and I didn't make it easy.” Arthur hesitated, but admitted something he hadn't told anyone else, “Still don't. I ain't even taken the time to visit his grave.”

“Why not?” She cut to the point, didn't bother letting him stew over it.

“I don't know,” he confessed. “It ain't like I don't want to. I guess I thought...seein' his name on a grave marker would make his death real.” He shook his head. That was stupid. “I mean, 'course it's real. I saw it happen with my own damn eyes.”

“We all grieve at our own pace,” Charlotte said quietly. Her gaze went to the ground below. “That's one lesson I've had to learn on my own out here.”

She looked troubled. Judging by the direction of her stare, she was probably reliving the day her husband had been mauled. He'd seen some gruesome scenes in his day, but he didn't know how she'd managed that by herself. “You got plenty of other folk who could take care of you, if you wanted.”

She faced him again, her brow lifting. “You've met my mother. As intimidating as she seems, she's nothing compared to my father. In fact, she likely gave up so easily on me today because she assumes Father will successfully bully me onto a train after we talk. Which reminds me...” She peered up at him. “Will you come with?”

The question caught him off guard. “What?”

“To Saint Denis. My mother insists I visit them before they leave. Would you accompany me?”

“I don't know if that's such a good idea.” Arthur didn't think any trip he'd ever made into Saint Denis had been a good one. Running through the cemetery with Marston, chasing down Mary's useless daddy, doctor telling him he had TB, the trolley set-up, Colm's hanging, the bank robbery gone wrong...

“I'm sorry. I'm being too forward. You obviously have no obligation to encounter my family again.” She tucked some hair behind her ear. “I didn't miss how uncomfortable you were this afternoon and my father isn't any better of a conversationalist.”

Arthur wanted to shake his head. Charlotte really thought he hesitated because he didn't want to be put in another awkward situation? She must not have read them bounty posters in Annesburg too closely. He narrowed his eyes on her. Or maybe she had and she wanted him there for a different reason.

He said bluntly, “You want me there to scare your father off?”

Her brow furrowed. “That wouldn't solve anything and likely only make things worse.”

Not if it was done the way he did it. “Then, why?”

“I just want...you.” Her eyes widened “I mean, I want you there. With me. For company.” She blew out a breath. “I'm bungling this, aren't I?” She straightened her shoulders. “It would mean a lot to me to have you there.”

He studied her after that odd reaction. “You sure?”

“Of course,” she said firmly. “Having you by my side always raises my confidence.”

It was funny to Arthur that a woman with a posh background like hers asked for the presence of a fighter like him and it weren't for intimidating someone. She wanted him with her for emotional support, of all things. It still didn't sound like a good idea to him. But he knew it weren't impossible stay out of trouble in Saint Denis, just had to keep his head down.

“You know what, sure, why not?” He didn't much like the city, but he didn't exactly have much else going on. And maybe a part of him wanted to make sure Charlotte wasn't swept back into a world she didn't want to be in anymore.

“You will?” Her face bloomed with happiness. Like he'd granted her everything she'd ever wanted. Damn, she was easy to please, if his company was all it took.

“I know my mother will want to make a day of it, but I think you and I could find time to stock up on supplies. We can stop by Dr. Barnes' office and pick up those tonics he recommended. Oh! And the tailor's for some clothes more to your liking. We may need to bring some extra bags...”

As she talked, Arthur thought he felt a stray couple of raindrops. He frowned and glanced upwards. Clouds were darkening parts of the sky, hiding sections of the stars. Hard to tell if it were going to turn into something nasty, but either way they should probably head in.

“I'm sorry, Arthur,” Charlotte broke his study of the possible storm. “Was I nattering on?”

“Yeah,” He grinned at her. “But I like your nattering.”

She rolled her eyes. “You are perfectly preposterous.”

“I don't know about that, but I reckon we should start makin' our way in now. Smells like rain.”

“Really?” She looked upwards. “I suppose it is getting rather late.”

Arthur stood and she followed, asking, “Should we gather everything up then?”

“I think we have time for it. I'll get down and you can start handin' things to me.”

They moved the table, chairs and the basket closer to the edge and Arthur hopped down. Charlotte lowered everything piece by piece and he set it aside. When everything was on the ground, he turned to assist her.

“I could jump, Arthur. It's really not that high.”

“No. Last thing we need is you to land on your ankle funny and have us both be invalids.”

She scrunched up her nose. “I'm not as clumsy as all that.”

“No more arguing. C'mon.” He reached up, waiting.

She sat, laid her palms on his shoulders and he plucked her down by the waist. As he set her on her feet, his mind went back to the last time he'd lifted a woman like this, but that had been onto a horse. It was his final talk with Abigail, before he knew John was alive. God, he hoped they made it out, that they found each other. He wanted to have accomplished one damn good thing before his life had derailed.

“Are you okay, Arthur?”

Self-consciously, he realized he'd set Charlotte down, but hadn't let her go, just stood there like a simpleton, staring into oblivion with his hands on her waist. For her part, she was studying him and hadn't taken her hands off his shoulders.

He hadn't answered her. “Er, yes.”

He damn well was not okay. He was an idiot. Here he stood in the presence of another good woman, one who gazed up at him as if he didn't have all sorts of damnation chasing him. She looked at him like he was someone else, like he hadn't done so much wrong in his life. Even more confusing, a part of him wanted to be that man. Wanted to be...more.

She raised a hand, brushing across his jawline. “What's rattling around in that head of yours?”

Her light touch had his heart thumping loudly. “Nothin' good.”

“Maybe you should let me be the judge of that.”

Her thumb gently caressed the scar on his chin. He caught her hand and pressed it against his cheek, her warm palm chasing away the cool of the night.

Arthur closed his eyes, absorbing her touch and thinking. Could he be that man for Charlotte? He weren't much of nothing no more, but something in him wanted to try. To start over, but the right way this time.

When he opened his eyes again, Charlotte had tilted her head up, her eyelids lowering and her lips parting open. He only had to lean down...

A sudden, booming crack of thunder overhead startled them into jumping apart. For a moment, they could only stare at each other, but a second later an angry cloud burst overhead and the downpour started. Their clothes were soaked through in an instant.

“C'mon!” Arthur clutched her hand and they ran up the hill, towards the house. They abandoned the table and chairs and would have to collect them in the morning. Charlotte stepped inside first and went to light the lantern on the table. She was flushed from the run and the rain had loosened her hairstyle so it rested down her back.

She turned to smile at him. “That was fun.”

Arthur flicked some of the rain with his hand as he stood dripping in the middle of the room. “A goddamn rainstorm in the middle of dinner?”

“We were finished eating,” she said easily, despite his temper. “No harm done.”

He wanted to argue with her further, an unexplained frustration manifesting, but his chest was aching from that short sprint. He started coughing, and once he started, he couldn't stop until it was done with him.

“Arthur, sit down,” Charlotte ordered, leading him to a chair.

She left the room and he leaned his elbows on the table, rasping breath in and out. When Charlotte came back, she had a towel for each of them. She wrapped it around his shoulders and then moved to the kitchen counter.

He didn't watch what she did, but after a moment, she placed a cup of water in his hand. “Try and drink this.”

Charlotte rubbed circles on his back and while she meant to comfort him, his inner thoughts were pummeling him. He was useless, less than useless. Stuck in a chair, barely able to catch his breath. He drank some of the water, but it only eased his pain slightly. Every time the TB attacked him, she was always there to help and that weren't fair to her.

Arthur stood abruptly and a little unsteadily. “I got to change...and go to bed.”

“Arthur—”

He brushed past her, determined to make it to his room without stumbling. He opened and closed his bedroom door, leaning on it as he heaved in breath. He heard her footsteps come near, but she didn't try and enter. Soon, she moved away and he sighed. He'd been rude, but he didn't want her to see him like this. Weak, pathetic, hardly a man.

He wanted to throw something, hit something, but that was childish. He stripped down, exchanging his pants and hanging his wet things. He settled into bed, but his mind was racing. He'd never get to sleep like this. He leaned on his elbow and reached for the lantern on the end table, lighting it and then grabbing his journal.

He sketched the scene he'd laid out for Charlotte, the table and chairs, the waterfall in the background and two figures sitting across from each other, enjoying each other's company. Then he wrote a passage to accompany it.

'Am I a bigger fool than ever? Charlotte.... I know if the rain hadn't started, something would've happened. I coulda kissed her, she was willing. But, it ain't right. I nearly passed out running in the goddamn rain. What the hell was I thinking? The last thing I need is to complicate things between me and her. She don't need me and I don't got a damn thing to offer her besides. Not even the body of a healthy man.'

Arthur looked out the window, at the rain pattering against the glass. No. He was an idiot for dreaming, even for a second. This, this sickness, was the rest of his life. And all he would ever be, could ever be, was a burden.

Chapter Text

It wasn't in Charlotte's nature to waste a perfectly good morning by sitting around and doing nothing. However, that didn't stop her from lingering in the house over her coffee, wanting Arthur to emerge from his room. She itched to talk with him as she'd been worried since his abrupt departure last night.

Her patience paid off because she was rinsing her cup when the doorknob to Arthur's room turned and the door creaked open.

“Good morning, Arthur.” Relieved at his appearance, Charlotte greeted him with a smile. “Do you want some breakfast? The food isn't as marvelous as anything you could make, but palatable, I promise.”

“I ain't feelin' up to eatin'.”

Charlotte took a moment to study him, noting his unhealthy pallor, his red-rimmed eyelids and the dark circles under his eyes. Whiskers were already growing across his jaw, though he'd shaved only yesterday. She offered, “Perhaps, lighter meals today. A half bowl of porridge should do to start with when your appetite returns.”

He said nothing and that had her senses on alert for what he wasn't saying. She stepped closer to him. “What's the matter, Arthur?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and wouldn't meet her eyes. “I'm thinkin', once I get around better on my own...I should be on my way. ”

“Oh.” Of anything she thought he'd say, it wasn't that. She eyed him, confusion rising. “Have I done something wrong?”

He looked at her like she'd grown an extra head. “You ain't done nothing wrong.”

Something still didn't feel right to her, but she didn't know how to pinpoint it. She guessed, “Clark said something offensive to you, didn't he?”

He blinked. “Er, no—”

“Whatever he said to you, it's just bluster. He's always had quite the knack for annoying people and I won't have you feeling inadequate over his indelicate accusations.”

“Charlotte, it ain't 'bout nothing he said.”

He made that statement, but Arthur hadn't been this ill at ease before her family showed up. She frowned. “You're sure?”

“I just...I got to move on, is all.”

It didn't sit well with her that he'd suddenly made this decision without a hint of it beforehand. Last night, he hadn't mentioned a word...

Then it dawned on her. It wasn't her brother's fault. It was hers, after all. She'd been the one to pry into his personal life, to push him to talk about things that had clearly made him uncomfortable.

She bowed her head. “If I've offended you in any way, Arthur, I'm truly sorry.”

That seemed to baffle him. “Huh?”

“If keeping your past to yourself is that important, I promise not to inquire anything further about your gang.”

“It weren't my gang—” He shook his head. “But, that ain't the point.”

“I never meant to be intrusive.” She winced. “That isn't to say my curiosity hasn't been known to get away from me. I'm just not usually so inept when it comes to recognizing discomfort in someone's body language.”

“Charlotte,” Arthur stopped her apologies by cutting the distance between them and placing his hands on her upper arms. “You didn't ask nothing that offended me. Got it?”

She nodded reluctantly and he released her, saying, “I just don't wanna take advantage of your hospitality no more.”

Her brow furrowed. “Arthur, you can't take advantage of what I offer freely.”

He continued, “It ain't right for me to intrude on you like I am.”

She placed a hand on his forearm, reassuring him, “In no way is your presence an intrusion. In fact, I've really enjoyed your company.”

He looked down at her hand, covered it briefly with his own before gently removing it from his person. “Even so, I ought to get on soon.”

Arthur was withdrawing from her and she didn't understand why. What was he leaving left unsaid? Hesitantly, she told him, “Alright then. If that's what you want.”

A silence stretched, Charlotte becoming aware of how closely they stood together. When he met her gaze, it was with an intensity she couldn't make sense of. What did he want to say to her? What did he want her to say?

“Well.” She cleared her throat. “I have some chores to tend. Rest up longer, if you need it. If you want me to make you that porridge, call me in. Otherwise, I'll check up on you in an hour or so.”

Charlotte turned from him, picked up a bucket and her rifle and headed out the front door. She walked down to the rock ledge where they'd left everything last night. It was all in the same place, but the basket had toppled over, and a moment later she spotted little Puck snooping for scraps. At her approach, he skittered off before she could try and coax him to her.

She placed a hand on the rock ledge, her mind drifting to when Arthur had helped her down. He'd been struggling with an inner turmoil and gotten stuck in some memory. Of what, she could only imagine. He had needed comfort and she'd been willing to give it.

Now, Charlotte found her cheeks burning at the memory. Him standing before her, closing his eyes and holding her palm to his face as if it were his salvation. She wasn't entirely sure what would have happened without the start of that storm. But, it did have her questioning what had changed from that moment to his reactions this morning.

She scolded herself, Quit your wool-gathering, Charlotte, and set to work.

She carried the table up first, returning it to the shed. She went back for the chairs, setting those on the porch for now. When she picked up the overturned basket, her mind persistently strayed back to the lovely evening Arthur had created for her. They'd had a pleasant time of it, hadn't they? She'd thought so, but why had he been so cross at the end of it?

Perhaps it was related to the reason he'd woken up this morning and decided he wanted to leave. She knew it was bound to happen, but for some reason she hadn't expected it so soon. She truly liked having him around as a companion.

Charlotte made her way to the well and sent the bucket down. One would think they'd have little to nothing to discuss. She used to know nothing about surviving in the country and he wasn't familiar with foreign languages, philosophy or famous literature, topics in which she was well-learned.

She cast her eyes to the house. That wasn't to say he knew nothing of importance. Far from it. Arthur was more intelligent than he liked to let on. He was smart where it counted, in a way she strove to imitate. She liked his wit and his patience. She shook her head and smiled. That boyish gleam in his eyes when he was up to something...

She nearly dropped the full bucket of water she'd brought up when she realized the direction of her thoughts. Good lord, was she...

Her head started spinning. How? How could she have feelings like that manifesting again? After Cal, she wasn't supposed to be able to fall for another man.

She set the bucket of water down, the notion steering her feet down the hill as guilt worked its way through her. She stopped when she reached Cal's grave.

She plucked a few flowers nearby and laid them on the mound before kneeling in the damp grass. It'd been nearly a month since she'd taken time out of her day to mourn Cal down here. That thought compounded her guilt. It wasn't as if she never thought about him, she'd just been busy, figuring out her day to day. Which wasn't an excuse, by any measure.

She exhaled. She was terrible at being a mourning widow. Cal still had a place in her heart, but now...It was funny, in its own way. When once she believed she could never go on without Cal, now she feared it had already happened without her realizing it. She supposed the old adage was true then, that time healed all wounds.

Was she a horrible person? She felt awful now that she was aware of her growing affection for Arthur. But there was no getting past it. All she could do was live each day to her best ability, to push on. Cal wouldn't have wanted her to remain in a melancholy for the rest of her life. She knew that, but it still felt like a betrayal.

She missed his infectious laugh, his unending positivity no matter the situation. What would he say to her now?

“Buck up, Char. There's always tomorrow.”

He was always saying that. 'There's always tomorrow'. As if everything could change for the better overnight. It wouldn't, but maybe some of his optimism had rubbed off on her after all because there was a growing determination in her to make it so.

“I loved you, Cal,” she said quietly. “That will never change.”

She stood and started her walk back to the well. When she reached it, she hefted her water bucket up. As much as she enjoyed reading drama in books, she found she did not like it in her normal life. Her and Arthur were going to have a frank discussion about this. She would hear his reasoning for wanting to leave soon when yesterday he seemed content. If it was actually something she'd done or said, then she wanted to know exactly what. If it was because he wanted something more...well. Charlotte's thoughts stumbled a bit. Well, then they'd figure that out too.

As she made her way up the hill, she heard rustling in the bushes. She looked around and saw nothing. No movement.

“Puck?” she called out. “What are you up to, you silly cat?”

If he startled her, and made her spill this water, she might reconsider putting some food out once she got back to the house. She shook her head. Who was she kidding? Her heart wouldn't allow the poor creature to starve no matter his mischief.

She heard louder rustling now, but this time a voice accompanied it. “I've been waiting for you to come out, missy.”

Startled, she spun around. A man was walking out from the trees, in a stained yellow vest, ill-fitting brown pants and a muddy, gray trench coat. Shoulder-length brown hair fell flatly from a bald scalp. His face was pock-marked with a slim mustache over a sweaty upper lip. He raised his hands to indicate peace.

Her brow furrowed when she realized he was familiar. She'd seen him the day after she'd buried Cal and before she'd met Arthur. He'd started out talking nice enough, but she'd gotten a queasy feeling from his presence and had warned him off her property. The same uneasiness was rising in her again.

She wasn't fully unprepared to face something down anytime she left the house. She'd brought the rifle, but she'd slung the strap over her shoulder so she could carry the filled bucket of water with two hands.

Charlotte hadn't answered and the man stared at her as if he were waiting for her to make the first move. He wanted her to run, she realized. But he was too close. If she decided to run, he'd be on her faster than a snake. Not only that, but if she wanted to defend herself, she wouldn't have enough time to throw the bucket, lift the gun and aim it at him. She wasn't far from the house. Could Arthur hear her yell from this distance?

“Just be calm, lady. I don't wanna hurt—”

Charlotte dropped the bucket, slid the gun off her shoulder, but didn't go for the aim. Instead, she had just enough time to ring out a shot into the sky before he was on her, wrenching the gun out of her grip and tossing it aside. She made an attempt to run, but as expected, the stranger snapped a hand around her wrist and whipped her back.

She stomped on his foot and tried to yell, “ARTH—” before he backhanded her across the cheek. Embarrassingly, the action shocked her enough to give her pause. She'd never in her life had a hand laid against her. It was...it was barbaric and it stung. Before she could regain her faculties, he slapped a greasy palm over her mouth.

She struggled against him, trying to elbow him, but his grip on her was tight, unyielding. She attempted to bite his hand, but he pressed it against her mouth so forcefully, tears sprang into her eyes from the pain. She cried out, but the noise was muffled.

“I didn't wanna do this the hard way, miss, but now you've left me no choice.”

He started pulling her, away from the house, away from safety. She dragged her ankles in the dirt, but it was hardly slowing him down. True fear coursed through her.

Arthur, she pleaded in a panic, come for me...

Chapter Text

The moment Charlotte walked out the door, Arthur placed his hands on his head and released a groan of frustration. He was a goddamn fool, but he weren't blind. She didn't want him to leave anymore than he did.

But why hadn't she pushed back? For some reason, he'd expected her to argue, to tell him it weren't good for his health to leave. To order him to stay.

He released a long sigh. Now, he was having doubts. Maybe he'd read into things that just weren't there. Maybe there weren't nothin' going on between he and Charlotte except his own imaginings and wishful thinking.

He got tired of going in circles in his head so he fetched his journal and sat at the table and drew. Nothing grand, just sketches of the inside of the cabin.

He hadn't been lying about not feeling hungry, but he almost wanted to call Charlotte in to cook just to have her near.

“Don't be an idiot,” Arthur muttered to himself. He was reminded again of why he had to resist being taken in by Charlotte's warmth and kindness. All he wanted to do when she were around was take advantage of it.

He lifted his head when he heard a gunshot. Charlotte had taken the rifle. Maybe she found something to shoot that weren't him. The shot sounded close so he went to the window to check.

He frowned when he saw the bucket Charlotte had taken overturned and spilled. That weren't right. Why the hell—

Then he spotted the rifle, abandoned on the ground. The sight caused a terrible feeling to eat at his gut.

He didn't think. He slammed open the door and bolted to the well. He picked up the gun and cast a look around.

“Charlotte?”

He heard nothing. But the ground was disturbed. It weren't hard to track. Two lines dug into the dirt leading down the hill.

He loped down the trail leading into the woods, gun in hand. What he saw stopped his blood cold. Some no good vagrant had his arm around Charlotte, struggling with her as she gave him hell, but edging towards an awaiting horse in the trees. If Arthur had a clear shot, the bastard would already be dead.

He took off at a run, his lungs protesting when he was only halfway, but he pushed on. The assailant's eyes widened dramatically right before Arthur barreled into the man. Charlotte was wrenched free of the man's grasp and stumbled to the grass.

The gun had fallen from Arthur's hands as he crashed to the ground beside the stranger, but he didn't need it as he leapt on the bastard, throwing punches.

“I found her first!” the stranger whined between hits.

“You ain't found shit.”

Arthur thought he had the man nearly unconscious until he was struck by an aimless fist to the chest. Arthur gasped and the intruder slipped free of his hold, skittering away. In his prime, Arthur wouldn't have flinched at the blow. Now, it damn near debilitated him.

The stranger staggered to his feet, clumsily pulling a revolver from his belt. He wiped his bleeding nose, smearing it across his face. “This here's my woman, friend.”

He lifted the gun and pointed it at Arthur. He couldn't do a damn thing, but gulp in air.

Then Arthur heard the cocking of a rifle and a shot echoed in the trees. He looked up and saw Charlotte standing beside them now, heaving, and holding her rifle with wide eyes. The assailant stumbled backwards, his gun slipping free of his grip as he stared at the blood seeping from his chest. He collapsed to his knees and then the ground, lying still.

“Nice shot,” Arthur commented with a groan and fell onto his back.

“Arthur!” Charlotte slid to her knees beside him. Her hands roamed over his chest and arms. “Are you okay?”

He blew out a wheezy, “Fine.”

“Is he...” She swallowed and stared at the body nearby. “Dead?”

With care, Arthur rose to a sitting position. What kind of question was that? The man was on the ground with his chest wide open. Then he caught sight of the pale expression on her face and the way her hands were trembling. It had been a long time since he'd held company with someone who was shook from killin'. For a moment, he didn't know how to respond to it.

Charlotte faced him, swaying and blinking rapidly. “I think...I'm about...”

Her eyes rolled up into her head and she tilted towards him, her head lolling. Arthur grasped at her shoulders to keep her from falling. He supposed even Charlotte's strong will had its limit. Well, he wasn’t gonna sit in the dirt waiting for her to come to.

He gathered her in his arms, maneuvering her so he could reach the rifle on the ground. Then he scooped Charlotte up and stood, holding her to his chest.

He murmured, “C'mon, let's get you to the house.”

Every step was a sharp stab to his chest, but he eventually made it without collapsing himself. The door was wide open from when he'd slammed out of here. He carried Charlotte to her room and laid her gently on the bed. He set the rifle against the wall and went to find a piece of cloth to wipe his knuckles of blood.

He returned to check on Charlotte. She was still out, but her brow was wrinkled with worry. He sat on the edge of the bed. He drifted a thumb over her cheek, frowning at the reddened skin on the left side. When he realized what it was, his temper surged. That bastard had managed to lay a hand on her?

Now, he wished he had been the one to pull the trigger.

“Arthur?” Charlotte's voice was quiet.

He found her hand and squeezed. “Right here.”

Her eyes fluttered open as she looked around in confusion. “I'm in my room.” She used her other hand to cover her face. “I fainted, didn't I? Pathetic anti-heroine indeed.”

“Ain't no shame in it.” Hell, he'd passed out in front of her before.

She uncovered her face and her eyes were teary. “I-I killed that man.”

“It had to be done. Ain't no fault of yours.”

Fear shone in her eyes and he wished he knew the right words to lay it to rest. “He—he was trying to take me.”

“There ain't no shortage of bad men in this world, but you're safe now.” Only just, he thought grimly. What would have happened if she hadn't got that gunshot out? How long would it have taken for him to realize she was gone? Despite not knowing how he could have prevented it, he blamed himself.

He made to stand, but Charlotte tightened her grip on his hand. “Where are you going?”

“I got to bury the body. Last thing we need is a rotting corpse attracting wolves.” He took her hand in both of his. “You got a shovel?”

“In the shed, to the left of the door.” She was badly shaken, but had the mindset to ask, “Are you sure you can handle it yourself?”

He raised a brow. Did she expect him to say no? His ribs were aching something fierce, but like hell he was having her out there digging a goddamn grave.

He patted her hand, leaned over and briefly pressed his lips to her temple. “You just lie down for a bit. I'll take care of everything else.”

She stared at him a moment, as if seeking reassurance. She musta found something in his eyes because she loosened her grip on him and leaned back. “Okay.” As he headed for the door, she called out, “Arthur?”

He paused in the doorway and turned halfway. She said softly, “Please, not by Cal.”

He nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

Arthur headed to the shed first and collected the shovel and a wheelbarrow before striding down to where Charlotte had nearly been abducted.

He stopped over the body and stared. He didn't forget a face, even one covered in blood. Arthur knew this godawful bastard. He'd run across this nasty shit-head randomly one night. The villain had told Arthur there was a pretty woman he'd been stalking. Arthur remembered his words and only now made the connection. Bony, but beautiful as the day is long. Real elegant fancy type...don't know what she's doing out there in the middle of nowhere, but turns out she's a widow...I watched her from the bushes for awhile. Saw her cry...

If this vile bastard had waited until he'd left Willard's Rest...Arthur couldn't continue to think on what the outcome could have been.

He started the task at hand, rolling up his sleeves. Firstly, he picked up the revolver from the grass. He didn't have his gun belt no more so he tucked it in his waistband at his back. Next, he checked the stalker's pockets. A dirty picture and 23 cents on his person.

The hardest part was loading the body into the wheelbarrow, but after that, Arthur took his time so as not to overexert himself. It was messy work that he hadn't had to do in awhile. Most fights he'd been in lately had been quick and bloody, with no time to bury the dead.

It was late afternoon when he finished covering the body with the last shovelful of dirt. He leaned on the shovel, wiping his brow. He'd made a deep enough hole to get the body underground. He returned the tools to the shed and headed down to the river. More than anything, he wanted to go inside and rest, but he probably looked like the gravedigger he was.

Arthur stood in the river, splashed water on his face and wiped the dirt off his hands and up his arms. He'd worked some muscles he hadn't used in awhile. Nothing too strenuous, but his stomach was growling now.

As he emerged from the river, he heard a whinnying from the trees. He'd nearly forgotten the stalker had a horse. The mare wasn't even tied up. He must've been about to make his getaway. He shuddered. Damn, he'd cut finding Charlotte close.

Arthur approached the horse, slowing his steps and raising his hands to calm the dappled brown. “Whoa, whoa. It's okay, girl.”

She nervously stepped foot to foot, but allowed his presence. He rubbed on the horse's neck. “That's it. You're a good girl, ain't you?” He kept his voice low. “Didn't run off at that shot. Mighty brave of you.”

Arthur led her back to the house. He hitched her to the shed and removed the saddle, placing it on the ground. He rummaged through it. He knew what he'd find in the satchel and it disgusted him all the same. He shook his head. Numerous obscene pictures of women. Best not let Charlotte see those. She didn't need to know the extent of that man's perversion. He'd throw them into the fire once he got inside.

There was also a box of revolver cartridges in the saddle. Lastly, he found a brush for the horse. At least that bastard had the proper grooming tool for his horse.

He brushed the mare for awhile, murmuring to her gently. His heart pinched as he remembered the stallion he'd lost on the mountainside. He patted and praised the mare one more time.

When he finally reentered the cabin, Charlotte was ladling up a bowl of stew. She turned at his entrance and relief overtook her expression. “I was just about to come searching for you.”

They was simple words, but something about them had his stomach flipping. Or maybe he was only hungry, going on delirious. “Smells good in here. I'm starved.”

Her lips twisted. “I'll remember you said that after you've tasted it.”

He pulled the revolver out of his waistband and set it at the end of the table before taking a seat. “How you holding up?”

She set a bowl in front of him and sat before answering him. “I've seen death before, Arthur. Even gun shot wounds. But I was never the cause of it.”

He nodded and picked up his spoon. “You did what you had to.”

She stared out the window. “Just when I think I'm getting the hang of this life, something comes along to knock me down and prove I'm just as pathetic as the day I arrived.”

“That ain't true. You've had a bad scare is all.”

She said bitterly, “I was helpless.”

“You handled yourself well enough, in the end,” he told her. “Besides, I can show you how to better defend yourself if it happens again.”

She turned to him sharply, her eyes wide in alarm. “Happens again?”

You moron, Morgan. That was the last thing the woman needed to hear.

He tried to backtrack. “Not that it will, but it don't hurt to be prepared.”

“Prepared?” she echoed. Her knuckles were whitening from the grip she had on her spoon.

Damn, he was bad at consoling someone. The only thing he knew to do now was distract her. He informed her, “Looks like you own yourself a horse now.”

As he'd hoped, that fearful glitter in her eyes dropped and confusion replaced it. “I...what?”

“I reckon you got every right to her after what her owner tried to pull.”

“Me?” She glanced out the window. “What if that man has a family who needs it more?”

He stared at her. Family? What the hell was she talking about? “Charlotte, a man like that, trying to abduct a woman in broad daylight, ain't got one of his own.”

“It still doesn't seem right to relieve him of his possessions.”

“Darlin', that's how it works in the land of the lawless.”

She looked unconvinced so he appealed to her nurturing side. “I s'pose, I could set the lady free, to wander these woods on her lonesome. Maybe she'll find some wild fillies who'll take her in, but I reckon she's likely too timid to survive without a handler.”

Her worried frown disappeared and she raised her eyebrows at him. “Are you trying to manipulate me into adopting that horse?”

“Depends.” He scratched his jaw. “How's it workin'?”

“Fairly well, unfortunately.” She sighed. Then she straightened up suddenly. “Actually, I think you might have more use for her.”

Arthur frowned. “How you mean?”

She gave him a look. “For your upcoming journey. You said you wanted to leave soon. A horse is exactly the start you need.”

Shit. She was right. If he really wanted, he could saddle up and take off right now. He cast his mind about for an argument against it. Then he had it.

He blurted, “Saint Denis!”

“Pardon?”

He snapped his fingers and pointed at her, saying triumphantly, “Can't leave yet. I already promised I'd take you to Saint Denis.”

“Okay...” Her brow was wrinkled again like she was trying to come up with an excuse to not keep a horse.

No. He narrowed his eyes on her. Exactly like she was trying to come up with a reason to not keep the mare. He crossed his arms. “Alright now. I know I'm slow, but you're hidin' something.”

She twisted her hands together. “I don't know the first thing about taking care of a horse.”

“Your parents don't own some big fancy stable?”

She bit her lip. “I mean, in those terms, yes, they do. But the stable hands are the ones who do all the work and the horses there are mainly for the carriages.”

“Ain't you never ridden a horse?”

“I have,” she said defensively, but then hesitated. “However, not since I was a girl. And it threw me. I've always been too afraid to try again.”

He'd been wondering why she hadn't bought a horse and wagon for herself by now. Seemed like a worthy investment for any traveling she had to do. “Well, you gotta horse now. Why don't you come meet her?”

She glanced anxiously towards the window. “I fear my nerves may be too frail to subject them to anything more today.”

This woman baffled him. Shoots a man straight dead without hesitation, but is too afraid to approach one of the most docile horses he'd ever met. “First thing in the morning then?

“Alright, yes.”

Arthur rolled his shoulders and winced when he felt some soreness. “Don't think you're gettin' outta it.”

She crinkled her nose at him. “There's no need to bully me. I'm agreeing with you.”

“I'm just makin' sure you ain't going to try another excuse.”

Charlotte's gaze went to him rubbing his back with one hand. “Is your shoulder hurting you?”

“Think I mighta got a knot from...” shoveling a hole for a corpse “...you know, but it's lower than I can reach.”

“Let me.” She stood and moved behind him.

Arthur eyed her warily. “What are you doin'?”

“I'm going to massage your back.” Before he could object, she placed her hands on his shoulders and started kneading.

He dropped his head forward, feeling immediate relief. He resisted the urge to groan aloud. “You didn't say nothing about knowin' witchcraft.”

“Is this me casting a spell on you?” He heard amusement in her tone and he was glad for it.

“Could be. Reckon I wouldn't be able to tell the difference anyhow.”

“I suppose, I am halfway to being a witch in a story book. Old maid that I am, living in the woods with a devil cat hanging about.”

“I ain't resisting,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

She chuckled. “So eager to be my victim.”

If only she knew. He'd been hellbent on keeping her at a distance after last night and it had nearly cost him today. Finding that abandoned rifle on the ground had scared him half to death. Seeing that bastard's hands on her, the mark on her face—

“Arthur,” she interrupted. “This is supposed to make you less stressed. Stop thinking.”

He let out a breath in an attempt to relax. He focused on her touch and tried to quiet his mind. She continued massaging his shoulders for a long while without speaking and began humming a tune he didn't recognize.

Eventually, she said in a quiet tone, “You were brave today.”

“Call it what you like, but it didn't take much thinkin'.”

She paused and he thought she was about to pull away. Instead, her arms came around him, crossing over his chest as she held tight. In whispered breath, she said, “Thank you, Arthur Morgan, for being there when I needed you most.”

He heard the emotion in her words and he didn't even try to remind her that she'd been the one to save his skin in the end. She pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and a selfish urge arose to turn his head and catch her lips with his.

Too soon, Arthur missed his opportunity as she moved away. He felt the loss of her touch keenly as he watched her clear the table.

She faced him and said, “Considering the day's events, I think I'm going to turn in early tonight.”

“Fair enough.” He glanced at the fire, remembering the pictures he still needed to dispose of. “I think I'll stay up awhile yet.”

“Alright.” She paused in her doorway, one hand on the frame as she cast him a last look. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

“Goodnight, Charlotte.”

Arthur didn't dilly dally. He knelt and threw the lewd pictures in the fire one by one, making sure they burnt to ashes. As he watched them curl and blacken, his thoughts went to the turmoil in his head.

Last night, he'd convinced himself Charlotte was better off without him. And today, she had been in desperate need of him. It was like the world were workin' against his intentions.

The worst of it was, the more he kept thinking on it, the more reasons he kept finding to stay on at Willard's Rest.

Chapter Text

Charlotte always thought if she were ever in a situation where her life was threatened, she'd be able to fight her way out of it. Maybe not easily, but with a modicum of determination. She'd been proven terribly wrong and it was a wound to her pride. That man hadn't been that large and he'd stunk of whiskey, but as much as she'd scratched and pulled to get away, he'd hauled her all the way down the hill and nearly onto his horse.

Charlotte had learned the hard way that owning a gun and knowing how to use it wasn't a guarantee for her protection. Despite her original shock at Arthur's suggestion to teach her some self-defense techniques, she might have to take him up on it.

She hardly had the words to express her gratitude towards Arthur. He'd had no fear, no hesitation and he'd come out of nowhere. And afterwards, he hadn't seemed troubled by anything that had happened. Arthur took things as they came and she wished she could be as unruffled. Instead, she'd spent her night tossing and turning, reliving the scenario and what she could have done differently.

Charlotte sighed and exited her bedroom, only to find Arthur where she'd left him last night. He was writing in his journal and hadn't looked up. She studied him a moment while he was distracted. The flannel he wore today was rolled up to his elbow and tight on his arms. Arthur hadn't raised one complaint about the clothes she'd given him. Of course they had been Cal's, but outfits he hadn't had a chance to wear. He'd bought specific attire, fancying himself an outdoorsman. But one didn't gain experience by only dressing the part.

She shook her head to stave off the memories before they drew her into woeful musings. What she should take from it was that Arthur needed his own wardrobe. She supposed she should make a supply list so they could start the trip to Saint Denis tomorrow.

She stepped further in the room and greeted, “What are you jotting down so furiously this morning?”

Arthur snapped the journal shut and passed her a guilty look. “Nothin' important.”

She raised a brow. He hadn't noticed her enter the room because he'd been so concentrated on it. She teased, “Nothing unwarranted about me I hope?”

Instead of answering, he directed a question at her, “What are you wearing?”

She looked down at herself. She'd modified an old skirt by cutting it in half and sewing two separate legs. It made for wide-legged pants and clung to her waist a bit immodestly (in that her mother would have a conniption if she saw her), but it was a pleasant fit. “I'm assuming I won't be riding sidesaddle and I wanted to be comfortable.”

He grunted, but only asked, “You wanna eat something before we head out?”

She pressed a hand to the tightening in her midriff and grimaced. “Actually, it's probably best if I try this endeavor on an empty stomach.”

“If you say so.”

She wasn't about to tell him about the last time she'd attempted to get on a horse after her initial fall. She'd been ill all over the hostler and too embarrassed to face him for weeks afterward.

She followed Arthur out the door. The mare was standing hitched to the shed. She was already saddled so Arthur must have been up for some time this morning.

The queasiness reared its head. Charlotte stopped and couldn't make herself to step forward any further. “I don't know if I can do this, Arthur.”

“You ride enough, you get thrown enough. You just gotta get back on,” he said reasonably as he gestured her closer.

Nervously, she made her way beside him. “You know, the few times I have ridden, it was only sidesaddle.”

“There's your problem. You're not sitting sturdy enough.” He patted the horse's neck and commented, “This girl's not so big anyways.”

He was right. The mare wasn't so large as some of the horses she'd ever seen. Charlotte asked uneasily, “Should I just...get on?”

“Firstly, you afraid of the horse or afraid of the fall?”

“Oh, well.” She blinked, a bit surprised as she actually took his question into consideration. She didn't fear horses by any means, but the thought of plummeting off of one certainly petrified her. “I suppose, the fall.”

“That'll make it easier.” He patted the mare and beckoned to Charlotte. “C'mon. We'll start with introducing yourself.”

Charlotte reached up slowly and pet the mare, some of her anxiety lowering. There was no denying the beauty in such a creature.

“Now, put your foot in the stirrup here and grab hold of the horn to lift yourself up. Throw your leg over top. If you can't do it yourself, I'll give you a push.”

Her heart rate spiked again, but she did what he said. She managed to swing her leg up and over with only minimal struggling.

“You did good,” Arthur said approvingly. “Now grab hold the reins, but don't tug on 'em.”

She did so, feeling panic well up. She was awfully high. She was distracted briefly when his hand skimmed over her thigh. He must have felt her trembling because he said, “Jesus. You weren't kiddin' around 'bout being afraid of the saddle. You're shakin' more than a rattler. ”

Tensely, she let out, “I may have understated the trauma I endured.”

“You ain't got nothin' to worry about here.” Arthur patted her leg in a similar reassuring manner as he had the horse. “Take a breath in and out now. You're doing fine.”

“You won't let go, right?”

“Nah. I'll walk her with the lead until you feel comfortable enough to go on by yourself.”

“I don't think that'll be part of today's agenda.” Truthfully, it was enough for her to have gotten this far. Now that she was here, she had doubts she could have ever done this on her own.

“You hold to those reins now and sit up.” He waited for her to do so as he said, “We're not gonna do anything today except get used to what it feels like, goin' slow. You just sit there and don't press your heels into her. I'm going to start walking.”

She sucked in a breath. “Okay.”

“We won't go far. Just 'round the yard for now.”

As they started walking, Charlotte concentrated on executing all the advice he'd given her. Sit up, don't clench, don't pull the reins. It helped her to focus on Arthur, who walked ahead of her, calm and steady. She completely trusted he knew what he was doing and he'd keep her safe. She exhaled, some of her tension releasing.

Once she got used to the height and the horse's gait, she found it wasn't as frightening as she remembered. Either the mare wasn't tall or Charlotte had grown up enough to realize that even if she did fall, it wasn't such a great distance.

“How you doin' back there?”

She admitted, “Surprisingly, much better than I thought I would.”

“We'll go one more time 'round and then you can get down.”

Knowing she was nearly done, she relaxed enough to ask, “Does this mare have a name?”

Arthur shrugged. “She's yours. Reckon you can call her what you want.”

“Will she respond to it?”

“After awhile, she'll come to recognize it.”

Charlotte fell silent, giving it some serious thought. She didn't want to give her an unexceptional name like Honey or Lucky, but neither did she want something flashy. She wanted purpose behind it. The mare was reliable and not glamorous or unique in relation to other horses she'd seen. Small, plain, but dependable and even-tempered. There was a heroine in a book she admired who also held those qualities.

“I think I'll call her Jane.”

Arthur turned to her with a raised brow. “After Calamity Jane?”

Charlotte laughed lightly. “I was thinking more along the lines of Jane Eyre, but perhaps for her pride, she can be nicknamed Calamity.”

“Works for me.” Arthur pointed behind the house. “And you can keep her in that stall back there. I reckon she's small enough to fit and we can build on it if we need to, so she'll stay dry.”

We can build on, Arthur said. Like he planned on sticking around longer than what he'd told her yesterday. She shook her head. He was using the collective 'we'. Don't read into it, Charlotte.

“What about food and water?”

“A bucket will serve for now or you can ride her down to the river. Maybe pick up a trough next time you're in town. As for food, I see there's already a sizable stack of hay behind the shelter. Otherwise, there are carrots growing near. You can add some to your garden.”

He led the newly dubbed Jane back to the front of the shed.

Charlotte said, “I have to warn you. I'm not as confident of my dismount.”

“Alright. I'll help you down.” He instructed, “You'll follow the same movements, but in reverse. Hold the horn, swing your leg back and drop to the ground.”

She prepared her pride for a spectacular tumble even as Jane held obediently still. Charlotte followed Arthur's instruction, but slightly underestimated the height from the ground so when she landed, she did stumble on her feet. Arthur steadied her, clutching her elbow.

She turned to him, relief and excitement coursing through her. “I did it! I really did it!”

She threw her arms around Arthur and he chuckled in her ear. “Never seen a lady so excited to get off a horse.”

“I honestly wasn't sure if I was going to make it this far today,” she confessed.

“You did good,” he told her as she leaned back.

She smiled up at him. “You'll make an equestrian of me yet.”

He said encouragingly, “I reckon you could manage a short ride on your own later today.”

As her elation over her accomplishment faded, Charlotte realized, for all intents and purposes, they were in a similar position as the other night, but now there was no inconvenient thunderstorm nearby to disturb them. The sky was cloudless and bright. As she gazed at him, held in his arms, she was ready to see what would have happened next.

Her heart hammering, she leaned up and brushed her lips briefly over his before dropping back and watching his reaction. Did he feel the same as her?

Arthur rested his forehead on hers. He closed his eyes and told her gruffly, “This is a bad idea.”

However, he didn't release her, as if unable to move out of this web of temptation she was spinning. Maybe she had turned into a witch, she mused. But, couldn't he tell she was just as caught in it?

“Why?” she asked curiously, moving her fingertips up the base of his neck and into his hair.

Arthur sucked in a breath and released it breezily over her skin. He didn't give her a reason, but opened his eyes once more to gaze at her fervently.

He had such beautiful, soulful eyes. But, sad, as if he didn't believe he was deserving of something as simple as her touch. The last time he'd got that look in his eyes, he'd run away from her. She didn't want him to do that again.

He told her quietly, “Charlotte, I don't know if I can be what you want me to be.”

And what was that? she wondered. Before she could ask, an attention-seeking horse was butting her head on them. Jane bumped Arthur's shoulder and it broke their embrace.

Charlotte laughed and patted her neck. “I do believe she's jealous. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

Arthur looked away, running a hand down her muzzle. “You'd be surprised. These animals are smart.”

More than anything, she wanted to pursue their conversation, but Arthur didn't seem inclined to continue and she wasn't about to push him. Besides, Charlotte didn't miss the way his eyes roved the horse as he patted her, the yearning in his gaze.

So, she said, “You know, Arthur, I sincerely doubt that our girl Jane had enough exercise for the day.”

He glanced at her, lifting a quizzical brow. “You want back on?”

Charlotte shook her head. “Oh, no. I'm much too inexperienced a rider to give her the proper workout.”

He frowned. “What are you sayin'?”

She poked him. “I'm trying to suggest you should take her for a ride.”

He looked at her with surprise and rubbed his chest. “Do you think I can?”

Clearly, it was an ever present fear on his mind. She smiled at him. “As long as you don't gallop around for hours on end, you'll be alright. If you feel any pain, slow down, okay?”

A boyish grin took over his face, sending her heart fluttering. “Yes, ma'am.”

Arthur swung up onto the mare in a much smoother motion than she had managed. Hands on the reins, he hesitated and told her, “I won't be long.”

“Take as long as you want, Arthur,” she told him. “I'm ready to sit for a meal anyway.”

He nodded and directed Jane into a trot down the hill. Charlotte watched them go, feeling a combination of content at Arthur's eagerness and emptiness at his absence.

Charlotte retreated back into the cabin and scrounged together some food. She was mentally preparing a supply list and stoking a fire when there was a knock on the door. She stilled and glanced at Arthur's room, even though she knew he wasn't here, wouldn't be back for awhile yet and he wouldn't knock when he did return. She set the poker down and plucked up her rifle.

She opened the door to reveal a stranger. A broad-shouldered man with copper skin and black hair. Wary from her last encounter with a stranger, she raised her rifle and asked without ceremony, “Who are you?”

He took a step back and lifted his hands in a neutral approach, but she'd been bamboozled by the gesture before. She wouldn't be taken for a fool again.

“I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am.” He had a soothing, smoky voice, one she wanted to trust. But she didn't lower her gun. “I just have a couple of questions and I'll be on my way.”

She nodded. “Go on.”

“Do you mind putting down your gun? I don't mean you any harm.”

“You aren't the first man to tell me that and you likely won't be the last, but I'm not setting down this rifle, sir.”

“Fair enough,” he said agreeably. “I won't waste your time. A few weeks back, there was a shoot out at Beaver Hollow...”

She felt her heart go still. “If you work for that Pinkerton Agency, then I can't help you. I wasn't there.”

He blinked and his face broke into an unexpected grin, as if it were a ridiculous notion. “I'm the farthest thing from a Pinkerton, ma'am.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What is it you want?”

“There was a man who perished on a cliff over yonder. A farm boy from down the road told me you brought that man back here.”

Darn it, Johnny. She should have made it clear he shouldn't tell anyone. “Maybe I did.”

“I only want to know where he's buried.”

“Buried?” Surprised, Charlotte wavered. This man didn't know Arthur had survived.

“Perhaps the farmhand was mistaken.”

Beyond the stranger, Charlotte caught sight of Arthur trotting back up the hill and nearly dropped her shoulders in relief. He straightened when he saw her and spurred the mare on. She only had to distract this man for a moment longer and Arthur would be here.

She remembered what Arthur had said about it being for the best if everyone thought he was dead. She asked, “Pray tell, what is your connection to the man you're looking for?”

He answered earnestly, “He was a good friend and a good man. One I want to honor with a proper grave site.”

Charlotte studied him. Maybe she hadn't shaken all of her naivety because she believed him. At that point, Arthur had dismounted and was striding over. Hearing the horse, the stranger turned and his brown eyes grew wide with shock.

Charlotte didn't know what to expect, but it wasn't Arthur clapping the stranger on the back and exclaiming, “Charles!”

Chapter Text

Arthur weren't exactly sure if it were eagerness or cowardice that had him jumping onto the saddle. Sure, he was excited to ride a horse again. Feeling the wind sweep by as he directed Jane into a steady-paced trot down the wooded trails.

However, he couldn't fully focus on the ride because he was distracted by the actions of one Charlotte Balfour.

When she'd tipped her head and rose to press a quick kiss on him, he hadn't known what to do. There weren't no denying what he'd wanted to do; pull her in, crush his lips into hers and kiss her til dusk fell. He hadn't held a woman in a long time and she'd felt good in his arms, felt right.

And why was he holding himself back? She weren't a naïve girl he was taking advantage of. She knew what she was getting herself into. Well, maybe not fully, but enough that he knew she wasn't acting on impulse.

As Arthur crested the hill to the house, ready to face Charlotte again, all his amorous notions dropped off. She was standing on the porch with her gun aimed at a man. God damn, did this woman never catch a break?

Then his attention went to the stranger and Arthur realized immediately he was no stranger. Charles? He slid from his horse and strode up to his friend, calling his name.

The big man spun around and his eyes widened at Arthur coming up. “Arthur!”

Arthur caught him in a hug, grinning with unexpected joy. A part of him had thought he'd never see Charles again. “How'd you find me way up here?”

Charles clapped him on the back enthusiastically. “Truthfully, my friend, I wasn't expecting to find you above ground.”

“Apparently, hell ain't ready for me yet.”

Charles smiled. “Apparently, not.”

Arthur noticed Charlotte in the doorway. She'd lowered her gun, but was watching them with apprehension. “Charles, this is Mrs. Charlotte Balfour. Charlotte, Charles Smith, a good friend of mine.”

The tension went out of her shoulders and she smiled. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Smith. Any friend of Arthur's is a friend of mine.”

He nodded to her. “You can call me Charles, ma'am. And my apologies for startling you.”

She waved away his apology. “Let's put it behind us. Why don't you two hitch the horses and come settle in? I was just about to put on a pot of coffee.”

Arthur returned to Jane and led her to the shed and Charles joined him as they hitched their horses next to each other.

Charles tilted his head. “How much does she know?”

Arthur glanced over at the house. “Not a hell of a lot, but she's guessed enough.”

“And you trust her?”

“Yes.” He didn't trust many, but Charlotte had never presented herself as anything other than what she was. “But, it'd be best if she didn't learn much else.”

Charles nodded. He knew how to be discreet.

As they entered the cabin, Charlotte was setting three mugs on the table. She commented, “I swear, I've never had so many visitors before you got here, Arthur.”

She said it playfully, but her words set him on edge for some reason as they sat.

Charles commented, “This is a beautiful corner of the country you have up here.”

Charlotte said, “Yes, I've been incredibly lucky in that regard. If I could only learn to make more use of it.”

“From what I can see, you seem to be doing well enough.”

“Much of that is thanks to Arthur. More than I can ever repay, I fear.”

Arthur protested, “There ain't nothing to repay.”

“Tell me, Charles,” Charlotte asked as she poured the coffee, “has Arthur always been so stubbornly modest?”

“Not sure I can attest to that, ma'am. But, he's proven a true friend to me many times over.”

“Indeed. He lets me prattle on without complaint.”

“When you need him, he's there,” Charles added.

Charlotte nodded. “I've found that to be true too.”

Arthur shifted in his chair. “Alright, enough out of you two.”

“We probably should stop.” Charlotte crinkled her nose. “He gets terribly uncomfortable when you sing his praises.”

“Ain't like that,” Arthur grumbled. “Just feels like you're both ganging up on me.”

She chuckled. “Only in the best sort of way.” She stood with her mug. “I'll leave you boys to catch up.”

Before she left, she paused to squeeze his shoulder and said softly, “Let me know if you need anything, Arthur.”

As Charlotte shut the door, Charles eyed the house and then studied him, commenting, “Retired life suits you, my friend. You look better than you have in a long time.”

Retired? “I ain't retired.” Then he thought on it. He weren't working. Hell, maybe he was retired. He shook his head. “What do you know, Charles? Last I saw of you, you were about to help Rains Fall move the tribe north.”

“I got them settled somewhere safe when I heard about the Pinkerton raid down here. What happened, Arthur?”

The wound was still fresh, even after all these weeks of healing. He said grimly, “The gang fell apart, Charles. Some of 'em got out before it went to shit, but the others, I'm not sure. Miss Grimshaw got herself killed by Micah.”

Charles murmured, “I buried her, up the valley overlooking the lake.”

He'd have to visit the grave site, to pay his respects. Arthur clenched his fists. “I tried to get Dutch to see Micah for what he was, but he wouldn't listen.”

Charles said with regret, “I should've been there.”

“No, you shouldn't have.” Arthur said firmly. “You'd likely be dead.”

“As dead as you?” Charles remarked. “No one knows Arthur Morgan is alive, not even the law.”

“Really?” That surprised him. He would have put money on his face being on wanted posters across the counties.

Charles explained, “The Pinkertons think you were killed on the mountain and your body was taken by coyotes or wolves while they gave chase to the others. It was only by chance I happened on the story of a fatally wounded man being carted up here.”

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck. “That would be Charlotte. She somehow figured I were involved with the shootout and found me on the mountain. Owe her my life on that one.” Twice over, if anyone were counting. “She doctored me back from near death.”

His friend nodded approvingly. “Impressive woman.”

Arthur thought so too, but for some reason he didn't like that Charles also took notice of it. He cleared his throat. “You heard anything from anyone else? John? Sadie? The rest of them?”

Charles shook his head. “No, nothing. Likely, they're all laying low, same as you.”

Arthur supposed no word on them was better than anything bad. But he'd hoped to get some kind of good news.

“I have heard whispers of someone sounding like Micah recruiting at Lakay. I reckon he wants to try his hand at leading.”

Lakay? “Back in the swamps?”

“That's what I heard around the table when I stopped at Emerald Ranch.”

Now that Arthur's elation at reuniting with Charles was fading, a certain dread filled its place. If Charles could find him, who else determined enough would want to make sure he was in the ground?

Charlotte's innocent words ran through his head. I swear, I've never had so many visitors before you got here. It'd been gnawing at him since she'd said it and now he knew why. Lakay weren't that far from here. How long before a man as rotten as Micah heard rumors he was alive and came gunning for him?

It was a painful reminder why this place was a dream only. Willard's Rest was secluded, but not immune from life’s intrusions. He was still an outlaw and it weren't safe for him to settle down anywhere, let alone with Charlotte.

Unsure if he wanted to know the answer, Arthur asked, “Hear anything on Dutch?”

“Nothing.”

Arthur didn't know what he'd say or do if he ever faced Dutch again. Leaving him on the mountain didn't bother him. He understood that. He was dying and the authorities were surrounding them. He'd have left too if he were in Dutch's boots.

No. The battle at Cornwall's factory was the memory that caused him the most pain. Dutch was there. He was right goddamn there. Even now, thinking about it, he nearly couldn't believe it. He'd only been saved because of Eagle Flies. That kid had died so a no-good outlaw like him could live.

Arthur clenched his fists tighter. He had issues with Dutch that would never be resolved, but there was another he could deal with. If they found Micah's camp, he and Charles could swoop in one night with a surprise attack. They could clear it and be out by sunrise. He could get that rat for all the wrongs he'd done to him and the gang, like an angel of death descending.

Charles was studying him. “What are you thinking, Arthur?”

“If Micah's this damn close, it'd be stupid not to go after him.”

“Maybe,” Charles hedged. “But what about...” He tilted his head to the window.

Charlotte. “What's she got to do with it?”

Charles eyed him skeptically. “If we do this, you run the risk of bringing awareness to the fact you're still alive. That might be the end of the line.”

“It's already the end of the line.” He didn't want a chance for Charlotte's life to be in danger because of associating with him. “If I finish Micah off, we'll all be a lot safer. And happier.”

Charles raised a brow. “How's your woman going to take that?”

Arthur scowled. “She ain't my woman.”

“Then you must not be trying hard enough.”

“Shut up, Charles.”

He cracked a smile, but sobered up soon enough. “You really want to do this?”

“I feel like I ain't got a choice.”

Charles frowned, but didn't comment as he stood. “If that's the case, I'll head down to Annesburg for guns and ammunition.”

“Good idea.”

Charles opened the door to the cabin, telling him, “I have a camp set up down the river aways. You can find me there if this is what you decide.”

“I already decided it,” Arthur grumbled behind him.

Charlotte looked up from her garden as they left the cabin. Noticing them heading for the horses, she stood and brushed off her hands. “Charles, you're not staying? There's not a lot of room here, but I could fix something up for you.”

Charles smiled at her. “Sorry, ma'am. You're very kind, but I think you and Arthur have some things to discuss in private.”

Arthur glared at his friend and Charlotte turned to him with a confused frown. He damned Charles for putting him on the spot like that.

Charles mounted up and nodded down to Charlotte. “Thank you for your hospitality and for taking care of my friend here.”

“It's been my pleasure.”

Charles gave Arthur a pointed look at that comment and said, “I'll see you later, Arthur.”

And then Charles abandoned him to explain everything to Charlotte by himself. She didn't waste any time as she crossed the yard and confronted him. “What is going on?”

There were no getting away with nothing around her. He turned towards the house and she followed. Without looking at her, he told her, “It were bound to happen, someone findin' me. I should be grateful it were Charles, instead of someone with less honorable intentions.”

Arthur could hear the frown in her voice. “Okay...”

When he reached the house, he headed straight to his room and started to gather a few shirts. “I'll send some money when I can, for the clothes. Sorry, but I got to take Jane off your hands for awhile and that revolver I found.”

She stopped in his doorway, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw dawning realization transform over her face. “You're leaving.”

“Now that Charles is here, I can finish what was started up in them mountains.”

Her brow furrowed. “I didn't know you had anything you wanted to finish.”

“I told you before, I got to leave soon. It's just happenin' sooner than I expected.”

She crossed her arms. “What about going to Saint Denis with me?”

He moved around her and headed for the table, picking up the revolver. “You don't want me down there makin' a fool of myself and embarrassin' you in front of your rich daddy anyhow.”

“What are you talking about, Arthur? You didn't mention any reservations before. And I thought you liked Benji, at least.”

“I never shoulda stayed long enough to even meet them.”

“Stop.” She moved in front of him and rested her hands over his, causing him to halt his examination of the revolver. She asked him softly, “What is going on, Arthur? Why are you giving me the cold shoulder all of a sudden?”

“I ain't for you, Charlotte!”

She dropped her hands from him like she'd been burnt. “I thought...” She lifted her eyes to meet his. “I thought there was something between us.”

“Maybe there is, maybe there ain't.” This place, this woman, was a taste of what his life coulda been, had he chosen a different path. But, it weren't meant for a damned soul like his. Sooner or later his mistakes always caught up with him and ruined whatever chance he got at peace. “But it don't matter none if you're just stickin' yourself with a man who's gonna wake up dead any day now.”

“That's not accurate at all.” Her forehead crinkled. “You're being deliberately hurtful.”

“For once, I'm bein' the reasonable one. I got a past and it ain't pleasant.”

“That doesn't matter to me. It never has.”

“But it should,” he told her, stone-faced. “Charlotte, I've done terrible things. Nasty violence to folk that didn't rightly deserve it. I ain't the kind of man you need around.”

Her voice sounded strange when she asked, “What kind of man do you think I need?”

She was going to make him say it? “I don't know. Someone kind, like you. Fair. Leastwise, not one with blood on his hands.”

Her lips pressed together and her hands balled into fists. She said in stilted tones, “I already had a man like that and he was taken from me.”

As much as Arthur wanted to put his arms around her and plead forgiveness for his callousness, he wouldn't. For his own sake, as much as hers. “And there are plenty more out there better than me.”

She glanced away for a moment, seeming to collect her thoughts. She faced him straight on again. “Arthur, do you know what I see when I look at you?”

A murderer. An outlaw. A sick, dying bastard. But what he said was, “No.”

“I see a man conflicted. Guilt-ridden from poor choices in his life. But one who's aiming to do better, be better.”

“I ain't no more innocent than the killers I ran with.”

“You don't think you've earned a sliver of serenity?”

“No.”

Charlotte stared hard at him as if waiting for him to change his mind. He gritted his teeth and said nothing. He'd learned by now he couldn't be a bad man and expect good things to happen to him.

Finally, she sighed and pressed her fingers to her temple. “Arthur, I don't fully understand why you're pushing to leave so hastily, but you're not beholden to me.” She glanced up at him. “If you feel so strongly about this, I won't stand in your way.”

Simultaneously, relief and an aching grief flooded him. He turned away from her. He couldn't face her. He needed to get out of here before he changed his—

“However,” Charlotte continued. “I only ask that you wait until morning to leave.”

He balked and spun around. “Why?”

“I would appreciate it if you stayed long enough to drop me off in Annesburg tomorrow.”

Arthur hesitated. That did not sound like a good idea. It would give her ample opportunity to try and convince him not to leave.

“Please?”

Damn it. He was too soft when it came to begging women. He ain't never learned how to refuse them. “Fine, but I ain't changing my mind.”

Chapter Text

It turned out Arthur didn't need to be concerned about Charlotte arguing with him for the rest of the night. After he agreed to hold off leaving, she retreated to her room, shutting the door and never coming out.

Was she giving him the silent treatment? He didn't reckon she were the kind of person to ignore him, but he weren't thinking he didn't deserve it neither. He only wished, since he was staying the evening, he could've actually spent some time with her on his last night.

He slept like shit and woke up coughing something terrible. Like his body knew he was about to betray it and leave the peaceful cabin to return to work. When he couldn't take being miserable in his room, he rolled out of bed and went to be miserable in the main room.

Charlotte woke an hour later. She didn't comment on his state, but there was no way she hadn't heard all his coughing in the early hours of the morning.

She paused in her doorway, dressed in the same skirt and top as when her family had visited. Likely, it was the cleanest and most intact clothing she had.

“You ready?” he asked gruffly before he changed his mind without her help.

“Before we head out, I want to give you something.” She turned back into her room.

Arthur sighed and followed, pushing her door open further. “Charlotte, there ain't no need—” She faced him, cradling a tan leather coat. One he recognized. “Where'd that come from?”

She stepped up to him and handed it over, explaining, “It's the coat you were wearing when I found you. I couldn't salvage any of your other clothing, but I've cleaned and stitched this up the best I could.”

His hands strayed over the leather. “You sewed this?”

“Contrary to your expectation,” She smiled, a twinkle in her eye. “I'm not without any skills of my own, Arthur.”

His mouth felt dry. “You didn't have to do this.”

“Of course, I didn't have to.” She shook her head. “I did it because I wanted to.”

There she was, always giving and never expecting anything in return. Then he grasped the real reason she'd hidden in her room. She hadn't been ignoring him. “This is what you were doing last night?” Even after he'd snapped at her.

“I was hoping for a bit more time to tidy up some of the fraying, but it'll do for your journey.” She patted the top of the coat. “Go on. Put it on.”

Feeling unworthy of the kindness, Arthur pulled it over his shoulders. Charlotte started buttoning the coat before he could tell her he preferred it open. He allowed it, watching her concentrate on each button. When she reached the last one on the top, she smoothed out the collar and rested her palms on his chest.

Her crystal eyes met his. “What do you think?”

Arthur was thinking this was the kind of send off a wife gave her husband. Too intimate a gift for her to give to the likes of him. “It's nice.”

She raised her brows. “No need to bestow high praise on my account.”

He winced. “I didn't mean it like that.”

She smiled and brushed her knuckles on his cheek. “I'm only teasing. I'm glad you like it.”

Oh, God. He wanted to pull her close, forget everything except the two of them in this cabin and kiss her until oblivion.

She dropped her hands and stepped back. “I just have to grab my bag.”

“I'll get the horse saddled.” He turned on his heel and got out of there before he made a fool of himself.

He crossed the yard, his heart thumping in his ears as he tried to remember why the hell he was leaving. Micah needed to be dealt with and Arthur wanted the advantage of a surprise attack.

Before he'd fully convinced himself, Charlotte was opening and closing the front door. He finished readying the saddle and took her bag when she walked up.

“I'll have to ride sidesaddle with this skirt,” she informed him, her hands twisting together.

“That's alright. I'll pull you up behind me.” Arthur mounted up and reached his arm out for her.

She started to stretch up, but then drew back. “Wait!”

“Now, what are you doing?” If they didn't hit the trail soon, he was going to tell Charlotte to forget the whole thing and that they should go back inside and pretend yesterday's conversation had never happened.

She lifted her skirt and made her way back to the house, saying, “I need to put something out for Puck so he doesn't think I'm leaving for good.”

Arthur shook his head. “That cat will be long gone by the time you get back here. He's probably long gone already.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” she chided lightly. “Surely, by now, he considers this a safe haven.”

Arthur watched her go inside and come back out with some meat scraps, setting them in a tin on the porch. Lucky beast would get all of her attention if he were smart enough to come back around. He scowled. God damn, was he jealous of a cat?

She made her way back over to him and he warned sourly, “You're going to attract rats.”

She waved her hand, ignoring his piss-poor mood. “I'm sure it'll be fine.”

Charlotte raised her arm once more and he hauled her up and around. Her arms came around his waist as she pressed herself into his back, holding tight. Her body was warm against him and giving him all sorts a thoughts he shouldn't be having. Damn. Was he going to survive this trip?

“Are you alright, Arthur?”

“Fine,” he grunted. He flicked the reins and they were on their way.

They rode silently for awhile. The trees whispered among themselves and twigs snapped under Jane's hooves. Arthur spotted two foxes bounding in the woods, nipping at each other carelessly.

In the backdrop of the serene morning, Charlotte asked quietly, “What do you have to finish?”

He turned his head. “Huh?”

“Last night, you said you had to finish something from the mountains. What is it?”

His shoulders tensed and he was unsure what to tell her. He said carefully, “It weren't just Pinkertons that left me for dead.”

“You're going off to hurt someone?”

'Course she guessed his intentions first try. “Not just anyone. A right bastard who deserves it.”

She fell silent. It was worse than if she had rebuked him, and he couldn't see her expression. Maybe that were for the best. He couldn't stand to see fear in her eyes.

“That ain't the only thing we're doing,” he felt the need to add. “I want to make sure everybody landed on their feet.”

“I understand.”

Hell, maybe she did. Between him calling out for John and Dutch in a fever, revealing what Hosea had meant to him, and greeting Charles like a lost brother, it weren't too hard to put it together.

He led Jane up a trail turning right and Charlotte noticed their change in direction. “Where are we going?”

“I gotta meet up with Charles first.” That was a damn lie. He could've dropped Charlotte in town first and then came back up here, but he found himself wanting to prolong his time with her.

“Alright.” Whether she guessed at his tactic or not, she offered no protest.

The trail was steep and winding and when it turned downward, Charlotte squeezed him tighter. He asked her, “You doin' okay?”

“Yes.” She released a drawn out breath. “As long as I'm not looking down. I may have a fear of heights.”

Thinking of the one time he'd been nervous of being high up, he commented, “Then you wouldn't take to traveling by balloon too well.”

It was just the distraction she needed. He felt her straighten as she asked in surprise, “You've ridden in a hot air balloon?”

“Crashed it too.”

“My, my, what an illustrious life you've led. You'll have to tell me about it.”

Illustrious. One word for it, he supposed. Probably wouldn't be smart to add he'd only been in one to scope out Sisika Penitentiary, to break out a man imprisoned for getting caught at a bank robbery.

No, he couldn't tell her any of that. “We're gonna go off the trail a bit. Get closer to the river to see if we can find Charles.”

They didn't have to travel too far. Arthur spotted a smoke trail from the bottom of the hill and followed the direction of it. It weren't long before they found Charles' camp, near the river like he'd said.

Arthur waved a hand and greeted, “Hey, Charles.”

“Hello, Arthur.” Charles' attention went to the woman behind him. “Charlotte.”

Charlotte nodded. “Good morning, Charles.”

“When you didn't show up last night, I thought you'd changed your mind.”

Charlotte offered, “I fear that's my doing. I asked Arthur to wait until the morning to give me a ride into Annesburg.”

“And he brought you here?”

Arthur told him, “It were closer to come get you than going into town and riding back up the hill.”

Charles raised a brow, clearly not accepting that explanation as readily as Charlotte had. “Let me put out this fire and I'll be ready to head out.”

Arthur led the way back up the hill. Charles followed behind, starting a conversation with Charlotte. He asked her general questions like where she was from and how long she'd lived in the woods.

“It's been quite a few months now.”

“And how long have you known Arthur?”

Arthur shot Charles a look. What was he up to?

“Oh.” He could imagine Charlotte scrunching up her face as she thought on it. “Nearly as long as that. We—my husband and I, that is—weren't here long before he passed away. Arthur found me about a week after that and was gracious enough to teach me some survival skills.”

“Interesting.”

“What is?” Arthur asked him suspiciously.

“You aren't always so selfless with your time.”

He only grunted while Charles asked Charlotte about Chicago. Arthur didn't participate in the conversation. He knew what Charles was getting at, that he'd changed. There'd been more than a few times Charles had seen him reluctant to help anyone if it didn't benefit him or the gang.

They reached the outskirts of Annesburg, close enough that the smell of coal invaded his nostrils. He coughed a couple times at the unpleasant air. Damn. This town could fell him if he stayed too long.

“You can let me off here,” Charlotte told him as they neared the post office.

As Arthur lowered her from the horse, his mind flew back to yesterday. She'd been willing to press an innocent kiss to him then. Now that she was reminded of his dangerous nature, would she ever try again?

He dropped down and worked on getting loose her bag while she patted the horse. He heard her murmur, “You watch over him, Miss Jane.”

He handed over her bag and she said, “Thank you for bringing me this far, Arthur.”

“It weren't a problem.”

“Well, I hope you two stay safe in your travels.” She nodded. “Goodbye, Arthur, Charles.”

Arthur mounted up, but he couldn't stop himself from looking back. His eyes followed Charlotte making her way to the stagecoach. He knew Charles was watching him, waiting, but he couldn't just drop her off and leave it at that.

He dismounted, tossing over his shoulder, “Give me a minute, Charles.”

“Take all the time you need, my friend.”

He ignored the amusement in Charles' tone and jogged to catch up with Charlotte. She had just finished paying the coach driver and turned, her eyes widening in surprise. “Arthur.”

“I...uh...” He scratched the back of his head, uncomfortable. Why the hell had he come over here? “You takin' the stagecoach all the way to Saint Denis?” Stupid.

She glanced at the stage. “Yes. I've done it once before. It's about a three hour ride.”

He nodded. Why couldn't he think of anything to say?

Charlotte saved him from further awkwardness. “Where will you be, Arthur?”

The driver was checking his horses out of earshot, but Arthur didn't think it was safe to be candid with her. “Might be best if you don't know the particulars.”

He thought she might ask more, but all she said was, “Okay.”

“I don't know when we'll be back,” he warned. If I'll be back.

“Arthur, I know you have issues to resolve. I just wish...” She sighed. “Well, I suppose it doesn't matter at this point.”

“You don't...” It was weak of him, but he had to know. “...you don't hate me for leavin'?”

Her brow furrowed as she placed her hands over his. “Of course not. You may have kept me in the dark as to the details of your former escapades, but I hold no illusions as to who you are.” She cracked a smile. “You have a good heart, Arthur, but I think your rambling spirit wants a turn at the helm.”

He turned his palms and held onto her hands, rubbing a thumb over her knuckles. As he studied Charlotte's expression, he realized at that moment what had been missing, what he'd been desperately wanting, from his last conversation with Mary before everything went to shit.

Trust.

Mary used to have that hopeful glimmer in her eyes, but she'd given up on him long ago. And rightfully so, if he were being honest. She'd pushed him to run, to leave Dutch, but she hadn't understood why he couldn't.

When he'd told her he had people to take care of, her eyes had dimmed and she'd thought he meant to kill folk rather than get his friends out. She'd taken it the wrong way and he hadn't corrected her. Mary hadn't understood his responsibility for the others. They'd been his family. The women, his brothers, and the kid. Hell, maybe even Uncle.

“That doesn't mean I don't want you to be careful.” Charlotte pulled him out of his ruminations, raising a hand to his cheek. “I'd like it if you'd come back in one piece.”

Come back. His heart was pounding loudly and he released a slow breath. “And if I don't?”

A tiny smile touched her lips. “I suppose, I'll have to hunt you down and put you back together once more.”

The coachman cleared his throat. “We shouldn't dally, ma'am, if you want to make it to Saint Denis before luncheon.”

Arthur helped her step into the coach, not releasing her hand until he had to shut the door. She leaned out the window and he reclaimed her hand one more time.

“Take care, Mrs. Balfour.”

“Same goes for you, Mr. Morgan.”

He kissed her knuckles as one last sendoff and released her. She sat back and the driver started off, obscuring his view of her. The pain in his chest was unbearable as he watched that carriage drive away. It got nothing to do with breathing in the damn coal in the air.

He returned to Charles and they began their ride out of town without speaking. He couldn't get the image of Charlotte peering up at him with unwavering tenderness out of his mind.

When they slowed their pace, he saw Charles shaking his head out of the corner of his eye.

“Just say it, Charles.”

Charles pulled up beside him, studied him a moment before asking, “Arthur, you sure you want to go through with this?”

Instead of answering, Arthur turned it on his friend, “You're the one who came to me.”

“I came up here expecting to find a body to bury.” Charles watched him solemnly. “But, seeing you out of Dutch's reach, you could survive. You're out, you're free. Do you want to ruin that?”

“Goddamn it.” He pulled on his reins and Charles followed suit, stopping in the middle of the trail. “What are you saying?”

“I want to know if you're running towards something or away from something.”

“What the hell do you think I'm running from?”

Charles stared at him as if it were obvious.

That just irritated him and he growled out, “You ain't making sense, Charles...”

“Arthur, you were always the first to advise someone against seeking revenge. You called it a fool's game. Why are you so keen on it now?”

“I ain't doin' it for revenge.”

“Then, why?”

“I...” couldn't handle it if Micah found out I'm alive, where I was staying and who I'm soft on. Damn. He was being driven by fear. Fear his past would overtake him. “Micah—”

“Micah only sped up the inevitable. You know how Dutch was getting, reckless and unreasonable. He kept throwing us into bigger and bigger jobs, but they never amounted to much, if anything, except the attention of the authorities.”

He didn't have an argument for that. “I don't know. But, if I don't do this, I'm leavin' it unfinished.”

“It doesn't have to be you who finishes it.”

Arthur hopped from his horse, frustrated. “Goddamn it, Charles! What do you want me to do? Leave them be?”

“If the authorities don't catch up with Micah or Dutch, something else will.”

Arthur paced in agitation. “What about finding Marston and his family?”

“I think you've already done all you can for them at this point. The rest is up to John.”

“That ain't as comforting a line as you think it is,” he replied wryly and then shook his head. “And the others? You ain't concerned about none of them?”

“Sure, I am. I didn't run with the gang as long as you, but some of them are my friends too.” Charles patted his horse as it stepped anxiously from foot to foot. “But I'm thinking now it might be best if none of us are seen in the same place. The girls are smart enough to blend and settle in somewhere. Everyone else knows how to make their own way. No one's new at starting over.”

Arthur let Charles' words sink in. He still wanted to find out what had happened to everyone, if they were surviving all right. But, turning up unexpectedly in their new lives could ruin it.

Charles continued, “If you want to hunt down Micah and Dutch, you won't ride alone. I'll be by your side in a fight, but there's no guarantee we'll find one or both right away. Do you want to spend the rest of your days seeking vengeance?”

Did he want to throw away his life trying to kill Micah-fucking-Bell? He'd nearly done it once. And as far as Dutch went, he didn't know if he had it in him to do anything about the man who he'd once seen as a father figure. Arthur weren't as cold-blooded and disconnected as Dutch seemed to be nowadays.

He continued to argue, “So, you reckon I should disappear and start a new life too?”

“I'm saying, my friend,” Charles raised a brow. “You already have.”

The image of Willard's Rest came to mind. Charlotte's laugh, their playful banter, the calm nights when she read and he wrote or drew, that tattered cat she kept trying to coax inside...

“You're setting up like I can live a life with Charlotte. What if she won't have me?”

Charles scoffed at him. “After that never-ending sendoff I witnessed in Annesburg? I don't think you have to worry.”

Arthur weren't too sure about that. “And what about all the trouble that could follow me?”

“Since when are you concerned with trouble?”

“It ain't for my sake I'm thinking.”

“Wouldn't you rather be with Charlotte if that trouble does come calling?”

That was a knife through him that cut deeper than Charles knew. He'd had a lady when he was hale. And a son, a bright boy. A family that he'd failed to stay for and his recklessness had been their demise. That was a dark road he didn't want to return to right now and he slammed a door in his mind to hide it.

He opened another as he remembered his first day waking in Charlotte's house, what she'd said to him after he'd rejected deserving a second chance at life. Please cherish the one that's been given to you.

“Goddamnit.” He swung back on his horse.

Charles turned towards him. “What are you going to do?”

“I don't know.” Arthur clutched his reins. “Probably something stupid.”

Chapter Text

Charlotte didn't think she had many regrets in her life, but this morning she may have acquired a new one. Buck up, Char. There's always tomorrow. She'd repeated that mantra all through her sewing last night. But the morning had come and gone and nothing had changed course.

How could she have just let Arthur go? She hadn't even tried arguing with him, persuading him—begging him not to leave.

When she'd tried probing him a little on where and what he was doing, he'd tensed up so she'd stopped. She desperately wanted to be in the know with him, but she didn't want to fight. He had no obligation towards her despite the way he'd kept looking at her, as if silently willing her to argue with him.

Or maybe what he'd actually been waiting for was a reason to remain and she'd made no attempt to provide him one.

“Nearly at your stop, ma'am,” the driver called from above, breaking into her reverie.

She sat up with interest as the carriage rolled through the edge of Saint Denis. It wasn't as awe-inspiring in view as Chicago with its newly developed skyscrapers, as the people were calling them, but Saint Denis was large enough. She certainly wouldn't have the easiest time finding her way.

The Lannaheche River was visible on her left, through the industrial buildings and across the tracks. The driver pulled up near the post office. He jumped down and opened the door to assist her out. She thanked him as he handed over her bag.

Charlotte turned in the direction of the city. It was going to take all her mental strength to face the day ahead of her. Without Arthur, she'd have to manage confronting her father on her own. A daunting task, if there ever was one. She hadn't realized until this moment how much she'd been relying on Arthur's steady solidity to lean on.

Charlotte felt a sharp ache in her heart as palpable as his cutting absence. She turned away from Saint Denis. She wasn't ready for the day quite yet.

She heard a whistle and glanced to her right to see a train moving in. On an impulse, she quickly crossed the tracks before it was too near and headed for the docks.

She stopped near the water and closed her eyes to the breeze. She breathed in the cool air, trying to calm herself. She couldn't hide from the uncertainty in her mind as she wrestled with her confusion regarding Arthur.

What had she been hoping for? A declaration of love? A promise he'd return? He hadn't done either, but neither did she fault him for it. He wasn't the kind of man to vow a commitment when he couldn't keep it.

She opened her eyes and witnessed a bird take flight from a post on the dock. It reminded her of a sketched cardinal Arthur had penciled in his journal. Even from that single drawing, she could tell he was a brilliant artist, especially for someone without any schooling for it. Arthur was gifted that way. Sometimes she thought he looked at a person or creature and saw the truth of their nature in a single glance.

He'd sized her mother and brothers up quickly enough. He'd gotten reserved Benji on his side in one meeting and somehow stayed in a conversation with Clark and hadn't been challenged to a duel. He'd even silenced her mother without it devolving into a shouting match. Albeit, it had involved some conniving on his part. The memory made her smile.

Charlotte blew out a breath. Darn. She truly missed him already.

No matter what, she wouldn't stop being his friend. He was a good man, plagued with guilt and a sense of responsibility. He had people he cared for, issues to resolve, same as her. She only wished he'd shared some of his life with her, but maybe that wasn't a connection he wanted.

Charlotte shook her head. She had to stop her dawdling and get herself together. She needed to hold on to all the emotional stability she could muster for her own upcoming dilemma. She would save her pining for afterwards.

“I didn't take you for the brooding type.”

Startled, her eyes widened and she turned around. Lo and behold, the subject of her thoughts stood leaning casually against a lamp post, as if he'd been here the whole time watching her musing.

Her heart started thumping, but she remarked in an offhand manner, “I do not brood, Mr. Morgan. In fact, I reserve brief moments of my day to cast away any feelings of misery.”

He pushed off from the lamp and walked towards her. “And how's that working out for you?”

“Perhaps it's merely the added company, but I am feeling suddenly more cheery.”

He stopped in front of her and released a breath. “I'm sorry 'bout the way I left things.”

“I certainly wasn't expecting to see you so soon,” she admitted quietly.

“Charles helped me see sense.”

“What about the friends you wanted to check up on?”

“It ain't the right time for it.”

Arthur was being vexingly vague again. Unnecessarily hiding things from her to preserve her opinion of him, she assumed. “And what is it you're doing in Saint Denis?”

She wanted him to admit out loud he'd chosen her company over seeking violence. If he could hear himself say those words, maybe he'd realize that his choices didn't all hinge on him being an outlaw.

He scowled. “Ain't it obvious?”

“Perhaps,” she conceded before stepping closer and challenging, “But, you could make it more so.”

He stared at her and she wondered what was going through his mind. Whenever he wasn't in motion, he tended to get stuck in his head.

She was expecting him to say something, even if it turned out not to be exactly what she wanted to hear. Therefore, it caught her off guard when he clutched her wrist and pulled her against his chest. He tipped her chin with his other hand and pressed his lips to hers. He moved over her mouth, gently and slowly, but with purpose.

Her heart skipped a few beats in shock and she stopped breathing until he pulled away.

“Does that answer your question?” he asked in a gravelly voice.

“Yes,” she managed to whisper weakly.

She hoped he hadn't thought she'd been playing coy with him. She truly hadn't expected an answer of that sort. But she wasn't protesting the result. His unexpected kiss cleared up all the uncertainty she'd been feeling as to his desires for her.

A dock worker whistled from behind her, causing Charlotte's mind to crash back to reality and heat to rush to her cheeks. How had she forgotten they were in public?

Arthur ignored the whistling and picked up her bag from the ground. “C'mon. Let's get outta here.”

She fell into step beside him as they crossed the train tracks. She needed her heartbeat to return to normal so she asked mildly, “You didn't wear poor Jane out getting here, did you?”

“Nah. When we reached the bayou, I got on the train.”

She frowned at that. “But, there aren't any train stops in the bayou.”

He grinned and her heart tumbled. “Don't I know it.”

Incredulous, her eyes widened as she comprehended his meaning. “Did you jump onto a moving train?”

“I mean, it ain't the first time I done it.” He rubbed his shoulder. “But, I ain't in the best shape for them kind of stunts right now. Damn near dislocated my arm.”

Her brow furrowed. “What happened to Jane?”

“Charles'll take care of her. Drop her off at the stable in Van Horn for us before he heads back north.”

So, it was Charles who had convinced Arthur to forgo his journey and had made it possible for him to join her in Saint Denis. She mused, “It seems I owe Charles a great deal for this endeavor.”

Arthur grumbled, “Maybe you woulda preferred his company then.”

She laughed and looped her arm through one of his. “Oh, don't be so prickly. It's you I'm here with, isn't it?” That seemed to mollify him so she asked, “How familiar are you with this city?”

“Been through it a few times. More than likely, I can lead you where you need to go.”

“Excellent. I haven't started my shopping yet.”

“Alright. Where to first?”

“I have to stop at the bank and withdraw some funds.”

“'Course you gotta go there first,” he muttered. He cleared his throat. “I can show you where it is, but I best not go in with you.”

She stared at him. Why would he be hesitant to enter a bank, of all places? Then she thought on it a moment longer and named herself an idiot. Why would a proclaimed outlaw avoid a bank?

That had her wondering more. She asked in a low voice, “Arthur, how dangerous is it to be walking around Saint Denis?”

“For who?”

For you, you silly man. She bit her lip and looked around. “Are you taking a huge risk being here?”

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck in a gesture she'd come to recognize as him being uncomfortable with whatever they were discussing. “Er, if I'm careful, we ain't got nothing to worry about.”

He'd committed crimes here, perhaps was still a wanted man. Yet, he'd chosen to join her. Why hadn't he warned her? Then she remembered his initial hesitancy when she'd asked him in the first place. She'd mistakenly thought he'd been reluctant because of her family.

She told him firmly, “Arthur, I can't have you endangering yourself for my sake.”

He cracked a crooked grin. “Reckon it's too late for that, ma'am.”

She frowned, concerned, but he patted her hand and said, “Hey, we'll be careful. But from what Charles told me, I ain't on the law's list of priorities right now anyway.”

Her frown deepened. “What does that mean?”

“Means you did a sneaky job carting me up to your cabin 'cause no Pinkerton saw you do it. They think I'm dead.”

“Will anyone else recognize you here?”

“Maybe.” He shifted and told her, “If someone does, don't react any if they call me Tacitus Kilgore.”

“Tacitus?” Her brow wrinkled. “Like the Roman historian?”

Arthur shrugged. “Sure, I guess.”

They reached the corner of the street where the bank stood. He pointed it out and Charlotte didn't waste time inside. She withdrew a decent amount, calculating in her head what she thought she'd need for today's shopping and a little extra for anything unexpected.

When she emerged from the bank, she walked down the street to where she'd left Arthur on the corner. He was leaning against the building, alert and watching people walk by. He nodded a friendly enough greeting if anyone looked his way.

When he spotted her, Arthur pushed off the wall. “Where to next, Mrs. Balfour?”

She lowered her head a moment, deciding. “Let's visit Dr. Barnes.”

“Alright. Follow me.”

As luck would have it, Dr. Barnes was out for the day, but a young man was running the storefront. He assisted them as best he could, but he wasn't knowledgeable on tonics and Charlotte didn't want to purchase anything without Dr. Barnes' guidance.

She thanked the young man and promised, “We'll come by again before we leave town.”

As they left the doctor's office, Charlotte said, “We have to meet up with my family at five o'clock at their hotel dining room.”

Arthur scratched his jaw. “So, we got a couple hours. Where they staying?”

“The Hotel Grand. Do you know where that is?”

“Yeah, I know it.” He said it with a grimness she didn't understand. “It's actually right near the bank. Passed it by on our way over.”

“Good.” She turned in the opposite direction of the bank. “Now, let's find an alternative hotel for ourselves.”

His brow furrowed. “Ain't you gonna stay in the same one?”

“Trust me, Arthur,” Now it was her turn to look unhappy. “After dinner, you and I are going to want to be as far away as we can.”

“I don't get it.” He was shaking his head. “You don't need money from them or their support in any way. Why even bother with this dinner if you know it's going to make you miserable?”

She sighed. Perhaps it was a strange concept. “Because I love them and I don't know when I'll see them again after today.”

“If you say so,” Arthur accepted her explanation in dubious tones. “I only know of one other hotel, but it's lively all through the night. The Bastille Saloon. Don't know if they got too many rooms to rent though and it ain't exactly a place for ladies.”

“Well, let's check it out anyway.”

As they started walking from the doctor's office, a voice across the street called out, “Mr. Morgan!”

They froze and looked at each other. Charlotte offered weakly, “Maybe there's another Mr. Morgan nearby?”

“Arthur Morgan!”

Arthur cursed, “Aw, shit.”

Charlotte turned to find a bearded, bald man in dark robes waving them down. A...monk?

Arthur seemed to recognize him and his expression cleared. As the man strode up to them, he greeted, “Oh, uh, Brother Dorkins.”

“How are you, Mr. Morgan?” the monk asked warmly.

“Doin' fine, I guess. How 'bout yourself?”

“Wonderful, wonderful,” Brother Dorkins replied. “I don't know if you heard, but Sister Calderón was offered a position in Mexico.”

Arthur glanced at Charlotte briefly. “Er, yeah, actually ran into her as she were boardin' the train down. Seemed pretty excited about the whole ordeal.”

“Of course, she deserves it, but I can't help anticipating my own missionary trip.”

“Careful, Brother, or you'll start sounding as greedy as us nonbelievers.”

Brother Dorkins chuckled. “Ah, you'll hear nothing too sinful out of me.” His attention shifted to her. “Who's your companion?”

“This here is Charlotte, Mrs. Charlotte Balfour.”

Charlotte smiled in greeting. “Pleasure to meet you, Brother Dorkins. Do you run the church here in Saint Denis?”

“Gracious me, no, ma'am. I haven't been here near long enough, but I'm accomplishing a lot of good anyway.” He turned to Arthur. “Those two young men you saved have prospered.”

“Oh yeah?” Arthur nodded. “Glad to hear it.”

“One of them works the stables here in Saint Denis and the other chose to stay on at the church with us.” As he said this, the bells at the church rang the hour for two o'clock. Brother Dorkins added, “Ah, well, I best get back. I only wanted to stop and see how you were getting on, Mr. Morgan.”

“You take care, Brother.”

Charlotte added, “It was lovely to meet you, Brother Dorkins.”

As he walked away, Charlotte cast an interested, sidelong look at Arthur.

Arthur straightened. “What?”

“I've been worried all afternoon about you being recognized by the law and then when we do run into someone who knows you, it's a soft spoken monk, of all people.”

Arthur shrugged. “I helped him with something awhile ago.”

“So I heard.”

“Weren't nothin' complicated. Just some people in a tough situation.”

“You don't have to explain away your altruism. It sounds like you saved their lives...” She paused and couldn't resist adding teasingly, “Saint Arthur.”

As she expected, he muttered grumpily, “I don't see what's so humorous in all of it.”

“It isn't funny, per se.” She tilted her head as she looked at him. “You seem to see yourself in only one light, as this outlaw who's never done any good for anyone. But you've obviously changed many lives for the better. I'm a firsthand account, after all.”

“Be that as it may, it ain't enough to make up for the bad.”

“Hmm,” she said noncommittally before wondering aloud, “How come Brother Dorkins didn't know you as Tacitus?”

“Er, 'cause I didn't give him that name for some reason.”

Arthur hadn't given her an alias when they'd met either. She wondered if he did that unconsciously or if there was meaning behind it.

“One more question to sate my curiosity and I won't tease you anymore on the subject.” Charlotte peered up at him. “Are you friends with a nun?”

That question at least had him smiling. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. A wiser woman I never met anyways.”

An outlaw who held a nun in high regard. What an outlandish notion. She laughed softly. “You certainly have met the most interesting of people, haven't you?”

“Actually, yes.” Something in his expression changed. “Speaking of interestin' people, I just thought of another hotel we can check out.”

Chapter Text

“'Hotel la Licorne',” Charlotte read and translated, “The Unicorn Hotel.”

Arthur looked over the letters. “Is that what that means?”

She nodded. “It looks like a very respectable establishment.”

When Charlotte mentioned him meeting interesting people, it had Arthur recalling one of the strangest men he'd met in Saint Denis and that was Algernon. He had led Charlotte north of Saint Denis, to a stately blue building a little outside the city's limit.

As they walked up, he informed her, “I gotta say I ain't too familiar with the hotel itself. Only ever visited the shopkeep in the back. Last I heard, he were headed to Baltimore for his sister or something.” Arthur stopped and shifted in front of Charlotte. “If we do run into him, he's one of the ones who knows me as Tacitus.”

“And what's his name?”

“Algernon Wasp.”

Charlotte's face scrunched up as if she were trying not to laugh. “Is that a fake name too?”

“You know, I never asked. Could be.”

She queried with amusement, “And how do you know this character?”

A character he was, she weren't wrong about that. “I, uh, gathered some egret plumes and orchids for him. He paid a pretty penny for them to use in fancy hats.”

“How interesting.”

“Found myself humoring him more often than not.” Arthur shook his head. “A strange feller who claimed to wear corsets and tried to sell me on one.”

“Really?” Her eyes glittered with humor. “Well, now I'm only hoping we do run into him.”

“You'd come to regret it, I guarantee you that. He's one of them men who likes the sound of his own voice.”

Arthur held open the door to the hotel for Charlotte and followed after. Their first step in and an overwhelming floral fragrance engulfed them. Arthur coughed and even Charlotte had to clear her throat and blink away the pungent air. As they drew nearer to the lobby desk, it became apparent who was the origin of the suffocating perfume. A woman stood behind the counter. She had a sharp look to her, an angular face with thick, brown hair bundled up in curls atop her head.

“Bonjour,” she greeted. “Avez-vous besoin d'une chambre?”

Arthur frowned. “Er...”

Charlotte placed a hand on his arm and stepped forward. “Oui, Madame. Deux chambres, s'il vous plait.”

One of her thin brown eyebrows rose. “Deux?”

Arthur looked to Charlotte, seeing her cheeks redden as she replied, “Oui, deux. Sous le nom de Charlotte Balfour.”

“Amende...” and then the woman went into a flurry of words that sounded like complete gibberish to Arthur's ears.

“What's she sayin'?” he asked eventually, as it didn't seem the woman would be pausing anytime soon.

“She's verifying we want two rooms, the cost and the many rules of the hotel.”

“Anything important?”

“Faites attention!” the Frenchwoman snapped.

They both stood straighter, like scolded schoolchildren and Charlotte muttered, “I'll tell you later.”

When the Frenchwoman finished her spiel, Charlotte dug out her cash. She handed over a lot more than Arthur considered a fair amount for only a night's stay. The woman had them each sign the guestbook before setting two keys on the counter and pointing towards a set of stairs behind her.

“Numéros de chambre trois et quatre.”

“Come on, Arthur.” Charlotte tugged on his arm and nodded to the hotel clerk. “Merci, Madame.”

“Merci,” Arthur repeated clumsily.

The woman waved them off and he heard her mutter something under her breath about Americans.

“Room three and four for us,” Charlotte told him as she handed over a key and they mounted the stairs.

He asked, “How much does this place cost?”

She shrugged. “It doesn't matter, Arthur. To preserve my sanity, it's worth every penny. It's the farthest I can be from the Hotel Grand and still be in Saint Denis.”

“You really think tonight's gonna go that bad?”

“More than likely.” They reached the landing and Charlotte turned to him. “Let me drop off my bag and then we can head to the tailor's.”

Arthur leaned against the door frame as she inserted the key into the door labeled with a brass number three. He scratched his chin, feeling the prickles of his beard growing in. He s'posed he should get all dolled up again before the dinner.

He asked Charlotte, “Say, you think I got time to stop at the barber's for a shave?”

“Yes.” She entered her room and placed her bag on the bed. “But I don't think it's necessary.”

“These whiskers are too scraggly for polite company.”

“Let me see.” She returned to him and before he knew what she intended, her fingers were lightly running across each side of his jaw over the bristled hair.

He shuddered, but didn't move away from her touch as he kept his gaze steadily on her.

“Mmm.” Her eyes lifted. “I think I like how it is.”

Suddenly, he was warm all over from the way she were looking at him. As if she were desiring the same thing he was in that moment.

“You do?” he asked over a lump in his throat.

Now she was cupping his face in an intimate sort of way, her thumbs caressing his cheekbones on either side. She said softly, “Yes, but if it's more comfortable for you to be rid of it, I won't object.”

He answered her in low tones, “Last thing I want to do is displease the lady.”

Charlotte leaned in and he met her halfway. Her lips were tentative and soft as she explored his mouth. It left him dizzy, drunk even. At the docks, he hadn't lingered long for her response and now he was glad for it, 'cause they'd still be standing there, kissing in the sunlight with an audience.

Despite the way Charlotte was making him feel off-balance, Arthur had some remaining sense to realize that they weren't exactly in private with the door wide open.

He murmured against her lips, “We gotta stop, darlin', or I'm gonna forget where we are.”

“Oh, my.” She blinked as if to clear her head, lowering her hands. “I already have apparently.” Her tone changed to a teasing accusation. “You've completely turned my brain to mush.”

“Long as I ain't the only one,” Arthur commented roughly, already regretting his decision to be well-behaved.

She chuckled and slipped her arm through his. “Let's head out before neither of us remembers the meaning of propriety.”

OOOOOOOOO

When they reached the tailor's, Arthur tried to maintain he didn't need nothing, but Charlotte became stubborn and refused to hear him out.

“Pick something out that fits or I'll do it for you,” she ordered in a firm tone he hadn't heard before as she walked to the other side of the store. It was a stark contrast to the soft, pliant woman he'd been canoodling at the hotel half an hour ago.

He opened his mouth to argue, but she shot him a glare and he shut his trap. Damn. How had she made it seem offending if he didn't choose some clothes? In the end, he decided it were just easier to let her have her way.

When Charlotte saw he was actually browsing the shop, she returned to his side and he asked her, “What do you think I should wear to meet your father?”

“Don't worry about that, Arthur. Just pick out some things you're comfortable in and can wear again. It's not your clothes he's going to nitpick anyway.”

Arthur didn't spend too long deciding. He chose two shirts, a pair of pants and a set of suspenders. However, Charlotte pushed him to take two more shirts and another pair of pants. The total came out to over fifty dollars when she added her own purchases to the pile.

As the tailor wrapped their clothing, Charlotte asked, “Would you mind having our purchases sent over to the Hotel la Licorne? Under Charlotte Balfour please.”

“The Hotel la Licorne?” The tailor looked impressed. “Of course, madam.”

As she paid, Charlotte pointed out a sharp-looking hat behind the counter. “Could you tell me about that, sir?”

“Ah, you have a good eye for the unique, my lady. That's a piece from Mr. Algernon Wasp's collection.”

“Really?” Charlotte's eyes widened with interest as she passed a sidelong glance to Arthur. “I've just recently heard of his work, but not seen it personally.”

The tailor plucked it off the bust and laid it on the counter for them to inspect. “Unfinished, I'm afraid.”

“And the better for it, if you ask me.” Arthur picked the hat up and looked it over. It weren't a bad color, a dusky brown, nearly black. Plain, but for a leather thong wrapped around it. “Don't look like a damn peacock with all them feathers.”

“Try it on, Arthur,” Charlotte encouraged.

He didn't know why he bothered. He weren't going to spend any more of Charlotte's money no matter how much she insisted. But she was peering at him so earnestly that he did what she asked and plopped in on his head. It weren't a bad fit, but the quality of the leather was more high end than anything he'd ever owned. It reminded him of how sorely he'd been missing his hat. Almost regretted giving his good one to Marston. 'Course, he couldn't have predicted the events that followed. All he knew was, that boy had better be takin' care of it.

“Why don't you buy it, Arthur?”

“Firstly, it's much too fine for my blood.” He gave her an odd look. “Secondly, I ain't got no money.”

“Didn't you find—” She broke off and pressed her lips together as if she regretted speaking.

He narrowed his eyes on her as she moved away. “Didn't I find what, Mrs. Balfour?”

Charlotte suddenly took a particular interest in an ugly, green dress coat on display. She didn't look at him as she cleared her throat. “It might interest you to check the inside pocket of your coat.”

Oh, boy. He reached in, felt for the pocket and pulled out half a dozen bills. He knew he hadn't left any of his own money in there so he stared at it. “What the hell is this?”

Now that she was caught out, she faced him without a hint of contrition. “You needed something to start out with.”

“When did you put this in here?”

“Last night.”

Crafty woman. He didn't know whether to laugh or to be angry. “This better not be the last of your stash before you got to Saint Denis.”

“Of course not.” She didn't look away, but her cheeks reddening were a dead giveaway to her deception. She didn't make for a good liar. “I set aside a little for the stagecoach.”

And nothing else, he'd bet. “Charlotte...”

She said defensively, “You can't have expected me to let you leave without a penny to your name.”

“But the last of it?”

“I've told you before, Arthur. I have plenty of money.”

He shook his head. “This is too much, Charlotte.”

The tailor cleared his throat. “That's $65.50, if you're interested in it, sir.”

Arthur rounded on the man. “Sixty-five dollars? For a hat? Is the inside lined with gold?”

The other man said defensively, “Like I said, it's an Algernon Wasp piece.”

“Yeah,” Arthur argued, “And you also said it weren't finished.”

“In that case, I suppose I can go down to sixty.”

“If I gave you thirty for it, I'd still say you're robbing me.” Damn. How the hell had it got into a haggle over this?

“That's less than half price!” the tailor protested.

“Well, how many of those damn expensive feathers do you think Algernon were going to put in it? Them's half the cost right there.”

“Plumes are indeed costly,” Charlotte pointed out. “My mother's tailor in Chicago charges $10 a plume.”

Arthur added, “And if it's Algernon's work, who else is gonna be interested in it without them?”

The tailor's forehead creased as he thought on it. “Come up to at least $35, so I feel as if I was a part of the bargaining process.”

Arthur mulled it over. It was a fine hat and he'd been wanting one, he could admit that. “Alright, fine. Thirty-five. But this better be the last goddamn hat I ever wear.”

OOOOOOOOO

Once they left the tailor's, Charlotte became decidedly more anxious the closer the hour came to five o'clock. “Please don't take anything he says personally. It's only going to be said to affect me.”

She were as frightened as if she were meeting her maker. “Charlotte, I ain't worried about what your daddy's going to say to me.”

“Father can pinpoint what you're most self-conscious about.” She fidgeted with her hands as they walked. “It's terribly inconvenient.”

“He can't say anything that I don't already know.”

“Alright.” She bit her lip. “But promise me you won't take anything to heart.”

“If it means that much to you, I promise.”

As they reached the outside of the Hotel Grand, Arthur eyed it up as if it were a bad penny. He ain't forgot who he'd been with the last time he was here. Mary. Mary, who'd whistle and he'd come crawling like some pathetic halfwit. His heart had lurched when he'd spotted her on the balcony that day they'd chased down her daddy. But, she hadn't wanted him. At best, Mary never knew exactly what she wanted when it came to him. And at the worst, she'd wanted only what he could do for her.

Charlotte...weren't like that. He couldn't imagine her trying to use him for her own purpose. She tended to take into consideration his feelings more often than her own. And she honestly enjoyed his company, sometimes more than he thought were reasonable for a respectable woman.

Charlotte placed a hand over his. “Arthur, what is it?”

“Ain't got the best memories here.” It was the most he was gonna admit to her. No sense in mentioning another woman.

She bit her lip and looked back the direction they came. “Do you want to return to our hotel?”

There she went thinking of him before herself, as he'd just been reflecting over. He scowled. “With how nervous you are, I ain't leavin' you to fend for yourself.”

“I didn't say I wasn't going with you,” she muttered.

“I ain't got no objections to that.” He grinned at her. “We can continue what we started.”

“What do you—oh!” Charlotte's cheeks went pink. “Arthur...”

“Arthur! Charlotte!”

“Too late, I fear.” Charlotte sighed. “We've been spotted.”

Benjamin strode up to them. “What are you two doing?”

“Plannin' our getaway,” Arthur told him.

Ben looked confused and Charlotte smacked Arthur's arm lightly. “He's only kidding.” She asked, “Where is everyone?”

“Father has a private dining room reserved for us. He and Mother are in there now.”

“What about Clark?”

They followed Benjamin up the stairs and through the entrance of the hotel. “He's...at the hotel bar right now.”

Charlotte frowned. “He's what?”

“Ah, Char has arrived,” Clark called loudly from a barstool and then caught sight of Arthur. He lifted his shot glass in a wry greeting. “With her cowboy.”

Char with her cowboy. Arthur weren't going to lie to himself. He liked the sound of that. But coming out of this feller's mouth it sounded funny. He nodded to indicate Clark's whiskey. “How many of them you had?”

“Three.”

“Four,” corrected Ben.

Clark blinked at the shot glass. “One of those was yours, wasn't it?”

“No.”

“Hmm...four then.” Clark threw back the one in his hand and grimaced. He pointed at Arthur and addressed Charlotte. “He's got the hat and everything now. You couldn't dress him up differently for Father's approval?”

“He's not a doll, Clark.” she said testily and added, “Besides, no matter what we do tonight, Father isn't going to approve.”

“Fair enough.” He tapped the counter for another drink from the bartender and Charlotte frowned at him.

Arthur nodded to Ben. “I see you boys survived your trip down. Any trouble?”'

“Not for us,” Ben paled. “But, another carriage an hour ahead was ambushed by highwaymen outside of Van Horn.”

“How dreadful!” Charlotte exclaimed as Arthur wondered if it were Micah's gang already starting trouble.

“The bandits took their horses,” Benjamin said grimly. “So we doubled back to give the couple a ride into town.”

Clark's mouth twisted sourly. “You can imagine how much Mother appreciated that.” Clark took a last swig of his drink and adjusted his cravat, but ended up making it crooked. “I'll see you three at dinner. I'm going to take a moment for some fresh air.”

As he retreated down the hall, Charlotte turned to her other brother. “What's wrong with him, Benji?”

Ben told her somberly, “Father found out about his tryst with Felicity Mayfield and Clark confessed his intentions to propose to her.”

Charlotte asked curiously, “What's wrong with Felicity Mayfield?”

“No dowry.”

Arthur frowned. “Don't he got enough money for a wedding?”

“Father does, but Clark doesn't.” Ben's eyes widened suddenly. “Hey, maybe you could talk to our brother. Give him some advice.”

Arthur recoiled. “What?”

Charlotte laid a hand on his arm. “I think that's a brilliant idea.”

“He'll listen to you,” Ben insisted.

“The hell he will. He hates me.”

Charlotte shook her head. “He doesn't hate you.”

Arthur lifted his hands. “Now, hold on a damn minute. What could I possibly say to him?”

Charlotte said encouragingly, “You'll think of something.”

Arthur glared at her. “Why can't you do it?”

“He's never taken my advice. I'm just his sister.”

Benjamin raised his hand and added as if it were a valid reason, “Younger brother.”

Arthur stared between them and couldn't believe they were serious. Or what he was about to agree to. “Fine, but you owe me.” He pointed at her and Ben. “Both of yous.”

Charlotte broke into a smile and Ben nodded. “Sounds fair.”

Goddammit. How the hell did he always end up in the middle of these kinds of situations? Did he have a sign on him that read 'Arthur Morgan, expert problem solver'?

Arthur found Clark in the back alley of the hotel, leaning against a pillar and moaning loudly, like the most forlorn son of a bitch he'd ever heard.

“Er...how're you doin'?”

“How am I doing?” Clark repeated sullenly and spared him a glance. “Charlotte sent you out here to talk to me?”

“I didn't see any sense in the idea neither.” Arthur stood beside him, shoving his hands in his pockets. “But, her and Ben are worried 'bout you.”

“And they thought you'd understand the situation best?”

“I guess.” Arthur scratched the side of his nose. “Wanna tell me what's on your mind?”

“Benjamin didn't inform you?”

Arthur shrugged. “Might as well hear it straight from the horse's mouth.”

“Suffice to say, Father's forbidden me marrying Miss Mayfield.” Clark said, his voice cracking on the name. Arthur didn't know where the fool pulled it from, but suddenly he had a bottle of brandy in his hand and was popping the cork.

“Give me that!” Arthur snatched the bottle out of his hands as Clark was about to tip it back. “You bein' even more soused ain't gonna help nothin' right now.”

“You don't understand.” Clark dropped his head in his hands and collapsed dramatically on the steps. “How could you?”

Arthur sighed in exasperation. Why the hell had he agreed to come out here? Still weighing on whether he should just abandon the man to wallow in his own self-pity, Arthur took a seat beside him.

He suggested, “Why don't you just find a rich lady he does approve of and move on?”

“Because I don't want to 'move on'!”

Was he talking to a damn toddler? Arthur told him with irritation, “If you care about this girl so much, then stand up for yourself.”

Clark spat bitterly, “You think I didn't already present my case to Father?”

“And what did he say?”

“That if she was the woman I chose, I would be disowned.”

“Damn. Bit of an overreaction, ain't it?

“If you're going to mock me, then leave.”

“She also offensive to look at or something?”

Clark rose suddenly, clenching his fists. “I won't have you talking about Miss Mayfield like that.”

Arthur stood too, warning, “Calm down. You couldn't do nothing to me even if you was sober.”

Clark patted at his waist. “Where's my pistol?”

“I ain't duelin' you, boy, guns or otherwise.”

Clark sneered. “Are you afraid? Worried I'll smite thee where you stand—”

Arthur grabbed Clark's wrist, twisted his arm around and locked it behind the man's back. He clutched the back of Clark's neck with his other hand. “Wanna say that again?”

“Ow! You're hurting me! Stop!”

“Then quit your bellyaching and be a goddamn man.” Arthur released him. “Do you got genuine feelings for this woman or is this only pride rearin' its ugly head?”

Clark rubbed the back of his neck, saying indignantly, “Of course my feelings are genuine.”

Well, at least the boy still had some fire, but Arthur weren't sure if he fully believed him. He didn't take Clark as a feller who would follow his heart. Not when money were involved.

“What does the girl say about all of this?”

Clark frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Did she turn tail when you told her there won't be no money in it for her if you married?”

Clark stared at him blankly.

“You're gonna discuss it with her, right?”

“It seems a moot point. How would I take care of her if we don't have the funds to start a life together?”

Why everything in life got to be about the damn money? That's when Arthur realized why this conversation was pissing him off so much. He'd been the poor fool rejected by the rich family. He was just viewing it from the other side.

He'd tried with Mary and it weren't all her fault. He hadn't wanted to fully leave the life. But, when he had briefly considered running away with her, when they were young and stupid, her daddy had convinced her he weren't good enough.

Or maybe even then she'd been lookin' for a reason to hold back. 'Cause her daddy didn't have control over her life no more nowadays and she still hadn't waited for him.

He shook his head. This place kept taking him back to bad times. Arthur weren't sure giving out advice he himself hadn't taken would be wise, but maybe he had hard lessons Clark could benefit from, if he did want to listen.

“I reckon, you either let this Miss Mayfield go, find a rich broad and risk being miserable the rest of your damn life. Or go all in, be happy with your choice, but likely struggle with money. No matter how hard you try, you're not gonna get it both ways, not with your daddy hoverin'. It all comes down to how much this girl matters to you over your cushy life.”

“I'll-I'll think on it.” At least, the man looked like he were taking his words seriously now. Clark studied him. “Perhaps, I've misjudged you, Mr. Callahan.”

“No, you haven't.” Arthur clapped him on the back. “That's just the whiskey talkin'. You'll see me as the same undesirable reprobate again once you sober up. Now, let's head in, shall we?”

Chapter Text

Howard Dorsch checked his pocket watch for the umpteenth time. It wasn't quite five o'clock yet and Charlotte had always been punctual, but he wanted this dinner over with. He'd already humored Martha long enough by allowing an extra day in this dirty town.

His conferences in Saint Denis had gone well, as to be expected. It was this damn familial duty that never went smoothly.

He was certain Martha hadn't been firm enough with their daughter on her visit. If he'd been able to go up north, Charlotte would be on a train back to Chicago by now and so would he. He wouldn't have left that blasted cabin without her.

Martha had given him excuses. Something about a caretaker on the land, helping Charlotte out. Howard presumed it was some scoundrel hanging around, vying for Charlotte's favor and her eventual inheritance. When he'd commented as much, the usually timid Benjamin had taken him by surprise in defending the stranger. While Clark had clammed up, Martha and Benjamin both claimed Charlotte had control of the situation and was content.

Howard scoffed. Unlikely. He knew his daughter. She'd merely grown attached to the place and gotten stubborn about leaving. How could his pampered daughter become accustomed to labor on the daily? The notion was preposterous at best.

Howard had allowed Charlotte and her husband their peace out here because he'd been certain the two of them wouldn't last a month. Well. He hadn't been entirely inaccurate on that front. One of them hadn't lived out the first month.

Cal's death was unfortunate, in more ways than one. The consequence Howard hadn't anticipated was Charlotte not returning home. Howard had spoken with her before the couple had left and she'd backed her husband, as she should, but she hadn't seemed as keen on moving as he. When the family got the letter informing them she had been widowed, he'd expected to see her within the week.

That did not turn out to be the case and she continued to mess up his laid plans.

Howard had been the sole family member who hadn't been surprised when Cal and Charlotte had made their announcement to leave Chicago. Charlotte didn't know her husband had come to him first about moving west.

Cal had entered his office, nervous as could be, sweating so much he'd had to repeatedly wipe his brow. Howard hadn't attempted to put him at ease. While Cal laid out all his optimistic plans for making a new life in the west, Howard had opened a box of cigars, listening.

When the younger man was finished, Howard had said coldly, “You've come to me for money.”

Cal's eyes widened. “No, no, sir. Honestly, no. I have plenty saved up from work.”

Which could be true, but he failed to mention his parents and grandparents were likely benefactors. Howard didn't know the Balfours personally, despite their conjoined families, but he knew the parents spoiled their only son, and the grandparents their only grandson. Cal wouldn't need to ask, only to mention his intentions and they'd write a check. Spoiled rotten. His children would have to wait until he was buried for any control over the Dorsch fortune.

Howard lit his cigar, commenting mildly, “Charlotte's mother won't like her moving so far away.”

Cal swallowed. “I know. I hoped you could persuade her from making a scene when the time comes.”

Yes, his wife was one for the dramatic when she wanted to be. Howard leaned back in his chair. “Not an easy task. Why should I bother?”

“If you want to keep up civil relations with Charlotte, you'd be wise to it.” He paused. “Sir.”

The man was a fool. “Are you threatening me, boy?”

Cal let slip one of his infuriating half grins. “I don't have the guts for that. I'm only telling you our plans, whether you and Mrs. Dorsch are agreeable or not. But, I'd prefer everyone to be on good terms when we leave.”

Howard contemplated his words. “Charlotte's agreed to this little trip of yours?”

Cal winced. “It took me quite a while to convince her.”

“I'd assume so.” Howard nodded as if sympathetic, but his gears were turning.

Cal insisted, “But that's why I'm so adamant about it, sir. I didn't work this hard to get Charlotte to go along with me only for her parents to object openly to the whole thing.”

Cal wanted his approval even if he wasn't directly asking for it. Despite this, Howard could tell the boy would be incessantly persistent until he had his way, but maybe he could use this situation to his advantage.

“How about this?” Howard offered, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk. “I will present no objections to this endeavor. I will also convince Martha you kids should be allowed to begin your life however you see fit.”

Cal nodded.

“And you will send a grandchild up here every summer, once they're old enough to walk.”

“Grandchild?” Cal laughed uncomfortably. “I don't expect that to happen for awhile yet.”

“But it will.”

“And if we should never have any kids?”

Howard leaned back. “You claim this property is secluded? Not much else to do in a day, is there now?”

The other man had a blush creeping in. A married man, but still so young. However, smart enough to think on his offer. Hesitatingly, Cal said, “I can tell you this much, Char won't care to be separated from any children.”

Howard glared and responded icily, “And I won't care for my daughter living in a hellhole for the rest of her life.”

The boy shook his head. “She won't go for it.”

“You'll have a few years to make her see reason.”

Cal quirked a smile. “There's no making Char do anything she doesn't want to.” He paused. “But, I take your meaning.” He nodded his head left and right as if he were debating the issue in his head, until finally, “Alright, Mr. Dorsch. I see nothing wrong with your proposition. I wouldn't want to keep any children from their grandparents after all.” He held out a hand.

“Excellent.” Howard shook his son-in-law's hand and then offered him a cigar. “Then I hope you enjoy your time in the west, son.”

And now the boy was dead in the ground. All that maneuvering had been for nothing. Not to mention Charlotte's refusal to return home. She was a well-bred lady. What the hell was she doing out there? If she at least lived in Saint Denis, he wouldn't have to be so damned concerned and he would have an easier time pulling her out.

The sooner, the better too. He lacked good help these days at his doctor's office. Howard hadn't realized until Charlotte's absence how much he'd come to rely on her. She was more competent than most of the assistants he'd ever had, including his beastly sons.

Clark had the brains for the job, but he lacked the conviction and grew sickly at the sight of blood. Benjamin was intelligent too, but a daydreamer and easily distracted. Howard hadn't been able to knock that silliness out of him yet and was beginning to think he never would.

Of all his children, only Charlotte had the insight, the composure and the bedside manner to continue his legacy. A female physician wasn't unheard of. Even though, only a few short years ago, he would have scoffed at the notion. But there existed colleges that accepted women into medicine in Philadelphia and Boston. Chicago would surely follow.

Charlotte had been interested in the studies at one time and he regretted now his hastiness in disallowing the expansion on her education in the medical field. Perhaps, the idea would have persuaded her back home a long time ago. Howard didn't see why the temptation wouldn't yet work.

OOOOOOOOO

At five o'clock, his daughter walked in on the arm of a ruffian and that's when he knew the situation was worse than he'd assumed. Howard shot a glare to Martha, who hadn't warned him the blasted man would be joining them this evening. She sipped her wine and didn't meet his eyes.

The bastard stood beside his daughter, too close, as if he belonged here, when there was no mistaking his social class. If Howard were a gambling man, he'd say this stranger was some sort of brawler for money.

He may have cleaned up, but his face was scarred and his nose clearly had been broken once or twice in his life. He hadn't bothered to shave. To add insult to injury, the man removed his hat in a belated gesture, indicating he'd clearly no etiquette training.

As far as his daughter's appearance, she'd changed much since he'd last seen her. No longer outfitted in the latest fashion, she looked nearly as destitute as the fellow she stood beside. She'd applied very little powders to her face, but his eyes zeroed in on her cheek. A slight yellowness to the skin that not even her cosmetics could hide. Bruising, he deducted without pleasure.

Howard snapped his pocket watch shut. “I'm pleased to see the life of a bumpkin hasn't ruined your punctuality, daughter.”

“Of course not.” Charlotte gestured to the brute. “Father, I'd like you to meet my escort, my dear friend Arthur Callahan.”

Howard's dark eyes shifted to the other man. “Yes, Martha and the boys mentioned something about him. Are you a farmer?”

The man straightened. “Er, no.”

“A rancher?”

“No.”

“Do you specialize in construction or some other such nonsense?”

“No.”

“Then what business do you have being around my daughter?”

“Father,” Charlotte folded her arms. “Arthur is my guest and he will be treated as such.”

Without the least bit sincerity, he said, “Hmm...yes, of course, dear. My apologies.”

She glided over to them, kissing her mother's cheek and then moved on to him. As she did so, she whispered, “Please be nice.”

The request had him pressing his lips together in a thin line. Nice? He hadn't built a reputation of fearful respect by being 'nice'. Especially to hoodlums creeping around a high bred woman's skirts.

He didn't say any of that, merely raised his brow to Charlotte and promised nothing.

She sighed and took the chair next to her mother, opposite of her brothers. The lout, “Arthur”, took a seat at the other end of the table, the opposite of Howard.

Howard decided to bide his time, observing how this stranger interacted with his family. The man insolently addressed his sons as if he'd known them a long time. Absurdly, Clark seemed to have warmed to the fellow and that boy got on the nerves of anyone he met. Howard himself sometimes had a hard time maintaining a conversation with him. Especially today, since Clark was still in a mood over his dismissal of that penniless girl he was keen on.

Charlotte and her mother got into a conversation about some absurd hat maker and, for the first time, the stranger's gaze drifted over and he made unwavering eye contact with Howard.

Howard glowered, but the man wasn't cowed. He returned a strong, challenging look as if daring Howard to call out the impropriety of his appearance. Howard didn't like that one bit.

He thought they could have glared at each other for the rest of the night, if need be. But then Charlotte placed a hand on Arthur's arm to get his attention. The man looked away from him finally and his hardened expression cleared as he turned to her.

Ah. There it was then. It wasn't only a grab for her money. This man's weakness was his daughter. Unfortunately, Howard didn't miss Charlotte's mutual expression of affection, or how she smiled ever so slightly and prolonged her touch on Arthur's arm.

Hmm. This wouldn't be as easy as he initially thought. Charlotte said 'dear friend', but she obviously had a more intimate attachment to this man.

Be that as it may, Howard had broken men more obstinate than this Arthur Callahan. If he couldn't crack the man, he could tempt him with wealth. Mr. Callahan was obviously born from lowly means. It shouldn't take much to persuade him to go back to his simple, pathetic life a few dollars richer.

Howard would have his way because, by one course of action or another, Charlotte was returning to Chicago.

Chapter Text

When Arthur stepped into that dining room with Charlotte, there was already tension in the air. If these were different sorts of people, he'd have expected everyone with a hand on a gun. But that weren't the situation, even though he thought he might have preferred it.

Clark and Ben took seats next to each other. They sat upright and stiff, as if they'd had planks shoved down the back of their jackets. Mrs. Dorsch looked wan, but her cheeks were rosy with rouge and her wine glass was nearly empty already.

Mr. Dorsch was seated at the end of the table. His lip had curled with barely concealed contempt when he caught sight of Arthur. Belatedly, he removed his hat and smoothed down his hair. Arthur got a short interrogation right off the bat when he'd been introduced, but after that Mr. Dorsch said nothing more directly to him.

Charlotte somehow managed to greet her parents as if nothing were amiss. She'd shed her nervousness as if it had never existed. She glided over to her mother and father, pressing a kiss to each of their cheeks before taking a seat next to her mother. That left Arthur with the last chair at the table, the other end in the direct eye line of Mr. Dorsch.

If Charlotte hadn't warned him of her father's sharp disapproval, he'd still suspect it. The family started a stilted conversation, one he didn't take part in. Mrs. Dorsch volleyed from one topic to another, gabbing about the fashion to the picture shows in Saint Denis. The brothers nodded at the appropriate times, while their father observed them all. Arthur didn't miss the tension in Charlotte's spine or how little food she was actually eating.

After a soup was served, Arthur coughed, but for once, he got it under control with a gulp of water. It weren't even close to some of his worst coughing fits ever. He woulda thought nothing of it, except when he looked up, Charlotte's daddy were giving him the stink eye. A knowing glare that didn't bode well for him.

Halfway through dinner, Arthur felt the ache in his chest again. He drank his water, but it weren't going away. He excused himself from the table, seeing a worried expression flutter across Charlotte's face. He tried to nod a reassurance, but he didn't stick around to see if she believed him.

Arthur thought about hiding in the bathroom, but decided to go outside for fresh air. He made his way out the back door, in the same area he'd talked with Clark. He bent over, coughing until he could clear his throat. He spit and when he turned, Charlotte's father was standing with his hands behind his back, staring at him with disgust.

“What a nasty cough you have there, son.”

“Musta swallowed something the wrong way,” he lied.

“Hmm...” Mr. Dorsch likely didn't believe him, but he didn't challenge him. “You're close with my daughter, Mr. Callahan?”

“We're...friends.” He didn't know what they were right now. Hadn't exactly had time to define it.

“But you want more?” Mr. Dorsch waved his hand. “Don't deny it. I smell the desperation on you.”

Arthur clenched his fists together. “I don't got to take none of that shit-talk from you. You ain't my daddy.”

“How coarse, but what did I expect?” Mr. Dorsch raised a brow, apparently unfazed. “It isn't as if I haven't dealt with other riffraff similar to you.”

“You ain't never met no one like me, mister. I guarantee you that.” Or you wouldn't be alive to talk about it, not with that condescending tone.

“Hmm. We'll see.” The man suddenly got a sly look in his eye. “I have a proposal for you, Mr. Callahan.”

Arthur crossed his arms. “Why do I got the feeling I ain't gonna like it?”

“On the contrary, I'd consider it a win for the both of us.” He reached into his vest pocket and Arthur tensed, half expecting to see a revolver, but it was only a billfold. “I'll offer you $2,000 cash for you to walk away right now.”

That threw him. “Excuse me?”

“Ah, so the brute does know his manners. He just refuses to utilize them.”

Arthur gritted his teeth. “What the hell you talking about, old man?”

“I'm talking about you leaving my daughter alone.” Mr. Dorsch gestured towards Saint Denis. “Take a stroll down to the nearest saloon and find yourself a whore to soften the loss. Two thousand should keep you busy for awhile.”

He'd be insulted if it weren't so ridiculous. Arthur snorted. “That all you think your daughter's worth?”

“Would five do it?” The man opened his billfold and Arthur's eyes widened at the insane amount of cash he had on his person. What the hell? “Here's the $2,000. The rest I have in a safe in my room.”

Arthur stared. Two thousand dollars. If he had somewhere to be, somewhere to go, he'd grab that money and not look back. But, that weren't the case these days and he weren't that fortune hungry man no more. He couldn't do that to Charlotte, as tempting as it were to rob this bastard where he stood.

It also made him suspicious to be offered so much, so freely. “And what's to stop you from squealin' for the police and accusin' me of theft?”

Charlotte's father stopped flipping the bills. “Hmm. Not quite as dull as you look I see.” He snapped his pocketbook shut. “Why are you so determined to sweep my daughter back to her country life of loneliness and misery?”

The man was swinging and missing with his assumptions. “She ain't neither of those.”

His nostrils flared as if he was offended by the very words Arthur used. “Maybe not yet. But what about when you're dead?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “You threatenin' me with something, old man?”

“I don't need to. You have consumption,” he said in a tone that brokered no argument. “No blood in your sputum so you're not at the end. Judging by the prolonged coughing and the redness in your eyes, I'd estimate you have about six months. A year, if you've led an ordinary and uneventful life. Somehow, I doubt that is the case.”

Did this man just predict his death? He'd promised Charlotte he wouldn't let this man's words affect him, but damn, that cut deep. He'd known he hadn't long for awhile now, but hearing it like that, making him face it, was ruthless as hell.

“Does my daughter have to suffer so you can have a comfortable ending to your unfortunate life?”

He refused to flinch in front of this man. “Ain't that her decision?”

“Please. If women knew what they wanted and how to attain it, they wouldn't be referred to as the weaker sex.” Mr. Dorsch pressed, “I'll cut the falsehood and make an honest deal with you. I'll provide a written statement as proof the $5,000 is rightfully yours so no one can claim you a thief. You can settle down and die your own way.”

Arthur scowled. “I don't want your damn money.”

Mr. Dorsch studied him, calculating, and Arthur watched the man's face transform and harden. He put his pocket book away. “On the other hand, perhaps your pursuit of Charlotte will work in my favor. By the end of the year, you'll be taking your last breath and my daughter will be so distraught she'll return to her real life.”

He'd met plenty of conniving bastards, but this man was nastier than even some of them. “Charlotte ain't going back with you. She likes it out here.”

Mr. Dorsch sneered. “You think you know my daughter better than I do.”

“Actually,” Arthur said with surety, “I don't think you know your daughter at all.”

The other man's posture stiffened. “You insolent cur.”

Arthur shook his head. “Name-callin' ain't gonna change fact.”

Mr. Dorsch spun on his heel and retreated back into the hotel without another word. Arthur followed. He didn't regret what he said. He only hoped Charlotte could recuperate the rest of the night if he'd just put his foot in his mouth.

When he re-entered the room, Charlotte was leaned in as if she were listening to her mother, but her gaze was fixed on the doorway. Her expression cleared with relief when she spotted him walking in behind her father. Did she think he was going to abandon her?

That made him wonder how many beaus her daddy had paid off and left her in the middle of dinner or if he was the only lucky one.

Arthur thought what Mr. Dorsch said outside were the end of it, but it seemed as if the man had only wanted to size him up before he went on the real attack.

It started when Mrs. Dorsch pouted at her daughter. “We've certainly missed your company at the city gala.”

Charlotte smiled. “I'm sure that's not true. I've never stayed long enough to make an impression.”

Her father commented mildly, “Your peers may not miss you, but your aunt Rose has certainly felt your absence.”

Beside Arthur, Charlotte stiffened and her smile fell. She said, almost carefully, “Aunt Rosie's health is stable, last I heard.”

“When was the last letter you received from her? Hmm? Two months ago? Three?”

“I-I don't know,” Charlotte faltered.

“She can't leave the bed anymore. Her tuberculosis has worsened recently.” The man wasn't looking at him, but damn if Arthur didn't feel him trying to drive the point into him.

“However, I digress.” Mr. Dorsch slid a pamphlet across the table. “I have a more enticing offer for you than coming back as caretaker to a dying woman.”

Charlotte picked up the paper. “The Women's Medical College in Pennsylvania?” She glanced at Arthur before asking her father, “What is this all about?”

“I've spoken with several colleagues and women in the medical field aren't unheard of. Generally, they steer towards midwifery, but your previous experience will qualify you for a more advanced occupation.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why would you think I'd have any interest in this?”

Something flickered across the older man's face but it was too brief to identify. “You enjoyed your time working in my office.”

Charlotte set the pamphlet down and said, “Father, I'm flattered you're finally recognizing my skills, but this has never been an ambition of mine.”

He didn't seem to like that answer. “What else are you doing with your life? Your endeavor to make a life out west has failed, Charlotte. Not even a month into your new living arrangement and your husband was killed.”

Mrs. Dorsch bristled and stated, “A horrible tragedy indeed, Howard, but Charlotte had nothing to do with it.”

“A woman is supposed to take care of her husband, is she not?” Howard paused and prompted, “Is she not, Charlotte?”

“Father—” Ben tried to protest.

“Silence, Benjamin.” Mr. Dorsch didn't raise his voice, but Ben clamped his mouth shut obediently. “I want Charlotte to answer the question.”

Her hands were clenched tightly in her lap, but she said evenly, “I am of the belief a married couple should take care of each other equally.”

“Ah, so you didn't do your equal share, is that it?” He didn't wait for her response. “If you don't want the school, then I'll arrange a courtship between you and Mr. Booker when we return to Chicago.”

“Stanley Booker?” Charlotte's mom looked horrified. “He's nearly seventy, Howard.”

“Virile enough for his age. By the time the first babe is out, she'll likely be widowed again, but we'll at least have a grandchild finally.”

“Father, this conversation is ridiculous.” Charlotte stated. “I'm too old for an arranged marriage and I'm content with the life I have now. As hard as the road has been, it has made me come to value my independence.”

“Independence?” Now Mr. Dorsch's gaze turned fully on Arthur. “Then what's this dog doing sniffing at your skirts?”

Charlotte started a protest, but Arthur held his gaze steadily and said, “What dogs do, protect those they're loyal to.”

“Pray tell, how is it protecting her when you slap her around, Mr. Callahan?” Mr. Dorsch asked accusingly. “Don't think I haven't noticed the bruise.”

All of the family moved their attention to Charlotte, who subconsciously lifted a hand to the spot on her cheek that hadn't fully healed.

The last of his patience was slipping, but Arthur managed through gritted teeth, “That weren't me that did it.”

Charlotte added, “Arthur protected me from the man who did.”

“If that were true, then he failed at that as well. I forbid you from returning to that cabin. Especially, not with this...this abuser of women.”

“Father, I'm hardly a child and no longer under your roof. You can't dictate my life anymore.”

“If you choose to sully yourself this way, you shall be struck from my will.”

“Howard!” her mother gasped.

So much for the old man not trying to manipulate Charlotte into returning home before Arthur's death.

“I have no control over your actions, only my own,” Charlotte said with dignity. “If that's what you must do, then so be it.”

Mrs. Dorsch became distressed and even the brothers shared shocked expressions.

“Perhaps, it'd be best if I turn in for the evening.” Arthur saw Charlotte's hands shaking, but her voice was even. “If you'll excuse me—”

Mr. Dorsch pounded the table with his fist and snapped, “You weren't supposed to remain in the damn wilderness!”

Charlotte froze. “What do you mean by that?”

Mr. Dorsch's face contorted to anger. “I approved your venture because I expected you back within two weeks. But your husband took too long to realize he didn't have the capacity to survive without a net. And neither do you. The same idiotic choices are going to get you killed. Just like him.”

Charlotte rose to her feet, her chair sliding back with a screech. “It's one thing to harass me about my current life choices, Father, but don't you dare tarnish Cal's memory like that.”

She left the room to complete silence. Arthur stood abruptly, snatching his hat and ready for a hasty retreat. But he couldn't resist pausing at the door to address her father one last time, “You know, Charlotte ain't stupid. She's a survivor, your daughter. I seen the life fell a lotta folk, but she's done it right and if I didn't think it'd break her heart, I'd thrash you right here for what you said, with the rest of your goddamn family as witnesses.”

The rich bastard's eyes widened and Mrs. Dorsch gasped again. Woman was going to run out of air if she heaved at every shocking thing she heard tonight.

Arthur placed his hat on his head and nodded to Clark and Ben with respect. “Evening, gentlemen.”

When he walked out the hotel, he took a minute to scan the streets for Charlotte. She was nearly to the trolley stop, halfway up the block. “Charlotte!” He caught up to her and bent over, winded. “Damn, woman...you...got a brisk walk.”

“Does he think I wanted this life intentionally?” she asked with agitation. “That I sought to lose my husband and carry on in solitude for the rest of my days?”

Arthur was still trying to catch his breath and Charlotte was in such a distress she hadn't noticed.

“That bit about Aunt Rosie was low even for him. I knew when he said her name he was going to try and conjure up my guilt.”

“Whoa, whoa. Settle down. All he wants...” Arthur wheezed and rubbed his chest. “...is for you to get worked up, remember?”

“He's gotten into my head.” She pressed a hand to her temple. “I tried my best to resist his poison and his words still got to me.”

“Yeah...he's a regular viper.”

Charlotte's attention finally went to him struggling to catch his breath. Her concern immediately shifted. “Arthur, are you okay?”

“Fine.” Apart from being threatened, bribed and accused of beating women. Not to mention this cough he couldn't shake.

“We should have never come.” She looked exhausted, as if the man had taken the very life out of her in one conversation.

He wanted to agree, but he coughed instead and a wave of nausea overtook him. He hadn't eaten much, but the food felt close to the surface.

He rasped out, “I think I gotta lay down.”

She clutched his arm. “Of course.” The trolley was rolling in and she said, “Let's board here so we can get back to the hotel quicker. Can you handle that?”

He nodded, but he didn't know if he were being truthful. They boarded and Arthur sat, leaning his elbows on his knees and trying to calm his stomach. Charlotte rubbed his back.

How did he feel like such shit all of a sudden? Stupid question as he knew why. It'd been a long day, maybe the longest he'd been awake since he'd come out of that coma from the mountain. Hell, it was only this morning he'd been on his way after Micah. He shook his head. He wouldn't have lasted a goddamn minute in a shootout. Not if he had taken ill this quickly.

“Almost there, Arthur.” Charlotte said soothingly.

The trolley stopped, making his stomach turn. He followed Charlotte off and when he stepped onto the street, he knew he wasn't going to make it all the way down the hill to their hotel. Blackness seeped the edges of his vision and he staggered.

“Arthur?” Charlotte's voice sounded far away now.

His chest was burning, his stomach was curling and he couldn't focus on a damn thing.

“This is all my fault. I shouldn't have pushed you to do so much in a day. With the shopping and the dinner...”

He didn't hear the rest and he didn't know how they reached the hotel. Maybe the trolley stop weren't actually that far and he'd stumbled along with Charlotte's help or maybe someone else had taken pity on her and pitched in.

Whichever it was, the next thing he knew they were walking through the doors of the brightly lit lobby of Hotel la Licorne. The hotel clerk marched up to them, speaking rapid French and gesturing at him with displeasure.

Charlotte answered her with a few words in her same language so Arthur didn't know what was going on.

Whatever she said had the Frenchwoman's nostrils flaring and her going into a scold.

Charlotte snapped at her sharply mid-sentence and the Frenchwoman's posture straightened. She glared at them for a moment before clapping her hands and turning to a teenager in waiter's garb.

“Thomas, help these...invités to their rooms.”

When they made it to his room, Arthur collapsed on the bed, feeling weak as he concentrated on breathing in and out.

Charlotte ordered the boy, “Could you please send up a pitcher of water? And some more washcloths for the room?”

The boy nodded and took off. Charlotte closed the door and walked over to him on the bed. She removed his hat and set it on the side table. She moved on to his boots.

“Charlotte...” He tried to tell her he was fine and not to bother with him. Does my daughter have to suffer so you can have a comfortable ending to your unfortunate life?

She perched on the left side of the bed and rubbed his arm. “Shh. You rest now, Arthur. It'll be okay.”

A knock on the door and the boy had returned with Charlotte's requested items. She stood and collected them from him.

“I can handle it from here. Thank you, Thomas.” She tipped the boy and returned to her spot on the bed.

She wet the cloth and dabbed it over his temple and the coolness soothed him. Arthur lost the will to protest and closed his eyes to her gentle touch. He drifted off to sleep.

When Arthur woke again, his room was dark and still. The first thing he saw was his new hat on the nightstand. Moonlight from the window streamed over it, as if purposefully lighting it for him to find easily. He sat up, feeling groggy. Damn. He hadn't passed out like that in a long while.

He was soaked in sweat, but he weren't feeling sick like earlier. He didn't know what time it was, but it was still night so unless he slept on through the next day, it was probably about midnight or so.

He needed to see how Charlotte was doing. She'd been upset and he hadn't had the strength to make her feel better at the time. He found the clothes purchased earlier in the day stacked neatly in the dresser. Arthur changed into them, pulled over his coat, tugged on his boots and swept up his hat.

He found his key still in his coat and locked his room behind him. A clock near a lit gas lamp told him it was nearing midnight like he'd guessed. The hallway was quiet, but he heard some muted chatter downstairs so maybe there was a card game going late. Arthur leaned on the room three's door frame and knocked twice.

For a moment, he thought he was being a fool for checking in on her. The last thing he wanted was to ruin any possible sleep she was managing to get.

Then he heard her footsteps and her pause on the other side of the door. Her muffled voice called out, “Who is it?”

“Arthur.”

Charlotte twisted the doorknob and opened it up part of the way. Her eyes were red. Aw, hell. She'd been crying. He wanted to pull her in and hold her until her pain was gone, but she was still mostly inside the room.

He settled for asking, “Did I wake you?”

She shook her head. “Is everything alright with you?”

He should be asking her that. “I'm fine. Or better than earlier, I should say.” He moved his head to indicate the stairs. “You wanna go for a walk?”

Her brow furrowed. “But it's the middle of the night.”

“Best time to be in this city in my opinion. A lot less busybodies.”

“I don't know, Arthur.” She bit her lip. “I think maybe you should be resting.”

“I've been asleep the last six hours or so. I need some fresh air.”

She hesitated. “Is it safe?”

He quirked a half grin. “It ain't ever safe. But, you best believe I'm a lot more disagreeable than anyone who might try and cause trouble.”

She thought about it for a moment, staring back into her darkened room. Then she faced him again. “Alright, Arthur. Let's go.”

Chapter Text

Charlotte followed Arthur out of the hotel's entrance. The thickness of the fog rolling in stunned her. Earlier in the day she could see clearly across the marsh, but now white mists obstructed her view starting at the edge of the hotel. They headed for the city, where the haze didn't reach. She walked quietly beside him up the dirt path.

When they reached the cobblestone roads, Arthur spoke. “Hope it weren't too much trouble getting me back to the hotel.”

He sounded uncomfortable about it. Two kind passersby had assisted her with Arthur after he'd collapsed. She stated simply, “It wasn't any trouble.”

“I don't remember the whole way, but I got a clear memory of that French lady yelling at us. What got her so pissed off?”

Charlotte said carefully, “She was concerned by your countenance.”

He eyed her, a thick brow rising. “I reckon 'concern' ain't the right word.”

Thinking of the harsh words she'd used to get past the Madame, Charlotte winced. All she'd wanted was to settle Arthur in his room, but the hotel clerk had flown into rapid French, questioning her when Charlotte claimed Arthur only had food poisoning. “I'm afraid I may have been terribly rude in order to stop her chastising.”

“Sounds like you did what you had to. Another minute of standing in that lobby and I woulda fell flat on my face.”

“But you're truly doing better now?”

“Yeah, you don't got to worry.” His shoulder brushed hers. “What about you?”

“I'll admit this has certainly been an emotionally draining day.” She sighed. “That isn't to say it's the first time I've had to deal with Father's indelible ideas.”

“I didn't have a nice daddy either, but least he was cruel with his fists instead of his words.”

She frowned, concerned. “That sounds awful, Arthur.”

He shrugged. “Drunken haymakers I could usually avoid. Tongue as vicious as what your father's got, don't seem as easy.”

Charlotte lifted her face to the night sky. She'd been so worked up after dinner, her emotions running high, but dealing with Arthur's illness had dropped her back to reality and able to focus on what mattered.

“He thinks if he makes my life seem paltry, I won't want to stay. My mother tried the same thing, but to a lesser degree.”

“You being cut off from the family fortune gonna affect you any?”

She shook her head. “It was an empty threat. He knows full well Cal and I had plenty of money set aside.”

“And you're sure you don't want to go back with them?”

“To Chicago?” Her brow wrinkled. “No. I have all that I need at home.”

He asked her doubtfully, “So, you don't miss nothing about livin' in the big city?”

A smile broke across her face, her first one since dinner. “All right, it's not necessary to call me out like that. Of course there are certain conveniences I miss, but nothing with any terrible desperation.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I mean it,” she insisted. “I like my home. I like that I have full control over what I do every day. You have no idea how suffocating it was.” She pulled a face as she heard herself. “It sounds silly to say aloud. As if that were a valid reason to avoid an easy life.”

“Don't gotta tell me twice. I ain't gonna argue for city livin'.”

She nodded at that, falling silent. They walked together down the sidewalks. Oddly enough, there was still life in the city. A group of men sat captivated in a gazebo over a dominoes game. A pair of friends sang loudly and drunkenly, arms around each other's shoulders as they stumbled down the sidewalk.

Charlotte was accustomed to sleeping safely in bed at this time of night. To her, the act of being out late had a thrilling quality to it, as if she were a delinquent prowling the streets without permission. It wasn't necessarily a safe endeavor for young women, but she had no fear with Arthur beside her. It was certainly better than feeling miserable in her hotel room.

Eventually, they left the main street and entered a walled off private area. In the center of the square stood a statue of a general by the name of Quincy T. Harris, posing on a rearing horse.

Charlotte turned to Arthur, leaning against the short, black fence surrounding the statue. “Can I ask you something personal, Arthur?”

“Sure...”

He didn't sound too certain, but she forged on, “Have you ever been married?”

Arthur's eyes widened and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Er, no.”

“Really?”

“That surprise you?”

“I suppose it does. You're a good man, smart, caring...”

“I don't know about all that, but I've always been too wild to settle down.”

She smiled in his direction. “Mmm, yes. That rambling spirit.”

He was quiet a moment, looking out at the city before he said, “I was hung up on one woman for a long while.”

She tilted her head with interest. “Was?”

Arthur lifted his shoulders. “I reckon we hurt each other too many times to make anything of it.”

She didn't consider herself pushy, but she didn't like staying in the dark on matters she wanted answers to. Quietly, she asked, “Is she...waiting for you out there somewhere?”

“Mary?” He laughed, but it was bitter and without humor. “Oh, no. She gave up on me in the end. Mailed back the ring I gave her years ago with a portrait of us when we still liked each other.”

“A ring?” Her brows rose. “So it was serious.”

“Long time ago it was, I suppose. Leastwise, for my part.”

She frowned as she processed what he said. “But mailing back the ring seems a terrible thing to do after so much time has passed.”

He shrugged. “It's to be expected.”

Charlotte didn't like that. Not one bit. She tried to put herself in the other woman's shoes. In love with an outlaw, but unwilling to commit. She understood the fear that could arise in getting involved with outlaws and thieves, but if that was a deal breaker, then the relationship should be over. And she knew why the other end of it wouldn't work. Arthur admitted it himself. He liked to roam. But he always came back. At least, in her experience that was the case.

She wondered what kind of woman would have captured Arthur's affection. Someone like him, a free spirit on the go, robbing to survive? Or had it been someone of the genteel like Charlotte, who had wanted him to settle into her own way of life?

She tried to picture returning to Chicago with Arthur on her arm. To dress him up to the nines and drag him to parties where nothing of interest was discussed except the latest gossip and politics. On the other hand, she had a feeling Arthur would be the center of attention at every engagement, whether he wanted to be or not.

“What's that smile for?”

She looked up at him and her smile grew. “Just imagining you plopped down in the middle of a dinner party.”

He scowled. “You think it'd be amusin' to watch me flounder?”

“On the contrary, I think you'd end up a big hit.”

“Uh-huh. Like a damn traveling Wild West show, you mean.”

She teased, “I am an eyewitness to your impressive aim, but I wouldn't recommend trick shots at dinner.”

Thinking of Arthur trapped in the company of the genteel reminded her she hadn't asked him a major point of inquiry from tonight. “Arthur,” she said slowly because she dreaded to hear his answer. “My father ambushed you, I assume? What did he say to you?”

“Nothing much,” he told her musingly, “Gave me six months to live. A year tops.”

Gave me six months to live. He said it so nonchalantly, but his words had Charlotte straightening to her full height, her outrage outweighed only by her shock. “He did what!”

She had half a mind to march straight to the Hotel Grand and confront her father over that, even if it was the middle of the night. How could he have been so callous?

“It don't bother me.”

“Well, it bothers me,” she said, her hands clenching into fists. “It's an absolute monstrous thing to say.”

“Ain't he a doctor? Wouldn't he know?”

“No, he would not,” she insisted furiously. “He hasn't given you a proper diagnosis. He was only being cruel.”

He shrugged, clearly not convinced. He turned to continue their stroll as if it were no matter.

She tugged on his arm, stopping him. “I mean it, Arthur.” She studied the near imperceptible pain on his face. “He got to you too, didn't he? What else did he say?”

He lowered his head and his darn hat hid his expression from her. “It don't bear repeatin'.”

It was that bad, was it? She felt awful. Maybe he wouldn't admit it, but his encounter with her father had jarred him. She pressed her lips together. Arthur had enough trouble with his own conscience attacking him. He didn't need the added worry of his fate and whatever else her father had burdened him with.

“Trust what I'm about to say.” She took both of his hands in hers and tilted her head to try and peek at his expression. “If there's anything I believe in the deepest part of me, it's that your life is far from over.”

All she could see of him was his mouth set in a grim line. “Don't rightly know how you can be confident on that front, ma'am.”

She brought his hand up to her cheek, mirroring the manner he had held her only days ago, before the rain had fallen. He finally tilted his head up all the way and his eyes were burning with intensity.

She said firmly, “Because I haven't had my fair time with you yet.”

Charlotte rose and pressed her mouth against his gently, with deliberate slowness. She leaned against him, her palm resting on his chest. It took a moment for him to respond, as if he were holding on to one last thread of resistance for some reason.

But then the thread broke and he groaned against her lips. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in. Her hands roamed inside his coat. As she passed over his heart, she felt the rhythmic thumping that matched her own.

She lifted a hand to his cheek, feeling the whiskers under her fingers. She'd never kissed a man with a beard before Arthur. She found she enjoyed the prickling sensation of his whiskers scraping lightly across her skin.

“Charlotte...”

The gravelly way he said her name had her shuddering. Heat flooded her cheeks, her neck and lower.

“Yes, Arthur?” she asked breathlessly.

He opened his eyes and tipped back. His ardent gaze riveted her in place, but she didn't want to escape from it anyway. Her heart was full and she was brimming with fiery yearning. A sentiment she'd thought she'd never feel again for another man. And now, she felt it for this one. She wanted to tell him, to admit her desires and lay bare her heart for his acceptance.

As it happened, at that moment the church bells rang for two o'clock. The sound pulled her from her hazy mind. How had they spent two hours out already? Charlotte didn't remember the first hour going by.

As the pealing of the bells faded into the night, Arthur's mouth tilted to one side. “Seems like we better head back.”

“You're right.” She sighed and wrinkled her nose playfully. “How can you be so practical in these conditions?”

He brushed a thumb across her cheek. “I reckon it's because I know where it'll inevitably end up if we don't stop.”

A hot blush rose to her face. Inevitably. He was correct, of course. She wasn't ignorant, but maybe it was her prudish upbringing that had her startled to hear Arthur speak of it out loud. There was no question they enjoyed each other's company, but a small part of her wasn't sure if he wanted a committed relationship or merely a physical one. The concept of an increase in physical contact with Arthur had her face searing further. She needed some space between them before he noticed her foolishness.

Reluctantly, she stepped out of his warm embrace. They left the walled off area together and started their return walk to the hotel. Now that she didn't have Arthur's arms around her, Charlotte shivered.

Without saying a word, Arthur shrugged off his coat and dropped it over her shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Charlotte asked. “Won't you get cold?”

He shrugged. “Probably, but I ain't gonna let you freeze.”

She thought about protesting, but Arthur had a challenging glint in his eyes. Besides, the hotel wasn't too far. She settled for wrapping it closer. “You're too good to me.”

“I could be downright mean if you'd like.”

She quirked a smile. “Now you're being ridiculous.”

The night had quieted down and most of Saint Denis' residents seemed to have retreated to bed. When they arrived to their hotel, Charlotte feared it might have been locked up since they'd stayed out so late. However, the door was open and a gentleman sat on stool behind the counter reading the paper. He looked up briefly as they entered before waving them on and going back to his paper.

When Charlotte and Arthur reached her door, she returned his coat to him. She couldn't resist one last kiss, but she kept it chaste, lingering on his cheek as she said goodnight.

Charlotte didn't think she'd be able to sleep. Not after the excitement over the night. But thinking of Arthur and remembering their kiss soothed her enough to drift into a slumber. She awoke again with the morning well on its way without her.

She stretched, hopped out of bed and got dressed. She finished lacing her shoes when there was a knock on the door. She opened it up to find Arthur.

“Good morning, Arthur. I was about to pin my hair up and then I'll be ready.” She walked to the vanity table and sat. She picked up her brush when she noticed in the mirror he hadn't moved. She glanced back at him and laughed a little. “What are you doing? Come in here.”

He grunted, “Don't seem proper to go in your room.”

Her brow furrowed. “You're being silly. We spent the last few weeks alone together in a small cabin.”

Arthur shifted, not looking at her. “That were different somehow.”

“Have a seat,” she insisted, gesturing to the bed.

He stepped across the threshold and stopped. “I'll stand.”

She returned facing the mirror. “Alright, but please close the door.”

He hesitated again and she turned in her chair. He was looking around the room with a frown. He truly was uncomfortable, like he thought she had a trap laid for him.

Charlotte reached out her hand and beckoned softly, “Come here.”

Finally, he pushed the door shut and approached her. She thought he might be trying to hide his expression again, but it was not possible with her sitting position. The emotion she read was uncertainty. She couldn't quite understand it. Did he believe her feelings for him had changed since their walk in the early hours of the morning?

When he reached her, she took his hand and turned it palm up to place the hairbrush. She didn't say a word, only looked up at him expectantly. He was surprised, to say the least. Her thinking was that he might not feel so awkward if he kept his hands busy. His fingers closed over the brush and she turned in her chair. He started gliding the bristles down her dark hair with ginger strokes. She watched him in the mirror as he seemed fully concentrated on the task.

“My momma had long hair,” he commented after a moment. “I don't remember a lot about her since she died when I was a kid, but I remember her brushing it out at night.”

“Oh, Arthur. I'm sorry.” And with the way he talked about his own father last night, he likely didn't have many happy childhood memories. It pained her to think of him without a support system at a young age. This man had so much tragedy in his life.

He fell silent, concentrating as he passed the brush through her hair. Maybe Arthur had been wise in his hesitation to being alone in a room with her. She'd never realized how intimate it was having a man handling her hair. She considered it a mundane activity, but now she was all too aware of his touch every time his fingers skimmed her face, neck and shoulders.

“That should be good, Arthur,” Charlotte said eventually. She made quick work of winding and tying her hair up to pin in her usual low bun.

“I don't know if you're staying in Saint Denis longer.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But I reckon I should stick with you 'til you get home safe. ”

She turned to face him. “Actually, Arthur, I wanted to talk to you about—”

A knock on the door interrupted her and she frowned. “Who could that be?”

Charlotte strode over to the door and opened it up. The same waiter from last night stood there, the one who'd helped her with Arthur. He looked between her and Arthur in the room. “A note for you, Madam.”

She ignored his curious stare and accepted the letter. “Merci.” She shut the door and opened the note, grimacing as she realized who sent it. “It's from Mama.”

“How'd she know to find you here?”

“Knowing her, she likely sent a note to every hotel in the city.” Charlotte skimmed the words. “She's summoning me to breakfast.”

“We don't got to go if you don't want to.”

She smiled briefly at the 'we' he used. It made her feel as if she wasn't alone in this drama between her and her parents. She was tempted to skip out on her mother, but she wasn't a coward. “No. I should speak with them before they leave. I don't want to leave things how they are. Maybe Father will see my side of things this morning.”

OOOOOOOOO

“Where's Father?” Charlotte asked immediately after greeting her mother.

Her and Arthur had made their way to the Hotel Grand. Charlotte had felt a similar dread in the pit of her stomach as she had the night before, but now added was a touch of determination. She hadn't forgotten what Arthur had told her, what her father had said to him. Or the possibilities of what Arthur hadn't told her of the conversation. Today, she was ready to confront her father. However, when they walked in the public dining room, only her mother and Benji sat with their breakfast.

Now her mother answered her, “I'm afraid Howard left on the first train this morning.”

Charlotte stiffened. Her father hadn't even waited to say goodbye. Was he that offended by her personal choices? For all he knew, that dinner was the last time they'd speak for a very long time.

Her mother rested a hand on her arm and said softly, “It's better like this, dear. Once he comes around to the idea of your new life, I'll get him on a train back.”

“And Clark?” Did her brother do the same thing?

Her mother scowled and sat back. “I hadn't realized that boy had been drinking prior to the dinner. He threw a terrible fuss after you left and then passed out on the floor. He's sleeping off a headache.” Her mother addressed Arthur. “I heard you spoke with him last night, perhaps saved him from being too reckless in the cups?”

Her mother went on, surprisingly all contrition and apologies for the way she'd spoken to him. Arthur didn't seem to know how to respond to that and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair multiple times.

Finally, Charlotte suggested, “Arthur, would you mind stopping at Dr. Barnes' office for those tonics while my mother and I talk?”

Her mother fluttered a hand. “Please, take Benjamin with you.”

Benjamin's bored expression lit up with excitement and Arthur's relief was obvious. Arthur tipped his hat. “Will do, ma'am.”

After they left, her mother turned to her. “Charlotte, before we return home, I want to clarify some things your father said. For one, I want you to know your Aunt Rose is doing fine. She did have a few bad days weeks ago, but lately she's been up to her regular rambunctious antics.”

Relief and gratitude coursed through her. “Thank you for telling me.”

“As far as your inheritance...”

Charlotte shook her head. “Mama, don't worry about that. It's of no concern to me.”

“Tell me honestly, dear.” Her mother grew earnest. “Will you be alright here?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“All I've ever wanted was your happiness.”

Charlotte raised a brow. “And a daughter to flaunt?”

“That is one of the perks to having a beautiful daughter.” She touched her cheek. “What happened with this bruise, dear?”

Her concern was real so Charlotte answered honestly, “There is risk to living by myself, Mama. I won't lie. But Arthur was telling the truth. He had nothing to do with it.”

“I believe you. He doesn't strike me as the sort.”

Charlotte eyed her suspiciously. “You've come around to Arthur fairly quickly, Mama.”

Her mother chortled. “Yes, he's not my normal cup of tea, is he? But I do admire the way he leaps to your defense. It's had me reconsidering my first impressions.”

Charlotte was amazed by that admission. She hadn't expected her mother to ever perceive Arthur as anyone worthy of her regard. “I hope you mean that because I'm going to ask him to live with me.”

The thin eyebrows rose on her mother's forehead. “I can't say I approve, but I suppose his company is better than you being alone.” Her mother crinkled her nose. “Besides, I suspect any prohibition on my part would have little effect on your decision-making.”

She grinned. “You'd be right about that, Mama.”

Charlotte had a nice conversation with her mother from then on, enough that she could laugh when her mother described a fiasco of a party she'd attended. It was noon when Arthur and her brother returned. Charlotte decided it was time for goodbyes then. She embraced her mother and Benji. Her mother didn't hug Arthur, but she patted him on the arm in an awkward manner.

Charlotte was contemplative as they left the Hotel Grand. She was happy with her reconciliation with her mother, pleasantly surprised at her acceptance. She wished more could have been done with her father, but overall she was satisfied. She'd write him and maybe he'd come around by the holidays.

Realizing she'd fallen silent beside Arthur, Charlotte said, “I suppose we should check out of our hotel and figure out a way to Van Horn to pick up Jane.”

“Yeah...” he said in his own distracted manner.

They were passing the bank and his eyes were fixed on the road. Before she could ask what was on his mind, Arthur stopped walking abruptly.

“Charlotte...” He looked to her, emotion brimming in his eyes. “I want to visit Hosea.”

Chapter Text

When Arthur and Charlotte passed by the bank, he saw in his mind's eye the day of the bank robbery and knew for a certainty it was past time he paid his respects.

“Charlotte, I want to visit Hosea.” He declared it like he expected an argument.

“Alright,” she agreed in her easy manner. “Let's collect our things from the hotel and do so.”

She started down the street, but Arthur caught her by the arm. He'd been so distracted, he'd nearly forgotten where he'd put the rest of his money while she'd been chatting with her mother. “Er, actually, we got a ride over here.”

Confusion switched to curiosity as she followed him. “What kind of ride?”

“Me and Ben got a look-see at the wagons they had for sale at the stables. The cart ain't nothing special, but it'll get the job done.”

“I was wondering what was taking you two.” She passed him a sidelong look. “I hope my brother didn't chat your ear off.”

“We did get to talkin'...” That boy hadn't been shy neither. He'd been quiet until they'd reached the doctor's office.

Ben had started with an abrupt, “Are you going to marry my sister?”

Arthur had shot him a disbelieving glance. “Damn, boy, you don't talk much, but when you do, you cut right to it, don't you?”

“Charlotte likes you,” Ben had continued matter-of-fact.

“I know it,” Arthur sighed. “And she's worse off for it.”

Ben frowned. “Don't you like her?”

“That ain't the problem, kid. Not in the long run.”

“I don't understand.”

“In a manner of speaking, I ain't got long in this world.”

Ben pressed a knuckle to his chin as if were giving Arthur's words some real thought. “Are you sick with something?”

“Good guess,” Arthur grumbled.

Ben's eyes widened. “Does Charlotte know?”

Arthur scowled. “'Course she knows. And so does your daddy. It's why he's all hellbent against me.”

Ben had shrugged at that. “It would have been one thing or another. Father's never liked any of Charlotte's suitors. Not even Cal.”

“Your daddy try and bribe them too?”

Ben cringed. “He pulled that on you?”

“Yeah, but don't tell Charlotte. It's the last thing she needs to be burdened with on top of dealing with me.”

Since last night, Arthur had itched for his journal, but he'd left it behind at Willard's Rest. He couldn't seem to get his thoughts straight without writing them down. Charlotte had so much faith that he was meant to be here, in life still. But he didn't feel it. Under the lighting of the street lamps she'd stared up at him with her heart in her eyes, silently willing him to see it himself. But all he saw was that Charles was right about her growing soft on him. And, much as it pleased him, it also didn't bode well in his mind.

Getting away from his musings, Arthur led Charlotte to a gray workhorse attached to a small cart. He patted the horse and it nuzzled him. He was a friendly old boy, a Dutch Warmblood with an affectionate nature.

Charlotte lifted a brow. “Why is the wagon parked like this?”

Arthur had hoped she wouldn't have noticed the cart lopsided and perched halfway on the sidewalk. He didn't look at her as he rubbed the horse. “I, uh, mighta let Ben drive it here.”

“Oh really?” She seemed tickled over the prospect.

He muttered, “Yeah, and I shoulda kept my damn mouth shut.”

The boy had been excited and a little too enthusiastic. Damn near ran down five people on the way over. Afterwards, Ben had thanked him, saying he'd never had a chance at driving before. But it was the last thing that Ben said to him that really stuck in his memory. After he'd jumped from the wagon, the boy had turned to him.

“You're wrong, you know.”

Arthur hitched the horse. “'Bout what?”

“Charlotte has never thought caring for people as cumbersome. It's why she did so well working for Father.” Ben shook his head. “If you don't see that, you're a fool, sir.”

Arthur had patted the horse, saying quietly, “Never claimed to be otherwise.”

His attention was drawn back to the present with Charlotte walking around and examining the cart. Now he was seeing it with fresh eyes and he didn't like the look of it. He and Ben had checked it over, of course. Sure, it was missing a board or two and caked in dried mud. The back gate hinges were loose, but attached at least. Most importantly, the wooden wheels were sturdy and the frame was solid.

Because she hadn't given her opinion yet, he felt compelled to say, “It's got a decent-sized bed. Big enough for a buck, should you take it hunting.”

She looked up from her inspection. “This is brilliant, Arthur.”

He shook his head. “I don't reckon it's all that great, but it'll get us to where we need going.”

She glided up next to him. “And we've acquired another horse, I see.”

He quirked a smile. “Another stray for your collection.”

“And what's this fellow's name?” She ran a hand down the horse's white mane and he moved his head for more attention from her. She laughed and petted him.

“The boys at the stable yard called him Vee. He's a retired workhorse so he came real cheap. Ain't much use for anything now other than carting people around. But that don't work too well in the city streets seeing as how big he is.”

“I see.” She tilted her head. “You said his name's Vee?”

“Told me it was short for the Spanish word for old.”

“Hmm. Viejo, I think?” Her brows drew together. “How odd.”

“Why?”

“Well, he wasn't always old.” Her frown turned to amusement. “Did he have a different name when he was young?”

“Damned if I know.”

“In any case, I hope you also purchased feed and supplies enough for two horses.”

Arthur grinned as he'd been expecting her to voice that worry. He lifted the canvas on the back of the wagon and presented the supplies.

She looked in and smiled. “You've clearly thought of everything.”

“I doubt it. But it'll do.”

“Yes.” She faced him, rose and pecked a kiss on his cheek. Her breath whispered against his skin. “I think it'll do quite nicely.”

Arthur stared down at her and, as usual, selfishly wanted more. When he'd seen her with her hair loose in her hotel room this morning, it'd stirred something in him. He couldn't put a name to it, this craving for something he didn't know if he'd ever truly had.

Unaware of all the turmoil in his mind, Charlotte asked unassumingly, “Shall we head out?”

He nodded. “After you, ma'am.”

Arthur offered his hand and she gripped it briefly as she stepped onto the wagon. Once he was settled next to her, she asked, “Were you able to get those tonics alright?”

“Sure.” He grimaced. “But I reckon that doctor don't like me too much. Got the feeling he was miffed to see me walking around as it were.”

She sighed. “Somehow, that doesn't surprise me. He'd been quite certain you wouldn't survive the week when I brought you in. I hope he wasn't rude to you.”

Arthur shrugged. “Seems to be my specialty lately, pissing off doctors.”

After that, he concentrated on maneuvering the cart through the city. He parked beside the Hotel La Licorne and he and Charlotte went inside. They packed separately and met back up at the wagon.

“So where are we going, Arthur?” asked Charlotte once they were ready to head out again.

“It ain't too far from the Unicorn actually.” Abigail had told him where they'd buried Lenny and Hosea. Under a great big tree north of Saint Denis. “A little ways out of the city is all.”

Life had moved so quickly after the bank robbery. The shipwreck and landing in Guarma had kept his mind distracted with no time to dwell on the deaths of his friends, only on survival.

Then they'd been found out by Pinkertons again in Lakay. They shoulda gone on the run then for good, but instead Dutch and Micah had found time to kill Cornwall and fully sever the relationship between the army and Rains Fall's tribe. Then Arthur had got caught up in that last train robbery and saving Abigail. There had never been a moment to properly mourn Hosea, or any of them lost souls really.

As they moved away from the city, the tree weren't hard to miss. Seemed like the only live thing for miles. At the sight of it and the two crosses below it, a lump formed in his throat.

Arthur pulled the cart to the side of the trail and hopped down, his boots squishing in mud. He turned to assist Charlotte. She rested her hands on his shoulders and he clutched her waist and set her down.

He released her, but she didn't move away. “Arthur, are you nervous?”

“I ain't...” He purposefully had his back to the graves so what was the point in lying? “Yes.”

“I understand,” she said kindly. “But you can do this.”

She placed her hand in his, tugging him along to encourage his feet to move. Once they were standing in front of the graves of his friends, he felt like a fool. “What do I say to him?”

Charlotte squeezed his hand. “Anything you want. Talk as if he were right beside you. Tell him something you never got a chance to.”

“That could take all day.”

“I find it easiest to keep the conversation simple and concise.”

Simple. He could do that. Charlotte stood at his side, a steadfast and comforting presence. He wondered what Hosea would think, him here holding hands with a woman as calm, caring and apart from the gang as Bessie had been.

“Do you know this gentleman too?” Charlotte pointed at the second cross. Lenny Summers.

He cleared his throat, but his voice still came out hoarse. “Yeah.”

“Why don't you start with him?”

Arthur let out a breath. “I'd say Lenny was the smartest outta all of us, if he'd been given half a chance at a different life. Didn't know it then that he were aspiring toward nothing. I hoped he coulda had better than me at least. He was just a kid...”

Charlotte let him trail off before eventually prompting him, “How did they die?”

Should he tell her? He didn't want to deny them again, especially at their graves. Seemed like bad luck somehow.

“Shot by lawmen. During a bank robbery, no less.”

She nodded solemnly, somehow without a flicker of judgment, fear or otherwise. He didn't know what she could be thinking, but he let it pass and shifted his attention to the other wooden cross.

“Hosea could talk his way outta damn near anything, but he couldn't get himself outta that last one.” Keep it simple. “You were a father to me, Hosea. I loved you as such and I shoulda told you that when you was alive. And I sure as hell shoulda listened to you more. Maybe half the things that went wrong coulda been avoided.”

Hosea knew since Colter they was going in the wrong direction. After the Blackwater fiasco, they should have listened to what he'd kept saying. Stay low and go back west. But it was like Dutch had purposefully done the opposite.

Arthur suddenly recalled a day he'd been striding through camp and overheard a conversation between Tilly, Hosea and Lenny. He had stopped to listen as they remembered poor Jenny and the conversation had turned to talking about how they'd like to be buried.

Hosea had said, “When I die, I just want to be buried with friends.”

And Lenny had agreed. Least Hosea and Lenny had each other, which was more than the rest in the ground got. Hosea likely woulda wanted to have been buried beside Bessie, but Arthur thought near Lenny was the next best thing.

Arthur turned away and rubbed a hand down his face, doing his damnedest to ignore the wetness. “Let's go.”

OOOOOOOOO

Arthur was quiet when they returned to the wagon and started down the trail again. His mind was full of memories of Hosea and Lenny and the rest of the gang. He'd blocked out some of it, since waking in Charlotte's house.

But now he faced it, remembering how it all went wrong and how there wasn't one occasion where a single differing choice of his coulda stopped the failures and saved everyone. The downfall of the Van Der Linde gang had been inevitable.

If he were a religious man, he'd say it was all meant to be, but it weren't worth the cost of all them lives just for him to have a damn epiphany.

“Arthur...” Charlotte broke his recollecting. “I don't know if this is the right time for it, but there's something I wish to discuss with you.”

He turned his head. “Yeah?”

“Would you...would you come live with me at Willard's Rest?” She lifted her head. “On a more permanent basis?”

Arthur wouldn't say he wasn't expecting her to make that offer. It warmed him as much as it gave him a terrible ache to hear. He stared straight ahead, at Vee plodding along the trail. If he said yes, what was he damning her with?

When he didn't respond, she added quickly, “In whatever capacity is comfortable for you, of course.”

She was giving him an out, a way to smother their amorous connection, all for the notion he'd have somewhere to hang his hat. As if he and Charlotte could go back to a simple friendship, the way it started. A damn impossible feat for his side of things and he didn't think he was wrong in saying it was the same for her.

Thoughts of the gang's demise swirling in his head, he said, “I don't think it's a good idea.”

“Oh. Why?”

Damn. Charlotte never seemed afraid to ask point blank any question she wanted the answer to. He shifted with discomfort. “If you knew half the things I done, you wouldn't make such an offer.”

She tilted her head. “You've spent all this time with me and you think me so disingenuous?”

“I didn't say that, but you don't know nothing 'til I tell you.”

She lifted her chin. “Well then, tell me so I can reevaluate.”

Tell her? He barked a short, self-deprecating laugh. “That ain't happenin'.”

“Why not?”

Shit, he didn't know at this point. He shifted the conversation. “It ain't just about me being an outlaw.”

“What else is there?”

“Charlotte...” He was too frustrated to think of the words to argue. Didn't she get he wasn't good enough?

“Do you believe I can't understand because of my privileged life? Is that it?”

It weren't what he'd been thinking, but he clung to the excuse she'd given him. “Yes.”

“I know we haven't lived the same kind of lives. You've had to do many things to survive that I could probably never imagine.”

His hands tightened on the reins. He didn't know why it made him angry. Most likely, just annoyed at his own life choices. It weren't no fault of hers, but he snarled, “How about I tell you how I got TB in the first place? That weren't about survival.” He didn't wait for her to answer. “I beat a poor man for money, widowed his wife and left his son without a father.”

If he wanted to shock her, he failed. Charlotte said simply, “And I see you suffering because of it every day.”

The words unsettled him because he'd said the same thing to Mrs. Downes when he'd handed over a bundle of cash and told her and her son to start a new life.

Mrs. Downes still had some decency for him despite all the pain he'd caused her.She'd told him to forget about his guilt, that it weren't doin' no one no good. If only it were that easy, to forget. But he'd found it impossible and no matter how many good deeds he'd done, by the end of the day it never felt enough.

“To be frank, Arthur, I want this relationship to progress.” Charlotte didn't mince her words. “Do you?”

'Course he did. He bowed his head, shading his expression with his hat, even though he doubted anything was hidden from her at this point. He'd already come to the conclusion he was too much of a burden on her. Even if her father was right and it wouldn't be for long. 'Sides, he weren't warranted the soft life after all the harm he'd done against other folk.

Like she read his damn mind, she scooted against him and placed a hand on his arm. “Arthur, you aren't undeserving of happiness.”

The hell I ain't. “Too late in the game for it now.”

“I don't think that's true either.”

“It ain't my place to end up content.” Not when he'd robbed the possibility from so many others.

When Charlotte didn't respond, he assumed she had no reasonable answer to that. He turned to her, but her gaze was locked onto the forest. Her brows furrowed and he looked in the same direction. A moving, orange glow flickered between the trees. Easy to spot, despite the daylight.

It turned out to be a horseless wagon on fire and careening down the hill. Arthur pulled on the reins, stopping Vee as the burning wagon wildly streamed across the path in front of them and rolled up the other side of the hill.

Arthur frowned. “What the hell?”

“Arthur, in the trees, on the left!”

Where the wagon had come flying from, popping noises started and then cracking sounds as bullets hit the wooden planks of their wagon.

He hollered, “Get off the cart!”

Charlotte obediently followed his instruction as they both dropped down the side of the cart not being shot at. They pressed their backs against the front wooden wheel. Bullets cracked the seat of the wagon where they'd abandoned. Arthur pulled out his revolver. They were lucky these people couldn't shoot for shit.

Charlotte's face paled as she told him, “It's Murfrees.”

Arthur cursed under his breath. Nasty bastards. He asked lightly, “You ain't got that rifle hidden in your skirts, do you?”

She turned wide, fearful eyes towards him. “No.”

Not the time for jokes, Morgan. He cleared his throat. “Listen, Charlotte. You gotta stay low. Don't move.”

She reached for him. “What are we going to do, Arthur?”

He didn't have a damn clue. “I got this revolver, but not much for bullets. Gotta make it count. How many you see out there?”

She closed her eyes, concentrating. “I saw at least five or six.”

Arthur's heart was beating wildly as he told her with a certain grimness, “Get ready to witness your first shootout, darlin'.”

Chapter Text

Charlotte trembled, but she pressed her hands together to hide her fear from Arthur. She was hyper aware of the spokes at her back as wood splintered from bullets smashing on the other side of the wagon. Her life or Arthur's could end at any moment. One wrong decision made by either of them and the Murfrees would have their victory.

She could hardly think past the terror of it all. Arthur, on the other hand, appeared calm and in his element, more sure of himself than she'd ever seen him.

He didn't look at her as he said, “If you don't wanna lose the delusion I'm worthy of this life, you best close your eyes now.”

“Arthur—” But this wasn't the time for a debate on morality.

A Murfree jumped on the wagon seat above them, so close Charlotte could see the wild craziness lighting his eyes. He mocked, “Here, piggy, pig—”

Without hesitation, Arthur raised his gun and shot him. The stunned man clutched his chest and fell over the side of the wagon, uttering no other words. Charlotte lifted her head and met Arthur's gaze. There wasn't regret in his expression over taking that man's life. Only a grim acceptance at having to deal with their unfortunate situation. Arthur wasn't enjoying killing for any sort of pleasure. He was doing what needed to be done for their survival.

She nodded to him once, hoping he realized she understood this was a life or death situation. He only reminded her, “Stay low.”

The continuous popping and cracking seemed to come from everywhere to her, but Arthur was focused and unfazed. Somehow, he knew the right time to peek over the side of the wagon and where to aim. If she wasn't so frightened, she'd be amazed at his abilities.

Charlotte caught sight of a filthy man in overalls sneaking up from the trees in front of them. Luckily, he wasn't holding a gun, but he did have a rather large knife. Charlotte turned to warn Arthur, but he was concentrated on the men shooting from the other side of the wagon. She frantically scanned the ground for anything to use as a weapon and spotted a fist-sized rock by her foot. She grabbed it and flung it at the man. Her aim was true and smacked their prospective attacker in the nose.

The man dropped his knife and howled, both hands covering his bleeding nose. Charlotte picked up another, smaller rock and threw with more force. It hit the side of his head and he tumbled face first into the tall grass, hidden from view. To preserve her virtue, she presumed he was knocked out. However, she wasn't about to crawl over and check on him.

The howl drew Arthur's attention and he spared a backwards glance at her. “What the hell was that?”

Charlotte made to answer, but by this time, the gunshots were proving too much for Vee. He whinnied fretfully, rose on his hind legs and took off.

As the wagon started moving, Arthur clutched her elbow. “Head for the trees! I'll cover you.”

Charlotte lifted her skirts and ran, futilely thinking, This would be so much easier in pants! If they survived this, she was only wearing skirts on special occasions.

Sporadic gunfire hit the ground near her feet, making her squeak and pick up her pace. They neared the unconscious Murfree she'd hit. Spotting the knife he'd wielded, she swooped it up before she took cover behind a wide tree, Arthur chose one right beside her. From her angle, she saw a Murfree jump onto their moving wagon as Vee was bolting away. The man took control of the reins and continued on the path.

She was winded from the run, but she managed to gasp out, “They're stealing our wagon!”

“Goddammit! You shit-heads better hope I don't—”

“Arthur!” Charlotte saw two Murfrees pushing forward now that the wagon was gone.

Arthur shot, hitting both of them, but one got off his own shot before he was downed. Arthur drew back sharply, crouched and clutched his upper arm. Blood seeped between his fingers. “Shit!”

“You're shot,” she said in alarm, automatically taking a step forward.

“Don't move!” he snapped. He uncovered his hand to look at the wound. “It's just a graze. Bullet didn't lodge, but it burns like a sonovabitch.”

One of the surviving Murfrees must have seen Arthur get struck. He taunted behind his own tree, “This is what happens when you come onto Murfree land!”

Arthur hollered back, “Ya'll are a bunch of goddamn lunatics!”

“Now what?” Charlotte asked, fear icing her heart.

Arthur didn't need to say it. She saw it on his face. He was out of ideas, they were outnumbered and she was little more than a burden to his stead. The firing had stopped, but there were at least a few Murfrees out there yet. Armed or not, they remained dangerous.

Arthur told her, “You take off running and I'll stop them who tries to follow.”

She scowled at him. “I'm not abandoning you.”

“Goddammit, Charlotte, you can't do nothing so you might as well go!”

She drew herself up at his tone. He was lashing out, a technique she noticed he fell back on when something pinched his heart and he didn't know how else to react.

“I'm not leaving,” she said firmly.

“The rest of 'em that ain't dead are gonna be on us any minute.”

She lifted her newly acquired knife. “So be it.”

He stared at her, grimaced and rested against the tree a moment. He removed his hat with the hand not holding his injury and wiped his forehead before replacing his hat again.

Finally, he faced her and advised solemnly, “Wait 'til one gets close. You don't got the strength to overpower any of 'em, but if you slash at their hands and face right away, it'll slow 'em. I'll do the rest.”

Charlotte nodded. She didn't question whether he'd be able to grapple anyone in his state. It would serve no purpose. She gripped the knife tighter and tried not to remember the outcome of the last time she'd been up against a hostile male.

A soft expression took over Arthur's face. “Charlotte, I want you to know—”

He was interrupted by the sound of sudden gunfire. Charlotte flinched, but none of it was reaching them. It picked up in quick succession and they heard Murfrees yelling in fear. Both her and Arthur shared a confused frown and peered around their trees.

Down went a Murfree who'd nearly reached them, shot in the back. Another turned and hollered to the remaining three in the open, “Back up the hill!”

A gunslinger on a horse came bearing down the hill, coat flaring in the wind. From out of the trees, they were shooting Murfrees left and right.

“Oh, now you're gonna run?” taunted the newcomer. The Murfrees were turning tail in earnest. The rider chased after them without mercy. “Don't feel so good on the other end of the barrel, does it?”

It was a figure in a duster jacket and a brimmed hat. Once the woods were silent, they dismounted in the middle of the trail and Charlotte distinctly noticed a blonde braid poking out of a brimmed hat.

“Don't that beat all.”

Charlotte turned to Arthur, surprised to find him grinning. He stepped out from the tree and greeted, “Mrs. Sadie Adler. Ain't you a sight for sore eyes.”

The woman in question swung around sharply and nearly dropped her rifle when she spotted Arthur. Her mouth fell open, but she recovered quickly enough. She strode up and threw her arms around him without ceremony. “You're alive?”

Arthur winced. “Barely.”

She loosened her grip, drew back and poked his chest. “You ain't a demon, are you?”

“Something much worse, I reckon.” Arthur chuckled. “When you ever been superstitious anyhow?”

“Since I've been spending my nights in these swamps. All kinds of creepy shit down here.”

“You gotta camp nearby then? I gotta see what can be done about this arm.”

“Sure. It's back aways, in the bayou.” Sadie shook her head. “I still can't believe what I'm seeing. How did you end up here? How the hell did you survive them Pinkertons?”

Arthur sighed. “It's a long story. Let's get someplace safe and we'll tell you all about it.”

“We?”

Charlotte took that as her cue to reveal herself. The woman's attention went to her and she raised her rifle imperceptibly. “Who's this?”

“My name's Charlotte Balfour. I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Adler.”

“Mrs,” Sadie corrected.

Charlotte blinked, amused somewhat at being on the other end of that distinction. “Mrs. Adler. Your timing couldn't have been more perfect.”

“I disagree,” Arthur groused. “Five minutes sooner and she coulda got here before I got shot.”

Mrs. Adler eyed Charlotte up and down warily. “What are you doing out here?”

“Trying to get home,” Charlotte told her.

“Home?”

“Goddammit, Sadie. Can you question us later? I'm bleeding out here.”

“You're just as much of a bear since last I saw you.” Mrs. Adler didn't seem offended. She put two fingers to her mouth and whistled. A moment later, her horse trotted down the path towards them.

“Yeah, yeah.” Arthur coughed, trying multiple times to clear his throat before he was successful.

Charlotte's curious examination of Mrs. Adler switched to Arthur. He'd become pale and sweaty and he was holding his arm with a pinched expression. His tuberculosis was clearly affecting him after the strain in the gunfight. Not only that, Arthur hadn't removed his hand from his wound, which told her it hadn't stopped bleeding.

“Do you have any bandages?” she asked Mrs. Adler.

“All the supplies I got are at my camp.” The blonde woman narrowed her eyes on Arthur, her expression unreadable. Charlotte had no idea what was going through her mind until she patted her mount and ordered, “Arthur, get on Bob. It ain't too far. Us girls can walk.”

Charlotte nodded. “An excellent activity to expel some of the jitters I'm still feeling.”

He didn't look fooled by their maneuvering as he wheezed, “I ain't ridin'...while you two walk.”

Charlotte thought Mrs. Adler might snap a retort since the little she'd heard between the two, they seemed to have a contentious friendship.

But Mrs. Adler's husky voice was soft when she said, “Just do what we say, honey. It's for the best.”

OOOOOOOOO

As for the walking, it felt good to stretch her legs. The only unpleasantness was the occasional squelching in the mud. They had backtracked, heading south again, but once they were out of the forest, it was clear to spot Mrs. Adler's camp across the marsh. However, her calling it such was extremely misleading. It turned out to be an abandoned houseboat idly floating on the edge of the Kamassa River.

Mrs. Adler walked across the plank onto the houseboat first, heading up the stairs in search of her medical supplies. Charlotte followed Arthur, keeping an eye on him in case he teetered. Once aboard, Arthur sat heavily on the bench and Charlotte helped remove his coat.

She folded it and set it aside, trying not to think overmuch on the blood stain his wound had created. She teased, “After all the trouble I went to sewing this coat and you've already torn it.”

“Sorry about that. Probably ruined it for good now.”

She sat beside him and glided the back of her fingers down his bearded cheek. “I'm only glad we made it out alright.”

He admitted, “It was a close thing.”

“Yes, but all's well that ends well.” She started to lean into Arthur, wanting to press a reassuring kiss on his lips and erase the worry lines burrowed in his forehead, but she heard Sadie coming down from the wooden steps so she pulled away.

As Sadie brought over her medical supplies, Charlotte had a look around. Ammunition boxes and guns were strewn across the place, cluttering what little space the houseboat had.

Arthur noticed too and commented, “Jesus, Sadie, you headed into the next Civil War by yourself?”

“It don't hurt to be prepared, Arthur.” Mrs. Adler handed over cloths and a roll of gauze.

Charlotte rested a hand on his arm and said, “I need to see it now, Arthur.”

“Alright, but you don't got to fuss,” he grumbled.

“I think I'm entitled to it.” She kept her tone light even though she worried of his condition. She didn't like the amount of blood she'd seen so far.

By now, Arthur's hand was dark red with dried blood, but he uncovered it to reveal a two inch gash. It was deeper than what she had been expecting.

“This is more than a graze,” Charlotte said accusingly.

“I've had worse than this.”

She crinkled her nose, but held her tongue and set about cleaning the wound and wrapping it neatly.

While she worked, Arthur commented to Sadie, “I see you ain't lost your knack for trouble.”

Mrs. Adler sat across from them, inspecting a knife. “Speak for yourself. For once, I was getting your ass out of a mess.”

He gestured at the guns with the arm Charlotte wasn't working on. “Where did you get these anyhow?”

She shrugged. “Most of it's left over from Hanging Dog Ranch.”

“You went back there?”

“They weren't using none of it.”

Arthur shook his head. “You and your half-baked ideas.”

“Excuse me, my half-baked ideas garner results.” She pointed at him with her knife. “What about hijacking Mr. Bullard's balloon? Now that was a good idea.”

Charlotte finished bandaging Arthur up and perked up with interest at the conversation. “I've heard mention of this mysterious balloon ride. Were you with him on that?”

Sadie leaned back, eyeing her. “I didn't go up. Didn't want to.”

Arthur said, “So you made me do it.”

“You heard all them backwards notions that pilot had about women and the flight affecting my vapors.” She rolled her eyes.

“Hey, I liked that feller and I still blame you for getting him killed.”

She hissed, “And I say it was worth it. Helped us get John back, didn't it?”

“Back from where?” Charlotte asked.

“Sadie...” he warned, which only heightened Charlotte's curiosity.

Thankfully, Mrs. Adler wasn't as close-mouthed as Arthur. “Sisika Penitentiary, before the government decided to hang him.”

“Oh, my.” She got the distinct impression Mrs. Adler was only telling her to frighten her. But her interest increased. “Hang him for what?”

“Sadie...” Arthur said again, through gritted teeth this time, but she paid him no heed.

“Bank robbery, for one, but likely they had a slew of other charges to add to that.”

Arthur said in exasperation, “Goddammit, Sadie.”

“What are you all huffy about? Ain't no way she don't already know you're an outlaw.”

“She don't need to hear the details on that kinda shit.”

“I don't see why not.”

“Were you in the same gang as Arthur?” Charlotte asked, intrigued. For some reason, she'd never pictured a gang with women.

“Charlotte...”

Mrs. Adler turned to her. “Yeah, for a brief few months. After the damn O'Driscolls—”

Arthur stood abruptly, startling Charlotte. “I ain't staying to hear this.”

“Arthur...” She got to her feet to stop him, but he was across the plank and headed down the marsh in long strides. She didn't know what she could say to bring him back. In the end, she decided it was best if she let him go.

“What's his problem?” Sadie asked, unconcerned with his outburst.

Charlotte sighed and sat once more. “Arthur is of the belief I won't see him in the same light if I become aware of the details to his past. He doesn't like me knowing there's a violent side to him.”

“Didn't you just watch him kill a bunch of Murfrees?”

She smiled wryly. “Perhaps, you can point that out to him when he returns.”

Mrs. Adler was studying her again. “How'd someone like you even meet Arthur?”

Charlotte picked at her skirt. “It was...hard times. I had just buried Cal—my husband—and I wouldn't have lasted another day.” She paused. “That is, if Arthur hadn't come along when he did.”

“You're a widow.”

“Yes.” She wasn't sure why that had Mrs. Adler's gaze intensifying. It was almost as if she were reassessing.

Mrs. Adler said quietly, “Becoming a widow is how I fell in with the Van der Linde gang.” Her gaze drifted far away. “My husband was killed by another gang. They burst in at our farmhouse, looted us and shot him dead.”

Charlotte's eyes widened. “How incredibly awful.”

“Jake insisted I hide in the cellar, but I should've stayed up there and died fighting with him.” Her eyes were filled with pure grief for a moment before they hardened. “After it was all done, I knew I could either go live with family out east or I could join Dutch's gang and get my revenge.”

“And you chose to remain among outlaws?”

“I couldn't let matters be. I showed them I could fight and held my own until I became someone of worth to the gang.”

She was fascinated. “So, did you ever get your revenge?”

Sadie's gaze turned skeptical. “Hasn't Arthur told you anything?”

“Very little.” Charlotte blew out an exasperated breath. “I pick up on things here and there when he lets his guard down, but if he could have it his way, he'd have me believing he and everyone he knows are murderers and thieves.”

“I mean, I ain't denying there's truth to that for most of them, but Arthur never went into any brawl cold-blooded.”

“What about you?”

“Some fights, I had to.” Her eyes glittered dangerously. “And I made sure them O'Driscolls got exactly what they deserved.”

“Oh, my. So you actually took on an entire gang on your own?”

“Well, me and Arthur.” Mrs. Adler raised a mocking brow. “That scare you?”

Charlotte admitted, “Well, yes, to a certain degree. You have to be the most formidable and impressive woman I've ever met.”

Mrs. Adler was eyeing her strangely. “You're a tougher cookie than I gave you credit for. I didn't know at first what to make of a woman keepin' company with a dying outlaw.”

Charlotte straightened, defensive. “Arthur is still a man. His past may have shaped him, but it doesn't define him. Under a different set of circumstances, he could have lived a wonderfully normal life.”

“Couldn't we all,” Mrs. Adler muttered. “Still, ain't a normal woman who sticks by a man who's killed, robbed, and harmed the innocent.”

“Now you're sounding like him.” Charlotte couldn't hold back her annoyance.

Mrs. Adler laughed. “I'm sorry. You just don't seem the type is all.”

“Excuse me?”

“You're dressed practically, but the way you talk and sit and have your hair done is a dead giveaway to your pedigree. Clean up a little and you could be headed for a tea party.”

Charlotte's hand went over her hair self-consciously. “I can't help any of that.”

Mrs. Adler's gaze went to the marsh and back to Charlotte before she asked bluntly, “What are you to Arthur exactly?”

“Well, I...” Charlotte knew well her own mind, or more accurately, her own heart. What she didn't know was his. He'd never answered her on the wagon before they were attacked, but he hadn't said a flat out 'no' to her invite either.

Sadie was staring at her. Charlotte cleared her throat. “I aspire to be someone of significance to him, but he's quite resistant to the idea of his own contentment.”

“Arthur's a good man and I trust him with my life. But...” Sadie's eyes were sad and her voice quieter than what Charlotte had heard thus far. “How did you...move on?”

Charlotte sighed. How could she describe something she didn't entirely understand herself? “That's difficult to explain. I didn't seek to by any means, believe me.” She smoothed her skirt, thinking. “Somehow...something blossomed out of the ashes of my heart, from a place where I didn't believe anything could grow again.”

“Poetic.”

Charlotte smiled. “Forgive me. I don't mean to be.”

“I recognize it.” Tears brimmed in Mrs. Adler's eyes and her voice cracked. “Jakey was my true love, my world. I ain't never met a more decent man and I never will.”

Charlotte got up and sat next to Sadie, throwing an arm over her shoulders. She'd just met this woman, but her heart went out to her. “I completely understand, Mrs. Adler. I thought the same thing for awhile.”

The blonde woman looked up. “Call me Sadie.”

“Alright, I will.” Charlotte smiled. “I hope it's not presumptuous, but I wish we could be friends.”

Sadie lifted her shoulders slightly. “I ain't much for people anymore, but I ain't against it, I suppose.”

“Are you two crying?”

A bewildered Arthur had returned, but had stopped short before stepping onto the houseboat. He was holding two dead rabbits and looking between the two women like he wished he hadn't come back so soon.

Sadie scrubbed her face and didn't deny it. “Put those upstairs, Arthur. I'll get a fire started.”

OOOOOOOOO

As dusk made it's way across the sky, Arthur cooked the rabbits while Sadie regaled Charlotte with a story on a day she joined Arthur into town, bought new clothes and first showed him how skilled she was with a gun.

Arthur commented, “You know I never trusted you with another one of my letters after that day. I only let Tilly or Mary-Beth handle them.”

Sadie rolled her eyes. “Like they weren't reading everyone's mail neither. Especially yours.”

Arthur looked startled. “What you mean?”

“All those letters you sent pining after Mrs. Linton was all those girls had for entertainment at camp.”

“What!” Arthur's face was turning red. Charlotte wasn't sure if it was anger or embarrassment and she covered her smile.

“Don't look at me. I didn't care one whit about it.” Sadie took a bite of her food and asked, “By the way, since you were coming out of Saint Denis, did you happen to run into Tilly? She was wanting to try and settle down in the city.”

“No,” Arthur muttered. “But now I think the next time I see her I might just wring her neck.”

Sadie asked, “John know you're alive?”

“No.” Arthur frowned. “He in Saint Denis too?”

Sadie shook her head negatively. “Last I heard, he, Abigail and Jackie were headed for the Yukon. Got it in his head he can strike it rich prospectin'.”

“Prospectin'?” Arthur scowled. “John ain't got the patience for that.”

Sadie shrugged. “Well, they're sure gonna try it. I know Abigail was talkin' about going straight. If she has her way, they'll do well enough.”

Charlotte listened as Sadie and Arthur talked on about their friends. She was trying her darnedest to follow their stories and keep track of the different people, but drowsiness was seeping in.

She rested her head on Arthur's shoulder and closed her eyes. As unusual as it sounded, floating on a houseboat in a swamp and in the company of two outlaws, Charlotte felt protected and safe.

Chapter Text

Once Arthur got over the fact his privacy had been invaded without his knowledge, he explained to Sadie some of what had happened to him. John had told her near everything up 'til his supposed death. He informed her of Charles finding him at Willard's Rest, and his extended stay there as he healed from his fight with Micah. He skipped on some of the specifics, like why he and Charlotte had journeyed to Saint Denis, except that they needed supplies.

He was finishing with the lead up to the ambush today when he felt the weight of Charlotte's head press heavily on his good arm.

Sadie declared, “We have to get your wagon back.”

Arthur adjusted Charlotte's position on him so her head laid in his lap instead. Her legs were curled on the bench. “Ain't the wagon I care much about, just wish they hadn't got ahold of that horse.”

Sadie was twirling a knife she'd pulled from her belt. “I'll go after them bastards that got away. They're probably scared shitless right now since no one else from the ambush made it out.”

He argued, “Wait 'til morning at least. Then you don't got to go it alone.”

“I ain't asking you to help.” Sadie scowled. “You can barely stand on two legs.”

Her correct assumption of his condition stung and had him saying defensively, “It was me and Charles who cleared Beaver Hollow of them bastards in the first place and it weren't easy.”

“I'll manage,” Sadie said. “I've been doing well enough on my own for awhile now.”

“You never did tell me what you're doin' up here. Woulda thought you would try going west instead of making friends with Murfrees.”

“I'll have you know, I'm tryin' to make a livin', but I ain't as keen on robbin' folks as you people were.”

Arthur had a feeling she meant she wasn't as subtle in her methods and didn't want to take too many risks with the law. “How you doin' it then?”

“I'm trying my hand at bounty hunting.” She put away her knife and crossed her arms as if she thought he might judge her. “Caught two bastards already and the pay is decent.”

Arthur's brows rose. “You hunting someone around here?”

“Sure am.” She spit over the side of the boat and continued, “There's a feller wanted for larceny in Valentine by the name of Marty Stone. Heard a rumor he's hiding in Lakay.”

“Lakay?” he said uneasily. “Charles told me Micah's recruiting out there.”

“Micah.” A strange glitter appeared in her eyes. “You wanna go after him?”

Because of his talk with Charles, Arthur had already come to terms on his involvement in Micah's fate. So he told her honestly and without regret, “Nah. Never was keen on revenge.”

Sadie sat forward, planted her feet and hissed, “Arthur, that bastard messed up everything.”

“Sadie.” He shook his head. He knew she wouldn't like his opinion on the matter, but he still had to say it. “You gotta find something else to dull that bloodthirsty nature of yours.”

She gestured wildly into the night, the general direction of Lakay. “You're just gonna let him get away with it all?”

“Not saying I didn't try,” he argued, looking down as he drifted his hand across Charlotte's arm. “But something stronger pulled me back.”

Her hands tightened into fists. “When John told us what happened at the caves, we vowed if we ever found Micah, we'd take him down.”

He warned, “Don't be going after Micah on my account.”

The scowl she directed his way was fierce. “If I wanna go after Micah, then I'm gonna go after him. You ain't got no say in that.”

“Sadie...” He didn't know how to convince her otherwise. “There ain't no reason to.”

“Ain't no reason?” She straightened. “He was the rat, Arthur. He nearly got you, me and Abigail killed. And that's without mentioning the ones who were collateral damage from his connivin' and lyin'.”

“If you gotta do it, then be careful and don't go it alone. But I'm gonna tell you right now, it's a stupid idea and I am the authority on recognizing stupid ideas.”

She crossed her arms. “I'll think on it.”

“That's all I ask.” He didn't know if she would, but at least she'd heard him out.

Despite the unnerving glint that had shone in her eyes when she'd mentioned Micah, he was glad for a conversation on the gang. Sadie's knowledge on some of the others' whereabouts brought him the solace he'd been seeking when Charles had found him.

Sadie narrowed her eyes on his hand resting on Charlotte. “You settling down with this one here?”

He hedged. “I ain't decided yet.”

“If not, I could sure use another gun catching bounties at least.”

Arthur suspected, if when he woke up at Willard's Rest and hadn't been afflicted by more than just wounds from his fight with Micah, he'd be keen on the idea. It was work he knew how to do and the law saw it as legal. But too much had changed.

Arthur sighed. “I'm tired of the life, Sadie. Was starting to feel like that even before everything went sideways.”

“Bringing to justice the bastards who hurt folks is all I have left.” Sadie met his gaze. “I ain't like you, Arthur. I ain't got no desire to settle down again.”

“I understand.” They fell silent and he brushed his fingers over Charlotte's hair.

Sadie observed, “You found yourself a real lady there.”

“She went through a lot today, more than anyone should.”

Sadie snorted, clearly not impressed. “One shootout?”

Arthur looked up. “She ain't like us. She ain't used to life out here.”

“There was a time I coulda said the same thing.”

“You're different. You knew the lay of the land before you joined up with us. Charlotte don't even got that.”

“If you think this one's so helpless, then why are you even botherin' with her?”

Half a dozen images of Charlotte came to his mind. Her standing tall and confident with her rifle in hand after she shot that stalker, her eyes glittering and her shoulders thrown back when she'd stood down her father, and just today with a knife in her hand and her mouth set stubbornly and determinedly when he'd told her to run.

“She ain't helpless.”

“Right.” Sadie didn't believe him, but she added, “At any rate, I know why she's botherin' with you.”

He frowned. “Why? She say something?”

She lifted a shoulder. “If you can't see it, I ain't about to lay it out for you.”

Arthur grumbled, “Now you know how to keep your mouth shut? Where was this discretion a couple hours ago?”

Charlotte shifted in her sleep. Her face pinched and he wondered if she was reliving something of the day in her dreams.

Sadie stood. “I don't think you two wanna be walking around in these woods tonight. Nearest town is too far and the rest of the Murfrees nearby will be wanting blood.”

Arthur asked, “What do you suggest?”

Sadie nodded to the door. “You two can stay in there tonight. There's plenty of room. I've got my own bed up top.”

“Thanks, Sadie. Owe you two now.”

“Mmhmm. Thank me later, Arthur.” Sadie retreated up the stairs.

He regretted having to wake Charlotte, but he didn't have the capability of carrying her with his wounded arm.

“Wake up, darlin',” he murmured, gently shaking her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered open and she sat up. He stood and helped her to her feet, commenting. “I ain't known for my titillatin' conversation, but I reckon you fallin' asleep on me is a more common occurrence than it should be.”

She rubbed her eyes and said in a voice thick with sleep, “You're absurd.”

“Throwing insults, now.” He tsked. “Not very ladylike, Mrs. Balfour.”

She sent him a long suffering look and he grinned. She looked around. “Where's Sadie?”

He tilted his head. “She went upstairs to bed. I suggest we do the same.” He ushered her into the cabin.

Charlotte woke enough to light a lamp hanging on a post and it brightened up the room. The area wasn't any bigger than Arthur expected, but counters and storage took up the majority of its space. Sadie had said there was 'plenty of room'. His eyes stopped at the bed in the corner. The only bed. This cabin was meant to house one person.

“What the hell is this?” he couldn't help saying out loud.

Charlotte was peering out the window facing the Kamassa River, but she turned with confusion at his question. “What's the matter, Arthur?”

“Give me a minute.” He turned on his heel out the door and yelled up, “Sadie!”

“Yes, Arthur?” Sadie leaned over the railing from above with an innocent expression. He didn't buy it for a second.

He pointed at the door he'd closed. “There's only one goddamn bed in there.”

“That's right.” She rolled her eyes when he glared. “What did you expect, Arthur? This ain't a hotel.”

“There's two of us.”

Sadie lifted a shoulder, unconcerned. “I'd trade with you, but all I got is a hammock up here.” She raised a brow. “You two want that instead?”

“No.”

She reminded him, “The nearest town is Saint Denis and I don't recommend walking in the dark. Murfrees and all that.”

In low tones, he asked, “What are we supposed to do?”

“Use that thick skull of yours to figure it out.” Sadie chuckled and said cheekily, “Sweet dreams, Arthur.”

She moved away so he couldn't argue with her anymore without raising his voice and Charlotte hearing all. Arthur didn't know what Sadie found so goddamn funny.

He returned to the inside of the cabin, disgruntled, but ready to offer Charlotte the bed before she got it in her mind to do the same. He wouldn't put it past her to try such a thing. He prepared himself mentally for tonight's piss-poor sleep.

Charlotte was holding her arms to herself, staring out the same narrow window where he'd left her. An odd light was in her eyes and she was in subdued contemplation. The only other time he'd seen her like that was when he'd found her at the docks in Saint Denis.

Arthur stopped in front of her and rested a hand on her shoulder. “You alright there?”

She asked quietly, “Was this afternoon...an example of what your everyday life was once like?”

He frowned. “You mean that shootout?”

She hugged herself tighter. “I was...prepared to die today.”

“So was I.” He let out a breath. “But it didn't come to that.”

It'd been a pretty insignificant battle, considering how them Murfrees were near useless in a fight. If they'd been better equipped, Arthur would've thought nothing of it.

He tried to reassure her, “We came out of it in one piece.”

“You were shot.”

Her eyes were glistening. Damn. It'd taken awhile, but something had finally scared her. “You don't gotta cry over it. Ain't like I never been shot before and this is nothin'.”

“How...how do you manage...” She couldn't seem to get her words out and her face began to crumple as she struggled to keep from being overwhelmed by the whole ordeal.

“Come here.” He pulled her in and held her to his chest. Her arms wrapped around his torso as she hugged him tight. Last time she'd squeezed him like this, he was waking up from death. Against her hair, he said, “Ain't no trick to it. I just try not to think on it overmuch.”

“Arthur, do you want to go back to living so dangerously?”

His hands strayed up and down her back in soothing strokes. “Even if I did want it, I don't got it in me no more to be fighting all the damn time. I'd be dead by the end of the week.”

She let him go to wipe her cheeks of tears and he reluctantly released her. “I'm sorry for my emotional state. I guess I hadn't taken time to process the shock of it until now.”

“You don't got to apologize.”

Once she cleared her face, her attention was drawn to something behind him. She commented mildly, “I should get one of those for the house.”

He turned and Charlotte moved beside him to glide her fingers along the phonograph sitting on the counter. He didn't know much about the machines 'cept Dutch had had one. Arthur had never been curious enough to mess with it.

She continued, “It would certainly liven up the quiet evenings. Wouldn't you agree?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” Now that she'd calmed down, he cleared his throat and tried to offer her the bed, “Charlotte, you—”

“I wonder if this one still works.” He didn't see what she did, but suddenly music and a woman's voice filled the room. Beautiful, but eerie and odd in the backdrop of a foggy swamp.

“Oh promise me that someday you and I...will take our love together to some sky...”

Charlotte faced him again, the glow of the lamp framing her face. “Arthur...I have something to tell you.”

“Yeah?” He thought he knew by the determination in her eyes what she wanted to say, what she wanted to ask him again. He'd never given her an answer and he didn't yet know what to tell her.

She looked down and swallowed, seeming nervous. “Well...I...” She took a deep breath in and met his eyes. “Arthur, it-it never crossed my mind I'd get a second chance and it still doesn't exactly seem possible.”

She had him real confused. “A second chance at what?”

“Well...” Charlotte pursed her lips a moment before confessing, “A second chance at love.”

Love?

He stared down at Charlotte, dumbfounded. He didn't know how to respond and the singer from the phonograph filled his silence.

“Oh promise me, that you will take my hand,

the most unworthy in this lonely land,

and let me sit beside you...”

Charlotte swallowed again. “I see I've taken you quite by surprise.”

“Yeah.” Had she though? The lyrics repeated themselves in his head, a sharp reminder to his conscience. Most unworthy in this lonely land. Ain't it the damn truth. “Maybe you did.”

“What do you think?”

“Darlin',” he sighed. “You don't want to know what I'm thinkin'.”

“Of course I do.” She stepped up to him and rested a palm on his chest. “Tell me what's on your mind, Arthur.”

They were both hopeless. Her in love with an outlaw and him too damn near death to make it worth her while. Pained, he covered the hand on his chest and told her, “It don't seem real, is all. It's a dream I ain't got no business being in.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because it's true, no matter what I want.”

“What do you want, Arthur?” she asked softly.

The song petered off and it left an empty hollowness in the air.

Arthur closed his eyes. What did he want? He knew alright, but it weren't possible. Years—years he don't got—of waking up in a cabin to the sound of Charlotte's upbeat humming, the sight of her working in the kitchen, the touch of her fingers in his beard as she held him near, the taste of her lips at the end of each evening...

He didn't say any of that. It was too much, too goddamn much to ask for, to hope for.

Arthur opened his eyes and said flatly, “I think it's time we get some rest.”

She looked ready to battle him for a more honest answer. “Arthur—”

He stepped back from her and gestured. “You take the bed and I'll find a spot to sleep on one of them benches outside.”

“You most certainly will not.” His decision had Charlotte's brow wrinkling. “Sleeping outdoors overnight could exacerbate your condition.”

“I'll survive.” He weren't too sure about that, but maybe it were a better fate than disappointing Charlotte with false hopes.

She argued, “You're injured and should be sleeping in a bed.”

“Not if it means your discomfort over mine.”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “Has anyone ever told you you have quite the stubborn nature?”

“Yes.”

“Come now,” Charlotte turned from him, marched to the bed and threw back the covers. She sat down, patting the mattress. “There's room enough for the two of us.”

Room enough for the two...did she want to drive him mad all night? Unbidden, images popped into his mind all on their own, of Charlotte's heated body pressed against his, the two of them entwined in each other's limbs, her whispering his name against his mouth...

He shook his head adamantly. “Hell, no.”

Her lips twisted. “I'm not sure what to make of that strong of a refusal, but I won't be pushed around any further tonight.” Still sitting on the bed, she reached out and grabbed his hand. “Sit down, take off your boots and let's ready for bed now.”

Charlotte commanded him like they'd done this before and he found his treacherous feet moving on their own accord towards her. In all truths, he didn't have it in him to fight her. Hardly had any resistance, in fact, and she knew it.

He sat beside her and removed his boots as she did the same. After that, he didn't know what to do. Charlotte scooted on the bed, laying with her back against the wall. She propped up on her elbow and patted the bed. “Come here, Arthur.”

Arthur shifted and laid flat on his back beside her, tense and trying not to look at her or touch her by accident. She drew the blanket up and around and it wasn't wide enough to fully cover the two of them as they were, apart from one another.

Eventually, she sighed. “This won't do.”

He agreed and was ready to bolt out of the bed. Instead, Charlotte shifted closer so that she rested under his arm, placing her palm over his heart, likely feeling it racing erratically and nearly thudding out of his chest.

He was nervous as all hell and didn't know why. Weren't like he never lain with a woman before. 'Course, usually he'd had something to drink to loosen up. Being cold sober made everything feel more intimate and aware of every part of her that was touching him.

“Arthur, give me your hand.”

His mouth was dry. He raised his right arm with care and she took his hand and held it against her chest. His eyes widened and he forgot how to breathe for a moment.

She said quietly, “Listen.”

He took a calming breath and did. It took him a moment before he noticed what she was trying to show him. Then he felt the thumping in her chest. Her heart was beating just as hard and wild as his.

She asked softly, “Doesn't this feel real to you?”

Arthur didn't answer her.

“I understand why you want to deny your heart. I've struggled with the same sentiment.” She raised her head and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “But I've promised myself to do more living than surviving when I can and I think you should too.”

Her words stuck in his head as he felt her grow heavy with sleep, as he listened to the crickets and toads croaking outside, as he tightened his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.

“Doesn't this feel real to you?”

“Yeah,” he breathed into the darkness, the quiet night, but not to her. “It feels real.”

And behind it, echoing in his mind, Oh promise me...

Chapter Text

Arthur was in a cave. It was damp and dripping and he wasn't holding a torch, but he could see around him just fine.

Ahead of him a figure walked. He started to follow and the figure became recognizable even from the back. A man in a dark vest and black hair with a confident stride. It was Dutch.

At the end of the tunnel was a ladder, lit up like it were on a stage. A woman, small and old stood waiting at the bottom, speaking words Arthur didn't understand.

Without warning, Dutch strode up to the woman and pushed her against the ladder by the neck.

What are you doin'? Arthur tried to ask, but it came out a dry cough and he couldn't find his voice.

Dutch choked the old woman and Arthur tried to move, to help her, but his feet were stuck and somehow he was up to his knees in muddy swamp water.

When he looked up again, it wasn't the old woman Dutch was strangling, but Charlotte.

In a panic, Arthur tried again and again to pull himself out, to say anything that would stop his mentor, but nothing worked. Dutch finished killing Charlotte and she slumped to the ground, eyes closed, face ghostly pale and body unsettlingly still.

When he looked to Dutch in grief, the man faced him and shook his head. “All I wanted from you, son, was some goddamn faith...”

Arthur startled awake, sweating and shaking with the sun blasting his eyes. His heart raced in the worst kind of way. After a few more seconds, he got his bearings and realized he weren't in no cave. He sat up, covered his eyes and took in a shuddering breath. He weren't in Guarma no more, and he weren't running with Dutch neither. He was in a houseboat and Charlotte was fine.

He opened his eyes and looked back to the bed to reassure himself. The fear that hadn't gone away surged again. Charlotte weren't there. Where the hell was she? His heartbeat picked up and he reached for his boots and shoved them on hurriedly.

As soon as he finished, the door opened and Charlotte stepped in. She smiled warmly at him. “Good morning, Arthur.”

He stared at her a moment before looking away and grunting a non-reply. Mostly, he was in shock that she stood before him as if nothing were wrong, but he was also embarrassed by the pitiful direction of his anxious thoughts. He barely held himself from jumping up, grabbing her, and holding her tight to make sure she was alive.

Charlotte went on about something, but he couldn't concentrate on her words nor could he look at her. The nightmare was too close to the surface and the vision of her dead couldn't be made real.

She was handing him water and he gripped the cup firmly to hide his trembling.

“Did you sleep well?”

No! He gave her a slight nod.

“How's your arm?”

“Fine,” he said shortly. His arm was the least of his concerns right now. “I told ya it was nothing.”

“I'll want to take a look at it just the same.”

“Alright, already.” Damn it. He couldn't stop snapping at her when all he wanted to do was touch her.

“Arthur.” Charlotte positioned herself in front of where he sat on the bed. She startled him when she moved even closer, to stand in between his spread knees. What the hell was she doing?

Arthur finally tipped his head back and she placed her palms on each side of his face, forcing him to meet her kind gaze. At her touch, he released a shuddering breath. She was warm, she was real, she was alive.

“Let's try this again, shall we?” Charlotte leaned in and pressed her lips against his, moving slowly against his mouth and melting all the fear.

Too soon, she started to pull away from him. Arthur wasn't ready to let her go. He wrapped his good arm around her waist and drew her in closer without breaking the kiss.

He devoured her, silently demanding more and she didn't protest. She moaned against his mouth, but she wasn't close enough to him. With his hold on her, he twisted and hauled her onto the bed. She landed on her back and he was over her, blocking out everything so she was the only thing in his vision. He hovered above her, staring into her vivid, light-green eyes. They reminded him of the pretty grasslands of the Heartlands, of riding a horse through open fields, of a sweet freedom he always wanted more of.

Charlotte smiled up at him and her fingers drifted lightly across his beard. “Good morning, Arthur.”

“Mornin',” he said roughly. Now that he was looking at her, he was afraid of what he'd done. “Did I hurt you any?”

“Not at all.”

Arthur believed her, but he felt guilty for his earlier sharp words. “I'm sorry.” He let out a breath. “I didn't mean to come off as unfriendly. Had a bad dream stuck in my head when you walked in.”

“That's alright.” She rubbed her thumb over the scar on his chin. “You've already made up for it.”

“You ain't changed your mind about wantin' to keep me around?”

“Mmm...you haven't said anything to dissuade me as of yet.”

Arthur buried his face in her neck and his whiskers lightly scratched across her skin, making her gasp. This was dangerous. He knew that, but her skin was soft and tasted of the campfire from last night.

In her ear, he said in low tones, “If Mrs. Adler weren't upstairs, I might be tempted to keep on.”

As he nuzzled her, Charlotte said faintly, “Sadie...isn't here.”

All desire to continue stopped dead. Arthur lifted up from her. “What?”

She seemed dazed, but she blinked and explained, “I heard her leave a few hours ago, before daybreak.”

“Shit!” Arthur pulled off of her hastily and Charlotte sat up, looking confused. He snatched up his hat from the counter and slammed out the door.

Arthur leaped up the steps and saw right away Sadie weren't there. He went back down and stared in the direction she had hitched Bob last night. Gone. Dread curdled his stomach.

Charlotte walked out of the cabin, smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt. She asked calmly, “What is going on?”

“I don't know for certain, but I damn well have a good idea.” Arthur was ready to hit something. “Goddammit! She just couldn't resist huntin' down Micah on her own, could she?”

“Who's Micah?”

“The same piece of shit I was goin' after until...” He trailed off and cast her a sidelong look, changing his mind about telling her midway through his explanation.

But she seemed to comprehend enough because she asked with concern, “Is Sadie in trouble?”

“If she ain't, then I'll eat my hat,” he muttered. “That woman is better at sniffing out trouble than a goddamn bloodhound.”

Charlotte plucked up a rifle leaning against the wall and said decisively, “Then we have to track after her.”

Arthur stared at her. Had she lost her mind? “Firstly, where she's gone ain't safe.”

“Perhaps, we can—”

“Secondly, if we was going anywhere, there ain't gonna be no 'we' about it.”

She frowned. “Arthur—”

“And lastly,” He snatched the gun from her hands. “You ain't gettin' into no more gunfights if I got any say in it.”

She blew out an exasperated breath. “Come now, you're being impossible.”

Arthur glared at her. How such an agreeable and soft woman turned so downright obstinate and strong-willed in a matter of minutes astounded him once again. When she got a cockeyed idea in her head, she latched onto it tougher than a dog with a bone.

“Arthur, you can't hide from me all the bad in this world. I'm well aware of its existence.”

In all truths, he had no intention of pursuing Sadie, even on his own. She'd made her choice clear and it didn't include him. “This fight ain't yours. It ain't even mine anymore.”

Charlotte protested, “What if Sadie needs our help?”

“She can damn well handle herself, if she's so inclined.”

“And I can't?”

“No.”

Her face fell with disappointment and Arthur hated that he was the one to cause it, but short of barricading her inside, he didn't know what the hell else to do. Mostly, he wished he hadn't left the comfort of her arms in the first place.

Arthur thought that was the end of it, but Charlotte was nothing if not persistent. “You can't leave your friend without assistance.”

“Sadie's a damn maniac who attracts trouble like a moth to the flame so she's used to it.” He rested his hands on her arms, and said in a softer tone, “This killing, even if it's just villains, it changes you.”

She lifted her chin in a stubborn way. “Likely, I'm due for a few changes.”

“Charlotte.” He didn't want her thinking like that. He moved a hand to her cheek. “Even if that were true, this ain't the way to do it.”

“We have to do something.”

He sighed and dropped his hand from her. “Why you all rarin' to get yourself killed?”

“I'm not.” She pressed her lips together before continuing, “Arthur, I'll never be as skilled as you are, on a horse, with a gun, in a fight...”

“And I don't want you to be.”

“But I refuse to live in a state of fear,” she said fiercely. “If there's something that can be done, I intend on getting involved.”

Ben had tried to convince Arthur he wouldn't be a burden on her, but that just wasn't true and this moment proved it. Charlotte would always try to be strong for him, whether that was managing his illness, raising his spirits or throwing her lot in with this violent nonsense he encountered on a regular basis.

That wasn't to say another part of Arthur wasn't drawn in by the prospect. If he wanted her at his back, she'd be there, even though it weren't a situation she'd ever been in. It wasn't easy to find a person, let alone a woman, with her kind of courage, especially one who hadn't ended up hard-eyed about the world.

“Darn it.” Charlotte pointed behind Arthur. “It seems our disagreement has been rendered moot.”

Arthur turned around to find a wagon rolling down the muddy path. It was Sadie, driving up on a cart with her own horse trailing behind. She jumped from the wagon as Arthur strode up to her. He heard Charlotte following behind him.

When he saw she weren't driving any old horse and cart, but that it was Vee, he said in surprise, “You got our horse and wagon back.”

“Yep.” Sadie grinned at him cockily. “Bastards didn't even get a chance to open it up.”

“You took on a bunch of Murfrees by yourself?” Not Micah?

She shrugged. “Only a half dozen of 'em. I knew they had a small camp up the river aways.”

“And you didn't tell me,” he stated flatly.

“You know, Arthur,” Sadie petted her horse. “You have a real bad habit of stating the obvious.”

Arthur took the time to look over Vee. He didn't see any evidence that the old boy had come to any harm. “So, you didn't go to Lakay?”

“Oh, I didn't say that.” She pointed with her thumb behind her. An unconscious blonde man bound and gagged lay on his stomach across her horse's back.

Arthur's mouth dropped open. “Micah?”

Sadie scowled. “No. Didn't find that swine. Must've already moved on. That there's Mr. Stone, my bounty. Least I got something out of clearing Lakay a second time.”

While Arthur disagreed with the manner in which she'd gone about it, he grudgingly had to admire her. Sadie was fearless, always had been. Part of what scared him about her.

Charlotte, on the other hand, had no qualms about openly expressing her enthusiasm. “Sadie, you've done a marvelous job of it. How can we repay you for getting Vee back and returning all of our things?” Sadie glanced at her oddly, but Charlotte hadn't noticed as she uncovered the canvas from the wagon. “Would you come into town with us so I can buy you a meal?”

Sadie shifted in place. “It was nothing. Don't make a big deal out of it.”

“Alright, if that's how you want it.” Charlotte returned to stand next to them. “In any case, I'm relieved it all went well for you, Sadie. Only a moment ago, I was trying to convince Arthur we should go after you.”

“You were?” Sadie sent her a puzzled frown. “Why?”

Charlotte's eyes widened in surprise. “To help you out, of course.”

“Thanks,” said Sadie gruffly as she crossed her arms and glanced away. “I guess.”

Arthur scratched his chin, feeling a grin taking over. I'll be damned. Least he weren't the only one always being disarmed by Charlotte's sincerity.

“Anyhow, I gotta head out.” Sadie nodded. “Just wanted to drop off the wagon before I got the pilfering Mr. Stone here back to Valentine.”

Charlotte went in for a hug, which was brave in his opinion, but Sadie didn't snap at her, only responded with an awkward pat.

When she pulled away, Charlotte said, “My cabin is north of Annesburg. You're welcome to visit anytime. I liked our conversation.”

Arthur just bet she did. Sadie had no hesitancy in exposing secrets of the gang to her. He didn't even wanna know what dirty deeds she'd revealed that he'd been trying to keep hidden from Charlotte.

Sadie sent him a cheeky grin. “I'm sure I'm a big improvement after getting stuck alone with this grump.”

“Careful, Mrs. Adler,” Arthur warned half-heartedly. “Them's fightin' words.”

Charlotte said, “I rather enjoy Arthur's company.”

“Yeah,” snorted Sadie. “If you like 'em moody, angry and snarling.”

Charlotte only smiled.

Arthur started, “Hey, if you ever see Marston again, you wanna...” He stopped. What? He'd likely be dead by the time John found out he was alive, if the fool didn't get himself caught or killed in the meantime.

“If I see him, I'll let him know, honey.” Sadie kissed his cheek. “You let Miss Charlotte take care of you now, so I can see you again.”

“You worry about your own skin and that won't be a problem.”

“You ain't my keeper, Arthur.” Sadie winked, and hopped onto her horse Bob. She saluted them both and took off at a speed that had Mr. Stone waking and groaning in pain.

As they lost sight of her, Charlotte turned to him. “Shall we head out as well? Or do you think Vee needs some time to rest?

“He'll be alright,” Arthur answered. “He's strong. Probably wants to stretch his legs out here after livin' in that cramped city. I know I would.”

He didn't say it out loud, but the sooner they were out of the swamps, the better. The feeling of being caught in the mud in his nightmare hadn't entirely left his consciousness. Besides that, without Sadie to back them up again, he didn't want to linger near in case of stray Murfrees.

Arthur lent a hand for Charlotte to climb on the wagon. She scooted in the seat and he followed her up, wincing when he stretched his shot arm too far.

The day was cloudy and humid, but once they left the swamps behind, the air grew drier and easier on the lungs. Charlotte seemed excited to be on her way home. She chatted pleasantly on about her garden and what she wanted to get done around the house. Arthur eased into a relaxed state as he drove and listened to her.

Luck was with them and they didn't run into any more ambushes, reaching Van Horn without incident. At the stable, Charles had left a note with the owner. It was addressed to him and Charlotte and wished them both well with a promise to stop by when he came through again.

Charlotte collected Jane while Arthur loaded her saddle onto the cart. Arthur decided it was easier to hitch Jane behind the wagon rather than either of them fumbling to ride her. His wound was burning and Arthur wasn't too sure on Charlotte's confidence in riding that long by herself or driving a cart over hills and tight corners. And he suspected if he asked her, she'd readily agree to one or the other, even if it had her on edge the whole time.

When he returned to Charlotte, she was greeting Jane. “Hello, girl, it hasn't been too long, has it?” She looked to him. “I do believe she missed us.”

“I bet she has.” Arthur took Jane's lead, patting her as he did so. “Let's get her home.”

Charlotte cast him a smile and the sincerity of it blew him away. He'd been falling for her for awhile, but only now was he understanding how far. And with it, a truth he could hardly admit to himself. A fear of what came next.

“There's nothing to be afraid of, Mr. Morgan,” Sister Calderón's reassurance drifted through his mind. “Take a gamble that love exists and do a loving act.”

Well, he'd done that. What he'd thought was his last act in life at least, getting Marston to safety. Now...

Hell, maybe some of Marston's endless dumb luck had rubbed off on him in the process. Ever since death had spit him back into the world, Arthur had struggled with this time he didn't know how to spend. If he was the good man Charlotte thought him, he'd saddle up Jane and get outta here and far away. The last thing he wanted was to put her in danger for associating with him.

Arthur shook his head. He wasn't a good man and—it was selfish—but he wasn't about to leave her either.

“Is something bothering you, Arthur?”

His brow furrowed. “Uh...no?”

Charlotte had her head tilted and was studying him. “Because you haven't said a word to me since Van Horn.”

Arthur looked around and took in his surroundings. They were about to pass through Annesburg. He didn't even remember traveling the trails. He glanced back to Jane to make sure she'd been following alright 'cause he sure as hell hadn't been paying attention. Damn, was his mind going too, as well as his body?

“Sorry.” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck. “Got a lot on my mind, I guess.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“Mrs. Balfour,” he chuckled a little. “You've done more than enough for me in this life. Likely more help than most would prefer for an outlaw, if you ask the right person.”

“Then I shall have to keep from asking,” she said with amusement.

Soon enough, they crested the hill, in view of Willard's Rest at last, and damn if it didn't feel like a return journey home. Arthur pulled the cart up close to the shed and dismounted. Charlotte followed his lead in unhooking Vee, working with him silently. They let the horses loose to graze and he moved the saddles and reins into the shed for safekeeping.

As Arthur shut the door, Charlotte stood waiting for him. She held her arms as if she were cold. “I understand if this is farewell.”

“Uh...” He was confused for a moment before he remembered the only thing he'd promised Charlotte out loud was that he'd escort her home. Was she thinkin' that whole ride he intended on taking off the moment they arrived?

“However, I'd prefer it not to be.” A fire sparked in her eyes, one he recognized as her strengthening will. “If you can't stay, I ask that my home be your anchor. That, when you roam, you won't hesitate to make your way back here.”

“Yeah...” Except, that was the problem. The desire to wander weren't there. At the same time, fear still held him back from telling her his mind. He could feel he was on the edge of a monumental decision, but he was afraid to make a leap and have a good life be pulled out from under him, like it had time and time again. With Mary, with Eliza and Isaac, even with the gang, which he'd stupidly thought would be a family he could count on forever. Happy endings weren't in his favor.

“That being said,” Charlotte continued unexpectedly, “I let you leave once without objection, but I won't do so again. You mean quite a lot to me and I hope the same is true for your part.” She gazed up at him with innocent appeal and begged softly, “Please stay, Arthur.”

Could even a righteous man resist such temptation? Her words moved him in a way that cut through doubt and trepidation. Arthur cleared his throat. “I, uh, never did give you a straight answer. 'Bout living here with you, I mean.”

Something akin to hope flickered in her eyes. “After all the excitement from yesterday...and this morning, I suppose you didn't.”

How did he tell her? That all he wanted to do right now was put a fire on, make some coffee and sit down and talk with her about everything that had transpired the last few days, 'til they were both so hoarse from talking they'd turn in to bed and continue their conversation in whispers, cuddled up until it was more than talk and laughter, but touching and exploring...

Charlotte slipped her arms around his neck, startling him back to reality. She didn't rise up and kiss him as he wanted, but tilted her head and said, “I'm listening.”

It shoulda had him nervous and tongue-tied, having her so close and attentive. Instead, her steady gaze calmed him and he admitted, “It ain't that I don't want this, 'cause I do.” He wrapped his arms around her. “More than anything, I want it.”

“As do I,” she said softly.

“The thing is...” Arthur tightened his grip slightly, as if he feared she would run. “You gotta know I ain't never gonna be able to stop lookin' over my shoulder, no matter what the situation seems like.”

She studied him a moment before saying in a reasonable tone, “I don't see why we can't share that burden. After all, two pairs of eyes are better than one.”

She said it as if she were agreeing to a household chore they could do together. He warned, “It ain't gonna be easy.”

Charlotte lifted her shoulders. “It never is, is it?”

“I don't know how...” Arthur faltered and swallowed. “...how long I got.”

“Life is certainly unpredictable.” She raised a palm to his face directing him to meet her gaze again. “All we can do is persevere and continue onward.”

Almost desperately, he asked her, “How do you make it sound so simple?”

“What I see, what I feel...” her fingers curled in circles on the back of his neck and he shuddered. “...is simple.”

“You got an answer to everything, don't ya?” Arthur grumbled, but a weight had been lifted at her words.

She laughed. “Perhaps I do.” Her hand roamed down his arm and she interlaced her fingers with his. “Let's head inside. You can test that theory while I get some coffee and biscuits started.”

With Charlotte stating exactly what he'd been thinking moments ago, it hit him. All them years, all that talk Dutch had about paradise and living free was wrong. It weren't a place, and it sure as hell weren't on a damn island in the ocean. He'd been on them beaches and they weren't nothing special.

This, this right here, was all he'd wanted his whole damn life. A home he could feel safe in, with a woman who made him want to be a better version of himself.

Charlotte was his Tahiti.

Arthur lifted their locked hands and kissed hers, watching her breath catch. “There ain't nothin' I've wanted more in a long time.” He lingered above her lips and murmured, “I love you, Charlotte.”

Her eyes widened before fluttering closed as she whispered, “I love you too, Arthur.”

She swayed towards him and their lips met. For the first time, he surrendered fully to her. She had his heart, his mind and his soul all at her command. She had him weak, but he wasn't alone. Charlotte was just as affected, judging by her sharp inhale, the rise of her chest and the heat of her body as she pressed against him until they could be no closer.

When they eventually parted, Charlotte's cheeks were stained pink and her eyes unfocused, but a smile swept her lips. Arthur may have been leaning on her to steady himself.

He asked huskily, “What happens now?”

She squeezed his hand. “How about that coffee?”

He tipped his hat to her with a happy grin. “Lead the way, ma'am.”

They strode up to the house together, hand in hand and it felt right, like Arthur was finally headed in the direction of his true fate. He'd once asked Hamish how he liked livin' on his own and had grown envious of the content in the old man's voice, with him only having hunting trophies and the wilderness for company.

But that ain't what Arthur truly wanted anyway. He wanted to share his life. He didn't always make the most pleasant of companions, but he'd sure do his best for Charlotte.

“Look, Arthur!” Charlotte suddenly clamped on his arm with excitement, grabbing near his wound and he bit his tongue to hold in a groan. He'd told her it wasn't hurting him and he wasn't about to admit he'd been lying. “It's Puck! I told you he'd still be here.”

Damned if she weren't right. A gray fuzzball was curled under the porch bench and it lifted its head at Charlotte's exclamation. Of more concern, Arthur spotted a huge, dead rat at the base of the front door. Cat musta killed it and left it in a misguided attempt at friendship. “Er, you might wanna avert your eyes so I can—”

“Is that a rat?” She turned to him with wide eyes. “Puck left a gift. That's what that means, right?”

Charlotte broke from him and Arthur watched her run up and praise that mangy animal for bringing her a damn carcass as if it were exactly what she'd wanted. The cat rubbed against her and allowed her to pick him up. She won that cat's attention in the end after all.

Then Arthur thought on the way she'd healed him back to life. Not only with his injuries, but the wound over his heart too. When he'd been in a place he didn't think he could come back from, she'd pulled him through it by sheer determination and affection.

Charlotte cast him a look of triumph from the porch. “Perhaps I can persuade him to stay for good this time.”

“You know, darlin'...” Arthur wrapped his arm around her, raggedy cat and all, and smiled. “I reckon, maybe you can.”

Chapter Text

1907

Blessed Are Those Who Hunger And Thirst For Righteousness.

John Marston stood at the site of Arthur's grave, staring at the marker and wondering why Charles had chosen that particular phrase. It was something from the Bible and while it was nice and probably true, John didn't think the high and mighty words suited Arthur too well. It should say something simple. Something like, Decent Man, True Friend and Loyal Brother.

John looked to the sky, scrunching his face and tamping down his emotions. It'd been long enough. He didn't need to grieve so hard no more, but the feelings rose anyway. Charles had convinced him to make this journey and he'd finally managed it. But it weren't the only thing he was doing up here.

He'd been reading through Arthur's journal carefully, which had started as a task in itself. He'd opened it once, when he'd discovered it, read the first few words and snapped it shut. Seeing Arthur's handwriting, his inner most thoughts, had pained him more than he'd thought possible.

But once John got started again, the notes intrigued him to keep on. Maybe he shoulda just got rid of the thing, but his curiosity and grief had him wanting to read the words of the man who'd saved his life. A lot of it, he expected. He skimmed the desperate words Arthur had over Mary, who'd had a stronger hold on him than John had known, but he'd read closely on Arthur's opinion of him.

Arthur had seen him as an idiot, especially where it concerned Abigail and the boy. Couldn't fault him for that line of thinking. John was, but he'd learned how to put everything to rights. At least, he hoped he had. He and Abigail still got to arguing something nasty like the old days.

Like the fight they had before he left on this journey. She wanted him to stay home for longer and he wanted a break from the ranch. He thought, after they married, he'd adjust better, but he still got an itch to ride off and it usually ended up days to weeks away. Abigail settled down once he returned and stayed home awhile, but soon enough, the itch would start up and the cycle would begin again.

Which led into why Arthur thought him such an idiot. At least, in the end Arthur had liked him well enough. Got him out of Sisika and away from the Pinkertons, which Arthur didn't need to do since it'd been against Dutch's wishes.

For a long time, John thought he'd been the only one with doubts over Dutch until Arthur came 'round. He wished he'd known Arthur had been growing concerned since Colter. Maybe...maybe things coulda turned out different.

John shook his head. It weren't worth thinking like that. He rested his hand in reverence on Arthur's grave marker a moment and then returned to Rachel, his trusty thoroughbred.

This hadn't been his first stop this morning. Out of respect for Arthur, John had dedicated the past few weeks finishing jobs Arthur never got around to. Like mailing the locations of dinosaur bones, of all things. He'd visited Mrs. Deborah MacGuinness this morning. Yesterday, he'd stopped in Valentine and talked with lonely Mickey and three days before, a Civil War veteran in Rhodes who knew of Arthur.

In addition to the people, John had been revisiting some of the places Arthur had sketched in such detail that John had been curious to see it for himself. Some of them had been easy to find like Doverhill, Fort Wallace, and the abandoned Wapiti Reservation. More difficult had been the house pierced by a meteor and a strange, tiny church stuck in the swamps. But there was one that stumped him more than the others.

John figured, since he was near enough up north anyhow, he'd try to find this last place of interest. Arthur hadn't kept the page in the normal part of his journal. It had been folded and tucked in the back with blank pages. It would seem like Arthur had been hiding it, but the page was worn, as if it'd been unfolded and folded back up numerous times.

The page itself was unexceptional on the surface. There was a small, detailed sketch of a cabin, but its location hadn't been labeled. For awhile, the only small clue John had was that the cabin was somewheres near Annesburg. That's where the page was torn from, following a drawing of Annesburg. John had already been through the town, had asked around until the postal clerk recognized it as 'Willard's Rest'. He told John the trail north of the town would lead him to it. At the time, John was due back home so he didn't attempt the search, but today he was ready to solve the mystery.

As John rode east now, he thought on the entry. There were four sections to the torn page, spaced out, but undated. Each was a time Arthur had visited, except the first. In the first entry, Arthur described learning of a robbery tip after he'd helped a runaway.

'I don't know if it was wise, but I broke the shackles of an escaped prisoner. I knew what he was alright, but I figured fate had given him a second chance and who was I to stand in the way of that? In return, he told me the location of some rich folks just waiting to be robbed.'

The second entry read,

'There may be money up there, but there's also a devastated and heartbroken woman. Dirty, hungry and in the worst kind of pain. Likely, she wouldn't've survived another night if I hadn't helped her. A lost soul who nearly didn't care whether she lived or died. I showed her how to track and skin an animal. I gave her some advice and I hope she takes it.'

One thing John never realized until he started reading Arthur's journal were how many people he'd met and befriended. He didn't think Arthur trusted many folks on the outside, but he learned that wasn't true. After Arthur got sick, it truly changed his thinking, more than John ever suspected. It really got him regretting all the bad shit they'd done in the gang, and more keen on helping good folks.

That's what had John wanting to find some of these people, these strangers and innocents who knew a different side of Arthur. John wanted them to know what had happened, in case they ever wondered, and to hear their stories.

The third entry on the torn page went,

'Glad to see Mrs. Balfour had taken my advice. I rode up there and found her practicing with her late husband's rifle. We had a little fun with it and her spirits were much higher. She invited me for dinner. Now, I ain't gonna lie. Even Pearson makes a better dish, but the company was infinitely more pleasant. She talked to me like I weren't no one dangerous. Just a normal feller passing through.'

Arthur seemed to have really connected with the old bird. Abigail once called Arthur an old soul and it made sense, in John's mind. Arthur tended to prefer their company over those younger than him. He had never tolerated immaturity well. Probably why he and Arthur hadn't gotten along for the majority of their lives. John knew he'd taken a long time to finally grow up.

The last entry was the most interesting.

'I decided to take one last ride up to Mrs. Balfour's before I join Dutch on this “last” train robbery of his. Just the ride up there had me feeling like I could breathe again. She greeted me like we'd been friends for years. She said I could stay awhile, but I knew I couldn't. It was too tempting to linger. I made sure she was well and went on my way. No sense loitering over fanciful dreams.'

John frowned in the same way he always did after thinking on that passage. What the hell had Arthur meant? In his last days, did he really want to settle down in a cabin with only an old lady for a companion?

John shook his head. He was headed there now. Hopefully, the old gal was still alive and he would see the appeal.

It was well into the afternoon when he passed through Annesburg and started up the trail north, crossing over and then under the train tracks. Even if he didn't find nothing up here, this was beautiful country and worth the ride just for that.

Up the trail, he spotted a path and a cabin in the trees to his right. He dismounted and pulled out the folded page for reference. The cabin didn't look the same as the sketch, but maybe whoever lived here knew where he could find Willard's Rest.

As he was striding up, a voice hollered, “Stop right there, you!”

John did so, looking around. “Uh...hello?”

“Get outta here!”

He didn't see no one so he said to the house, “S'cuse me, mister, I'm lookin'—”

“I said, get outta here! Go away! I'm not buyin' it and I don't want it!”

John frowned. “I ain't tryin' to sell you nothin', friend. I'm wonderin' if you know—”

“Are you deaf? I have no interest in helping you. Get lost before I come out there and kill you.”

This was pointless. Paranoid old man wouldn't even give him the chance to speak. John turned his back, deciding to head out, when he heard the cabin door get kicked open.

An old man came out screaming and waving a gun. “You're all bastards, bastards, bastards!”

John raised his hands. “Look, I just—”

The reckless shit-head shot in the air.

“Jesus! Look, old man—”

“Go away or I'll kill you.” The man gave him a second of warning before raising his shotgun and firing again.

“What the hell!” John took cover behind a stack of crates. “Alright, already! I'm leavin'.”

Crazy old man. Luckily, Rachel weren't easy to scare off so he slipped away, somehow without getting his head blown off and rode away.

After that fiasco, John was tempted to ride back down to Annesburg for a drink and dinner and bed down for the night. However, Rachel drifted right on the path going up the hill instead of left, so he let her be. He knew there was some sort of waterfall nearby so maybe they'd rest out there in peace and clean air before heading back to the coal town.

When they reached the river and took in the waterfall's natural beauty, John noticed a path leading up a hill and into the trees. Seemed like there could be another house up there, but that old man had him on edge.

John scoffed at his own hesitation. He weren't no coward nor useless with a gun. That old man had only caught him off guard. He led Rachel up the path and dismounted at the top of the hill, under an archway.

John walked up to the cabin, all caution. This one looked real close to the drawing, but the last thing he wanted was to run into another crazy person with a gun. This time he spotted someone outside, a woman writing in a large journal on a bench.

As he stopped near the steps, she looked up at the sound of his footsteps and set aside her writing. She straightened tensely and greeted, “Hello, there. Can I help you?”

This part was always awkward. “I...uh, think you knew a friend of mine. Feller called Arthur Morgan.”

She frowned and stood, eyeing him closely and paying special attention to his gun belt. John noticed her own rifle next to her then and tried not to rest a hand on his revolver.

She hadn't answered him so he continued, “He came by and helped you with some huntin' and skinnin', probably seven or eight years back.”

“Yes, of course.” She stepped closer, resting her hand on the railing and he got a better look at her now that the sun was hitting her face.

This was Mrs. Balfour? The first thing John noticed was she weren't no old lady. Not a conventional beauty like his Abigail, but striking all the same, even with the wisps of silver lining her hair. He no longer wondered at Arthur's interest in her. Eight years ago, she would have been eye-catching enough.

“I wouldn't be here right now if it wasn't for him,” she said, running a hand over her tan leather vest. She seemed adapted to the country life, a far cry from the helpless woman Arthur had described.

John lowered his head. “Unfortunately, he passed soon after.”

Her brows rose.

“I wanted to make the trip,” he added quickly. He hoped she wasn't the weepy sort. “Arthur wrote fondly of you.”

She appeared genuinely surprised. “He truly wrote of me as far back as that?”

“He did. I only wanted to stop by and see how you were getting on.”

She smiled warmly and told him, “I couldn't be happier.”

“Good.” John cleared his throat. “I'm glad. Uh, sorry it had to be sad news today.” He tilted his hat at her. “You take care of yourself out here, ma'am.”

Mrs. Balfour raised a hand and took a step forward. “Hold on. You're a friend of his, yes?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Would you care to stay for dinner?”

“Uh...” He didn't have no more stops tonight, except maybe a bar.

“Please. Any friend of Arthur's is a friend of mine.”

John didn't sense she was being anything but friendly, but he didn't know how he'd explain to his wife about eating dinner alone with another woman. She remained the jealous sort even after they married, though he'd told her time and time again she was the only woman he had eyes for nowadays.

“Please come in and eat something,” Mrs. Balfour insisted. “It would make me happy.”

His stomach growled. John didn't want to disappoint this lady, probably got hardly nobody visiting as it were. Looked like this was going to be one of them times he couldn't tell Abigail about. “Sure, ma'am. I'd love to.”

“Wonderful. Now, it isn't much, but edible I promise—” As soon as she opened the door, a burst of fur charged out.

A rambunctious russet-colored mutt bounded on him, and John barely recovered his balance to remain standing. The dog rested its front paws on John's chest and did its best to lick at his face with a wild tongue.

“Beau, no!” Mrs. Balfour ran up to him. “I am so sorry! He was locked in the bedroom for an earlier misbehavior, but he must've turned the knob and got out.”

“Smart dog,” John commented. He patted the excitable creature. “I don't mind the feller. Got my own crazy pup at home. Probably smells him on me.”

Mrs. Balfour let out a sigh. “Still. It is terribly rude of him.”

John chuckled and pushed the dog off him. “Don't worry 'bout it, ma'am.”

She met his gaze, a smile starting when suddenly her eyes widened as she spotted his facial scars. “I know you.”

John froze. Aw, hell. Never turned into a good thing, him being recognized.

“John Marston, right?”

“Uh...” Shit. He tried to play it off. “Have we met before?”

She laughed. “Oh, goodness no. I just now recognized you from Arthur's sketches.”

That had John frowning. Sketches? John didn't know anyone Arthur had shown his sketches. He'd kept them real private. He narrowed his eyes on her. “Exactly how much time did Arthur spend up here?”

Mrs. Balfour's face broke into a smile that softened her features and made her seem younger in years. “Much more than you could probably imagine.” She called to the dog, who came running and returned to the door, gesturing inside. “Come on in, John.”

He followed her, not a little confused and curious. A sleepy gray cat curled up near the door raised its head briefly before lowering it without interest at John's presence. The cabin was small, especially compared to his ranch house, but cozy. He imagined with the fire going it wouldn't take much to keep the place warm.

John faced his hostess. “Mrs. Balfour—”

“Call me Charlotte,” she offered. “And please, take a seat.”

“Okay. Charlotte.” He sat and continued skeptically, “So, you were friends with Arthur?”

“Why, yes...” She gave him a strange look. “In so many words.”

He added guiltily, “Sorry, ma'am. I only ask 'cause what he wrote in his journal don't seem like it could turn into friendship.”

She lifted a knowing brow. “You're referring to his original intention to rob me?”

“Well...yeah.” He didn't mean to be so blunt, but she'd startled him with what she knew. “Knowing Arthur as I did, it's hard to believe he followed up on a tip and didn't rob you. No offense.”

Charlotte said with amusement, “At the time of our first acquaintance, I likely appeared too pathetic to be viewed as anyone worthy of stealing.”

That rang true as John remembered what Arthur had written about a 'devastated and heartbroken woman'. Arthur did have a soft spot for the less fortunate, especially women. John had never realized how deep that sentiment ran.

As Charlotte poured him a cup of coffee, she asked, “So, you've read Arthur's journal?”

“Uh, yeah.” This woman had a soft way about her, something that made you want to tell her things the more she talked. It was unnerving and soothing at the same time.

She sat across from him and rested her chin in her hand. “What did he like to write about back then?”

John sat straighter in his chair, not expecting her to find an outlaw's diary as anything of interest. “Oh, uh...most of it's drawings. Plant and animal life and such.”

She nodded. “He's always had a knack for capturing the soul of whatever he draws.”

“Yeah.” The way she talked about Arthur was like she'd known him like he did. “He could recognize a bad apple, when he ran into one. Even saw himself as one, I reckon.”

“I never considered him as such.” Charlotte turned contemplative, looking towards the window. “He saved my life, after all.”

“Arthur did seem to find some comfort in helping others at the end.” John released a breath. “I'm only glad something did.”

“The end?” She looked to him, her brows drawn together in confusion. “I'm sorry, Mr. Marston. I haven't been entirely upfront with you.”

He tensed, his mug halfway to his mouth. “How's that?”

The sound of a horse and wagon rolling in could be heard through the open window, with voices carrying.

“I hoped I had time to better prepare you, but, well...” Charlotte stood and held up her hands. “Just...stay here a minute, would you?”

“Uh...sure,” he said, but she was already slipping out the door. He frowned. What the hell was that all about?

John sat for a few seconds, but it made him itchy to be still so he stood and wandered the cabin. A framed sketch on the wall caught his attention. He'd be an oblivious idiot to not recognize the style after staring at the same type of drawing for years.

John cast his eyes about the room and realized there were more of the same. A landscape here, a town there, a horse on his hind legs. Charlotte hadn't been lying about Arthur having been here more than a few times. Enough to gift her his drawings, which he didn't let anyone see. John didn't even know so many existed.

John noticed a family portrait on the mantel and idly wandered over to it. John picked it up, studied it, but had a hard time comprehending what the hell he was looking at. At the same time, more voices from outside drifted in through the open window and John slapped the picture back on the shelf and strode to the door. His heart was ramping up, muffling his hearing.

John swung open the front door. Charlotte was gesturing his direction, near a man holding onto the reins of a horse as he listened with a frown.

Thinner, with more gray in his beard, but that man was Arthur Morgan. Whole and standing and alive.

John could only stare.

Arthur—Arthur—looked his way. “John?”

John stepped off the porch, perfectly speechless.

He barely noticed as Charlotte shepherded two children up the steps. “Into the house now, girls. Time to clean up for dinner.”

As they were pushed past him, one asked, “Who is that, Momma?”

“Hush, now.”

Arthur took a couple steps from the horse, shifted with agitation and scowled. “Quit your fool staring, Marston, and get over here.”

John didn't remember his feet moving, but the next moment he had his arms around the man, his lost brother. He grabbed a solid hold on him, still not believing he wasn't delirious somehow. He'd never hugged Arthur like this before, like he was true family. Didn't know how much he'd wanted to.

“You made it.”

Arthur said it, likely meaning getting out and surviving since they'd last seen each other, but another meaning was there too. That Arthur had been expecting him, hoping for his visit.

“I made it,” John agreed and added, “You made it.”

“It ain't for a lack of tryin' to spite Fate.”

“I got...so many questions.”

Arthur chuckled. “I bet you do.”

“But how-how did you survive? Charles said he buried you. I was at your grave today.”

“Er...” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck. “Charles is a wonder.”

John shook his head as all the questions came rushing to the top of his mind. “He said you was where you wanted to be, on a hill facing the evening sun...” Wait a minute. Charles did the grave-digging. Then he knew there weren't no body under that marker. “Does Charles know you're up here?”

“Er, yeah.”

Why the hell hadn't John listened sooner to all those times Charles kept pestering him to take a ride north? On the other side of it, why hadn't Charles been more forthcoming with what John would find when he did?

“Sadie too,” added Arthur.

John couldn't stop from feeling hurt over it. “Neither one said nothin' to me.”

“I mean...” Arthur didn't look surprised. “I ain't seen neither of them come through in a few years. They mighta thought I wasn't...here no more.”

John frowned. “Why would they think that?”

Arthur gave him one of them looks that John took to mean he'd asked a stupid question. “You know I got TB. It don't just disappear, John, and it's lifelong. Sometimes, I go a few months without feelin' too godawful, but I got a cough I can't shake. These days, winter 'bout kills me.” Arthur paused and added, “And I ain't the muscle I used to be.”

That was the grim truth of it then. John did his best to shake off his hurt over being kept in the dark. He should be damn grateful he didn't miss finding Arthur completely.

Even so, it made him feel better when Arthur said, “I'm sorry that I ain't never tried to find you. To let you know I survived.”

“I know how it is.” John kicked some pebbles on the ground. “The law was hot on our heels in the end there. I still got them chasing me 'round.” He saw Arthur frown so he added, “Sometimes.”

“You best be stayin' out of trouble,” Arthur warned. “If not for yourself, then for that woman and kid of yours. If you still got 'em.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He weren't an idiot. “And 'course I still got 'em. In fact, me and Abigail tied the knot.”

“'Bout time you did the decent thing with her.” Arthur quirked a grin. “Bet she didn't see that coming.”

“No. No, she didn't.” John returned the smile. “The wedding was real nice too. Sadie and Charles were there. Weather was perfect and Abigail looked beautiful and happy.”

“I wish I coulda seen it. Sounds like you're finally doing well for yourself.”

“Got me a house down by Blackwater too. Called Beecher's Hope.”

John always felt a burst of pride in his chest when he told someone about his ranch and it was no different this time, especially after Arthur's impressed look.

“No kiddin'? Blackwater, huh? You sure you're John Marston?” he joked. “I'm glad you finally got your head on straight.”

“Uncle's staying with us too.”

“Uncle?” Arthur shook his head and rested his hands on his belt. “That lazy bastard still stealing our breathing air?”

“Actually, he ended up a big help with building the house, if you can believe it.”

“I don't know if I can.” Arthur chuckled clapped his shoulder. “Come on. Let's go inside. Come meet my family.”

His family. John followed Arthur, his head spinning again as he tried to comprehend this new reality.

“You've met Charlotte...” She was at the stove, stretching and reaching in the cupboard above. Arthur frowned and strode up to her. “What the hell you doin', woman?”

“I'm...trying....” She dropped down from her tiptoes and blew on a strand of hair that had fallen out of place. “I'm trying to get down an extra plate for John.”

“Here, let me.” He grabbed her by the waist and bodily moved her aside. “Why didn't you call me in?”

“Well...” She glanced at John. “I didn't want to bother you.”

“Damn, woman. If you didn't want to bother me, you shoulda left me on that mountain.”

John frowned. Left on the mountain?

“Oh, stop. You don't mean that.” Charlotte laughed and bumped him. “Besides, who would've kept me company all these years?”

“You woulda found something. You're always collecting strays.”

“I am not—”

“Got it.”

“Thank you, Arthur.” She held out her hand. “I appreciate it.”

Arthur lifted it out of her reach and a mischievous look came over eyes. “What are you gonna give me for it?”

Charlotte pursed her lips. “I'll start with dinner, since I'm feeling generous.”

“If that's all, I'll have to steal what I want.” Before she answered, he gathered her up and kissed her soundly. John averted his eyes.

“Arthur,” Charlotte broke off the kiss, a blush starting as she glanced John's way. “Arthur, we have a guest.”

Arthur started nuzzling her neck. “It's just Marston and he don't care.”

“Well, I do,” she scolded, swatting him lightly. “He'll think we're heathens.”

“He's used to it.” Arthur released her and moved to set the table. “He ain't no better.”

John asked, “What the hell you talkin' about?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You know how many goddamn nights I heard you and Abigail rollin' around—”

“Arthur.” Charlotte gave him a pointed look.

Arthur turned around as two children entered the room. “Ah, here's my girls!”

John now had something else to take in, but this time it was a little easier. The two girls were in the portrait he'd spotted on the mantel. One was about seven with dark hair and suspicion in her gaze. The other was five or six, a thumb in her mouth and wide-eyed with curiosity.

“We got Eleanor...” Arthur dropped a hand on the dark-haired one's shoulder and then the younger one with wheat-colored hair. “...and Lila.” Arthur gestured. “Girls, this here's your Uncle John.”

They both turned and said in unison, “Hi, Uncle John.”

“Er, hi.” He'd never been that comfortable around kids, not even Jack at the best of times.

“Have a seat, John,” Charlotte said.

They'd brought in an extra chair from somewhere since he'd been inside again so he took it. Immediately, the dog Beau's snout was in his lap and the older of the two girls crawled on the chair next to him sideways, facing him, leaning in and staring without blinking.

“Eleanor, give the man space to breathe.” Charlotte scolded. “I'm so sorry, John.”

“It's alright, ma'am.”

The little girl studying him asked, “How'd you get them scars on your face, sir?”

“Eleanor Rose! Manners.”

She scrunched up her face. “I said 'sir', Momma.”

“I don't mind her askin'.” John touched his cheek. “It was wolves, actually.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Wolves?”

The other one, Lila, ran up to him and rested a hand on his knee. “For real, mister?”

Arthur moved around the table and knelt to their level. “That's right, girls. Wolves.” Arthur put his hands up like claws. “They tried to...eat 'em!” He pulled the younger daughter up and tickled her.

“How'd you make it out, Uncle John?” asked Eleanor, undeterred with her questioning.

Arthur stuck out his tongue and answered, “They spit him out 'cause he don't taste good.”

The girls giggled.

Lila tilted her head. “Is that true, Uncle John?”

“Could be.” John shrugged. “Didn't much care what they was thinkin', but in the end it was your daddy that saved me.”

Now the amazement shifted to Arthur. “You fought wolves?”

Charlotte served up dinner and, while the girls calmed down, they still were questioning their dad about all the animals he'd been up against. John remained quiet, listening to their banter, marveling all the while that this weren't a dream or part of his imagination. Arthur was alive. Arthur had kids and a woman and a home. Maybe that crazy coot down the path hadn't missed and John was bleeding out in the woods somewhere.

After they got done eating, Arthur said, “Come on, Marston. Help me with feeding the horses their own dinner.”

He and Arthur walked outside, down to collect his own horse. Dusk was falling and the summer air was turning cool. John led Rachel to the area behind the house where Arthur kept two other horses in a small stable. Arthur spent a few minutes greeting each horse. One was an affectionate female and smaller than the other, a large workhorse who was white in the face with age.

As John brought Rachel in, Arthur pointed at his saddle. “Is that whiskey you got there?”

“Yeah.” John pulled it from his bag. “You want some?”

“Charlotte don't let me touch the stuff no more.” He took a swig and started coughing immediately, like he was some kid trying his first drink.

John tried not to laugh, but couldn't resist goading him. “You alright there, partner?”

“Shut up, Marston.” Arthur wiped his mouth and handed it back. “Shit. The stuff is stronger than I remember. Burns like hell.”

They fell into a silence, watching the sun lower further and the stars above become more visible. John didn't think there'd ever been a time where he and Arthur had relaxed like this. Not since they were kids, but they hadn't even really been friends then. Barely a family, if one could call it that. Two outlaw fathers raising orphan rascals.

“I couldn't kill Dutch, Arthur,” John said finally, heavily. It had been on his mind since dinner. “I had him. There was a moment...” he sighed. “But I didn't do it.”

Arthur was leaning against the stable and turned his head. “It don't matter, John. I wouldn't want you to have a burden like that on your conscience anyway.”

John argued, “But you was almost killed 'cause of Dutch's madness. And leaving you up on that mountain...we thought you was dead, but I-I shoulda went back. Made sure.”

“I wouldn't of wanted you to. I was up there for a lot of reasons. Not just Dutch.” Arthur shook his head. “But it don't matter no more, Marston. None of it. It was years ago and I ain't the same man. I don't got a heart full of hate no more and everything worked out fine besides.”

John eyed him. Maybe Arthur was right. Plus, he hadn't heard the story yet, but he was willing to bet Miss Charlotte had something to do with how Arthur made it out.

Arthur said quietly, “I saw in the papers someone got Micah. That you who done it?”

“Yeah,” John challenged. “I finished him off for good.”

He sighed. “Marston...”

“Don't you start. I got an earful already from Abigail,” John said. “Besides, killing Micah weren't just about avenging you, Arthur. There weren't no guarantees he wouldn't come gunnin' for me and mine if he lived.”

Arthur lowered his head, his hat hiding his expression as he seemed to think on that a moment before he finally nodded. “I understand. Just all around a bad business is all. Wish you could keep your nose clean for longer.”

“I'm out of all that now,” John assured. “I've gone straight.”

“We ain't never out of it. Not really,” Arthur said somberly. “No matter how good we think we got it.”

John frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

Arthur laughed a little. “Nothin', I guess. Just the ramblings of an old man who's seen too much shit in his lifetime.”

The door to the cabin opened and the dog went streaking across the yard and barking. Charlotte stepped out next, and then the two girls.

“Maniac pup,” Arthur muttered. “For only gettin' around on three legs, that damn dog can outrun the best of us.”

John hadn't even noticed the dog was missing a leg and looked for it now in its loping gait.

Charlotte walked up to them. “Eleanor is requesting a fire.”

“Please, Daddy?” The little girl hung on her father's arm.

“Sure, sweetie.” Arthur smiled down on her. “But you gotta help with carryin' firewood to the pit.”

“Yes!” Eleanor started running over to the wagon. “Come on, Lila.”

“You spoil them.” Charlotte kissed Arthur's cheek and frowned. She sniffed and asked accusingly, “What's that on your breath?”

“It was only a swig and I didn't even like it much.”

“Arthur.”

“Marston insisted upon it.”

John chuckled. “Whoa. I didn't do nothin'.”

“Daddy, can you help?” called Lila from across the yard.

“Sorry,” said Arthur. “Can't keep the little lady waiting.”

Arthur made his escape as Charlotte shook her head. She handed John a steaming cup of coffee, remarking, “He's missed you, you know.”

He watched Arthur speaking with the girls, helping them choose a small log they could handle on their own. “I'm only grateful he's alive.”

“It'll be a weight off his mind knowing you're doing well,” Charlotte said softly. “He doesn't like to talk about what happened all those years ago.”

John took a sip of the coffee. “The thing of it is, ma'am, there ain't much worth talkin' about.”

“I'll have to take your word for it.” Charlotte turned to him. “How is your family, John? You have a wife and son, correct?”

“Yeah. They're...alright.” Except Abigail was pissed at him right now and he still hadn't figured entirely how to talk to Jack.

“Arthur once told me he had more worth living for here than dying for out there.” Charlotte met John's gaze. “I hope that's true in your life too.”

“It's a mighty fine way of looking at it, that's for sure.”

In fact, it had his gut twisting with guilt. He'd been starting to feel envious of Arthur's new life, but he needn't have. John only had to open his eyes a little to realize he was lucky with a near similar situation. A woman who loved him, a kid who was mouthy, but respected him, and a home he built with his own goddamn hands. Not many men had all three.

“Hey, Marston.” Arthur had returned. “We got an extra cot in the shed if you wanna stay the night.”

“Thanks, Arthur.” The itch had returned, but his feet were wanting to move in another direction. “But I think I'm gonna head out soon.”

“Oh.” Arthur's face fell. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I...got some groveling to do at home.”

Arthur grinned. “Why do I get the feeling it ain't the first time?”

John offered, “I know Abigail and Jack would love if you came down.”

“And I'd love to seem 'em. All of it. Trouble is...” Arthur looked away and Charlotte rested a comforting hand on his arm. “I don't do much long distance traveling no more. Can't handle a lot of riding nowadays.”

John could see the subject was a sore spot for him. “What about them coming up here? Might have to leave Uncle behind to care for the ranch, but the other two would come willingly enough, if they knew who they was coming up here for.”

Arthur smiled. “I'd like that.”

“It's been a pleasure having you.” Charlotte gripped him in an unexpected hug. “I look forward to your next visit.”

“Yeah,” John cleared his throat. “Me too.”

John didn't know how to say goodbye to Arthur. It seemed wrong to leave so soon after finding out he was still in the world, but he couldn't help the growing, restless feeling inside. Instead, he said, “You...uh, you seem real happy here.”

“I am.” Arthur clapped a hand on John's shoulder. “Don't be a stranger, ya hear?”

“I won't.” John swallowed. “It's real good to see you well, brother.”

“And you.” Arthur pulled him in tight. “Brother.”

John had a nice sendoff with the girls following him excitedly, Beau running circles around him as he mounted up, and Charlotte and Arthur waving from the porch. He paused at the wooden archway at the top of the hill to glance back once.

During their conversations, John had been thinking Arthur had changed, but more true was he had come into himself. Arthur was always meant for the family life. It'd been obvious by the way he was always taking care and providing for everyone else in the gang for years. But now he had a woman, two kids, horses, pets and a house to care for. He'd turned his robbery tip into a fairy tale ending, like from one of Jack's books.

Maybe...maybe Arthur needed to die to get himself a life worth living. John shook his head and scoffed at himself. Look at him, trying to be all philosophical. Abigail would have a right laugh at his foolishness if she knew what he was thinking...and damn if he couldn't wait to tell her anyway. With the image of his awaiting wife and son on his mind, John turned his horse in the direction of home.