#arthur morgan x teen! Oc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

paradox-valleyy · 19 days ago

Text

Lost and Found

Pre-canon rdr 2 x Teen!fem!oc

Prologue | Chapter 1

Word count: 2,8k

Note: I don’t know if anyone will actually like this, but I tried to do something new.

Summer, 1895, Western America

The midday sun scorched the earth beneath its relentless heat, a blinding gold disk high in the pale blue sky. Even the wind had given up, leaving the streets of the small western town dry and desolate. A fine layer of dust clung to everything, swirling briefly in the occasional stir of movement but settling back quickly. Horses shuffled lazily in front of saloons and shops, flicking their tails to ward off flies. A dog lay panting in the shade of a porch, barely lifting its head as a boy walked by.

Joel was twelve—maybe. He didn’t know exactly, well that’s what he told everyone around her. Since actually, Joel was Jolene, a 15-year-old girl, who hid her identity to make surviving easier. She trudged down the town’s narrow main street, her head low but her eyes alert, scanning for anything or anyone that might pose a threat. Or an opportunity. Her light brown eyes, sharp despite their weariness, flicked from person to person, catching glimpses of tired faces under wide-brimmed hats, leather boots caked in dust, and the occasional glint of coins as men passed money over to shopkeepers or into saloon bartenders’ hands.

The girl’s stomach growled audibly. She hadn’t eaten in two days—three, maybe—and hunger gnawed at her like a desperate animal. Her body was all wiry limbs and bones, stretched too thin by starvation. Her skin, tan from the harsh sun, was smeared with dirt, and her short-cropped light blonde hair stuck to her forehead in sweat-soaked clumps. She wore a pair of trousers several sizes too big, cinched at the waist with a fraying length of twine, and a torn shirt that hung loosely off her small frame. Her torn boots dragged along, accustomed to the rough ground.

The scar across her face was old, though it still itched sometimes, stretching from the center of her forehead down through her right brow, ending just above her eyelid. People often asked about it, wondering how she’d gotten it, but Jolene never offered explanations. Out here, survival spoke louder than words.

Her path brought her to the general store, a worn building with weather-beaten signs and dusty windows. The storekeeper was an old man with a calm demeanor, but Jolene had learned long ago how to be invisible in places like this. She could slip in, slip out, and no one would be any wiser.

The girl pushed the door open, a bell above it jingling softly as she stepped inside. The cool, stale air of the store washed over her, a brief respite from the oppressive heat outside. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with everything from canned goods to tools, clothing to medicine. Jolene’s eyes went immediately to the counter, where the shopkeeper, Johnson, sat hunched over a ledger, muttering under his breath as he tallied numbers.

Jolene approached slowly, her hand already fishing in her pocket for the few coins she had. She barely had enough to buy anything, but that didn’t matter. She was after something else entirely. She picked up a small pack of gum from the counter and tossed her coins next to it.

“How much?” she asked, her voice hoarse from the dry air.

The shopkeeper glanced up, squinting at Jolene. “Two cents,” he grunted.

Jolene pushed the coins forward, making a show of counting them out, as her other hand slipped toward the shelf beside the counter where salted meats hung. Her fingers brushed against one of the packets, and with a quick, practiced motion, she swiped it, tucking it into the loose folds of her shirt.

She picked up her gum and pocketed it. “Thanks,” she mumbled, backing away toward the door. The shopkeeper barely looked at her, already turning back to his ledger as he muttered “Take care.” Jolenej pushed the door open and stepped back into the sun, her heart pounding with adrenaline.

Outside, she slipped into the narrow alley beside the store, crouching behind a stack of crates. She pulled the packet of salted meat from her shirt, tore it open with trembling hands, and bit into it. The salt stung her dry mouth, but the taste was heavenly. She chewed slowly, savoring each bite, her stomach finally calming as it felt the first touch of food in days. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then tucked the rest of the meat into her pocket for later.

Once she was done eating, Jolene wandered back onto the main street, moving carefully now, her sharp eyes darting around as she spotted potential marks. There was always someone drunk in this town no matter the time, or just plain stupid—people who didn’t keep a close eye on their wallets or purses.

She spotted a man leaning heavily against a post outside the saloon, a half-empty bottle of whiskey dangling from one hand. His jacket was unbuttoned, and Jolene could see the bulge of a coin pouch hanging loosely from his belt. The man swayed slightly, his head lolling forward, and Jolene’s pulse quickened. This was an easy mark.

As she moved closer, keeping to the shadows, Jolene reached out, her hand just inches from the pouch, when a voice called out behind her.

“Joel!”

She froze, her heart jumping into her throat. For a split second, she thought she’d been caught, but when she turned, she saw a familiar figure standing on the porch of the doctor’s office across the street. Dr. Avery, the town’s doctor, was waving at her, his face a mix of curiosity and kindness.

Jolene hesitated, glancing back at the man with the coin pouch, but she knew better than to risk it now. She took a step back and quickly crossed the street to where Dr. Avery stood.

“Afternoon, Doc,” Jolene said, trying to sound casual despite the nerves buzzing in her chest.

Dr. Avery smiled, wiping his hands on his apron. He was a tall, lean man with sharp features, his dark hair streaked with gray at the temples. He had a habit of looking at people like he could see right through them, and Jolene always felt a little uneasy under his gaze. But the doctor had never treated her with anything but kindness, and in a town like this, that counted for something.

“You look like you could use a little work,” the doctor said, his eyes glancing over Jolene’s dirty, torn clothes. “Got a job for you, if you’re interested.”

Jolene’s eyes lit up. “What kind of job?”

“I need some herbs. They grow out by the river, near the edge of the woods. Won’t take you too long to collect ’em, and I’ll pay you for your trouble.”

Jolene nodded eagerly. Work was hard to come by, especially for someone like her, and she couldn’t pass up the chance to earn some real money. “What do you need?”

Dr. Avery pulled a small cloth bag from his pocket and handed it to Jolene. “Burdock Root, mostly. You’ll know it when you see it—grows near the water. Bring back as much as you can, and I’ll pay you fair. Just don’t take too long. Sun’s only getting hotter.”

Jolene took the bag, nodding. “I’ll be quick, Doc.”

The doctor gave her a nod. “Good lad. I’ll be waiting.”

Without another word, Jolene turned and headed for the outskirts of town, the dust kicking up beneath her boots as she hurried toward the river. She’d been to the riverbank plenty of times—it was a quiet spot, a small, winding stretch of water that cut through the valley just beyond the town. The woods nearby were dense, thick with towering pines and scrub brush, but the river itself was a peaceful place, far enough from town that no one bothered you.

As Jolene made her way through the dry brush, the sun beat down on her, making her sweat through her shirt. She wiped her brow with her sleeve, squinting against the brightness. The ground sloped downward, and soon the sound of trickling water reached her ears. The river came into view, its clear, cool waters a stark contrast to the dry, dusty land around it. Jolene smiled despite herself, the sight of the water offering a brief sense of relief.

She crouched down by the water’s edge, dipping her hands into the cool current and splashing her face and neck. The water felt like heaven against her skin, washing away the dust and grime. She took off her boots, lifted her pants to her thighs, and stood in the river, the water reaching up to her knees, and for a moment, she allowed herself to relax. She looked around for the herbs Dr. Avery had asked for and soon spotted clusters of it growing near the water, their bright green leaves standing out against the rocky shore.

Jolene got to work quickly, crouching down to pull out handfuls of the roots, stuffing them carefully into the cloth bag. The sun was rising higher, and she could feel the heat pressing down on her, but she kept at it, her mind focused on the promise of payment.

As she worked, something caught her eye in the distance—a small caravan moving into the trees on the other side of the river. Jolene paused, crouching lower in the water as she watched the caravan wind its way through the woods. They were far enough away that they hadn’t noticed her, just a small, ragged figure kneeling by the riverbank. The caravan seemed like an odd sight—there wasn’t much reason to be heading into those woods unless you were looking for trouble or trying to hide from it.

Jolene watched them for a few moments longer, curiosity tugging at her, but eventually, she shrugged and turned back to her task. Whatever business those people had, it wasn’t her concern. She had her own survival to worry about.

The afternoon wore on, and the sun climbed higher, its heat becoming more oppressive as Jolene worked, her fingers swift and steady as she filled the small bag with roots. Her shirt clung to her back, damp with sweat, and she could feel the sunburn setting into her neck and arms. But it didn’t matter—she was nearly done, and the thought of the coins jingling in her pocket by the end of the day kept her going.

Finally, when the bag was full, Jolene stood up, brushing her dirty hands on her trousers. She looked back across the river where the caravan had vanished into the woods, a lingering curiosity tugging at her. What kind of people went off the main trails and into the thick, untraveled forest? Bandits, maybe—or strangers passing through, just looking for a quiet place to camp. Either way, it wasn’t her problem. Not yet, at least.

Jolene began the trek back to town, moving at a brisk pace despite the heat. The walk was mostly uphill, and by the time she reached the outskirts, her legs ached, and sweat dripped down her face. The sight of the town made her feel a strange sense of relief and weariness all at once. She didn’t belong here, exactly, but it was the closest thing she had to a home right now.

She headed straight for Dr. Avery’s office, trying not to look too eager as she pushed open the door. The doctor was inside, bent over his desk, scribbling in a notebook. He glanced up when Jolene entered, his sharp eyes taking in her dusty clothes and sweaty face.

“You’re quick,” Dr. Avery remarked, setting down his pen. He held out a hand for the bag, and Jolene handed it over, watching as the doctor inspected the contents with a practiced eye. “Good work,” he murmured, nodding in approval.

The doctor turned to a small wooden drawer and pulled out a canteen, pressing it into Jolene’s hands. “Here, take a drink. You look like you’ve been to the desert and back.”

Jolene took the canteen gratefully, tipping it back and gulping down the cool water. It tasted faintly of metal, but to her, it was the best drink she’d ever had. When she was finished, she handed the canteen back, wiping her mouth on her sleeve.

Dr. Avery reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wad of cash. He counted out five dollars and placed it in Jolene’s outstretched hand. Her eyes widened at the sight of the money. Five dollars was more than she’d expected; it was enough for several meals, maybe even a new shirt if she bargained hard enough.

“Thank you, Doc,” she said, the gratitude clear in her voice.

The doctor smiled faintly, his gaze softening. “You earned it, Joel. Hard work deserves fair pay.”

Jolene nodded, tucking the money carefully into her pocket. She didn’t linger, giving Dr. Avery a short nod before heading out the door. As she stepped back into the blinding afternoon sunlight, she felt the cool weight of the money against her thigh, a comforting reminder that, for now, she’d have a little bit of security.

Jolene settled into an alley. The money she’d just pocketed was a comfort, and the shadow of the alley hid her from the biting sun. She nibbled on the last bite of her salted meat, savoring every grain of salt, every scrap of toughness.

As she leaned back, the sound of footsteps reached her ears. She didn’t startle—she’d learned long ago how to stay calm, even when it felt like someone was creeping up on her. Glancing down the alley, she saw a familiar figure lumbering toward her.

Mr. Doyle, the town’s gunsmith, was a tall, heavyset man with a face weathered by the sun and dusted with soot. He looked about ready to burst, his whole posture screaming the need for relief. He barely even registered Jolene as he staggered to the far corner of the alley and, with a muttered curse about the “damn hot day,” got to the business of taking a piss.

Jolene smirked a little and kept her gaze pointedly elsewhere, deciding the best thing she could do was make herself as invisible as possible. Once done, Doyle exhaled a loud sigh of satisfaction, tucking himself back in place and pulling out a cigarette from his breast pocket. He struck a match, bringing it to his lips, and took a long drag before finally noticing Jolene in the shadows.

“Ah, Joel. Sneakin’ around as usual, I see,” Doyle said with a half-smile, leaning against the wall. His voice was gruff, but there was a friendly note under the rough edges.

Jolene grinned back, chewing the last bit of meat. “Not sneakin’, just resting.”

Doyle nodded, taking another pull on his cigarette and letting the smoke drift upward. He eyed the scrap of meat in Jolene’s hand with a quirked brow. “You didn’t happen to lift that from old Johnson’s store, did ya?”

Jolene shook her head, pulling out on of the bills from her pocket. “I bought it fair, with the money Doc Avery gave me. He had me collect some herbs by the river.”

Doyle let out a chuckle, his laugh rough and deep. “Well, well. Look at you, an honest working man. Keep that up, and maybe you’ll even make something of yourself one day.” He took another drag, eyeing Jolene with a blend of amusement and something that might have been respect.

Jolene gave a small shrug, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Guess I’ll have to keep the work comin’ to make that happen.”

The gunsmith chuckled again, flicking the ash from his cigarette. “You’re all right, kid. Stay out of trouble, yeah? Doc Avery’s got a soft spot for ya, and who knows? You stick around, keep workin’—maybe life won’t be so rough on you after all.”

With that, Doyle gave a casual wave and walked off, his boots crunching softly on the dusty ground as he disappeared back onto the street.

Jolene leaned back against the wall, still feeling the cool weight of the coins and bills in her pocket. She didn’t trust people too easily, but Doyle’s words settled in the back of her mind like a small, stubborn spark of hope. For the moment, life was simple. She had enough money to get by for the next few days, maybe even buy herself a small meal or two.

As long as she stayed smart, stayed quiet, and kept her head down, she could survive. And for a girl like her, survival was enough.

Jolene glanced up at the sky, watching as the colors shifted, orange and pink slowly blending into the deep purple of night. Her life was a patchwork of dusty streets and stolen shadows, but at least it was hers. And for now, that was just fine

16 notes · View notes

paradox-valleyy · 19 days ago

Text

Lost and Found

Pre-canon rdr2 x Teen!fem!oc

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Word count: 2,5 k

Notes: Gangs first appearance 😋

The days had rolled by, and Jolene had spent nearly all the money she’d earned from Dr. Avery. She knew she should have stretched it out longer, maybe saved a few coins for the harder days, but the temptation had been too much. Johnson’s store, with its shelves of chocolate bars, canned peaches, and sweet candies, had been too good to resist. For once, she’d paid for what she took, and Johnson had been grateful, giving her a nod of approval when she laid down her coins.

But now, Jolene was out of money again, her stomach already grumbling as the night crept in. She wandered toward the saloon, hoping to make a bit of coin the only way she knew how. As she pushed through the saloon doors, the place was packed, the usual smoky haze and noise rolling over him. Townsfolk were leaning unsteadily against the bar, drunk and laughing. A table was set up for poker, while other men sat with half-empty bottles, chatting loudly with friends or staring dully into their drinks. Around the room, the women who worked the saloon fluttered about, eyeing men with practiced sweetness.

Jolene had learned a thing or two from those women. They were tough, and they’d seen enough to know a hard-luck case when they spotted one. They were kind to her, in their way. When she approached one of them, offering a boyish compliment and a downcast look, the sympathy worked like a charm. A few of them reached into their pouches or aprons, handing over coins with knowing smiles.

“Here, darlin’. Don’t go spendin’ it all in one place,” one of them teased, slipping her a few more coins.

By the time Jolene had collected a grand total of two dollars and thirty-two cents, she thanked them and slipped to a quiet corner, surveying the room. She scanned the crowd, sizing up which man might have a bit more cash on him than others. That’s when she spotted two men by the bar, a pair she hadn’t seen around town before. A rare sight.

The first was an older man, maybe in his fifties, with sharp, well-defined features and steel-gray hair. He was lean, almost wiry and his eyes were soft but, missed nothing around him. The other, perhaps in his forties, was more solidly built with black hair, a thick mustache, a red vest, and a pair of gold rings on his fingers, that set him apart from the usual townsfolk.

They leaned against the bar, talking and occasionally laughing, drinking whiskey with the ease of men who were no strangers to saloons. It was clear from their clothes and their confident air that they were new here. And new men in town often meant new money.

Jolene waited, watching as they drank and slowly became more relaxed. A half-hour passed, and the whiskey was taking effect; they were speaking louder, their laughter coming easier. Deciding the moment was right, Jolene slid through the crowd, lifting a stray wallet from another patron along the way before slipping toward the black-haired man in the red vest. She reached for the pocket, fingers brushing the edge of a wallet.

She was just about to pull it free when a drunken voice bellowed from across the room, “Joel, you goddamn thief! Where’s my wallet?”

The shout was enough to freeze the saloon. Jolene’s heart leapt to her throat as she turned, only to find the black-haired man’s gaze fixed on her, realizing all at once what was happening.

With her hand still inside the man’s pocket, Jolene did the only thing she could think of—she yanked the wallet free and bolted. She dashed toward the back door, hearing the uproar behind her, chairs scraping as people got to their feet. Jolene didn’t dare look back, but she could hear three sets of footsteps close on her heels.

As she hit the door and spilled into the alley, she cursed under her breath, feeling the frantic burn of adrenaline in her veins. She raced toward the stable, hoping she could cut through, jump the fence, and vanish into the dark before any of them could keep up.

Just as she approached the fence, she risked a glance over her shoulder to see who was chasing her. That second was all it took—her foot caught on a loose plank in the dirt, and she went sprawling face-first onto the ground, her nose slamming into the dirt and gravel. Pain shot through her face as she tried to push herself up, but rough hands grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around.

The first man, the one who’d shouted, William, was a burly townsman, red-faced with a mixture of anger and whiskey. His fist came down hard, catching Jolene on the jaw and sending fresh pain jolting through her.

“Give me back my damn wallet!” the man demanded, voice slurred with drink. Jolene, holding back a grimace, pulled the wallet from her pocket and handed it over, too dazed to argue.

The man looked like he might throw another punch, but a hand grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back. “That’s enough,” came a calm, measured voice. “You got your wallet. There’s no need to beat up the boy.”

The man cursed, spat in Jolene’s face, and staggered back toward the saloon. Jolene coughed, tasting blood, and rubbed her jaw as she looked up to see her unexpected saviors: the two men from the bar.

The black-haired man studied her, looking her up and down. “You make a habit of lifting wallets around here?”

Jolene glared back, feeling defiant despite the ache in her jaw. “Only when I’m hungry,” she muttered, reluctantly holding out the man’s own wallet.

The man took it back, flipping it open and checking the contents with a casual glance. “How old are you?” he asked, a trace of curiosity in his voice.

Jolene spat some of the blood from her mouth, her voice bitter. “Twelve, I think.” She lied.

The two men exchanged a look, something in their expressions shifting. The older one with the gray hair, whose gaze was soft, finally spoke. “So, no family, then? You’re an orphan?”

Jolene said nothing, just held their gazes with a challenging glare. They didn’t need to know her life story.

The black-haired man sighed, tucking the wallet back into his coat. “Relax, kid. We’re not here to hurt you. Just maybe don’t try to pick our pockets again.”

A flash of frustration crossed Jolene’s face, but she couldn’t hold back a smirk. “If that drunk hadn’t yelled my name, you wouldn’t have even noticed.”

The two men laughed at that, surprising Jolene. The black-haired man seemed amused, giving her a nod. “Fair point,” he said, still chuckling.

It fell quiet for a moment, and then the black-haired man extended a hand. “Dutch van der Linde,” he said. He tilted his head toward his companion. “And this here’s Hosea Matthews.”

Jolene, feeling awkward, gave a slight nod and took Dutch’s hand, letting the man pull her up and muttering, “Joel.” She looked away, scuffing the dirt with her shoe, but Dutch only laughed softly.

“Figured as much from the way that fellow hollered your name back there,” Dutch said with a wry grin. “So, Joel, you from here?”

“No. I live… nowhere, really. Just here and there. I sleep where I can find a place, and sometimes when people start recognizin’ my face too much, I move on.”

Dutch and Hosea exchanged another glance, nodding slightly. There was a flicker of understanding between them, as though they’d seen this before.

After a pause, Dutch’s eyes glinted with an idea. “Well, tell you what, Joel. How about we go back to the saloon? I’ll buy you a meal—on the condition you talk a bit more. Maybe even tell us about this town and its… characters.”

Jolene hesitated, sizing them up. She knew these men weren’t ordinary travelers. Outlaws, she guessed, but something about them felt different. They didn’t strike her as the type to waste their time on pickpocketing coins; they were the kind who’d hold up a bank and take every last cent if it suited them. But for tonight, the promise of a meal outweighed her caution.

“Fine,” she said, her stomach growling at the thought. “But I don’t talk about everyone. Only the ones that don’t kick me when I’m down.”

Dutch grinned, satisfied, and clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Fair enough, Joel. Let’s get you something to eat.”

With that, they headed back toward the saloon, where the noise, the smoke, and the night awaited them.

Jolene was devouring the steaming bowl of stew Dutch had bought her, each spoonful a rare treat after days of stale bread and dried meat. Bits of stew clung to her chin as she talked, eagerly spilling all she knew about the town between bites. Dutch and Hosea sat across from her, leaning in, their faces attentive, but their eyes watchful.

“There’s this one guy, Mr. Finch,” Jolene began, the name dripping from her mouth with a note of contempt. “Filthy rich, at least for around here. They say he’s got a few hundred thousand stashed away, mostly from cattle deals and a mining venture he sold off a few years back. His house is out a ways from town, all by itself.” Jolene paused to take a bite, savoring the taste before continuing. “He’s got a wife, but she’s strange. Never leaves the house, never talks. I only see her starin’ out the window, big eyes watchin’ like she’s afraid of somethin’. Folks say she was pregnant three times, but each time the baby didn’t make it.”

Dutch exchanged a glance with Hosea, a silent message passing between them. Jolene didn’t notice, too wrapped up in recounting the local gossip. She lowered her voice as she continued, not wanting others nearby to overhear.

“Mr. Finch? He thinks he’s better than everybody here,” Jolene muttered, scowling. “But he keeps the bank full and gives plenty to the church, so no one says nothin’ against him. Everybody just goes along with it.” She stuffed another spoonful in her mouth, chewing with a mix of satisfaction and frustration.

Dutch leaned back in his chair, his hands relaxed on the table, a calm smile on his face. “Interesting fella, this Finch,” he said, more to himself than to Jolene. “And what about the bank, kid? How much is in there most of the time?”

Jolene swallowed. “Pretty full, mostly,” she said with a sly grin. “People here don’t trust carryin’ too much cash around, so they all keep it there. Not that it does ’em much good, but that’s how it is.”

She glanced up, seeing Hosea and Dutch watching her closely, and feeling bold, she continued, “The sheriff here, he’s a real piece of shit. Was married four times, if you can believe it. Every one of ’em left him, ran out or worse. Last wife… well, she up and killed herself. He don’t work with bounty hunters neither, likes to keep things his way. And when he catches me takin’ something, he doesn’t hold back with his fists.” Jolene clenched her jaw, her anger visible despite the bruise already turning purple on her face.

Jolene finally set her spoon down, wiping her face with the back of her hand, and looked directly at Dutch and Hosea. “Why you want to know all this anyway? You two thieves or somethin’?” She grinned a little, though her eyes held genuine curiosity.

Dutch smiled, unruffled by the question, and leaned forward, his voice soft yet edged with humor. “Let’s just say we’re travelers, and we like to get a feel for the towns we come through. Easier to make friends that way, you know?”

Hosea, leaning back with a faint smirk, added, “Sometimes the less someone thinks they know about us, the better.” He raised an eyebrow at Jolene, who was looking at him with her head cocked slightly, not fully understanding but sensing the undercurrent.

Jolene’s fingers toyed with the spoon, glancing between them. These weren’t ordinary men; that much she’d already guessed. They had a way about them, a calmness she hadn’t seen in others, like they were used to being in control. Despite her best efforts to appear tough, the interest on her face was clear.

Dutch’s gaze softened as he took in the girl’s bruised form and scarred forehead. “Look, Joel,” he said, keeping his tone gentle but steady. “You seem like you’re good at gettin�� by, finding your way in a world that ain’t exactly kind. Hosea and I? We know a thing or two about that life too.”

Jolene’s eyes flickered with interest, and she crossed her arms, leaning back. “So you are thieves,” she said, as if confirming her own suspicions.

Dutch only chuckled. “We’re… liberators,” he said with a grin. “We take from people who wouldn’t miss it and don’t care about folks like us.”

“Or you,” Hosea added, with a hint of sympathy in his voice. He eyed the bruise on Jolene’s jaw, the lingering evidence of the rough life she was accustomed to.

Jolene took a long breath, weighing her next words. Part of her wanted to ask what they had planned, whether they’d bring her along or show her their way of doing things. But another part, the part that had survived on her own up until now, held her back, cautious.

Instead, she muttered, “Well, whatever you’re doin’, just don’t think this town’s easy pickin’s. Folks here are nosy, and they don’t take kindly to strangers who don’t fit in.” She glanced away, pretending to brush dirt from her shirt.

Dutch and Hosea shared a quick, amused glance, appreciating the girl’s quiet warning.

Dutch reached into his coat, pulling out a few coins. He tossed them onto the table, the clink of metal catching Jolene’s attention. “Here,” he said, nodding toward the money. “Enough for another meal or two. Think of it as payment for the… insight.”

Jolene looked at the coins, hesitant. She didn’t like taking charity, but she also knew enough to recognize an opportunity when she saw one. She snatched them up with a muttered “Thanks.”

Dutch rose from the table, straightening his coat. Hosea followed suit, giving Jolene a nod. “Well, kid, stay out of trouble—least till we’re gone,” Hosea said with a grin.

As they turned to leave, Jolene called out, surprising herself. “If you need me again, I’m usually around town.”

Dutch paused, a thoughtful smile crossing his face as he exchanged a glance with Hosea. “Alright” he said, looking back at Jolene with a spark of interest in his eyes.

Dutch considered her words, his mind already working. “Good to know. Thanks, Joel.”

With a final nod, Dutch and Hosea turned and headed down the stairs, leaving Jolene alone. She sat back, absently rubbing her bruised jaw as she thought over their conversation, a faint thrill of excitement mixed with a sliver of worry.

She didn’t know what Dutch and Hosea planned to do in this town, but she had a feeling things were about to get a lot more interesting.

21 notes · View notes