#the other two in the sketch are gettin their own canvas

[mechanoize]

i think about him more often than i’d ever admit

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Second Chances - Ch. 8

Finding Courage

Warnings: Swearing, angst, grief, fluff with an extra serving of fluff! 

Word count: ~10,000

**Author’s note: A book is mentioned that wasn’t published until 1999, but humor me. It’s fiction! 

It’s been three weeks since Arthur brought you back to camp. Your ribs and head have mostly healed and cause little pain. Your leg, on the other hand, still has a ways to go. You are starting to get bored and stir crazy, trapped in camp. Strauss determined, shortly after you came back, that you would need around 6 weeks of recuperation, and Grimshaw is hell bent that you don’t leave Arthur’s tent until you can walk again. 

Nearly everyone in camp has come to your aid in relieving the boredom. Mary-Beth will sometimes come and sit next to you, discussing books as the two of you knit. She brings you the materials so you don’t have to leave the cot. Javier occasionally sits next to you and plays his guitar or tells you stories about Mexico. One day Jack even comes, offering you a string of flowers to wear around your head that he made himself. You feel extraordinarily grateful to all of them. However, no one can light a candle to Arthur’s efforts.

He’s hardly left camp, determined to take care of you. He brings you coffee every morning and Pearson’s stew every night. As much as you appreciate it, you also wish he’d go out and do things for himself the way he did before you left. He has done one thing for you that you have greatly enjoyed. Nearly every afternoon, he comes into the tent with a book and he reads to you. Sometimes, he’ll hand you the book and have you do it, but you secretly adore it when he’s the one reading. You love hearing his deep, gentle voice. His face softer when he reads, brightening his eyes. 

You feel bad for taking the man’s tent and cot. A week after you returned, you tried to offer it back to him, saying you could go sleep in your own tent and bedroll, but he refused, stating you needed it more than him. He’s been spending his nights sleeping close to you, usually on the ground propped up against the crates. 

It’s nearly afternoon now and Arthur’s been in camp all day. You’ve been keeping an eye on him, watching as he does chores during the morning. He approaches you, smiling.

“Hey there, Y/N,” he greets, sitting down in the chair that’s remained in the tent. “I need to go huntin’ again, Pearson’s gettin’ real low. But listen, I ain’t gonna go far. When I get back, we can read some more if ya like.”

“Sounds good. I hope Hosea has a new book, think we’ve breezed through his collection already.”

He chuckles. “I’m sure he has one ya ain’t read. ‘Sides, I’m shoar Mary-Beth would be more than happy to lend ya one of hers.”

You sigh, a soft smile on your lips. “Wish I could go with you,” you admit. “I’m getting so bored! If only this damn leg would get better.”

“I know, ya just gotta be patient. Anyways, I need to get goin’.” 

He stands up and heads off. Over the past couple of weeks, you’ve been careful with your emotions around him. You’ve done nothing to show you’re still interested, despite it being completely true. If anything, your feelings have gotten stronger, but so has your friendship, and you refuse to let anything ruin that again. He climbs onto Artemis’s saddle and leaves after waving to you.

You wave back, feeling your heart sink. A few days after you had returned, you remembered what happened to Rain. The pain from your leg has been nothing in comparison to the loss of your horse. You tell yourself she was just a horse, an animal. Still the pain of losing such a close friend and companion is so deep sometimes you feel like you’re drowning. You’ve been trying your best to hide it all from Arthur and everyone else, but there are few things you’ve done that are more difficult than suppressing them. Now that no one is around to see you, you lie down on your side, facing the wagon. You silently acknowledge the pain now and let the tears stream down your face, soaking the pillow. It feels like someone shot you in the chest, leaving a gaping hole that cannot be filled. You wish you couldn’t feel anything, it would be so much easier. You purposefully clench your leg in a way that you know will force it to flare, the physical pain is a great distraction and far preferable to what you feel in your heart.  

You must have fallen asleep; someone shakes your shoulder gently.

“Y/N, ya awake?” Arthur quietly asks. 

You turn, rubbing your sore eyes, looking up at him and sitting up. “Yeah, yeah I am.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake ya. I have somethin’ for ya, though.”

You look at him as he sits down and reaches into his satchel. “I stopped in Valentine, needed to get somethin’ from the store. Found this, thought ya might like it.” 

He hands you a thin book. The green cover has a sketch of a horse’s head, framed in gold ivy. You read the words above the sketch. “Black Beauty,” you say.

“Yeah, thought it might be different. I ain’t never read it before. Figured we could try it.”

You smile as your eyes begin to water. “Thank you, Arthur.”

He smiles sadly at you. “I know ya miss her, darlin’. Rain. She was a good horse.”

“The best,” you say, wiping your eyes. He grabs your hand, running a thumb over it. “It’s hard, sweetheart. I still miss Boadicea. Every day, ‘s matter of fact.”

“But you have Artemis, and I know how much you like her.”

“I do, but that don’t mean I don’t miss Boadicea. What I’m tryin’ to say is it’s okay to miss her, but that don’t mean ya can’t get another horse and care about it, too.”

You can’t prevent the tears falling again. “I just… it makes me feel so weak to feel this way. Sometimes it’s like I can’t breathe.”

“I know,” he says, squeezing your hand. “But to be honest, if ya didn’t feel this way, I’d be more worried about you.”

You sit there in silence, trying to wipe the tears from your face, which seems pointless since they keep falling. He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a thin cloth, handing it to you. 

“You wanna tell me about her?” he asks softly, taking hold of your hand again. 

You smile, despite the pain. “Yeah” you sniff hard, composing yourself enough to talk. “When I was about 10 or so, my grandma had this big, black mare. She got pregnant. I was staying in her cabin when the horse went into labor. My grandma was one of the toughest people I ever known. She had me help her with the foaling. While we were in the barn, a huge thunderstorm came on us. Rained like the devil. My grandma handed her to me right after she was born. I held her head in my lap while we waited for her to start breathing. She was so goddamn cute! We stayed up for hours, cleaning her up, petting her all over. Then she finally stood. When she started nursin’, my grandma told me to name her. I remember listening to the rain outside; that’s how I named her.”

You wipe your eyes as a new wave of tears hits you. Arthur rubs your hand encouragingly. “My grandma told me that she wanted me to take care of the foal. I didn’t live with her, but I visited her every day after that. She showed me how to train her to take a halter, bridle, saddle. Then she taught me how to groom her, clean her feet. When she was about a year, she taught me how to ride on her. We learned together. I can’t tell you how many trail rides I went on with my grandma after that. She used to tell me how Rain would pine for me when I wasn’t there.”

You smile fondly at the memory, your chest clenches painfully. “Then my grandma died a few years later. My dad sold every horse she had, including Rain’s mom. Made a lot of money, too. He tried to sell Rain as well. That was the scariest time of my life. I thought I was gonna lose her. Somehow, though, I convinced him to let me keep her with his grumpy old gelding. She came with me when I got married. I remember one time my husband was outside. He was real drunk, stumblin’ all over the place. He somehow made it inside our pasture. Rain walked over to him just so she could kick him!” you chuckle, Arthur joining in. “Probably a good thing he was drunk; he couldn’t remember a thing about it later on. I’ve always been able to trust her. Knew she’d never let me down. She was the only thing I could depend on after my grandma died. And now I’ve lost her!” 

Your voice gives out as the pain overtakes you, forcing your knees to your chest. Arthur lets go of your hand and places it on your back, rubbing gently. He stays silent as you sob into your hands. When you begin to quiet down, he speaks up.

“I’m so sorry, darlin’. I never knew you had that kind of connection to her. Makes me and Boadicea seem like a regular pair of fools. But I want ya to know something.” He takes his hand and places it under your chin, turning your wet face to look at him. His thumb wipes away a tear from your cheek. “She’s happy, I’m shoar. She’s up there in a great prairie, where she can eat, drink and play all day long. She still remembers ya, though, and no matter what happens, she’ll always be with ya. Don’t ever doubt it. She wants ya to be happy because ya made her so happy.”

You close your eyes, fresh tears dripping from your eyes. Arthur’s face is so close you can feel his hot breath on you. You open your eyes and see yourself reflected in his blue ones, the scar on his chin. His scent envelopes you; that smell of pine and leather. He’s starting to lean in, you can’t stop looking at his lips. 

Reverend Swanson stumbles over, waving around a bottle. “One night when I was frisky,” he starts singing loudly. Arthur and you dart away from each other, startled by his sudden presence. “After drinkin’ some potent whisky!” He continues on. His red, puffy eyes find the pair of you and he smiles broadly, making his clumsy way to you. 

“Hey, you two! I want ya to know,” he stumbles, leaning against the pole that holds up the canvas above your heads. “That you are children of God! Children of God!” 

He suddenly slumps onto the ground, unconscious. 

“Damn it, Swanson,” Arthur grumbles as you giggle. He stands up and picks up Swanson, kicking his empty bottle away. You wipe your eyes as he heaves the Reverend back to his own cot. You hear someone calling his name after that, asking him for his help.

Sometime after the incident with Swanson, you’re lying in the cot still. You’ve managed to compose yourself after your meltdown, but you still hold the book Arthur brought you. You haven’t opened it, waiting for him to return so you can read it together. 

Charles enters the tent, holding a long, wooden cane. He looks at you; he seems nervous. “Hello, Y/N,” he greets.

“Hey there, Charles,” you smile. 

He holds up the cane. “I, ugh… I made this for you. I know you won’t be able to walk for a bit, but I thought it could help you.”

You look closely at the cane as you take it from him. It’s made of dark wood, the handle has been carved into the intricate form of an owl. You run your thumb over its orb-like eyes. 

“Charles, this is amazing!”

He gives you a rare smile. “I just wanted to let you know how much this camp’s appreciated you. Ya know, Pearson’s stew hasn’t been this lean on meat since Colter.”

You chortle. “Well, that means a lot to me, Charles. Thank you so much.”

He nods and leaves. You glance back at the cane, admiring the delicate carvings. You feel honored to receive such a beautiful gift, despite the fact that you and Charles have rarely even spoken to one another. 

Arthur returns, followed by John, Bill and the O’Driscoll prisoner, whom you learned a while back is named Kieran Duffy. He looks around nervously, particularly at the tree he’s been tied to since the gang arrived here. You’ve spent hardly any time around him since you yourself were a prisoner of sorts until recently and didn’t want to be seen interacting with a known enemy. You come to a decision, determined to pull it off. 

You throw off the blanket, swinging your legs so they dangle off the cot. Your thigh complains at the movement, but you ignore it. You press your feet to the ground, basking in the feeling of grass against your skin again. You grasp the cane as hard as you can, using it to begin lifting yourself up. 

“Woah, woah!” a voice calls out, getting close to you. Lifting up your head, you see it’s Arthur. “What ya doin’, girl?”

He approaches you so quickly you sit back down on the cot. 

“I’m bored, Arthur. I been layin’ here for weeks! I wanna get up, see the world. Even the other side of camp would be a welcome sight.”

He huffs, standing in front of you. “I know. I don’t know if yer strong enough, though. Don’t want ya hurtin’ yer leg again.”

You straighten up. “I can handle it just fine, Arthur. Besides, I have this to help me.”

You lift up the cane. Arthur grabs and inspects it. “Where you get this from?”

“Charles. Said he made it for me.”

“Well, that’s real fine,” he says, smiling as he hands it back to you. “Tell ya what, ya can try standin’ and walkin’, but I ain’t leavin’ yer side.”

“Deal.” You situate the cane again, using it to pull yourself up. Arthur offers you his hand, which you take. He helps lift you up, letting you put a good portion of your weight against him as you slowly start to press down on your leg. Although it hurts like hell, it seems like it will hold your weight. For now, at least. 

Arthur takes a step away from you, still holding onto your hand. He gestures to you, telling you to walk forward to him. You take a hesitant step, moving the cane with your leg. You can tell instantly by the shaking and the pain that if Arthur weren’t there, you’d have fallen already. You look down, shaking your head.

“Maybe you’re right, Arthur. I don’t know if I can do this.”

He sighs heavily. “I ain’t surprised. Well, can ya stand on it at least?”

You slowly nod, a little unsure. 

“Good. Ya mind if I…” he gestures his arms towards you, wrapping one around your waist while the other approaches your knees. You realize he’s offering to pick you up. You nod your head and drape an arm over his shoulder before he sweeps you up effortlessly into his arms. You hold on tight to your cane; it dangles from your grip as he swings around and walks towards the hitching post where Artemis is tied. You see Hosea and Grimshaw looking at the two of you, smiling. You try your best to prevent the blush in your cheeks as he carries you over to the large grey horse, setting you down close to her. He stands behind you, letting you use him as a pillar to lean on in case your leg gives out.

You test your aching thigh, finding it capable of holding you up. You reach up with your arms and pat Artemis’s neck. She rumbles softly, the sound low and deep, swishing her tail. Her ears point back so she can hear you, her eyes soft as she chews slowly. 

“Ah, knew she’d remember ya,” Arthur says softly behind you. He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a treat, handing it to you. You take it and offer it to the large horse. You continue to pet her as she munches on it. 

After a few moments, your leg begins to remind you that it’s still wounded. You do your best to turn to Arthur. “Thank you for this,” you say, smiling up at him, limping. “You’ve no idea how nice it is to pet a horse again. Even if it’s not…”

His hand reaches up and settles on your upper arm, his thumb tracing lines. Without a word, he sweeps you up into his arms and towards the tent. You hear from the direction of the campfire the sound of Javier playing his guitar. 

“Arthur, wait. Will you take me to the campfire?”

He stops and looks. “Shoar, why not?”

He changes directions and takes you over, setting you down carefully on one of the logs. You adjust your leg so the pain is hardly noticeable. Arthur sits down close to you, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. 

Javier stops playing, looking up at you. “Hola, Y/N,” he says.

“Hi, Javier. Please don’t stop playing on my account.”

He smiles as his fingers expertly pluck at the strings again. “Glad to see you finally out of that tent.”

“Me too. Arthur here’s too kind to let me use it, but I’m ready to leave.”

The two men chuckle. Arthur hands you his cigarette. You take it and drag from it as Javier begins singing in Spanish. The sound of the guitar and his voice washes over you. You’d take this any day over Dutch’s gramophone, especially since you swear Dutch likes to play it either late at night or unforgivably early in the morning. It’s amazing it hasn’t mysteriously disappeared. You hand Arthur back his cigarette, trading smiles with him. 

A few days later, you’re standing in camp, leaning against the table where Lenny and Micah play five finger fillet. You’ve been standing up each day, even taking a few steps, trying to gain the strength back in your legs. You feel particularly proud today since you managed to walk all the way to the table by yourself, despite the pain. You had to use the cane, of course, and it took an unimaginably long time, but you did it. Your leg throbs painfully now, having been strained by the walk. 

Arthur’s not in camp. Dutch had sent him out early this morning to go meet with someone named Trelawney with Charles and Javier to retrieve Sean. Word is that Sean is being held near Blackwater by bounty hunters, so the group left to go and get him back. You have to say you’re looking forward to seeing him again. He always has a way to lighten up the mood in camp. You just hope nothing goes wrong.

Hosea approaches you as you lean up against the table.

“Hello, Y/N,” he says as he uses a mortar and pestle to grind up some herbs. You recognize it instantly. After Grimshaw and the others had you cleaned and stitched up, Hosea made a highly useful combination of grounded herbs to help with the pain. Swanson had given you a dose of his morphine previously, but you didn’t like how fuzzy it made you feel. It also tended to make you feel nauseous and sick. You wondered how he managed to take it so frequently. Soon afterwards, Hosea introduced you to the herbs. They didn’t knock out the pain as effectively as the morphine, but at least they didn’t make you sleepy. 

“Keep on giving me that stuff, Hosea, and I’ll live to be a hundred,” you joke as he leans next to you. 

He laughs. “That’s the idea. How’s that book you and Arthur been readin’? What’s it called again?”

“Black Beauty,” you say fondly. You and Arthur have been reading from it nearly every day since he brought it to you. You’ve grown fond of it, even though it makes you miss Rain. 

“That’s the one. Ya mind if I borrow it when yer done?”

“Sure. Don’t know if it’s really up your alley, though.” Arthur mentioned that Hosea was more of a mystery fan when it came to books. 

“I’m always open to new stories,” he says with a sly smile. “Arthur tells me yer gettin’ real good with readin’ and writin’.”

You smile. “Yeah. Hard to believe only two months ago, I couldn’t read. Seems like a lifetime ago that I was runnin’ on my own.”

“It’s lucky Arthur found ya. You’ve been good for each other.”

You smile wider, staring off into the camp as Hosea continues to grind the herbs. Lenny, standing in the trees, shouts that someone’s coming. Javier prances in on Boaz, his silver paint; Sean sitting behind him. He hollers loudly, calling the entire camp’s attention to him. Charles follows behind, rolling his dark eyes.

“Fear no more, ladies and gents!” Sean yells loudly in his thick Irish accent, spreading his arms wide open. “The life of te party is back!”

You can’t help but laugh as he hops off Boaz; you can tell by Javier’s face that he was quite the companion. Javier dismounts, muttering in Spanish, stalking off to the campfire. 

“Ol’ Grimshaw!” Sean yells as Susan walks past, holding a cup of coffee. “Don’t ya worry, lass! I’ll get these girls whipped up into shape again! Pearson!” he yells at the cook, skinning a rabbit. “That pot o’ yours will never ‘ave been fuller now I’m back!”

Pearson and Grimshaw laugh. Sean turns and sees you next to Hosea. He notices the the way you hold your leg, cane in hand.

“Ah, it wouldn’t be right if ya didn’t have some new injury to show off!” he guffaws, approaching you. You can’t help but chuckle with him. “You and John could be best mates! Ol’ Scar Face and the One-Legged Belle!”

You guffaw, “Yeah, ‘cept I still have my leg, ya dolt!”

He stands next to you and drapes an arm lazily over your shoulder, not noticing your attempts to gently shrug it off. 

“Ah, o’ course, o’ course. Bet ya gave te bastard who tried rippin’ it off quite a time, though. Hardly known a better butcher than you, ‘cept for old Arthur maybe!”

You giggle, finally pulling his arm off of you. Hosea walks off, shaking his head fondly. Just then, Arthur trots in on Artemis. You turn to face him, smiling widely. He smiles back as he dismounts. 

“Ah, and if it isn’t ol’ grumpy Morgan now! Don’t know why ya hang wit’ him so much. Such a downer, that one!”

You laugh, waving him off. Sean struts away, calling to Uncle. Arthur comes and stands in front of you, hands on his gun belt. 

“Ya manage to get over here on yer own?” he asks.

You smile proudly. “I sure did! Only took me half an hour. Glad you got Sean out of there, even if he talks too much.”

“Yeah, he might be a loud mouth and a braggart, but he’s a good kid.” He smiles, reaching into his satchel. He pulls his hand out, which is clenched around something. 

“I, ugh,” he begins before clearing his throat loudly. “Found this when I was headin’ back. Well, after I helped some wildlife photographer get his bag back from a greedy coyote. Reminded me of you.”

He opens his hand and reveals a necklace made of a silver chain. Dangling from it inlaid in a silver clasp is a small sapphyre. You look up at him after admiring the stone.

“Arthur, you didn���t have to get me this,” you say. “How much this cost you?”

He huffs. “Technically, it didn’t cost me nothin’. Some guy on the trail bumped into me, then demanded I apologize.”

You laugh. “I imagine that didn’t end well for him.”

“No, it didn’t. He’s fine, though, if yer wonderin’. I only took his money and found this in his pocket. I was gonna sell it until I saw it proper. Thought you might like it.”

Your heart swells as he puts it around your neck, latching the chain to the hook. You admire it as it rests on your chest, then look up at him again. 

“Thank you, Arthur. But seriously, you should have sold it. Bet ya could’ve gotten twelve dollars for it, if not more.”

“Nah, I think I prefer it this way. Looks nice on you.”

His hand comes up to settle on your upper arm. You find yourself placing your hand on his chest, feeling the stamped leather of his red vest. He starts pulling you closer, shrinking the gap between you. His eyes are mirroring yours. 

You hear someone yell Arthur’s name. John walks up and the two of you split immediately, hoping he didn’t see you standing so close to one another. 

“Morgan,” he says again. The look on his face says he didn’t notice your close proximity to one another, and if he did it doesn’t show. “Mary-Beth said somethin’ ‘bout that train goin’ south to Saint Denise. I think we oughta start plannin’ on it, see if we can take it.”

Arthur sighs in frustration as you lean back on the table. “Robbin’ trains are a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah, but she did some diggin’. The take should be real good. ‘Sides, I have a few ideas for it.”

“Fine,” Arthur says. He glances at you before leaving with John, heading for the other side of camp. You clutch your cane and start preparing yourself to walk back to Arthur’s tent. 

“Well, well,” says a greasy voice from behind you. “Looks like Ms. High-and-Mighty decided to grace us with her presence and leave her cozy little tent!” 

You turn and glare at Micah. 

He sneers at you. “Was wonderin’ when you’d finally leave Morgan’s cot. Not that I’m surprised. I thought you’d have invited him into your bed a long time ago.”

You stand up as straight as you can, ignoring the pain. “I ain’t that kind of girl, Mr. Bell. Besides, I’d let him or anyone else in this camp in my bed before I’d ever let you even come close.”

He snickers. “Ya always did have a soft spot for him, didn’t ya? Well, I hate to break it to ya, sweetheart, but he’s still got somethin’ for that Mary girl. Now I bet she’s a fine woman. The kind that could make a man wanna kill another man. Doubt anyone would even look twice at you if she were around.”

Your temper flares. You know he’s just trying to upset you. “How would you know, Micah? Ya ever seen her? I doubt it, the sight of you is enough to make anyone nauseous.”

Laughing again, he approaches you. “Because Morgan only goes after pretty girls.” He grins nastily at you as he leaves. You wish your leg was stronger, you’d already be giving him a good beating. Instead, you turn away and stare off into camp, trying to ignore what he said. The warm feeling you had before is gone. You clasp the cane again, heading back to the tent.

Night has come. Pearson, Karen and Uncle have pulled out bottles of alcohol to celebrate the return of Sean. The Irish man stands on a box, giving an almost taunting yet endearing speech about how everything’s going to be okay now he’s back. You can’t help laughing with the others as you lean on Pearson’s wagon. Karen approaches you with a bottle of whisky. 

“Here, girl!” she proclaims, handing you the bottle.

“Nah, I really shouldn’t. I just took some more of those herbs Hosea’s been givin’ me, I doubt they’ll mix well with that.”

“Ah, don’t be so worried! ‘Sides, it can’t hurt too much.” She winks and shoves the bottle in your hand and you take a sip. She walks off, swaying a bit. 

You grasp your cane and walk over to the campfire slowly. Uncle, Sean, Javier, Pearson and Arthur sit around it, drinking and joking. As you sit next to Arthur, Uncle breaks out into song.

“When I was just a lad, you know, I met a gal from Blue Bordeaux, she had blonde hair and blue eyes too,” he starts and the others join in the song. You can’t help but laugh at the heavily inappropriate song, drinking more. 

“That’s what ya call the ring dang do!” the men finish, roaring with laughter. 

“Yer a dirty man!” Arthur chuckles as you hand him the bottle. He takes a long drink as Dutch calls from his tent.

“That’s all well and said, but how about something a bit more civilized?” He turns around and switches on his gramophone. Classical music sweeps over the camp. Arthur gets up to go and speak to John and Charles. You stand up, too, leaving your bottle behind. You don’t really want to drink anymore, despite the fire in your belly. You find yourself limping past Dutch’s tent and stop when you see the man dancing slowly with Ms. O’Shea. They laugh sweetly when Dutch twirls her around. You can’t help but smile.

Arthur wanders past you, finishing a bottle of beer. You call his attention to Dutch and Molly.

“They seem so sweet together,” you mumble, your head feeling a little misty. “Y’know, I never known how to dance.”

He looks at you curiously. “Well, I ain’t much of a dancer neither, but ya wanna try?”

You stare up into his eyes, unsure. “I don’t know, Arthur, with this leg…”

“Ah, don’t worry, darlin’, I’ll help ya.”

He offers you his hand. You toss your cane a few feet away and take it. You reach up and place your hand on his sturdy shoulder as his hand hesitantly slides onto your waist. He starts leading you around in a slow circle. The mixture of herbs and alcohol has greatly dulled the pain from your legs as well as your regular inhibitions, although you still limp. He takes his hand from your waist, bending you down backwards and pulling you back up, releasing a giggle from you. 

“Well, Mr. Morgan,” you laugh. “I never knew you could be so graceful!”

He huffs. “Turns out I’m just full of surprises.”

He leads you in a circle again, breaking it up every once in a while with a dip or a flourish. Your heart flutters every time, you can’t help but breathe in his scent and gaze into his blue eyes. 

The pain in your leg is starting to flare, making you long for the bottle of whisky, when Arthur grabs your hands and twirls you around delicately. He spins you back towards him and pulls you in close, enveloping you in his strong arms. You wrap your arms around his waist, tucking your head under his chin. The sound of his heart pumps fast in your ears. You feel your own beating a thousand miles a minute. His arms wrap tighter around you as he sways you back and forth, no longer circling. Despite all the efforts you’ve made to not let him know how you feel, you revel in the feeling of his skin against yours, the feeling of his cheek resting on your head. You never want this moment to stop as you close your eyes. 

The music suddenly ends, you hear Dutch compliment Molly. Arthur’s arms relax, releasing you. You have to adjust your leg quickly so you don’t stumble, taking your weight back and feeling somehow colder. His eyes are hidden beneath his hat, but he’s wearing a smile. 

“Sorry if that was a little too close for comfort, Y/N,” he sighs. “I just… been wantin’ to do that for a while now.”

You giggle, unable to hide the blush crawling up your cheeks. “No, Arthur, that was… well, it was nice.”

You stretch up as much as you can and kiss him on the cheek, turning away to watch Karen lead Sean into John’s tent.

Two weeks have gone by since Sean’s party. The ambience in the camp has shifted; it’s become lighter and happier. At night, the sounds of laughter often echo from the campfire. Your mood has greatly improved as well, now that you’re no longer restricted to Arthur’s tent. You’ve been moved back into your own for nearly a week after Grimshaw declared your leg is healed enough to withstand lying on the ground. You still have to walk around with the cane sometimes, but you can go for a period of time without it. 

You’re standing at the washbin, scrubbing at some dishes when you hear a familiar snort. You turn and see Arthur riding in. He smiles widely at you when he sees you, and you return it without hesitating. Ever since the night Sean came back and the two of you danced together, your friendship has blossomed. Of course, it has also deepened your feelings for him, although you’re still reluctant to mention or even show it. You’ve become conflicted by his behavior though. When the two of you are hidden from the eyes of the others in camp, Arthur will usually grab your hand or put his hand on your shoulder or back. Sometimes he’ll even pull you into a quick hug. 

He approaches you, rubbing his hands together. 

“There she is!” he says happily. You return his greeting.

“How’s yer leg?” he asks, putting his hands on his gun belt. You turn your face back to the water, blushing. Nothing makes you want to wrap your arms around him more than when he stands like that. 

“‘S doin’ good!” you say, continuing to scrub. “I’ve hardly had to use my cane today.”

“Well, good, I’m glad. Say, ya wanna go into town?”

You look back at him. “God, I’d love to. So sick of seein’ this camp.”

“Let’s go then,” he says turning away and going back to his horse. You begin to follow, limping a bit, but then stopping as he hops onto the saddle. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know if I can ride a horse yet, Arthur, with my leg.”

“We’ll go slow, darlin’,” he says, reaching his hand towards you. “Just let me know if it gets to be too much.”

You grab his arm and he lifts you up behind him, not letting you go until you’re situated. Your thigh twinges a bit, but the pain is manageable. You nervously slither your arms around his abdomen. He turns Artemis down the trail, walking her slow. When he gets to the main trail, he turns to you.

“How ya doin’?”

“Good. You might be able to go faster, actually.”

He kicks Artemis into a trot; she picks up the pace, swishing her long, black tail. He keeps her at that pace all the way into town. 

You almost admit that you’ve missed seeing the muddy town and its simple folk, but then you realize that even after six weeks, nothing can really improve this dump named Valentine. He slows Artemis to a walk as the two of you pass the train station and livestock yard. You see a large, white tent to the left up ahead.

“What is that?” you ask, never really having paid attention to it before. 

“Think it’s one of them movin’ pictures I been hearin’ folk talk about,” he answers, pulling up to it. 

“I never seen one of them before,” you admit, taking one of your hands away from his waist. 

“Well, let’s change that,” you can hear by the tone of his voice he’s smiling. He stops Artemis outside the tent and swings his leg over her head, slipping off. He puts up his arms, helping you off. Your stumble a bit as your leg adjusts to the weight, but he doesn’t let go of you. Once you’re balanced, he offers you his arm and walks you up to a man standing behind a desk, offering tickets. He pays $2 for them and walks you inside. 

Inside, the tent has a projector pointed at the opposite wall, rows of seats filed under the projector’s beam. You pick two seats; there’s only a couple of other people in the tent. Just as the two of you sit down, the show starts as the electric lights dim. It consists of nothing more than some images with some type of moving element. A man narrates over the scenes, telling the tale about why the bear hibernates during winter. You’re fascinated; you’ve never seen an image move before. 

As you’re watching, Arthur lifts up his arm as he scratches the back of his neck. He then drapes it behind your head, resting his hand on your shoulder. You lean into him, feeling your cheeks grow hot. You’re glad the tent is dark so he can’t see. 

The show ends, the lanterns glowing again. Arthur removes his arm as the two of you stand. He smiles at you as he hides his eyes under his hat again. You take hold of his hand as you both walk out and back to Artemis. He lifts you back onto her then climbs up in front of you, carrying on to the middle of town. 

He hitches Artemis outside the saloon, helping you off. The two of you head inside and he buys you dinner, despite your comments that you can buy your own food. 

“Ya think ya might be up for a huntin’ trip soon?” he asks as you both eat. 

You pause, chewing. “I dunno, I hope so. Be nice to get out again for a few days. I just… don’t know if…”

“I know, yer worried about yer leg. But ya seem to be doin’ good. I bet ya can handle it. ‘Sides, ya deserve to get out. Been cooped up in Horseshoe too long.”

You smile at him. “Well, there’s that then. Only problem is I don’t have any weapons anymore. Those damn monsters took ‘em when they… after I got captured.”

“Well,” he says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Gun smith is right ‘cross the road. Bet we could get ya another bow, maybe some guns.”

“That’s a fine thought, Arthur,” you say, taking the last bite of your lamb. “‘Cept, I doubt I got enough money. And before ya say it, I don’t want ya spendin’ anymore money on me.”

He laughs softly. “A’right, fine.”

You nod your head, happy that’s settled. The two of you head out of the saloon. 

“Ya mind if I go get a bath? I haven’t had a proper one for far too long,” you say. He nods his head, saying he’ll go back into the saloon and order some drinks while you’re gone. You go and order a bath. Before you enter the water, you take off the bandage from around your thigh. Grimshaw showed you weeks ago how to change it, which must be done every couple of days. You go to a tall mirror in the corner of the room, turning around and twisting your neck so you can inspect the wound. It’s ugly, but at least the stitches are gone. You frown at the angry red line that marks where you were shot by the arrow. You tell yourself it could have been a lot nastier; at least the wound didn’t get infected. 

You sink down into the tub, sighing happily as you scrub the old sweat and dirt from your skin. You get up, dry yourself off, and redress your leg. You head outside, thanking the hotel clerk as you exit, and see Arthur standing next to Artemis, holding a Springfield rifle. You approach him, wondering what he’s up to, when he hands you the rifle. 

“What’s this?” you ask, taking hold of it. You realize it’s brand new. The metal’s carved with intricate, weaving patterns, and there’s an engraving of a wolf in the handle. 

“‘S for you,” he responds. 

“What? Arthur! I told ya not to buy me anything!” 

He guffaws. “”S too late now! ‘Sides, I wanted to. Also, got ya this.”

He hands you a bow and a quiver of arrows. You blush, sighing deeply. You feel frustrated yet grateful. “Why are you doin’ this, Arthur? I coulda gotten these myself.”

“I know. I just wanted to.” You sigh, defeated before leaning up and place a kiss on his cheek. You notice the red on his cheeks, but say nothing. 

He hops onto Artemis, offering to take your new weapons back to strap onto Artemis. You hand them to him, resigned and hop on behind him with his help. The two of you trot back to camp as the sun begins to descend. When Arthur hitches Artemis and dismounts, he speaks up.

“So, tomorrow sound good for huntin’?” He helps you off again, not letting go of your hand. 

Smiling, you answer. “Of course. One question, though. I… obviously don’t have a horse anymore. How are we going to work around that?”

“I’m shoar ya could borrow a horse from camp. Plenty a people here ain’t gonna be usin’ theirs for the next few days.”

You shrug your shoulders. 

You’re lying in your tent, the singing of birds and the cool air gently waking you from your sleep. You hear someone walking towards your tent. Arthur’s deep voice calls your name. You sit up and peak out of your tent. 

The sky above his head is still dark but the horizon is fading into a soft, light blue, rivaling the color of Arthur’s eyes. 

“Ya ready to go?” he asks.

“Now? This early?”

“‘Course,” he smiles. “We can get more time in if we leave now.”

You stand up, stretching and putting on your hat. You’re glad that you had approached Hosea the night before asking to take out one of the draft horses that usually pulls the wagons. He also offered you a spare saddle and bridle to take. You go groom a large dun Belgian Draft, strapping the saddle to her and fitting on the bridle. She stomps her foot, making you a bit nervous. You swallow, gather your courage and mount her, your leg only twinging a little. Arthur comes up, strapping on his satchel, smiling. 

“Got on yer own just fine, did ya?” 

You smile and nod, patting the mare’s neck. 

He hops onto Artemis and the two of you head down the trail at an easy trot. You’ve no idea where he’s leading you, but you follow him obediently, enjoying the sweeping views of New Hanover: the distant river, the wide canyon, the orange that is beginning to take over the sky. He leads you up into Valentine and passes the stables, trotting merrily down the faint trail which winds down the hill and towards the river. The two of you cross it, glancing at the sound of a man in a nightgown standing waist-deep in the river, screaming at some invisible being to get away. 

You both continue on until you reach an intersection in the trail, heading up the mountain. The temperature begins to drop slightly, and far up ahead on the mountain you see distant trees topped in snow. 

The trail levels out and you head down the left side, travelling along it until a pond comes into view. Arthur slows to a stop and you do as well, admiring the sight. The wide pond is beautiful, rippling calmly, its far banks flanked by deer and ducks. You spot the arching antlers of an elk in a nearby copse of small pines. On the other side of the pond, the land rises up into a tall mound, topped with a ram and multiple bighorn sheep, browsing among the trees. You look to the left, to the open grass sloping down the hills and towards the train tracks tucked into a gorge. 

“Arthur, this place is beautiful,” you say.

He turns back to see you. “Found it right before we left Colter. This the place we tried robbin’ that Cornwall train. This is Cattail Pond.”

You lead the dun mare to the water. She dips her head and drinks as you dismount, removing the bow and quiver. You adjust your gunbelt slightly, making sure the knife is still in place. You’re happy these things got saved, along with your sawed-off shotgun. 

Arthur pats Artemis, telling her to stay put. He approaches you, situating his own bow.

“Now, if ya need anythin’, ya just call me.”

You nod, the both of you wandering into separate directions to hunt.

By midafternoon, you approach the large mare, heaving an elk pelt onto her bag. She snorts as you strap it down, swishing her tail. You glance up the hill towards the main trail and you see silhouettes of horses, grazing. You pull out your binoculars and zoom in on them. You spot a pure black saddler, a palomino, and a dun Appaloosa stallion, his hindquarters heavily spotted. For some reason, you can’t take your eyes off him. You study him as he raises his head, snorts and then goes back to grazing. Arthur approaches you, a white ram pelt tucked under his arm. 

“What ya lookin’ at?”

You point ahead at the stallion. “That horse. He’s real pretty. I always had a soft spot for Appys.”

He pulls out his binoculars and looks with you. He lowers them and turns to you.

“Well, go get it then.”

“Huh?” “Go get it!” he says, gesturing to the horse. “Go get on his back and tame him. Bet ya won’t even have to try hard.”

You look at him doubtfully. “Arthur, even with a good leg, I don’t think I could do that. No way I’m coordinated enough. ‘Sides, I wouldn’t even know the first thing.”

“Ya even been bucked off before?”

“Oh yeah. Rain’s mom bucked me once. Flew off and landed like a sack of potatoes.”

He chuckles. “It really ain’t that hard sweetheart.” He goes on to explain how to break a mustang, to maintain your balance until the horse tires out. 

“C’mon, girl. How ‘bout I lasso him, ya get on his back. We’ll work together.”

You hesitantly agree. Arthur pulls out his long rope, already knotted. He gestures for you to follow him, hunching slightly. The two of you sneak up the hill slowly, walking as quietly as possible. When you’re close enough, you call out to the stallion, Arthur stopping behind you.

“Easy boy!” you call. “Easy.”

His head launches up as he snorts heavily. He stomps his feet, his ears darting in every direction. You walk towards him slowly, your arms slightly raised. 

“Stay calm, boy. I just wanna make friends. You’re real pretty.”

Surprisingly, the stallion doesn’t run but he continues to stomp, tail flicking. You get closer, almost within patting distance, when he rears up. You quickly take several steps back when Arthur’s lasso flies up and over his head, wrapping around his neck. 

“Now, Y/N!” he yells.

You dash over and launch yourself onto his back. The stallion begins bucking and plunging, roaring in anger. You grab hard onto his mane, twisting and turning your body to maintain balance. He rears again, nearly throwing you. You clutch to his neck as Arthur yells at you to hang on. He slams back into the ground, you feel yourself start to slide over his side when Arthur catches you, pushing you back onto him. 

“There,” he says, breathing hard. “Think ya wore him out.”

The stallion stomps his feet again, tossing his head. You straighten yourself up, patting his neck.

“There,” you pant and pat his neck. “We’re friends now.” You reach into your saddle, offering him a treat.

“That was real good, Y/N,” Arthur praises. He tells you to stay on his back as he leads the horse to the other two. For the next few hours, the two of you work together with the horse, getting him used to being touched. By the time the sun sets, you’ve managed to get the bridle and saddle from the Belgian onto him. You hitch him to the tree as Arthur sets up his tent, spreading out your bedrolls. You pat the horse fondly before turning and kneeling next to the fire. 

After cooking a few hunks of meat, the both of you decide to call it a night. Your thigh is sore and achy from the strains of taming the appaloosa. You limp over to the tent, sighing as you lie down. Arthur settles himself behind you. You twist your body so you’re lying on your back. You face him, your eyes already growing tired. 

“Night, Arthur,” you sigh, closing your eyes. You feel his hand takes yours as he bids you goodnight. 

It’s still dark when you wake, but you can tell by the songs of the birds that morning is near. Your leg hurts quite a bit, which is probably why you’re awake so early. You force yourself to get up, going to Arthur’s grill where the fire was, even though all that is left is a pile of smoldering coals. You reignite it with some nearby dried pine needles. You add some grounded herbs for the pain to a tin cup, adding some hot water from Arthur’s percolator to it. You drink it quickly, despite the awful taste. You add some coffee to the percolator, drinking that as well. 

Despite the early hour, you’re wide awake. You hoist yourself up, grunting a bit, and approach the appaloosa stallion still hitched to the tree. You feel a tightening in your gut when he grumbles a deep, happy snort at you, reaching for your outstretched hand with his muzzle. You offer him a treat, patting his neck. You admire the fine white hairs on the back half of his body, the smattering of brown spots. You suddenly feel inspired.

You turn away and take a seat by a large log near the water of the pond. You pull out the journal from your satchel and turn to a blank page. You start to sketch the horse, trying to match the delicate lines of his neck, his slender legs, the long tail. You can see in your head how Arthur would have drawn it since he’s shown you a number of his own drawings. You stop and see your work, feeling unimpressed and dissatisfied. You sigh, disappointed.

“How ya doin’ with that?” Arthur says, plopping himself next to you. 

You smile. “It’s crap.” You show him the sloppy lines. You can tell he’s trying not to laugh. 

“Let me help ya,” he says, putting an arm behind you. You flip to a new page and he takes your hand in his, guiding the pencil along the page. Every now and then, he’ll point to the horse, drawing your attention to certain details. He shows you techniques to bring out different textures and patterns. After only a few moments, the shape and details of the stallion begins to appear. 

The sun is well-risen now, illuminating his face, his scruffy beard turning gold. He’s so close you can see the scar of his chin once more, the specks of green in his blue eyes. 

“Thank you, Arthur,” you almost whisper. “None of this would be happening if it weren’t for you.” 

You can’t stand it anymore You don’t want to hide your feelings for him. So what if he doesn’t feel anything for you? All you want is to show the entire world how you feel about Arthur Morgan. You take your hand from his, reaching up and placing it on his cheek. You almost expect him to pull back, but he doesn’t. You glance briefly at his lips before you stretch up and place your own against them. You breathe in deeply, absorbing his scent as he stiffens to your touch. You pull away. Well, he knows what you think of him now.

You open your eyes; his face is unreadable. You let your hand slip from his face, feeling a sinking in your chest. You fool, you think. Of course he wouldn’t want this, your kiss. You distance yourself more from him, looking down.

“I… I’m sorry, Arthur,” you say. You snap your journal shut, sliding the pencil back into the leather strip quickly. “I didn’t mean to…”

As you begin to stand up, his hand suddenly reaches and gently touches your neck, pulling you to him. His lips crash into yours as his other arm wraps around your shoulders. You reach up and loop your arms around his neck, memorizing his lips with your tongue. His hand leaves your cheek and knots into your hair. 

You pull away from him, panting heavily. He places his forehead against yours. 

“Ya’ve no idea how long I been wantin’ to do that, darlin’,” he mutters deeply. The sound of his voice sends shivers up your spine.

“You don’t have to want anymore, Arthur Morgan,” you sigh. He leans in and kisses you again. You kiss him back hard, pressing yourself into him. His arms pull you into his broad chest. You kiss one another until you’re forced to pull back again by the need to breathe. He guides your head to settle onto his shoulder and you cuddle into him, your arms still wrapped around his neck. 

You both sit there, watching the sun climb higher into the sky. His hand traces patterns into your back as you brush your hands through his hair. 

After a while, he pats your back.

“Ya ready to go hunt again, sweetheart?” he places a kiss on your forehead.

“Mmm. Do we have to? It’s perfect here.”

He laughs softly, the sound reverberating through you. “I know, darlin’. I don’t want this moment to end either. But camp’s gotta eat.”

You sigh heavily. Arthur Morgan, the outlaw who would break his own back to make sure the people he cares about are taken care of. You reach up and place one more kiss to his lips before standing up. He follows your lead, grabbing his hat from the tent before wandering over to Artemis to remove his bow. You grab yours as well, scanning the environment for signs of animals. 

For the next few hours, the two of you go about, bringing down animals and butchering them. You aren’t as smooth with the bow as usual. You keep getting distracted by the memory of Arthur’s lips against yours. 

You stalk a whitetail buck near the train tracks. You hide in a clump of bushes and see him grazing. You notch an arrow and take aim for him. You let the arrow fly; it plunges into his side. The buck falls, but then stands up again, running off. You follow as quickly as you can, ignoring the pain in your leg. He falls again after a few yards, brought down by blood loss and shock. You approach him, trying to ignore his cries. You kneel down, pulling out your knife.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” you say, knowing how painful it is to be struck by an arrow. You plunge the knife into his heart. You skin the carcass and start heading back up the hill towards the pond and the horses. By the time you reach the top of the rise, you’re panting heavily; your thigh burns. You sit down to give yourself a break. Arthur calls to you from across the pond in the trees. You can’t understand what he’s saying, but you wave your hand to show you heard him. He calls again, and again you wave.

You start massaging your leg through your jeans, trying to soothe the pain. You hear splashing and look up. Arthur’s wading across the pond up to his calves, coming towards you. He calls to you again from the bottom of the hill.

“Ya a’right?” he yells.

“Yeah, leg’s just being a pain.” 

He climbs the hill, approaching you. He kneels next to you, looking hard at your leg. 

“I’m a’right,” you say. “Like I said, leg’s bein’ difficult.”

He looks up into your eyes. He sighs heavily. “Maybe we oughta head back. Ya ain’t much use huntin’ if ya can’t walk.”

“I can walk, just need a break, Arthur,” you say indignantly.

“I know, darlin’. Ya have to remember yer still healin’. Do this for me?”

You sigh, defeated. “Fine. Let’s just see if we can bring back something whole for camp.”

He nods, helping you stand up. He takes the pelt from you then grabs your hand as you both wander over to the horses. He throws the pelt over the stallion.

“Ya thought of a name for yer boah?”

You bite your lip. “Yeah, maybe.”

He looks at you, waiting for you to say. When you don’t, he speaks. “Well?”

“Rannoch,” you finally say. “His name is Rannoch.”

He raises his brows. “Rannoch, huh? Where’d ya get that?”

You shuffle your feet. “My grandma used to read me a story. ‘Bout a stag named Rannoch, born the night his dad was born. I wish I could remember the name of the book. I’d love to read it again. Was my favorite.”

“I like it,” he says, putting a finger under your chin, lifting your face. “Suits him.”

You smile, glancing over to Rannoch. He flicks his tail, eating from a bush, completely uncaring about his name. 

“Well, let’s do a bit more huntin’,” he says. You agree and the two of you head back out, away from one another. After several moments of stalking, you bring down a bighorn sheep. You bend down to pick it up, but as you start standing your leg gives out. 

“Shit!” you yell as your knee slams into the ground, the carcass slumping back down. You feel your wound quickly, determining that it’s fine. Turns out your leg just isn’t strong enough to carry the extra weight. Arthur comes dashing out of the trees, attracted by your yell.

“I’m fine,” you holler as you stand up, testing your leg. “Will you help me? I can’t carry this thing.”

Arthur approaches, smiling mischievously as he lifts up the sheep onto his shoulder with ease. You follow him back to the horses, where he straps the sheep onto Rannoch. 

“I’ll be back,” he says, walking back into the trees. You brush Rannoch while he’s gone. After several moments, he returns, hauling the body of a doe. He straps it to Artemis. You both saddle up the horses and mount up. Arthur puts a lasso around the Belgian Draft, pulling her along behind him as the two of you leave Cattail and head back to camp.

The sun has set when you both enter the trees to Horseshoe. Karen’s on guard duty, she calls to you.

“Nice horse!”

You thank her as the two of you go up the trail, approaching the hitching post. You dismount, then turn to Arthur. The two of you are standing between the horses, blocked from view of the camp.

“Arthur?” He turns. “Thanks for takin’ me out and for… everything else.”

He smiles, putting his hands on your shoulders. “Anythin’ for you, darlin’. Can I ask you a favor, though?”

“‘Course.”

“D’you mind if we keep this between us for now?” You pull away, surprised and even a little hurt. He must see your emotions on your face.

“It ain’t that I’m ashamed,” he scrambles, pulling you close. “I just… want to keep this quiet for now. Besides, we both know how the others will talk. And maybe I like the idea of havin’ ya to myself for now”

You chuckle, relaxing in his arms. “Yes, I do know. But promise me it won’t be long?”

He smiles, pulling you into a tight hug. “I promise.” He leans down to kiss you, shielded from the others by the horses and the darkness.