Welcome to my dusty and unloved little corner of Tumblr. Thank you for accidentally stumbling in here- i hope you stay a while or come back again soon.
I love Pedro and Star Wars, so obviously, I'm infatuated with the man in a can.
My motto in life is: treat others with the same respect that you would expect in return.
No take backs. Let's be good to each other.
In Progress...
Crickets....
Completed Multi-Chapter stories
Din Djarin multi chapter story - Mistakes Were Made also on AO3.
Jack Daniels multi chapter story – Like A Fish Out Of Water (only on AO3).
Frankie Morales multi chapter story- It Smolders, Then It Burns also on AO3.
Frontier Hearts multi chapter Frankie Morales story also on AO3.
All graphics courtesy of @/saradika-graphics
Pedro's 50th Birthday anthogy
For Pedro's 50th Birthday - eight birthdays celebrated in different ways by different characters.
Read them here.
Din Djarin
Never Have I Ever... (gn!reader)
The Long Way Round (f!reader)
The Lie I Wear Well (gn!reader)
Lucky You (gn!reader)
The Truth, The Whole Truth,And Nothing But The Truth (gn!reader)
Within Reach (gn!reader)
By His Side
Francisco Morales
Small Steps (f!reader)
My Morning Fix (gn!reader)
Same Time, Same Place (f!reader)
Remember To Drink Water (f!reader)
Joel Miller
Trick Or Treat? (f!reader)
Green Plaid Shirt (gn!reader)
Remember Me (f!reader)
You're A Real Headache, Joel Miller (gn!reader)
Where The Music Waited (f!reader)
Marcus Moreno
Like Oil And Water (gn!reader)
A Rose By Any Other Name (ofc)
Something Tender In The Wreckage (gn!reader)
Marcus Acacius
The Healer And The General (ofc)
Maxwell Lord
Under The Cover Of Darkness (f!reader)
Pero Tovar
Secret Santa (f!reader)
The Diner
If you are hungry, why not visit my diner?
The menu has just been expanded to include some new items.
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Libby Green leaves the damp gray skies of England in early 1849 for the golden promise of California. Not to pan for gold, but for something far more simple — for to teach.
The trail West is more dangerous than she could ever have imagined. Fraught with danger and the unknown.
But what she finds is far more deadly than disease, storms, or hunger, when she is kidnapped by a band of outlaws — a group of men who will change her fate forever. Among them is Catfish: a quiet man, with blood on his hands and something she can’t quite name in his eyes.
Warnings: mentions of sickness and death, love on the Frontier Chapter warnings will be posted (but I really hate spoiling the plot for you). Tough decisions.
Summary: Libby’s journey comes to its conclusion in Willow Creek.
You get the bonus of this chapter being a week ahead of schedule, due to other commitments. If you've got this far, thank you for your reblogs, replies and comments. Please enjoy the denouement of Libby's adventure.
This has lived in my WIPs for over two years and it's always bittersweet when another story ends.
Dividers by @/saradika-graphics
Series Masterlist | Masterlist
Saturday morning arrived too quickly, and Libby was up long before sunrise. Edward had cried in his sleep, waking her with his small hands tugging at her for an early morning feed, and before she knew it, she had already cleaned the house, prepared breakfast, and seen to the needs of her son. Time was simply eaten up by the burden of motherhood and responsibility. Meanwhile, the anticipation of the day ahead gnawed away at her throughout every moment.
She stood in front of her small armoire, staring at her meager collection of clothes. The choices were limited, and nothing seemed quite right for the occasion. She needed to present herself well, because after all, this was more than just a visit. This was a potential new chapter for her and Edward.
After a lot of debate and indecision, Libby settled on her favorite dress. It was one she wore for church, the one that had traveled with her all the way from England. The fabric was simple but elegant, and it made her feel confident, like a woman with responsibility. It was a dress that reminded that she wasn’t just a widow, a teacher, or a single mother. She was also a woman who deserved a future, one she would create for herself and her son.
As she dressed, she couldn’t help but think of what was to come. Just like when she'd replied to that advert in the Illustrated London Standard, the future was uncertain, but the choice was hers to make. She was taking control of her own future, for better or worse. And for Edward's sake, she would make sure it was for the better.
Buttoning up her dress and taking one last, long look in the full-length mirror, Libby felt a sense of dread settle deep in her chest. Betrayal. That now-familiar feeling pressed down on her, and for a moment, she wondered if she was making the right choice. Was it truly time to move on, to leave behind what little comfort she had built in Longhorn? To admit that she had abandoned hope of ever seeing Frankie again? She paused, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the pale green satin folds of her dress.
She let out a quiet sigh and sat down on the edge of the bed, gathering her thoughts. "You’re not making the decision today, Libby," she told herself firmly, her voice barely above a whisper. "You’re only seeing the town, getting a feel for it. Nothing more." She straightened her shoulders, setting her mind on the fact that she was not committing to anything yet. She was simply assessing the situation. This was about Edward. This was about giving him a better future. One where she could offer him more than a life of struggle.
The idea of her son’s future bore down on her, and she reminded herself, it wasn't just about her anymore. It was about providing for Edward, securing stability for him. For them.
With a deep breath, she stood up and finished dressing. She pulled her chestnut hair back into its usual neat schoolteacher bun. As she worked, she was reminded of the time that Frankie watched her wind up her hair and plait it. The way he'd run his own fingers across her scalp in bed. She shivered at the memory, before chastising herself.
When she was finished, she gazed at her reflection for a moment longer, the woman in the mirror staring back at her with a mixture of uncertainty and determination.
Lastly, she grabbed her bonnet from the dresser, tying it securely around her head.
After finishing, she joined Edward in the kitchen. The little boy had been lying quietly on a blanket by the hearth, his small fingers tracing patterns in the rug, unaware of the quiet turmoil running through his mother’s head. As she gathered her things, Edward’s innocent gaze met hers, his eyes full of trust and love. The sight of him made her heart ache. He had no idea how much his future weighed on her shoulders.
She scooped him up from the rug, his small, solid body was comforting in her arms. With one last glance around the house, she grabbed her school bag and the extra bag she had for Edward, then they went outside to wait.
It felt like the longest wait of her life. Longer than the endless journey across the sea. Longer than the dusty, bumpy wagon train across the country. The anticipation twisted in her stomach, making her restless.
The quietness of the morning made every minute drag on forever.
And then, finally, she heard the rumble of wheels and the unmistakable clip-clop of horses’ hooves. The sound made a wave of nervous energy surge through her. She lifted Edward, who cooed softly, his small hands reaching for the fresh air as she hurried toward the road. The sun shone brightly, as they left the security of the cottage grounds. Perhaps it was an omen? A sign of the day ahead. Maybe good fortune beckoned?
Libby moved quickly, her steps purposeful but steady. She grabbed her bags and stepped out to the side of the road. She had anticipated this moment, had prepared herself mentally for the possibility of being questioned about her role as a teacher. It wasn’t just about being a widow or a single mother anymore; she had worked hard to prove herself as a capable, competent teacher. She would not let anyone undermine her efforts, not now. She needed them to see her for what she truly was. Someone with a quiet strength, someone who had moved on, and was now forging a new future for herself and her son.
She stood tall, ready to prove herself to the stranger who wanted to meet her. She knew that this was the moment that could change everything. This was the moment that could define her and Edward’s future.
As the carriage approached, she steeled herself and refused to falter. She adjusted her grip on Edward, who was now wide-eyed and curious about the activity around them. She couldn’t let herself hesitate, couldn’t let her doubts show. Not today.
Today, she was going to take control of her own future.
“Mornin’ ma'am,” said the carriage driver, doffing his hat at her. He was a gruff-looking, middle-aged man. “My name's David.”
“Good morning, David,” she replied politely, offering a small smile. “Are you here to take me to Willow Creek?”
He nodded and climbed down from his driver's seat to assist her. Glancing at the small child perched on her hip, he scratched his chin and added, “The Mayor sent me. He didn’t say nothin’ about a young ‘un though.”
He took the bags from her and stowed them safely in the back of the carriage before offering his arm to help Libby into the vehicle, Edward still resting in her arms. Once they were both settled in the back, he climbed back up to his seat. With a few clicks of his tongue, the carriage began its journey.
Libby sat quietly, watching. Occasionally a carriage would trundle past in the opposite direction, or they would pass people who were on foot. With Edward on her knee, she pointed out various animals in the nearby fields to him. She smiled as the little boy’s bright eyes followed her finger. They waved at groups of travelers passing by, reminding Libby of her journey from Sacramento to Longhorn. It had all seemed so very different back then. Back then she had been a single traveler with just a singular determination to do her job, and now, she was riding with a baby on her lap.
The journey would take a couple of hours, and to pass the time, she made some small talk with David. She figured it would be a good opportunity to learn more about the man who had persistently offered her the job.
“Have you worked for the Mayor long?” she asked casually, glancing up at him.
David considered her question for a moment. “Since he took office, ma'am,” he replied, his voice steady and unhurried as he kept his eyes focused on the road ahead.
“And how do you find him to work for?” Libby pressed. She wanted to understand if he was as good and kind as the letters had made him seem.
“He’s very good, ma’am,” David answered, his gaze still fixed on the path. “He’s fair an’ honest. He even gave me double-pay to come an’ collect you today. ‘E said it were only right, seeing as I was givin’ up me day off.”
Libby listened thoughtfully to his answer. That sounded promising. Maybe this man was indeed as good as he seemed, she thought, as she watched the road wind ahead. She didn’t want to think about it too long as the thought made her nerves rise again.
“Won't be long now,” added David reassuringly. “An’ you can see the place for yourself.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “The Mayor an’ ‘is Deputy are puttin’ lots of dough into the town. Makin’ it look pretty as a picture. Word is that they found gold in them ‘ills.”
Libby listened intently as David waffled on and it wasn't long until the town slowly came into view.
As the carriage rolled past the outskirts, and passed a sign that read, “Welcome to Willow Creek”, Libby’s heart rate picked up. Looking around her, she noticed that, as David had suggested, the town seemed well-kept and busy, with people walking about, chatting, and going about their business. Several new buildings were under construction, suggesting the town was thriving and expanding. It was a far cry from the quiet, sleepy town she had just come from.
David steered the carriage toward a freshly-painted building and brought it to a stop. “’Ere you go, ma’am,” he said, looking back over his shoulder. “This ‘ere's the boss’s office. I’ll help wiv yer things.”
Libby smiled and nodded, trying to calm her nerves. “Thank you,” she said, before a thought struck her. “Your accent sounds familiar. Are you from London?”
David beamed at her, a friendly grin spreading across his face. “I'm a Cockney, ma’am. Born within earshot of them Bow Bells.”
Libby chuckled softly, the exchange putting her a little more at ease. “And have you been here long?”
“Long enough to start losin’ me accent, I guess,” David said with a laugh, helping her and Edward out of the carriage. “You’ve still got yours, but you’re from a nicer part of London, I can tell.”
“I am,” she admitted. “I grew up near Park Lane.”
“Thought as much,” he said with a small bow as her feet hit the ground.
Smoothing out the creases out of her dress skirts, Libby straightened up, glancing around the busy street before she entered the building. She wanted to look presentable for her meeting. Edward wriggled in her arms, the lull of the carriage ride had disturbed his nap momentarily, and Libby steadied him, gathering her composure.
With a nervous breath, she followed David into the Mayor’s office, her thoughts churning.
It gave her a little comfort to hear a familiar accent, especially one that spoke highly of her potential employer.
But the sudden thought of her potential employer sent a jolt of butterflies through her ribcage.
This meeting could change everything for her and Edward, but for now, all she could do was walk into it with the same quiet determination that had gotten her this far.
“Well, enjoy yer meetin, wiv the boss. I'll bid you an’ yer little ‘un a good day.”
“Thank you,” she said honestly. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“Likewise.”
“Will you be my driver when I go back later?”
David scratched his head, looking confused for a moment. “Now, I don't reckon I will. No one’s asked me to drive you ’ome.”
“That’s a pity,” she said. “I enjoyed hearing your accent. It reminded me of England.”
David bowed and doffed his hat, a friendly grin on his face. “Farewell, ma’am. I ‘ope you an’ your little ‘un find what you're lookin’ for.”
“You are too kind,” Libby replied with a sincere smile. She watched him walk away before turning toward the steps that would lead her inside the Mayor's office. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and climbed the stairs, trying to calm the persistent fluttering in her chest.
The door to the office was unlocked when she tried the handle, and she stepped inside. The space before her was beautiful. Everything was freshly painted and resplendent. It was clear that the whole building had been recently constructed, and it looked as though every inch had been carefully planned. She walked towards the counter at the back of the room, her eyes scanning every detail, absorbing the calm elegance of the place.
As she admired the surroundings, a small, elderly man appeared, peering up at her over the top of his wire-rimmed spectacles.
“May I be of assistance?” he asked, his with an inquisitive tone.
“I—I’m here to meet the Mayor,” she stammered, trying to steady her nerves. “He’s expecting me.”
“Mrs. Green? Welcome,” he replied, stepping out from behind the desk. “And may I ask who this is?” He gestured gently towards Edward, who was peacefully sleeping in her arms again.
“My son, Edward.”
“Very good,” he said with a polite nod, gesturing for her to follow him. He led her through a door at the back of the room, beckoning her to come along. Libby dutifully followed, juggling her son and the bags in her arms.
He led her into a stunning office, its walls paneled with rich oak. A large, heavy, ornate desk sat at the center of the room, surrounded by plush velvet drapes that hung elegantly from the windows. A large rug covered the floor, softening the space and adding warmth. The Mayor must have indeed struck gold in the mines, Libby thought, taking in the luxurious surroundings. This place was beautiful and so much grander than anything she had imagined.
The elderly man gestured toward a soft, velveteen armchair facing the desk. “Please, have a seat,” he said kindly. Libby nodded her thanks and dropped her bags before sitting down and placing Edward on her lap.
The elderly man bowed and exited the room with a polite, “The Mayor will be with you shortly,” leaving Libby alone in the office. She glanced down at her son, who was snoozing peacefully, leaving a small trail of drool on her shoulder. She sighed inwardly. It was too late to worry about it now. There was little to do but wait.
The sound of footsteps approaching the door broke the silence, and Libby quickly straightened herself. She adjusted her posture, put on her best smile, and stood up to greet the Mayor as he walked through the door.
She took a deep breath, her heart racing. This was it. The meeting that could change everything for her and Edward.
She put on her best smile and stood up to greet the Mayor as he walked through the door.
She stared at the Mayor for a long, disbelieving moment. Her mind struggled to reconcile the man before her with someone she had known in another time. This man was clean-shaven, smart, well-heeled.
But it had to be. There was no mistaking him.
“Good afternoon,” the man said, a genial twinkle lighting his dark eyes. “My name is Santiago Garcia.” He extended a tanned, steady hand toward her.
The voice. That voice.
It was too familiar.
Libby’s heart skipped a beat as her mind frantically pieced everything together.
“P-p-Pope,” she stammered, her words falling over each other as she tried to untangle the mess of emotion choking her. “You look like Pope. A friend of …”
He smiled at her gently, sadness woven into the creases around his eyes. “That feels like it was a lifetime ago. Please, sit down. You look as if you’re about to faint. Let me call for a glass of water.”
The shock was too much. Libby slumped back into her chair, clutching Edward tighter to her chest as her head spun. Thousands of questions whirled inside her mind, all fighting to be spoken at once.
“What? How? What happened to Francisco? Is he—?”
“Slow down, dear,” Santiago said quietly. “I fear you might pass out.” His gaze drifted to Edward, who stirred against her shoulder, sensing his mother's agitation. “It seems you have stories of your own to tell.”
Footsteps echoed down the hallway, approaching swiftly.
“That’ll be my Deputy Mayor with your water,” Santiago said easily, standing up. “This is where I take my leave — for now.” He paused with his hand on the door. “But the job offer still stands. I want you to know that. No matter what happens next.”
With that, he slipped out, just as the other door swung open.
Libby might have smiled at the absurd timing, if she hadn't been so utterly shattered by what she saw next.
“Francisco!”
The word left her throat, before she realized what was happening.
She thought, for one mad moment, that she was hallucinating. That her longing had conjured him out of thin air.
Because there he was, standing in the doorway — alive.
Francisco Morales.
He looked almost the same as when she had last seen him ride away fifteen months ago, but different, too. His unruly brown curls were slicked back neatly with grease, his facial hair clean—save the bristly mustache. His clothes were fine and new, his shoes polished and shiny. Only the depth of his brown eyes remained exactly the same.
“Libby,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. His hand shook so badly that water sloshed over the rim of the glass and soaked his sleeve. “My darling, Libby.”
A thousand emotions crashed through her as she stared at him, unmoving, as though the air had been sucked from the room.
Relief.
Shock.
Love.
It settled on anger.
“How dare you,” she hissed, struggling to keep her voice low so as not to wake their son. “How can you stand there like—like—like that—?”
“Hermosa,” he pleaded, his face crumpling, “please, calm down. I need to explain everything.” His eyes dropped to Edward cradled in her arms, his expression twisting with anguish.
“And you—you remarried?”
“No, Francisco,” she snapped, her voice trembling with rage and heartbreak. “I'm still on my own. There's been no one since you. I've told so many lies about him, about you, and about me over the last sixteen months. Lies to protect all of us.”
Her anger cracked under the weight of her emotions, dissolving into sobs of anguish and frustration.
“So many lies,” she cried, “that sometimes I feel that I don't even know what the truth is anymore.”
Her loud, angry sobs made Frankie quickly put the glass of water down on the desk. In a moment, he crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her and the child between them, holding them both tightly as he could.
“When you said you lied to protect me and him—?” he asked hoarsely.
Libby buried her face against his shoulder, her words muffled by her tears.
“He’s almost seven months old,” she sobbed. “It takes nine months to have a baby. He was conceived at the guesthouse in Dry Creek. We made a baby, Frankie.”
Her heaving sobs startled Edward awake. The child blinked up at the unfamiliar room, and at the new face staring down at him. A face with the same eyes that were gazing down at him now, filled with wonder and sorrow.
“Hey, little man,” Frankie whispered tenderly. He lifted Edward into his arms with a gentleness that made Libby's heart twist painfully. “I'm so sorry. I didn’t know about you. If I had known, I would have come running.”
Libby wiped at her tear-streaked cheeks, sniffling as she watched Frankie cradle their son. His large hands were so careful with the tiny bundle. Her deep-seated fury died away, instead replaced by a deep ache for the time that father and son had lost and everything they might still have.
“When I found out I was pregnant, I told everyone that my husband had died on the wagon trail,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “No one questioned it. When I registered Edward’s birth, I had to keep up the lie. I was terrified someone would figure out the truth.”
She looked up at him through wet lashes, her voice still quiet and fragile.
“His last name on the birth certificate is my dead husband's. But his full name is Edward Francisco Green.”
“I told them his Spanish middle name came from a good, kind man who helped me survive a difficult time.”
Francisco’s eyes shone with emotion as he cradled his son closer, his fingers brushing along the child's rosy cheek.
Libby drew a shaky breath, gathering her strength together again.
“I heard that some of the Triple Frontier Gang were killed during the army’s gold reserve attack. After that, I gave up hope of ever seeing you again. I thought you were a fugitive. Or dead.”
“Querida,” he said softly, holding his child and gazing at her with a depth of sorrow and longing that almost undid her on the spot, “let me tell you what happened.”
He gestured to some wing-backed chairs nearby. Libby took a seat in one, tucking her skirts underneath her with care. Frankie sat opposite, still cradling their son in his arms, reluctant to let go.
Libby leaned forward, straining to listen as Frankie began to speak. She wanted to know every detail.
“You knew we were planning to hit back at the army,” he began. Libby nodded in acknowledgment, she had suspected as much when Santiago had regaled her with their story—the beginning of the end.
“Our plan was that we would hit the federal gold reserves being transported back East. It was our retribution for the way the Army treated us,” he said, his voice edged with disdain. “We watched from the hills. Observed and planned as they escorted some of the gold across the trails, like any good soldier would. And then we struck. Efficient. Fast.”
“The mission would’ve gone perfectly… if not for Redfly,” he said, his voice low.
It was weighted with grief and regret.
Edward gave a little yawn and nestled closer into his father's chest as Frankie continued.
“What did he do?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
“He got greedy,” he said bitterly. “We had secured as much gold as we could carry between us. We had gone undetected. Everything was going according to plan. We were going to ride out of there rich men. Finally getting our own back on the army that had left us with nothing.”
He shook his head, the memories clearly still painful.
“But Tom, Redfly, wanted more. He kept grabbing gold, even though we didn’t have the means to carry it all. We tried to persuade him to leave, but...” He paused, wincing at the memory. “While we were arguing, we were spotted. Someone sounded the alarm.”
He fell silent for a moment, his jaw tight as he replayed the scenes in his head.
“Then all hell broke loose,” he said heavily. Gently, he ran the tip of his index finger down the child's tiny nose. It was as though the action anchored him to the present, reminding him of the good things in life.
Edward sighed in his sleep and made soft, suckling noises. Frankie chuckled under his breath, the tender sound breaking the quietness in the room, if only for a moment. It seemed almost as though he didn’t want to revisit the horrors of that day.
“Gunshots were fired. We managed to crawl away under the cover of chaos, make it to our horses, and escape,” he continued, voice low. “But the army was hot on our heels. We led them a merry chase through the terrain, through places we knew better than they ever could, and for a while, we thought we’d lost them.
But a small group of scouts kept tracking us. And then...” He looked down at Edward, drawing strength from the sleeping child in his arms.
Despite her own complicated feelings about Redfly. The man had been brusque, unpleasant, and at one point had even suggested she should be killed, but she knew he had been Frankie's brother in arms. His loss still hurt Frankie, no matter how complicated her feelings were.
Libby took a deep breath. The earlier swell of emotions had passed, leaving her calmer, but still raw.
“I have to ask,” she said softly, “how did you and Pope, Santiago, end up here?”
Frankie looked up at her, something warmer returning to his eyes.
“After Redfly was killed, me, Pope, Ironhead, and Bugs laid low in the hills for a while. We dropped the gold into a ravine. Somewhere we knew it would stay hidden. We couldn't risk carrying it. Not with patrols scouring the whole territory for us. We figured the only way to survive was to disappear.”
“So we started rumors. Ones that said the whole gang had been killed in the raid. We knew the army wouldn’t argue with it. It made them look good if the story got out that they'd wiped out the infamous Triple Frontier Gang.”
He paused again, looking down at Edward, who stirred and stretched, then burrowed deeper into the safety of his father's arms.
“I can’t believe how perfect he is,” Frankie murmured. His voice was filled with something akin to awe.
Libby smiled softly, leaning forward to brush a loose curl on her son's forehead.
“He’s not so perfect when he wakes me up at two in the morning and fills his napkins,” she said with a small chuckle.
Frankie laughed quietly, a rich, warm sound that made Libby’s heart twist painfully in her chest.
“I wouldn't mind that,” he said, curling his little finger through his son's loosely bound fist.
“But you were telling me your story,” she prompted, her voice kind and steady, coaxing him to continue.
“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Where was I?”
He thought for a few moments.
“We laid low and used a little of the gold to survive. After a while, we went back to the ravine to retrieve the rest of it.”
“We disappeared into Sacramento, bought new clothes, and pretended we’d made our fortune in the mines. After that...” He glanced toward the door Santiago had exited through. “The rest was Pope’s, Santiago Garcia’s, plan.”
Libby listened intently, her heart aching with the weight of everything she was hearing.
“Pope thought we should settle somewhere near Longhorn,” Frankie continued. “He knew I’d never forgotten my promise to you—that I would find you at your little schoolhouse someday.
So we quietly bought our way into the community here, started building new houses, opening shops... and constructing a new schoolhouse.”
He smiled at the thought.
“Then Santiago became Mayor. And that’s when he wrote to you.”
Libby’s breath caught.
“I read that first letter,” she said quietly, her voice heavy with regret. “And I threw it on the fire. I thought... I was unworthy of the job. And I was scared to leave Longhorn, scared that if I did, I might miss the chance that you'd somehow come looking for me there.”
As she finished speaking, Edward stirred and woke fully in his father’s arms, yawning widely and showing his tiny pink gums.
For a few precious seconds, father and son simply stared at each other.
“He has my brown eyes,” Frankie whispered, wonder and pride threading through his voice.
“Yes,” Libby said, her voice catching slightly. “He does.”
She coughed lightly to cover the sudden swell of emotion. “He’s got your curls under that bonnet, too.”
A soft, aching smile crossed Frankie’s face.
“I wish I’d been there to see him born,” he said wistfully. “I’d have mopped your brow, held your hand...”
“I probably would have throttled you,” Libby said with a thin laugh. She turned away to blink back her tears. “It may have been for the best.”
He chuckled gently, rocking Edward back and forth in his arms.
“I never wanted to leave you,” he said quietly. “When we rode out of town that day, I stayed in the hills, watching.
I needed to see you make it back to your wagon train safely.”
“Redfly wasn’t happy with me. Thought I was risking everything, but I couldn’t leave. Not until I knew you were safe.”
Libby pushed herself out of her chair, her legs trembling. She needed to move, needed to convince herself that the man standing before her, holding their child, was real and not some cruel figment of hope and memory.
“And when I didn’t reply to that first letter?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I was beyond disappointed,” he admitted, his gaze steady on hers. “But we put our heads together and came up with an even better idea.”
“We?”
“Me, Santi, Will, and Ben,” he said. “I’d like you to meet them properly, now that we’re not on the run anymore.”
He smiled at her. It was a real, warm smile that melted away the last icy shards of doubt inside her.
“You should really come see the new schoolhouse,” he said. “We’d love your input. We want to make it the best school these children could ever dream of.”
Libby looked at him in amazement.
"Are you... are you still offering me a job? Here?"
"Absolutely," he said, and held out his free hand for her to take.
Libby took it without hesitation, her heart soaring.
"New town. New job. And if you'll have me... a new husband?"
He looked at her, hope shining in his warm brown eyes.
Libby felt the last of her anger melt away.
"How could I turn any of that down?" she said softly, a radiant smile spreading across her face. "A new start for all of us — it's very fitting."
She leaned up and placed a soft kiss on his stubbled cheek.
Frankie let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh and a sob rolled into one. He tightened his hand around hers, careful not to jostle Edward too much, and pressed his forehead lightly against hers.
"Welcome home, Libby," he whispered.
"Welcome home."
Outside, through the open window, the breeze carried the scent of fresh paint, new wood, and endless possibility.
The future was waiting, and this time, they would face it together.
Two Years Later
“Just a moment, children,” Libby said with a smile, pausing in her writing on the blackboard as her eyes flicked up to the schoolhouse door.
There, in the doorway, stood her husband, Francisco Morales, a small baby strapped to his front, ocooned, safe, and asleep in her papoose. Swinging from his right arm was their son, Eduardo, Frankie's double, even at almost three years old.
After their emotional reunion and swift marriage, Santiago, as Willow Creek’s Mayor, had set the wheels in motion to change Edward’s birth certificate to reflect his true heritage, listing Frankie as his father, changing his official name, and even altering the marriage certificate to ensure the dates aligned perfectly.
Libby had occasionally wondered whether, if future generations of their family picked up the old records, they might sense the tampering and notice the handiwork where the truth had been changed. She imagined a curious great-great-grandchild, frowning at the too-neat dates or the sudden appearance of Frankie’s name in places it hadn’t been before.
“Say good morning to the Deputy Mayor.”
“Good morning, Mr. Deputy Mayor,” chorused the children from their desks, eyes darting between the two adults.
“What can I help you with, Mr. Morales?” she asked.
“Isabella will need a feed soon,” he said, nodding down at the small bundle.
“Of course,” she replied with a smile. “The morning got away from me.”
She stepped toward the doorway, her arms already reaching out to take the baby, her expression softening as she caught sight of Isabella’s tiny, sleeping face.
“Would you mind watching the class for me for a few minutes while I slip into the back room? There are some mathematical questions on the blackboard.”
Frankie glanced at the chalk equations written neatly across the black surface.
“As long as no one asks me anything difficult, I reckon I can manage,” he said, beginning to lift the small baby from the warmth of her pouch. She grizzled and gurned in her sleep as he handed her over to her mother.
“There, there, little one,” she soothed, as the baby nestled into her mother’s arms. The small, bonneted head turned instinctively, drawn by the faint scent of her mother’s milk.
She looked down at their young son, who was frowning intently at the blackboard.
“When will I be able to start school, Mama?” he whined.
“You’re one day closer than you were the last time you asked,” Libby laughed, shaking her head at her son’s eagerness.
“I promise that when I get home later, we’ll practise our letters before bedtime.”
Her gentle promise seemed to appease him. He nodded.
Before departing, Libby gave her husband’s hand a gentle squeeze. An unspoken gesture of love and affirmation.
With a rustle of skirts and a last glance toward the children, she slipped into the back room, the baby cradled close against her chest.
In her absence, Frankie stood at the front of the room, hands on his hips, surveying the young faces.
“Well then,” he said with a large smile, “who here is brave enough to solve the first problem?”
A few small hands shot into the air. Eduardo climbed into the nearest chair, too small for his feet to touch the floor, his eyes wide with pride as he looked up at his father.
In the back room, Libby sat in quiet contentment, the baby at her bosom, her breathing slow and steady as she listened to her husband’s voice through the thin wall.
She smiled to herself. She never quite believed that they could have made this life together.
But here they were.
She never could have written this story for herself. Her journey to the west. A new beginning in so many ways.
Libby Green leaves the damp gray skies of England in early 1849 for the golden promise of California. Not to pan for gold, but for something far more simple — for to teach.
The trail West is more dangerous than she could ever have imagined. Fraught with danger and the unknown.
But what she finds is far more deadly than disease, storms, or hunger, when she is kidnapped by a band of outlaws — a group of men who will change her fate forever. Among them is Catfish: a quiet man, with blood on his hands and something she can’t quite name in his eyes.
Warnings: mentions of sickness and death, love on the Frontier Chapter warnings will be posted (but I really hate spoiling the plot for you). Tough decisions.
Summary: Libby’s journey comes to its conclusion in Willow Creek.
You get the bonus of this chapter being a week ahead of schedule, due to other commitments. If you've got this far, thank you for your reblogs, replies and comments. Please enjoy the denouement of Libby's adventure.
This has lived in my WIPs for over two years and it's always bittersweet when another story ends.
Dividers by @/saradika-graphics
Series Masterlist | Masterlist
Saturday morning arrived too quickly, and Libby was up long before sunrise. Edward had cried in his sleep, waking her with his small hands tugging at her for an early morning feed, and before she knew it, she had already cleaned the house, prepared breakfast, and seen to the needs of her son. Time was simply eaten up by the burden of motherhood and responsibility. Meanwhile, the anticipation of the day ahead gnawed away at her throughout every moment.
She stood in front of her small armoire, staring at her meager collection of clothes. The choices were limited, and nothing seemed quite right for the occasion. She needed to present herself well, because after all, this was more than just a visit. This was a potential new chapter for her and Edward.
After a lot of debate and indecision, Libby settled on her favorite dress. It was one she wore for church, the one that had traveled with her all the way from England. The fabric was simple but elegant, and it made her feel confident, like a woman with responsibility. It was a dress that reminded that she wasn’t just a widow, a teacher, or a single mother. She was also a woman who deserved a future, one she would create for herself and her son.
As she dressed, she couldn’t help but think of what was to come. Just like when she'd replied to that advert in the Illustrated London Standard, the future was uncertain, but the choice was hers to make. She was taking control of her own future, for better or worse. And for Edward's sake, she would make sure it was for the better.
Buttoning up her dress and taking one last, long look in the full-length mirror, Libby felt a sense of dread settle deep in her chest. Betrayal. That now-familiar feeling pressed down on her, and for a moment, she wondered if she was making the right choice. Was it truly time to move on, to leave behind what little comfort she had built in Longhorn? To admit that she had abandoned hope of ever seeing Frankie again? She paused, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the pale green satin folds of her dress.
She let out a quiet sigh and sat down on the edge of the bed, gathering her thoughts. "You’re not making the decision today, Libby," she told herself firmly, her voice barely above a whisper. "You’re only seeing the town, getting a feel for it. Nothing more." She straightened her shoulders, setting her mind on the fact that she was not committing to anything yet. She was simply assessing the situation. This was about Edward. This was about giving him a better future. One where she could offer him more than a life of struggle.
The idea of her son’s future bore down on her, and she reminded herself, it wasn't just about her anymore. It was about providing for Edward, securing stability for him. For them.
With a deep breath, she stood up and finished dressing. She pulled her chestnut hair back into its usual neat schoolteacher bun. As she worked, she was reminded of the time that Frankie watched her wind up her hair and plait it. The way he'd run his own fingers across her scalp in bed. She shivered at the memory, before chastising herself.
When she was finished, she gazed at her reflection for a moment longer, the woman in the mirror staring back at her with a mixture of uncertainty and determination.
Lastly, she grabbed her bonnet from the dresser, tying it securely around her head.
After finishing, she joined Edward in the kitchen. The little boy had been lying quietly on a blanket by the hearth, his small fingers tracing patterns in the rug, unaware of the quiet turmoil running through his mother’s head. As she gathered her things, Edward’s innocent gaze met hers, his eyes full of trust and love. The sight of him made her heart ache. He had no idea how much his future weighed on her shoulders.
She scooped him up from the rug, his small, solid body was comforting in her arms. With one last glance around the house, she grabbed her school bag and the extra bag she had for Edward, then they went outside to wait.
It felt like the longest wait of her life. Longer than the endless journey across the sea. Longer than the dusty, bumpy wagon train across the country. The anticipation twisted in her stomach, making her restless.
The quietness of the morning made every minute drag on forever.
And then, finally, she heard the rumble of wheels and the unmistakable clip-clop of horses’ hooves. The sound made a wave of nervous energy surge through her. She lifted Edward, who cooed softly, his small hands reaching for the fresh air as she hurried toward the road. The sun shone brightly, as they left the security of the cottage grounds. Perhaps it was an omen? A sign of the day ahead. Maybe good fortune beckoned?
Libby moved quickly, her steps purposeful but steady. She grabbed her bags and stepped out to the side of the road. She had anticipated this moment, had prepared herself mentally for the possibility of being questioned about her role as a teacher. It wasn’t just about being a widow or a single mother anymore; she had worked hard to prove herself as a capable, competent teacher. She would not let anyone undermine her efforts, not now. She needed them to see her for what she truly was. Someone with a quiet strength, someone who had moved on, and was now forging a new future for herself and her son.
She stood tall, ready to prove herself to the stranger who wanted to meet her. She knew that this was the moment that could change everything. This was the moment that could define her and Edward’s future.
As the carriage approached, she steeled herself and refused to falter. She adjusted her grip on Edward, who was now wide-eyed and curious about the activity around them. She couldn’t let herself hesitate, couldn’t let her doubts show. Not today.
Today, she was going to take control of her own future.
“Mornin’ ma'am,” said the carriage driver, doffing his hat at her. He was a gruff-looking, middle-aged man. “My name's David.”
“Good morning, David,” she replied politely, offering a small smile. “Are you here to take me to Willow Creek?”
He nodded and climbed down from his driver's seat to assist her. Glancing at the small child perched on her hip, he scratched his chin and added, “The Mayor sent me. He didn’t say nothin’ about a young ‘un though.”
He took the bags from her and stowed them safely in the back of the carriage before offering his arm to help Libby into the vehicle, Edward still resting in her arms. Once they were both settled in the back, he climbed back up to his seat. With a few clicks of his tongue, the carriage began its journey.
Libby sat quietly, watching. Occasionally a carriage would trundle past in the opposite direction, or they would pass people who were on foot. With Edward on her knee, she pointed out various animals in the nearby fields to him. She smiled as the little boy’s bright eyes followed her finger. They waved at groups of travelers passing by, reminding Libby of her journey from Sacramento to Longhorn. It had all seemed so very different back then. Back then she had been a single traveler with just a singular determination to do her job, and now, she was riding with a baby on her lap.
The journey would take a couple of hours, and to pass the time, she made some small talk with David. She figured it would be a good opportunity to learn more about the man who had persistently offered her the job.
“Have you worked for the Mayor long?” she asked casually, glancing up at him.
David considered her question for a moment. “Since he took office, ma'am,” he replied, his voice steady and unhurried as he kept his eyes focused on the road ahead.
“And how do you find him to work for?” Libby pressed. She wanted to understand if he was as good and kind as the letters had made him seem.
“He’s very good, ma’am,” David answered, his gaze still fixed on the path. “He’s fair an’ honest. He even gave me double-pay to come an’ collect you today. ‘E said it were only right, seeing as I was givin’ up me day off.”
Libby listened thoughtfully to his answer. That sounded promising. Maybe this man was indeed as good as he seemed, she thought, as she watched the road wind ahead. She didn’t want to think about it too long as the thought made her nerves rise again.
“Won't be long now,” added David reassuringly. “An’ you can see the place for yourself.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “The Mayor an’ ‘is Deputy are puttin’ lots of dough into the town. Makin’ it look pretty as a picture. Word is that they found gold in them ‘ills.”
Libby listened intently as David waffled on and it wasn't long until the town slowly came into view.
As the carriage rolled past the outskirts, and passed a sign that read, “Welcome to Willow Creek”, Libby’s heart rate picked up. Looking around her, she noticed that, as David had suggested, the town seemed well-kept and busy, with people walking about, chatting, and going about their business. Several new buildings were under construction, suggesting the town was thriving and expanding. It was a far cry from the quiet, sleepy town she had just come from.
David steered the carriage toward a freshly-painted building and brought it to a stop. “’Ere you go, ma’am,” he said, looking back over his shoulder. “This ‘ere's the boss’s office. I’ll help wiv yer things.”
Libby smiled and nodded, trying to calm her nerves. “Thank you,” she said, before a thought struck her. “Your accent sounds familiar. Are you from London?”
David beamed at her, a friendly grin spreading across his face. “I'm a Cockney, ma’am. Born within earshot of them Bow Bells.”
Libby chuckled softly, the exchange putting her a little more at ease. “And have you been here long?”
“Long enough to start losin’ me accent, I guess,” David said with a laugh, helping her and Edward out of the carriage. “You’ve still got yours, but you’re from a nicer part of London, I can tell.”
“I am,” she admitted. “I grew up near Park Lane.”
“Thought as much,” he said with a small bow as her feet hit the ground.
Smoothing out the creases out of her dress skirts, Libby straightened up, glancing around the busy street before she entered the building. She wanted to look presentable for her meeting. Edward wriggled in her arms, the lull of the carriage ride had disturbed his nap momentarily, and Libby steadied him, gathering her composure.
With a nervous breath, she followed David into the Mayor’s office, her thoughts churning.
It gave her a little comfort to hear a familiar accent, especially one that spoke highly of her potential employer.
But the sudden thought of her potential employer sent a jolt of butterflies through her ribcage.
This meeting could change everything for her and Edward, but for now, all she could do was walk into it with the same quiet determination that had gotten her this far.
“Well, enjoy yer meetin, wiv the boss. I'll bid you an’ yer little ‘un a good day.”
“Thank you,” she said honestly. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“Likewise.”
“Will you be my driver when I go back later?”
David scratched his head, looking confused for a moment. “Now, I don't reckon I will. No one’s asked me to drive you ’ome.”
“That’s a pity,” she said. “I enjoyed hearing your accent. It reminded me of England.”
David bowed and doffed his hat, a friendly grin on his face. “Farewell, ma’am. I ‘ope you an’ your little ‘un find what you're lookin’ for.”
“You are too kind,” Libby replied with a sincere smile. She watched him walk away before turning toward the steps that would lead her inside the Mayor's office. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and climbed the stairs, trying to calm the persistent fluttering in her chest.
The door to the office was unlocked when she tried the handle, and she stepped inside. The space before her was beautiful. Everything was freshly painted and resplendent. It was clear that the whole building had been recently constructed, and it looked as though every inch had been carefully planned. She walked towards the counter at the back of the room, her eyes scanning every detail, absorbing the calm elegance of the place.
As she admired the surroundings, a small, elderly man appeared, peering up at her over the top of his wire-rimmed spectacles.
“May I be of assistance?” he asked, his with an inquisitive tone.
“I—I’m here to meet the Mayor,” she stammered, trying to steady her nerves. “He’s expecting me.”
“Mrs. Green? Welcome,” he replied, stepping out from behind the desk. “And may I ask who this is?” He gestured gently towards Edward, who was peacefully sleeping in her arms again.
“My son, Edward.”
“Very good,” he said with a polite nod, gesturing for her to follow him. He led her through a door at the back of the room, beckoning her to come along. Libby dutifully followed, juggling her son and the bags in her arms.
He led her into a stunning office, its walls paneled with rich oak. A large, heavy, ornate desk sat at the center of the room, surrounded by plush velvet drapes that hung elegantly from the windows. A large rug covered the floor, softening the space and adding warmth. The Mayor must have indeed struck gold in the mines, Libby thought, taking in the luxurious surroundings. This place was beautiful and so much grander than anything she had imagined.
The elderly man gestured toward a soft, velveteen armchair facing the desk. “Please, have a seat,” he said kindly. Libby nodded her thanks and dropped her bags before sitting down and placing Edward on her lap.
The elderly man bowed and exited the room with a polite, “The Mayor will be with you shortly,” leaving Libby alone in the office. She glanced down at her son, who was snoozing peacefully, leaving a small trail of drool on her shoulder. She sighed inwardly. It was too late to worry about it now. There was little to do but wait.
The sound of footsteps approaching the door broke the silence, and Libby quickly straightened herself. She adjusted her posture, put on her best smile, and stood up to greet the Mayor as he walked through the door.
She took a deep breath, her heart racing. This was it. The meeting that could change everything for her and Edward.
She put on her best smile and stood up to greet the Mayor as he walked through the door.
She stared at the Mayor for a long, disbelieving moment. Her mind struggled to reconcile the man before her with someone she had known in another time. This man was clean-shaven, smart, well-heeled.
But it had to be. There was no mistaking him.
“Good afternoon,” the man said, a genial twinkle lighting his dark eyes. “My name is Santiago Garcia.” He extended a tanned, steady hand toward her.
The voice. That voice.
It was too familiar.
Libby’s heart skipped a beat as her mind frantically pieced everything together.
“P-p-Pope,” she stammered, her words falling over each other as she tried to untangle the mess of emotion choking her. “You look like Pope. A friend of …”
He smiled at her gently, sadness woven into the creases around his eyes. “That feels like it was a lifetime ago. Please, sit down. You look as if you’re about to faint. Let me call for a glass of water.”
The shock was too much. Libby slumped back into her chair, clutching Edward tighter to her chest as her head spun. Thousands of questions whirled inside her mind, all fighting to be spoken at once.
“What? How? What happened to Francisco? Is he—?”
“Slow down, dear,” Santiago said quietly. “I fear you might pass out.” His gaze drifted to Edward, who stirred against her shoulder, sensing his mother's agitation. “It seems you have stories of your own to tell.”
Footsteps echoed down the hallway, approaching swiftly.
“That’ll be my Deputy Mayor with your water,” Santiago said easily, standing up. “This is where I take my leave — for now.” He paused with his hand on the door. “But the job offer still stands. I want you to know that. No matter what happens next.”
With that, he slipped out, just as the other door swung open.
Libby might have smiled at the absurd timing, if she hadn't been so utterly shattered by what she saw next.
“Francisco!”
The word left her throat, before she realized what was happening.
She thought, for one mad moment, that she was hallucinating. That her longing had conjured him out of thin air.
Because there he was, standing in the doorway — alive.
Francisco Morales.
He looked almost the same as when she had last seen him ride away fifteen months ago, but different, too. His unruly brown curls were slicked back neatly with grease, his facial hair clean—save the bristly mustache. His clothes were fine and new, his shoes polished and shiny. Only the depth of his brown eyes remained exactly the same.
“Libby,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. His hand shook so badly that water sloshed over the rim of the glass and soaked his sleeve. “My darling, Libby.”
A thousand emotions crashed through her as she stared at him, unmoving, as though the air had been sucked from the room.
Relief.
Shock.
Love.
It settled on anger.
“How dare you,” she hissed, struggling to keep her voice low so as not to wake their son. “How can you stand there like—like—like that—?”
“Hermosa,” he pleaded, his face crumpling, “please, calm down. I need to explain everything.” His eyes dropped to Edward cradled in her arms, his expression twisting with anguish.
“And you—you remarried?”
“No, Francisco,” she snapped, her voice trembling with rage and heartbreak. “I'm still on my own. There's been no one since you. I've told so many lies about him, about you, and about me over the last sixteen months. Lies to protect all of us.”
Her anger cracked under the weight of her emotions, dissolving into sobs of anguish and frustration.
“So many lies,” she cried, “that sometimes I feel that I don't even know what the truth is anymore.”
Her loud, angry sobs made Frankie quickly put the glass of water down on the desk. In a moment, he crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her and the child between them, holding them both tightly as he could.
“When you said you lied to protect me and him—?” he asked hoarsely.
Libby buried her face against his shoulder, her words muffled by her tears.
“He’s almost seven months old,” she sobbed. “It takes nine months to have a baby. He was conceived at the guesthouse in Dry Creek. We made a baby, Frankie.”
Her heaving sobs startled Edward awake. The child blinked up at the unfamiliar room, and at the new face staring down at him. A face with the same eyes that were gazing down at him now, filled with wonder and sorrow.
“Hey, little man,” Frankie whispered tenderly. He lifted Edward into his arms with a gentleness that made Libby's heart twist painfully. “I'm so sorry. I didn’t know about you. If I had known, I would have come running.”
Libby wiped at her tear-streaked cheeks, sniffling as she watched Frankie cradle their son. His large hands were so careful with the tiny bundle. Her deep-seated fury died away, instead replaced by a deep ache for the time that father and son had lost and everything they might still have.
“When I found out I was pregnant, I told everyone that my husband had died on the wagon trail,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “No one questioned it. When I registered Edward’s birth, I had to keep up the lie. I was terrified someone would figure out the truth.”
She looked up at him through wet lashes, her voice still quiet and fragile.
“His last name on the birth certificate is my dead husband's. But his full name is Edward Francisco Green.”
“I told them his Spanish middle name came from a good, kind man who helped me survive a difficult time.”
Francisco’s eyes shone with emotion as he cradled his son closer, his fingers brushing along the child's rosy cheek.
Libby drew a shaky breath, gathering her strength together again.
“I heard that some of the Triple Frontier Gang were killed during the army’s gold reserve attack. After that, I gave up hope of ever seeing you again. I thought you were a fugitive. Or dead.”
“Querida,” he said softly, holding his child and gazing at her with a depth of sorrow and longing that almost undid her on the spot, “let me tell you what happened.”
He gestured to some wing-backed chairs nearby. Libby took a seat in one, tucking her skirts underneath her with care. Frankie sat opposite, still cradling their son in his arms, reluctant to let go.
Libby leaned forward, straining to listen as Frankie began to speak. She wanted to know every detail.
“You knew we were planning to hit back at the army,” he began. Libby nodded in acknowledgment, she had suspected as much when Santiago had regaled her with their story—the beginning of the end.
“Our plan was that we would hit the federal gold reserves being transported back East. It was our retribution for the way the Army treated us,” he said, his voice edged with disdain. “We watched from the hills. Observed and planned as they escorted some of the gold across the trails, like any good soldier would. And then we struck. Efficient. Fast.”
“The mission would’ve gone perfectly… if not for Redfly,” he said, his voice low.
It was weighted with grief and regret.
Edward gave a little yawn and nestled closer into his father's chest as Frankie continued.
“What did he do?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
“He got greedy,” he said bitterly. “We had secured as much gold as we could carry between us. We had gone undetected. Everything was going according to plan. We were going to ride out of there rich men. Finally getting our own back on the army that had left us with nothing.”
He shook his head, the memories clearly still painful.
“But Tom, Redfly, wanted more. He kept grabbing gold, even though we didn’t have the means to carry it all. We tried to persuade him to leave, but...” He paused, wincing at the memory. “While we were arguing, we were spotted. Someone sounded the alarm.”
He fell silent for a moment, his jaw tight as he replayed the scenes in his head.
“Then all hell broke loose,” he said heavily. Gently, he ran the tip of his index finger down the child's tiny nose. It was as though the action anchored him to the present, reminding him of the good things in life.
Edward sighed in his sleep and made soft, suckling noises. Frankie chuckled under his breath, the tender sound breaking the quietness in the room, if only for a moment. It seemed almost as though he didn’t want to revisit the horrors of that day.
“Gunshots were fired. We managed to crawl away under the cover of chaos, make it to our horses, and escape,” he continued, voice low. “But the army was hot on our heels. We led them a merry chase through the terrain, through places we knew better than they ever could, and for a while, we thought we’d lost them.
But a small group of scouts kept tracking us. And then...” He looked down at Edward, drawing strength from the sleeping child in his arms.
Despite her own complicated feelings about Redfly. The man had been brusque, unpleasant, and at one point had even suggested she should be killed, but she knew he had been Frankie's brother in arms. His loss still hurt Frankie, no matter how complicated her feelings were.
Libby took a deep breath. The earlier swell of emotions had passed, leaving her calmer, but still raw.
“I have to ask,” she said softly, “how did you and Pope, Santiago, end up here?”
Frankie looked up at her, something warmer returning to his eyes.
“After Redfly was killed, me, Pope, Ironhead, and Bugs laid low in the hills for a while. We dropped the gold into a ravine. Somewhere we knew it would stay hidden. We couldn't risk carrying it. Not with patrols scouring the whole territory for us. We figured the only way to survive was to disappear.”
“So we started rumors. Ones that said the whole gang had been killed in the raid. We knew the army wouldn’t argue with it. It made them look good if the story got out that they'd wiped out the infamous Triple Frontier Gang.”
He paused again, looking down at Edward, who stirred and stretched, then burrowed deeper into the safety of his father's arms.
“I can’t believe how perfect he is,” Frankie murmured. His voice was filled with something akin to awe.
Libby smiled softly, leaning forward to brush a loose curl on her son's forehead.
“He’s not so perfect when he wakes me up at two in the morning and fills his napkins,” she said with a small chuckle.
Frankie laughed quietly, a rich, warm sound that made Libby’s heart twist painfully in her chest.
“I wouldn't mind that,” he said, curling his little finger through his son's loosely bound fist.
“But you were telling me your story,” she prompted, her voice kind and steady, coaxing him to continue.
“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Where was I?”
He thought for a few moments.
“We laid low and used a little of the gold to survive. After a while, we went back to the ravine to retrieve the rest of it.”
“We disappeared into Sacramento, bought new clothes, and pretended we’d made our fortune in the mines. After that...” He glanced toward the door Santiago had exited through. “The rest was Pope’s, Santiago Garcia’s, plan.”
Libby listened intently, her heart aching with the weight of everything she was hearing.
“Pope thought we should settle somewhere near Longhorn,” Frankie continued. “He knew I’d never forgotten my promise to you—that I would find you at your little schoolhouse someday.
So we quietly bought our way into the community here, started building new houses, opening shops... and constructing a new schoolhouse.”
He smiled at the thought.
“Then Santiago became Mayor. And that’s when he wrote to you.”
Libby’s breath caught.
“I read that first letter,” she said quietly, her voice heavy with regret. “And I threw it on the fire. I thought... I was unworthy of the job. And I was scared to leave Longhorn, scared that if I did, I might miss the chance that you'd somehow come looking for me there.”
As she finished speaking, Edward stirred and woke fully in his father’s arms, yawning widely and showing his tiny pink gums.
For a few precious seconds, father and son simply stared at each other.
“He has my brown eyes,” Frankie whispered, wonder and pride threading through his voice.
“Yes,” Libby said, her voice catching slightly. “He does.”
She coughed lightly to cover the sudden swell of emotion. “He’s got your curls under that bonnet, too.”
A soft, aching smile crossed Frankie’s face.
“I wish I’d been there to see him born,” he said wistfully. “I’d have mopped your brow, held your hand...”
“I probably would have throttled you,” Libby said with a thin laugh. She turned away to blink back her tears. “It may have been for the best.”
He chuckled gently, rocking Edward back and forth in his arms.
“I never wanted to leave you,” he said quietly. “When we rode out of town that day, I stayed in the hills, watching.
I needed to see you make it back to your wagon train safely.”
“Redfly wasn’t happy with me. Thought I was risking everything, but I couldn’t leave. Not until I knew you were safe.”
Libby pushed herself out of her chair, her legs trembling. She needed to move, needed to convince herself that the man standing before her, holding their child, was real and not some cruel figment of hope and memory.
“And when I didn’t reply to that first letter?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I was beyond disappointed,” he admitted, his gaze steady on hers. “But we put our heads together and came up with an even better idea.”
“We?”
“Me, Santi, Will, and Ben,” he said. “I’d like you to meet them properly, now that we’re not on the run anymore.”
He smiled at her. It was a real, warm smile that melted away the last icy shards of doubt inside her.
“You should really come see the new schoolhouse,” he said. “We’d love your input. We want to make it the best school these children could ever dream of.”
Libby looked at him in amazement.
"Are you... are you still offering me a job? Here?"
"Absolutely," he said, and held out his free hand for her to take.
Libby took it without hesitation, her heart soaring.
"New town. New job. And if you'll have me... a new husband?"
He looked at her, hope shining in his warm brown eyes.
Libby felt the last of her anger melt away.
"How could I turn any of that down?" she said softly, a radiant smile spreading across her face. "A new start for all of us — it's very fitting."
She leaned up and placed a soft kiss on his stubbled cheek.
Frankie let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh and a sob rolled into one. He tightened his hand around hers, careful not to jostle Edward too much, and pressed his forehead lightly against hers.
"Welcome home, Libby," he whispered.
"Welcome home."
Outside, through the open window, the breeze carried the scent of fresh paint, new wood, and endless possibility.
The future was waiting, and this time, they would face it together.
Two Years Later
“Just a moment, children,” Libby said with a smile, pausing in her writing on the blackboard as her eyes flicked up to the schoolhouse door.
There, in the doorway, stood her husband, Francisco Morales, a small baby strapped to his front, ocooned, safe, and asleep in her papoose. Swinging from his right arm was their son, Eduardo, Frankie's double, even at almost three years old.
After their emotional reunion and swift marriage, Santiago, as Willow Creek’s Mayor, had set the wheels in motion to change Edward’s birth certificate to reflect his true heritage, listing Frankie as his father, changing his official name, and even altering the marriage certificate to ensure the dates aligned perfectly.
Libby had occasionally wondered whether, if future generations of their family picked up the old records, they might sense the tampering and notice the handiwork where the truth had been changed. She imagined a curious great-great-grandchild, frowning at the too-neat dates or the sudden appearance of Frankie’s name in places it hadn’t been before.
“Say good morning to the Deputy Mayor.”
“Good morning, Mr. Deputy Mayor,” chorused the children from their desks, eyes darting between the two adults.
“What can I help you with, Mr. Morales?” she asked.
“Isabella will need a feed soon,” he said, nodding down at the small bundle.
“Of course,” she replied with a smile. “The morning got away from me.”
She stepped toward the doorway, her arms already reaching out to take the baby, her expression softening as she caught sight of Isabella’s tiny, sleeping face.
“Would you mind watching the class for me for a few minutes while I slip into the back room? There are some mathematical questions on the blackboard.”
Frankie glanced at the chalk equations written neatly across the black surface.
“As long as no one asks me anything difficult, I reckon I can manage,” he said, beginning to lift the small baby from the warmth of her pouch. She grizzled and gurned in her sleep as he handed her over to her mother.
“There, there, little one,” she soothed, as the baby nestled into her mother’s arms. The small, bonneted head turned instinctively, drawn by the faint scent of her mother’s milk.
She looked down at their young son, who was frowning intently at the blackboard.
“When will I be able to start school, Mama?” he whined.
“You’re one day closer than you were the last time you asked,” Libby laughed, shaking her head at her son’s eagerness.
“I promise that when I get home later, we’ll practise our letters before bedtime.”
Her gentle promise seemed to appease him. He nodded.
Before departing, Libby gave her husband’s hand a gentle squeeze. An unspoken gesture of love and affirmation.
With a rustle of skirts and a last glance toward the children, she slipped into the back room, the baby cradled close against her chest.
In her absence, Frankie stood at the front of the room, hands on his hips, surveying the young faces.
“Well then,” he said with a large smile, “who here is brave enough to solve the first problem?”
A few small hands shot into the air. Eduardo climbed into the nearest chair, too small for his feet to touch the floor, his eyes wide with pride as he looked up at his father.
In the back room, Libby sat in quiet contentment, the baby at her bosom, her breathing slow and steady as she listened to her husband’s voice through the thin wall.
She smiled to herself. She never quite believed that they could have made this life together.
But here they were.
She never could have written this story for herself. Her journey to the west. A new beginning in so many ways.
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thank you for the tags my darlings 🧡 @ess-evo @sawymredfox @time-for-my-weekly-spanking @ace-turned-confused @shadowqueen2024 @madpanda75
last song: Bécane - A COLORS SHOW by Yamê
currently watching: I haven’t had much time to watch anything, but I started to rewatch episodes of Mindhunter again couple of weeks ago (it’s so scary but so gooood!!)
current obsession: mango sorbet ice cream (you already know the ppcu boys consume my brain, so that’s nothing new)
currently reading: only fics right now, I’ve been too busy with work lately and haven’t had the time to pick up a book (I wish I had more hours in a day and unlimited energy)
currently working on: trying to stay on top of my adult responsibilities (ew)
currently wearing: wide-leg linen pants in dark olive green and a balck t-shirt (I’d characterize this outfit as ”office appropriate pyjamas”)
last google search: lunch menu of the student cafeteria near my job
favorite flower: marigolds, peonies, carnations
npt ✨(sorry if you’ve already done this and I’ve missed it!) @queenofslowburn @peepawmiller @inept-the-magnificent @mcthsman @avastrasposts @dreamedaboutitinthedark @loveoverpride @petalsinblood @cozymochaa @yorksgirl
Thanks for the tag @simpingforjoel ! I've been meaning to do one of these for a while and here we are!
last song: Fleetwood Mac's Dreams is playing right now on my "Weekends with Frankie" playlist :D
currently watching: Nothing at the moment, but I think I'm going to try Widow's Bay. A friend recommended it so we'll see how I do with the horror....
current obsession: None, it's all low key at the moment (but Pero and Frankie always have my heart)
currently reading: I just finished Project Hail Mary, and now I'm reading A history of Rome in 21 Women - a brilliant book that I very much recommend.
currently working on: the last few days until summer holidays kick in, a haunted house horror fic and Fate Unbound
currently wearing: men's boxers and a jumper
last google search: the menu of the restaurant of the hotel I'm at, decided to not pay €35 for a mid-burger and got snacks from the supermarket instead
favorite flower: hydrangea, peonies, tulips
tagging some people who have probably done these too many times: @lady-bess @clawdee @sunnytuliptime @mysterious-musings @din-cognito
Warnings: mentions of sickness and death, love on the Frontier Chapter warnings will be posted (but I really hate spoiling the plot for you). Tough decisions.
Summary: Libby’s journey comes to its conclusion in Willow Creek.
You get the bonus of this chapter being a week ahead of schedule, due to other commitments. If you've got this far, thank you for your reblogs, replies and comments. Please enjoy the denouement of Libby's adventure.
This has lived in my WIPs for over two years and it's always bittersweet when another story ends.
Dividers by @/saradika-graphics
Series Masterlist | Masterlist
Saturday morning arrived too quickly, and Libby was up long before sunrise. Edward had cried in his sleep, waking her with his small hands tugging at her for an early morning feed, and before she knew it, she had already cleaned the house, prepared breakfast, and seen to the needs of her son. Time was simply eaten up by the burden of motherhood and responsibility. Meanwhile, the anticipation of the day ahead gnawed away at her throughout every moment.
She stood in front of her small armoire, staring at her meager collection of clothes. The choices were limited, and nothing seemed quite right for the occasion. She needed to present herself well, because after all, this was more than just a visit. This was a potential new chapter for her and Edward.
After a lot of debate and indecision, Libby settled on her favorite dress. It was one she wore for church, the one that had traveled with her all the way from England. The fabric was simple but elegant, and it made her feel confident, like a woman with responsibility. It was a dress that reminded that she wasn’t just a widow, a teacher, or a single mother. She was also a woman who deserved a future, one she would create for herself and her son.
As she dressed, she couldn’t help but think of what was to come. Just like when she'd replied to that advert in the Illustrated London Standard, the future was uncertain, but the choice was hers to make. She was taking control of her own future, for better or worse. And for Edward's sake, she would make sure it was for the better.
Buttoning up her dress and taking one last, long look in the full-length mirror, Libby felt a sense of dread settle deep in her chest. Betrayal. That now-familiar feeling pressed down on her, and for a moment, she wondered if she was making the right choice. Was it truly time to move on, to leave behind what little comfort she had built in Longhorn? To admit that she had abandoned hope of ever seeing Frankie again? She paused, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the pale green satin folds of her dress.
She let out a quiet sigh and sat down on the edge of the bed, gathering her thoughts. "You’re not making the decision today, Libby," she told herself firmly, her voice barely above a whisper. "You’re only seeing the town, getting a feel for it. Nothing more." She straightened her shoulders, setting her mind on the fact that she was not committing to anything yet. She was simply assessing the situation. This was about Edward. This was about giving him a better future. One where she could offer him more than a life of struggle.
The idea of her son’s future bore down on her, and she reminded herself, it wasn't just about her anymore. It was about providing for Edward, securing stability for him. For them.
With a deep breath, she stood up and finished dressing. She pulled her chestnut hair back into its usual neat schoolteacher bun. As she worked, she was reminded of the time that Frankie watched her wind up her hair and plait it. The way he'd run his own fingers across her scalp in bed. She shivered at the memory, before chastising herself.
When she was finished, she gazed at her reflection for a moment longer, the woman in the mirror staring back at her with a mixture of uncertainty and determination.
Lastly, she grabbed her bonnet from the dresser, tying it securely around her head.
After finishing, she joined Edward in the kitchen. The little boy had been lying quietly on a blanket by the hearth, his small fingers tracing patterns in the rug, unaware of the quiet turmoil running through his mother’s head. As she gathered her things, Edward’s innocent gaze met hers, his eyes full of trust and love. The sight of him made her heart ache. He had no idea how much his future weighed on her shoulders.
She scooped him up from the rug, his small, solid body was comforting in her arms. With one last glance around the house, she grabbed her school bag and the extra bag she had for Edward, then they went outside to wait.
It felt like the longest wait of her life. Longer than the endless journey across the sea. Longer than the dusty, bumpy wagon train across the country. The anticipation twisted in her stomach, making her restless.
The quietness of the morning made every minute drag on forever.
And then, finally, she heard the rumble of wheels and the unmistakable clip-clop of horses’ hooves. The sound made a wave of nervous energy surge through her. She lifted Edward, who cooed softly, his small hands reaching for the fresh air as she hurried toward the road. The sun shone brightly, as they left the security of the cottage grounds. Perhaps it was an omen? A sign of the day ahead. Maybe good fortune beckoned?
Libby moved quickly, her steps purposeful but steady. She grabbed her bags and stepped out to the side of the road. She had anticipated this moment, had prepared herself mentally for the possibility of being questioned about her role as a teacher. It wasn’t just about being a widow or a single mother anymore; she had worked hard to prove herself as a capable, competent teacher. She would not let anyone undermine her efforts, not now. She needed them to see her for what she truly was. Someone with a quiet strength, someone who had moved on, and was now forging a new future for herself and her son.
She stood tall, ready to prove herself to the stranger who wanted to meet her. She knew that this was the moment that could change everything. This was the moment that could define her and Edward’s future.
As the carriage approached, she steeled herself and refused to falter. She adjusted her grip on Edward, who was now wide-eyed and curious about the activity around them. She couldn’t let herself hesitate, couldn’t let her doubts show. Not today.
Today, she was going to take control of her own future.
“Mornin’ ma'am,” said the carriage driver, doffing his hat at her. He was a gruff-looking, middle-aged man. “My name's David.”
“Good morning, David,” she replied politely, offering a small smile. “Are you here to take me to Willow Creek?”
He nodded and climbed down from his driver's seat to assist her. Glancing at the small child perched on her hip, he scratched his chin and added, “The Mayor sent me. He didn’t say nothin’ about a young ‘un though.”
He took the bags from her and stowed them safely in the back of the carriage before offering his arm to help Libby into the vehicle, Edward still resting in her arms. Once they were both settled in the back, he climbed back up to his seat. With a few clicks of his tongue, the carriage began its journey.
Libby sat quietly, watching. Occasionally a carriage would trundle past in the opposite direction, or they would pass people who were on foot. With Edward on her knee, she pointed out various animals in the nearby fields to him. She smiled as the little boy’s bright eyes followed her finger. They waved at groups of travelers passing by, reminding Libby of her journey from Sacramento to Longhorn. It had all seemed so very different back then. Back then she had been a single traveler with just a singular determination to do her job, and now, she was riding with a baby on her lap.
The journey would take a couple of hours, and to pass the time, she made some small talk with David. She figured it would be a good opportunity to learn more about the man who had persistently offered her the job.
“Have you worked for the Mayor long?” she asked casually, glancing up at him.
David considered her question for a moment. “Since he took office, ma'am,” he replied, his voice steady and unhurried as he kept his eyes focused on the road ahead.
“And how do you find him to work for?” Libby pressed. She wanted to understand if he was as good and kind as the letters had made him seem.
“He’s very good, ma’am,” David answered, his gaze still fixed on the path. “He’s fair an’ honest. He even gave me double-pay to come an’ collect you today. ‘E said it were only right, seeing as I was givin’ up me day off.”
Libby listened thoughtfully to his answer. That sounded promising. Maybe this man was indeed as good as he seemed, she thought, as she watched the road wind ahead. She didn’t want to think about it too long as the thought made her nerves rise again.
“Won't be long now,” added David reassuringly. “An’ you can see the place for yourself.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “The Mayor an’ ‘is Deputy are puttin’ lots of dough into the town. Makin’ it look pretty as a picture. Word is that they found gold in them ‘ills.”
Libby listened intently as David waffled on and it wasn't long until the town slowly came into view.
As the carriage rolled past the outskirts, and passed a sign that read, “Welcome to Willow Creek”, Libby’s heart rate picked up. Looking around her, she noticed that, as David had suggested, the town seemed well-kept and busy, with people walking about, chatting, and going about their business. Several new buildings were under construction, suggesting the town was thriving and expanding. It was a far cry from the quiet, sleepy town she had just come from.
David steered the carriage toward a freshly-painted building and brought it to a stop. “’Ere you go, ma’am,” he said, looking back over his shoulder. “This ‘ere's the boss’s office. I’ll help wiv yer things.”
Libby smiled and nodded, trying to calm her nerves. “Thank you,” she said, before a thought struck her. “Your accent sounds familiar. Are you from London?”
David beamed at her, a friendly grin spreading across his face. “I'm a Cockney, ma’am. Born within earshot of them Bow Bells.”
Libby chuckled softly, the exchange putting her a little more at ease. “And have you been here long?”
“Long enough to start losin’ me accent, I guess,” David said with a laugh, helping her and Edward out of the carriage. “You’ve still got yours, but you’re from a nicer part of London, I can tell.”
“I am,” she admitted. “I grew up near Park Lane.”
“Thought as much,” he said with a small bow as her feet hit the ground.
Smoothing out the creases out of her dress skirts, Libby straightened up, glancing around the busy street before she entered the building. She wanted to look presentable for her meeting. Edward wriggled in her arms, the lull of the carriage ride had disturbed his nap momentarily, and Libby steadied him, gathering her composure.
With a nervous breath, she followed David into the Mayor’s office, her thoughts churning.
It gave her a little comfort to hear a familiar accent, especially one that spoke highly of her potential employer.
But the sudden thought of her potential employer sent a jolt of butterflies through her ribcage.
This meeting could change everything for her and Edward, but for now, all she could do was walk into it with the same quiet determination that had gotten her this far.
“Well, enjoy yer meetin, wiv the boss. I'll bid you an’ yer little ‘un a good day.”
“Thank you,” she said honestly. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“Likewise.”
“Will you be my driver when I go back later?”
David scratched his head, looking confused for a moment. “Now, I don't reckon I will. No one’s asked me to drive you ’ome.”
“That’s a pity,” she said. “I enjoyed hearing your accent. It reminded me of England.”
David bowed and doffed his hat, a friendly grin on his face. “Farewell, ma’am. I ‘ope you an’ your little ‘un find what you're lookin’ for.”
“You are too kind,” Libby replied with a sincere smile. She watched him walk away before turning toward the steps that would lead her inside the Mayor's office. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and climbed the stairs, trying to calm the persistent fluttering in her chest.
The door to the office was unlocked when she tried the handle, and she stepped inside. The space before her was beautiful. Everything was freshly painted and resplendent. It was clear that the whole building had been recently constructed, and it looked as though every inch had been carefully planned. She walked towards the counter at the back of the room, her eyes scanning every detail, absorbing the calm elegance of the place.
As she admired the surroundings, a small, elderly man appeared, peering up at her over the top of his wire-rimmed spectacles.
“May I be of assistance?” he asked, his with an inquisitive tone.
“I—I’m here to meet the Mayor,” she stammered, trying to steady her nerves. “He’s expecting me.”
“Mrs. Green? Welcome,” he replied, stepping out from behind the desk. “And may I ask who this is?” He gestured gently towards Edward, who was peacefully sleeping in her arms again.
“My son, Edward.”
“Very good,” he said with a polite nod, gesturing for her to follow him. He led her through a door at the back of the room, beckoning her to come along. Libby dutifully followed, juggling her son and the bags in her arms.
He led her into a stunning office, its walls paneled with rich oak. A large, heavy, ornate desk sat at the center of the room, surrounded by plush velvet drapes that hung elegantly from the windows. A large rug covered the floor, softening the space and adding warmth. The Mayor must have indeed struck gold in the mines, Libby thought, taking in the luxurious surroundings. This place was beautiful and so much grander than anything she had imagined.
The elderly man gestured toward a soft, velveteen armchair facing the desk. “Please, have a seat,” he said kindly. Libby nodded her thanks and dropped her bags before sitting down and placing Edward on her lap.
The elderly man bowed and exited the room with a polite, “The Mayor will be with you shortly,” leaving Libby alone in the office. She glanced down at her son, who was snoozing peacefully, leaving a small trail of drool on her shoulder. She sighed inwardly. It was too late to worry about it now. There was little to do but wait.
The sound of footsteps approaching the door broke the silence, and Libby quickly straightened herself. She adjusted her posture, put on her best smile, and stood up to greet the Mayor as he walked through the door.
She took a deep breath, her heart racing. This was it. The meeting that could change everything for her and Edward.
She put on her best smile and stood up to greet the Mayor as he walked through the door.
She stared at the Mayor for a long, disbelieving moment. Her mind struggled to reconcile the man before her with someone she had known in another time. This man was clean-shaven, smart, well-heeled.
But it had to be. There was no mistaking him.
“Good afternoon,” the man said, a genial twinkle lighting his dark eyes. “My name is Santiago Garcia.” He extended a tanned, steady hand toward her.
The voice. That voice.
It was too familiar.
Libby’s heart skipped a beat as her mind frantically pieced everything together.
“P-p-Pope,” she stammered, her words falling over each other as she tried to untangle the mess of emotion choking her. “You look like Pope. A friend of …”
He smiled at her gently, sadness woven into the creases around his eyes. “That feels like it was a lifetime ago. Please, sit down. You look as if you’re about to faint. Let me call for a glass of water.”
The shock was too much. Libby slumped back into her chair, clutching Edward tighter to her chest as her head spun. Thousands of questions whirled inside her mind, all fighting to be spoken at once.
“What? How? What happened to Francisco? Is he—?”
“Slow down, dear,” Santiago said quietly. “I fear you might pass out.” His gaze drifted to Edward, who stirred against her shoulder, sensing his mother's agitation. “It seems you have stories of your own to tell.”
Footsteps echoed down the hallway, approaching swiftly.
“That’ll be my Deputy Mayor with your water,” Santiago said easily, standing up. “This is where I take my leave — for now.” He paused with his hand on the door. “But the job offer still stands. I want you to know that. No matter what happens next.”
With that, he slipped out, just as the other door swung open.
Libby might have smiled at the absurd timing, if she hadn't been so utterly shattered by what she saw next.
“Francisco!”
The word left her throat, before she realized what was happening.
She thought, for one mad moment, that she was hallucinating. That her longing had conjured him out of thin air.
Because there he was, standing in the doorway — alive.
Francisco Morales.
He looked almost the same as when she had last seen him ride away fifteen months ago, but different, too. His unruly brown curls were slicked back neatly with grease, his facial hair clean—save the bristly mustache. His clothes were fine and new, his shoes polished and shiny. Only the depth of his brown eyes remained exactly the same.
“Libby,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. His hand shook so badly that water sloshed over the rim of the glass and soaked his sleeve. “My darling, Libby.”
A thousand emotions crashed through her as she stared at him, unmoving, as though the air had been sucked from the room.
Relief.
Shock.
Love.
It settled on anger.
“How dare you,” she hissed, struggling to keep her voice low so as not to wake their son. “How can you stand there like—like—like that—?”
“Hermosa,” he pleaded, his face crumpling, “please, calm down. I need to explain everything.” His eyes dropped to Edward cradled in her arms, his expression twisting with anguish.
“And you—you remarried?”
“No, Francisco,” she snapped, her voice trembling with rage and heartbreak. “I'm still on my own. There's been no one since you. I've told so many lies about him, about you, and about me over the last sixteen months. Lies to protect all of us.”
Her anger cracked under the weight of her emotions, dissolving into sobs of anguish and frustration.
“So many lies,” she cried, “that sometimes I feel that I don't even know what the truth is anymore.”
Her loud, angry sobs made Frankie quickly put the glass of water down on the desk. In a moment, he crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her and the child between them, holding them both tightly as he could.
“When you said you lied to protect me and him—?” he asked hoarsely.
Libby buried her face against his shoulder, her words muffled by her tears.
“He’s almost seven months old,” she sobbed. “It takes nine months to have a baby. He was conceived at the guesthouse in Dry Creek. We made a baby, Frankie.”
Her heaving sobs startled Edward awake. The child blinked up at the unfamiliar room, and at the new face staring down at him. A face with the same eyes that were gazing down at him now, filled with wonder and sorrow.
“Hey, little man,” Frankie whispered tenderly. He lifted Edward into his arms with a gentleness that made Libby's heart twist painfully. “I'm so sorry. I didn’t know about you. If I had known, I would have come running.”
Libby wiped at her tear-streaked cheeks, sniffling as she watched Frankie cradle their son. His large hands were so careful with the tiny bundle. Her deep-seated fury died away, instead replaced by a deep ache for the time that father and son had lost and everything they might still have.
“When I found out I was pregnant, I told everyone that my husband had died on the wagon trail,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “No one questioned it. When I registered Edward’s birth, I had to keep up the lie. I was terrified someone would figure out the truth.”
She looked up at him through wet lashes, her voice still quiet and fragile.
“His last name on the birth certificate is my dead husband's. But his full name is Edward Francisco Green.”
“I told them his Spanish middle name came from a good, kind man who helped me survive a difficult time.”
Francisco’s eyes shone with emotion as he cradled his son closer, his fingers brushing along the child's rosy cheek.
Libby drew a shaky breath, gathering her strength together again.
“I heard that some of the Triple Frontier Gang were killed during the army’s gold reserve attack. After that, I gave up hope of ever seeing you again. I thought you were a fugitive. Or dead.”
“Querida,” he said softly, holding his child and gazing at her with a depth of sorrow and longing that almost undid her on the spot, “let me tell you what happened.”
He gestured to some wing-backed chairs nearby. Libby took a seat in one, tucking her skirts underneath her with care. Frankie sat opposite, still cradling their son in his arms, reluctant to let go.
Libby leaned forward, straining to listen as Frankie began to speak. She wanted to know every detail.
“You knew we were planning to hit back at the army,” he began. Libby nodded in acknowledgment, she had suspected as much when Santiago had regaled her with their story—the beginning of the end.
“Our plan was that we would hit the federal gold reserves being transported back East. It was our retribution for the way the Army treated us,” he said, his voice edged with disdain. “We watched from the hills. Observed and planned as they escorted some of the gold across the trails, like any good soldier would. And then we struck. Efficient. Fast.”
“The mission would’ve gone perfectly… if not for Redfly,” he said, his voice low.
It was weighted with grief and regret.
Edward gave a little yawn and nestled closer into his father's chest as Frankie continued.
“What did he do?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
“He got greedy,” he said bitterly. “We had secured as much gold as we could carry between us. We had gone undetected. Everything was going according to plan. We were going to ride out of there rich men. Finally getting our own back on the army that had left us with nothing.”
He shook his head, the memories clearly still painful.
“But Tom, Redfly, wanted more. He kept grabbing gold, even though we didn’t have the means to carry it all. We tried to persuade him to leave, but...” He paused, wincing at the memory. “While we were arguing, we were spotted. Someone sounded the alarm.”
He fell silent for a moment, his jaw tight as he replayed the scenes in his head.
“Then all hell broke loose,” he said heavily. Gently, he ran the tip of his index finger down the child's tiny nose. It was as though the action anchored him to the present, reminding him of the good things in life.
Edward sighed in his sleep and made soft, suckling noises. Frankie chuckled under his breath, the tender sound breaking the quietness in the room, if only for a moment. It seemed almost as though he didn’t want to revisit the horrors of that day.
“Gunshots were fired. We managed to crawl away under the cover of chaos, make it to our horses, and escape,” he continued, voice low. “But the army was hot on our heels. We led them a merry chase through the terrain, through places we knew better than they ever could, and for a while, we thought we’d lost them.
But a small group of scouts kept tracking us. And then...” He looked down at Edward, drawing strength from the sleeping child in his arms.
Despite her own complicated feelings about Redfly. The man had been brusque, unpleasant, and at one point had even suggested she should be killed, but she knew he had been Frankie's brother in arms. His loss still hurt Frankie, no matter how complicated her feelings were.
Libby took a deep breath. The earlier swell of emotions had passed, leaving her calmer, but still raw.
“I have to ask,” she said softly, “how did you and Pope, Santiago, end up here?”
Frankie looked up at her, something warmer returning to his eyes.
“After Redfly was killed, me, Pope, Ironhead, and Bugs laid low in the hills for a while. We dropped the gold into a ravine. Somewhere we knew it would stay hidden. We couldn't risk carrying it. Not with patrols scouring the whole territory for us. We figured the only way to survive was to disappear.”
“So we started rumors. Ones that said the whole gang had been killed in the raid. We knew the army wouldn’t argue with it. It made them look good if the story got out that they'd wiped out the infamous Triple Frontier Gang.”
He paused again, looking down at Edward, who stirred and stretched, then burrowed deeper into the safety of his father's arms.
“I can’t believe how perfect he is,” Frankie murmured. His voice was filled with something akin to awe.
Libby smiled softly, leaning forward to brush a loose curl on her son's forehead.
“He’s not so perfect when he wakes me up at two in the morning and fills his napkins,” she said with a small chuckle.
Frankie laughed quietly, a rich, warm sound that made Libby’s heart twist painfully in her chest.
“I wouldn't mind that,” he said, curling his little finger through his son's loosely bound fist.
“But you were telling me your story,” she prompted, her voice kind and steady, coaxing him to continue.
“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Where was I?”
He thought for a few moments.
“We laid low and used a little of the gold to survive. After a while, we went back to the ravine to retrieve the rest of it.”
“We disappeared into Sacramento, bought new clothes, and pretended we’d made our fortune in the mines. After that...” He glanced toward the door Santiago had exited through. “The rest was Pope’s, Santiago Garcia’s, plan.”
Libby listened intently, her heart aching with the weight of everything she was hearing.
“Pope thought we should settle somewhere near Longhorn,” Frankie continued. “He knew I’d never forgotten my promise to you—that I would find you at your little schoolhouse someday.
So we quietly bought our way into the community here, started building new houses, opening shops... and constructing a new schoolhouse.”
He smiled at the thought.
“Then Santiago became Mayor. And that’s when he wrote to you.”
Libby’s breath caught.
“I read that first letter,” she said quietly, her voice heavy with regret. “And I threw it on the fire. I thought... I was unworthy of the job. And I was scared to leave Longhorn, scared that if I did, I might miss the chance that you'd somehow come looking for me there.”
As she finished speaking, Edward stirred and woke fully in his father’s arms, yawning widely and showing his tiny pink gums.
For a few precious seconds, father and son simply stared at each other.
“He has my brown eyes,” Frankie whispered, wonder and pride threading through his voice.
“Yes,” Libby said, her voice catching slightly. “He does.”
She coughed lightly to cover the sudden swell of emotion. “He’s got your curls under that bonnet, too.”
A soft, aching smile crossed Frankie’s face.
“I wish I’d been there to see him born,” he said wistfully. “I’d have mopped your brow, held your hand...”
“I probably would have throttled you,” Libby said with a thin laugh. She turned away to blink back her tears. “It may have been for the best.”
He chuckled gently, rocking Edward back and forth in his arms.
“I never wanted to leave you,” he said quietly. “When we rode out of town that day, I stayed in the hills, watching.
I needed to see you make it back to your wagon train safely.”
“Redfly wasn’t happy with me. Thought I was risking everything, but I couldn’t leave. Not until I knew you were safe.”
Libby pushed herself out of her chair, her legs trembling. She needed to move, needed to convince herself that the man standing before her, holding their child, was real and not some cruel figment of hope and memory.
“And when I didn’t reply to that first letter?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I was beyond disappointed,” he admitted, his gaze steady on hers. “But we put our heads together and came up with an even better idea.”
“We?”
“Me, Santi, Will, and Ben,” he said. “I’d like you to meet them properly, now that we’re not on the run anymore.”
He smiled at her. It was a real, warm smile that melted away the last icy shards of doubt inside her.
“You should really come see the new schoolhouse,” he said. “We’d love your input. We want to make it the best school these children could ever dream of.”
Libby looked at him in amazement.
"Are you... are you still offering me a job? Here?"
"Absolutely," he said, and held out his free hand for her to take.
Libby took it without hesitation, her heart soaring.
"New town. New job. And if you'll have me... a new husband?"
He looked at her, hope shining in his warm brown eyes.
Libby felt the last of her anger melt away.
"How could I turn any of that down?" she said softly, a radiant smile spreading across her face. "A new start for all of us — it's very fitting."
She leaned up and placed a soft kiss on his stubbled cheek.
Frankie let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh and a sob rolled into one. He tightened his hand around hers, careful not to jostle Edward too much, and pressed his forehead lightly against hers.
"Welcome home, Libby," he whispered.
"Welcome home."
Outside, through the open window, the breeze carried the scent of fresh paint, new wood, and endless possibility.
The future was waiting, and this time, they would face it together.
Two Years Later
“Just a moment, children,” Libby said with a smile, pausing in her writing on the blackboard as her eyes flicked up to the schoolhouse door.
There, in the doorway, stood her husband, Francisco Morales, a small baby strapped to his front, ocooned, safe, and asleep in her papoose. Swinging from his right arm was their son, Eduardo, Frankie's double, even at almost three years old.
After their emotional reunion and swift marriage, Santiago, as Willow Creek’s Mayor, had set the wheels in motion to change Edward’s birth certificate to reflect his true heritage, listing Frankie as his father, changing his official name, and even altering the marriage certificate to ensure the dates aligned perfectly.
Libby had occasionally wondered whether, if future generations of their family picked up the old records, they might sense the tampering and notice the handiwork where the truth had been changed. She imagined a curious great-great-grandchild, frowning at the too-neat dates or the sudden appearance of Frankie’s name in places it hadn’t been before.
“Say good morning to the Deputy Mayor.”
“Good morning, Mr. Deputy Mayor,” chorused the children from their desks, eyes darting between the two adults.
“What can I help you with, Mr. Morales?” she asked.
“Isabella will need a feed soon,” he said, nodding down at the small bundle.
“Of course,” she replied with a smile. “The morning got away from me.”
She stepped toward the doorway, her arms already reaching out to take the baby, her expression softening as she caught sight of Isabella’s tiny, sleeping face.
“Would you mind watching the class for me for a few minutes while I slip into the back room? There are some mathematical questions on the blackboard.”
Frankie glanced at the chalk equations written neatly across the black surface.
“As long as no one asks me anything difficult, I reckon I can manage,” he said, beginning to lift the small baby from the warmth of her pouch. She grizzled and gurned in her sleep as he handed her over to her mother.
“There, there, little one,” she soothed, as the baby nestled into her mother’s arms. The small, bonneted head turned instinctively, drawn by the faint scent of her mother’s milk.
She looked down at their young son, who was frowning intently at the blackboard.
“When will I be able to start school, Mama?” he whined.
“You’re one day closer than you were the last time you asked,” Libby laughed, shaking her head at her son’s eagerness.
“I promise that when I get home later, we’ll practise our letters before bedtime.”
Her gentle promise seemed to appease him. He nodded.
Before departing, Libby gave her husband’s hand a gentle squeeze. An unspoken gesture of love and affirmation.
With a rustle of skirts and a last glance toward the children, she slipped into the back room, the baby cradled close against her chest.
In her absence, Frankie stood at the front of the room, hands on his hips, surveying the young faces.
“Well then,” he said with a large smile, “who here is brave enough to solve the first problem?”
A few small hands shot into the air. Eduardo climbed into the nearest chair, too small for his feet to touch the floor, his eyes wide with pride as he looked up at his father.
In the back room, Libby sat in quiet contentment, the baby at her bosom, her breathing slow and steady as she listened to her husband’s voice through the thin wall.
She smiled to herself. She never quite believed that they could have made this life together.
But here they were.
She never could have written this story for herself. Her journey to the west. A new beginning in so many ways.
The Truth, The Whole Truth, And Nothing But The Truth
Pairings: Din Djarin x GN!reader
Rating: T
Word count: 2.3k
Warnings: Fluff, humor, a smidgen of angst, canon-typical violence
Summary: Din comes to your rescue after you've been given a truth serum, but are either of you safe from its consequences?
Sometimes the truth hurts.
Author's Note: Are we excited about The Mandalorian and Grogu yet? Here's something to whet your appetite.
May the Fourth be with you. Mando Month is upon us.
Dividers by @/saradika-graphics
Masterlist
“What have you given them?” he asked sharply. “Tell me!”
“J—just a couple of tablets,” whimpered the terrified Chiss. His red eyes glowed with fear as Din's broad frame hovered over him menacingly, pinning him against the wall with his arm.
Din bristled angrily, unsatisfied with the answer, and jostled him, pressing hard against his windpipe, making him wheeze and gasp for air. He tried clawing at the Mandalorian's arm, attempting to wriggle free of the vise-like grip.
“What kind of tablets?” he demanded, squeezing again.
“Truth tablets,” wheezed the Chiss.
Din made a strangled noise and turned to look at you, freeing his opponent from his grasp. The Chiss slid down the wall, clutching his throat and gasping for breath, his blue skin looking deathly pale.
“Kriff,” you said, staring back at Din's unreadable visor. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
“We have to go,” urged Din, his attention now focused solely on you.
“Why? I feel just fine,” you pouted back at him.
“Because once that serum gets into your system, we are screwed,” he replied. “You are going to start spilling secrets left, right, and center. I don't want that to happen out here, okay?”
“Aren't you the paranoid one, Din Djarin?”
“It's already starting,” he groaned. “You're not supposed to use my name outside the ship. We need to get back to the Razor Crest. Stat.”
With that he grabbed you firmly by the elbow. Not so much that it hurt, but enough to let you know that he was taking charge of the situation.
“I like your grip,” you said, looking down at where his gloved hand encircled your arm, as he began to pull you towards the door, “it's both firm and gentle at the same time.”
Din paused to look at you with an exasperated shake of his head. “Move it. Now.”
You followed meekly, allowing him to take the lead. He pushed through the door and paused, tilting his helmet, checking for enemies. Signs of life. The crunch of a boot. The click of a safety catch. Someone breathing too heavily.
Instead, you were met with silence.
Din stealthily rounded the corner, blaster raised. Poised and ready.
It was empty.
The floor was littered with debris and bodies—clear evidence that he'd fought his way in to save you.
“Oh, wow,” you muttered. “Look what you did. You did that for me? You must really like me, huh?”
Din sighed and said nothing, but pulled you along with him.
“I like it when you're being firm and commanding,” you said to no one in particular as you stepped over a fallen body. You peered at the scorch marks on the wall. “You're very authoritative. It makes you very attractive, you know.”
Din stopped dead in his tracks. “Keep moving,” he urged. “And dank farrik, stay quiet.”
“I can't,” you said quickly. “It's like someone has removed the filter between my brain and mouth. I can't stop saying what I'm feeling. Every thought that passes through my head comes out of my mouth. And for your information, I am moving.”
“Please,” he implored. “Try to stay quiet.”
He kept moving briskly, always alert—checking every turn, each labyrinthian passageway for signs of life.
“Yes, Din,” you hummed.
He stiffened. “Stop saying my name.”
“Oh, yes. Sorry, Din,”
He groaned loudly.
“It suits you, you know,” you babbled. “Din. It's strong. Simple. Mysterious. Everything I'd expect from a Mandalorian.”
Your pace slowed as you rounded another corner. You considered him for a second. “I've always wondered what you look like without the helmet—”
Din came to an abrupt halt and inhaled deeply through his vocoder. “That's not—”
“I bet you're really handsome, you know,” you continued on, undeterred. “I bet you're really gorgeous. Have the kind of looks that makes people make bad decisions.”
“We are not discussing this. Not here. Not now,” he gritted out.
“You have a nice voice, too,” you added thoughtfully. “It's deep. Gravely. Kinda sexy.”
A sudden noise made him reel you in, putting himself between you, and a potential unseen enemy. He pushed you back into the wall, providing cover.
You inhaled deeply, your face pushed up against his armor. “You smell nice, too. Not like perfume. But smoke and metal. It's comforting.”
“That's the beskar.”
You shook your head in disagreement. “No. It's you. You smell like home.”
A blaster shot ricocheted off of his beskar and Din twisted around to fire over his shoulder. You heard the heavy thud as a body hit the floor.
“Good shot!” you exclaimed.
Din spun around and quickened his pace. “Can we just—”
“You need to relax more, you know. You're always very tense, Din.”
Din didn't miss a beat. “I'm escorting someone through enemy territory who's been drugged with a truth serum. Forgive me for being tense right now,” he shot back.
“That's fair,” you shrugged. “And if it helps, I do trust you completely.”
Your admission made him falter for a split second. Just enough for you to notice.
“That one got to you,” you said, a smile tugging at your lips.
“It didn't,” he argued, pulling you around another corner.
“Did so. You like me trusting you.”
Din said nothing. He didn't even throw you a curse. Your smile grew into a grin.
“I also think you’re a little overprotective,” you admitted. “But I like that too. It makes me feel safe.”
You reached the exit corridor and Din paused to scan the area. Two burly guards were patrolling, blasters at the ready.
You opened your mouth to suggest something.
“No.”
“I didn't say anything,” you protested.
“You didn't need to,” he said quietly, never taking his visor off of the guards.
“I was going to suggest a distraction.”
“No. No distractions.”
“You're no fun,” you pouted.
With that, he raised his blaster and took aim. Two quick, sharp shots. Two bodies slumped to the floor.
Clean. Precise.
“Okay…” you breathed. “That was kinda…hot?”
“Let's go,” he said, grabbing you by the elbow again. You didn’t comment on his grip this time, just leaned into it. Moved a little closer.
“You know,” you said in a singsong voice as the Razor Crest came into view. “You could interrogate me whilst I'm unable to tell you anything but the truth.”
“No,” he replied firmly. “Not whilst you are compromised. I wouldn't, couldn't, take advantage of you like that.”
“Missed opportunity. I could tell you everything.”
“That's the problem.”
Your eyes narrowed and you stopped walking. “What are you afraid I'll say?”
Cajoling you, Din ushered you up the ramp and into the relative safety of the ship, but didn't reply.
You looked around the familiar durasteel hull. Home. Safety.
Din guided you towards the cot, perhaps hoping that you would sleep off the effects of the serum while he piloted out of here.
“I think about you sometimes when I can't sleep,” you blurted out as you looked at the thin, worn mattress.
He froze. The hands gripping you tightened. “You— What?”
“Oh no,” you muttered, horrified by what you'd just revealed. “That really was a secret I didn’t want to share!”
“Don't— just don't say anything else, right now,” he groaned.
“What? Like I have a lot of nights where I can't slee—”
His gloved hand snapped over your mouth, muffling the sound of your voice and blocking out your words.
“You're really close right now,” you said, taking a step forward into his space.
“What do I do with you?” he said to the empty hull, tipping his head back in frustration.
“Anything you like,” you breathed back.
Grabbing you by the elbow, he ushered you towards the cockpit ladder and gestured for you to climb.
Taking your cue, you began to climb rung by rung. Halfway up, you looked down over your shoulder.
“Are you checking out my ass?”
Several rungs below you, Din turned his head to the side with a resolute, “No.”
“Bet you were,” you said as you hoisted yourself into the familiarity of the cockpit. Din followed you with another loud sigh. “I've seen you checking it out before.”
“Right. Sit,” he ordered, pointing at one of the empty chairs next to his chair, ignoring your commentary. You obeyed immediately, strapping yourself in for take off. “And stop getting yourself into trouble.”
You squinted up at him. "That's your job, not mine. I don't cause trouble. I'm just telling the truth.”
The way Din's visor settled on you, you knew that you had to stop talking. Swallowing down your words, you tightened your lips.
The silence was suffocating. In an effort to keep quiet, you bounced your leg, unable to keep still. And then your mouth followed suit.
“I'm trying not to talk,” you announced.
“Really? How's that working out for you?” Din began flicking buttons on the console, lights blinked and the engines roared to life, underneath you.
“Not so well,” you admitted more quietly.
You idly watched him work, feeling the ship rise up underneath you. “Kriff, you're so competent at flying. It's really quite something to watch.”
Then, before you could even stop yourself, you blurted out, “I think I’m in love with you.”
You slapped your hands across your mouth, eyes wide in terror at your sudden admission.
The Razor Crest jolted wildly before stabilizing again. Din gripped the controls so tightly, they looked like they might snap off in his hands.
“You don’t mean that,” he said, finally regaining his composure.
“I do,” you said.
“It’s the serum.”
“It’s lowering my inhibitions, not inventing feelings,” you pointed out. “That’s kind of the whole point of truth tablets.”
He didn’t respond. He couldn't look at you. You continued speaking, mostly because you couldn’t stop.
You gave a small, sad smile. “And now I hate that I can’t stop talking, because I'm just filling the silence.”
“I wasn’t supposed to tell you,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper now. “I was just going to keep it to myself.”
Din finally turned his helmet enough to show that he was listening.
“But I do,” you said. “I love you. In a ‘I trust you with my life’ way. In a ‘I feel safe when you’re around’ way. In a ‘I think about you more than I should’ way.”
“I know you probably don’t feel the same,” you added quickly. “And that’s okay. I mean—it’s not okay, it kind of sucks, but I’ll deal with it. I just—”
“Stop!”
He wasn't angry, just tense.
And you tried. You tried so hard not to say anything else. You'd just already ruined everything. You pursed your lips and dug your fingernails in the palm of your hand—painfully so. It lasted for about a minute before more words slipped out.
“I didn’t expect it to feel this bad if you didn’t say it back.”
Heavy silence settled between you. Awkwardness.
Din cleared his throat. “You’re not thinking clearly. It's those tablets.”
“Funnily enough,” you said quietly, “things have never been clearer.”
He tried again. “The serum—”
“Doesn't make things up,” you pointed out, cutting across him. “It's just taken away my filter.”
He lapsed into silence again. Behind his helmet, Din closed his eyes, before exhaling loudly.
“You think I don't see it?” His helmet turned to face you. “The way you look at me? The way you put your faith in me? How you trust me?” Then more quietly, “And how I let you?”
You swallow, heart pounding in your chest. “I thought—I guess I thought you were ignoring it.”
“I was trying to.”
Your chest constricted. “Why?”
“Because being a bounty hunter. This…life,” he gestured vaguely around him, meaning him, the danger, the adventure, “isn't the place for love. For feelings.”
“Is that the truth, or are you hiding behind a safer answer?”
Din didn't speak. He couldn't find the right words.
“Let me help you,” you said steadily. “You don't get to decide what I can or can't handle. I'm here because I chose this. I chose you. And that was long before I was given a truth serum.”
Stars, you had never spoken to Din like this before.
“And what happens,” he said carefully, “when this wears off?”
You didn’t hesitate.
“I’ll still be in love with you,” you admitted quietly.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said softly.
“Then tell me,” you shot back, just as softly. “But don’t pretend there’s nothing there just because it’s easier.”
Silence ensued.
“I don't take the helmet off.”
You smiled, a half-smile. “I know.”
“You don't,” he said more to himself than you. “You don’t understand what it costs. What my creed means.”
Comprehension dawned. “I'm not asking you to change who you are,” you said calmly. “I like you as you.”
“I tried to keep it simple. Keep you safe,” he huffed. “Keep my feelings out of it. And now," he tilted his helmet at you. “You've made it complicated.”
“Me? This is on more than just me, bud,” you said, flashing him a warm smile.
He huffed again. A small half-laugh. And this time, he reached out and his hand, then paused and hovered, uncertain, as though crossing an invisible line. But, when finally his gloved hand came to rest on your arm, it was soft, almost tender.
“If this is because of the serum—”
“It's not.”
“If you regret it later—”
“I won't.” Your chest tightened, not with fear, but with possibilities.
“So,” he said, his black visor staring into your face. “Let's wait until this wears off and then… talk.”
“Promise?”
“I promise,” he said candidly. “I'll only ever give you honesty. Now sit there until then. Quietly,” he ordered, becoming more business-like, settling back into the pilot's seat. He flipped a few switches on the Razor Crest's console and the craft leveled out.
“Yes, sir.”
And then after a moment's silence, unable to help yourself, you added.”Bossy…I like it.”
Din sighed and shook his head. It was going to be a long trip.
Hi Friends. I hope June was good to you. It was a bit wild (but mostly good) for me. Below are the fics I read for the month of June.
If I have tagged you, and you would prefer to not be tagged, or have your works tagged, please let me know. A big thank you to each of you for sharing your works.
These works are 18+, minors DNI. Please read the tags on the fics before reading. If you read & enjoy let the author know! Leave a comment or a reblog!
Clint Flood
Call Me (September 1990) (October 1990) by @ak-vintage - Clint Flood x f!reader
Din Djarin / The Mandalorian
When a Feather-Light Touch is Agony by @bergamote-catsandbooks - Din Djarin x f!reader
Hush (Chapter 2 A03) by @djarins-cyare - Din Djarin x OFC!Reader
Frankie Morales
Frontier Hearts (Ch 4) (Ch 5) by @din-cognito - Frankie Morales x ofc
To Love Me Is To Suffer Me by @dreamedaboutitinthedark - Frankie Morales x Wife!Reader
Harry Castillo
A Baker's Dozen (Sixteen) by @avastrasposts - Harry Castillo x reader
Jack Daniels / Agent Whiskey
Jack & a Clown Costume by @ghoulettesinspace
Javi Gutierrez
Find A Man Who Can Do Both by @grogusmum - JAVI GUTIÉRREZ X F!READER
Javier Peña
Medium Well by @604to647 - Javier Peña x fem!reader
Here and Now (A03) by goodwithcheese - Javier Peña x ofc
Marcus Pike
run to you (ch 9) (ch 10)by @foli-vora - marcus pike x f!reader
The Way We Were Drawn (Ch 1) (Ch 2) by @ishabull - Marcus Pike x Reader
Reed Richards
Dirty move by @petalsinblood - Reed Richards x gn!reader
Crossovers
Seeing Double by @andrew-codys - Jack Abbot x F!Author!Reader x Grant Reilly
Dieter's First Yule by @quinnnfabrgay - dieter bravo x non-binary!reader x din djarin
Call of Duty
Heavy Weighs The Crown (A03) by @sentientcave - Fantasy AU. 2nd POV (OC Reader). 141 x Reader
captain john price x fem!141!reader by @warmfrequency
The Fifth Element (A03) by @the-californicationist -COD/Fallout Task Force 141/Reader Polyamory Fic
little milk on the tongue (ch 1)-(ch 5) by @anneofgreengabagool - john price x reader
fly, songbird, fly (A03) by pap3rtigers - Task Force 141 x Reader (omegaverse)
The Pitt
acute adoration (part iii) by @penvisions - Jack Abbot x F! Reader ;Michael "Robby" Robinavich x F! Reader ; Jack Abbot x F! Reader x Michael "Robby" Robinavich
These Walls Have Eyes by @asxgard - Dr. Jack Abbot x f!nurse!reader
Casual by @lovebugism - michael robinavitch / fem!reader, jack abbot / fem!reader
The Casting Couch - Michael “Robby” Robinavitch (P*rnstar AU) by @bullet-prooflove
I Think He Knows (AO3) by starallover Jack Abbot x reader
A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
A Stag, A Doe, and a Hedge Knight (A03) by Huntress_Moon - Lyonel Baratheon x reader x Duncan the Tall
Franke Castle
no one knows by @foli-vora - frank castle x f!reader
Off Campus
Rich In Love by @666eyed - John Logan x Reader
someday, someday by @folkloure - john logan x reader
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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I'm back with my silly game, and a special thank you to @simpingforjoel for reminding me about it!
Some of these will be very easy, but hopefully some will make you scratch your head and test your Pedro boy knowledge! I hope I'm not hit with another content warning lable (I'm looking at you 🍆🍆🍆) but hands are innocent enough I think?
This is how you play: check the photos below the cut, make your guesses and put them in a reblog, making sure to hide your answers below a "Read More" cut. I'll see your reblog and give you your score
Warnings: mentions of sickness and death, love on the Frontier Chapter warnings will be posted (but I really hate spoiling the plot for you). Tough decisions.
Summary: Libby receives a letter with a surprising offer that tears her in two. Left with a decision to make, what will she do?
Dividers by @/saradika-graphics
Series Masterlist | Masterlist
Time marched on. The weather grew warmer, coaxing life back into the land. Spring had brought rain and fields flourished beneath the golden summer sun, and Edward thrived. He was bright-eyed, healthy, and growing stronger with each passing day. He became more alert and curious, and by late summer, was able to almost sit unaided.
His resemblance to Frankie was almost unnerving. Though his eyes had been blue at birth, they had deepened into a rich, familiar brown. Beneath his bonnet, an unruly crop of dark curls had begun to grow. His hair was curly and untamed—just like his father’s.
Before Edward’s birth, Libby had moved out of the Smiths’ familial home and into a small, vacant dwelling near the schoolhouse. She had felt that bringing a newborn, who would surely cry through the night, into an already overburdened household was a step too far. There was only so much hospitality that could be endured.
And as Edward grew, Libby's exhaustion grew too. She spent hours rocking him to sleep or reading Shakespeare's sonnets to soothe him during the early hours when he awoke fractious and alone. Her every waking moment, when she was not teaching, was consumed by caring for Edward.
As she arrived at the schoolhouse every morning, the burden of a dual life pressed down on her shoulders. Running a home, a schoolhouse, and raising her six-month-old son left her worn out and feeling like she was barely holding things together.
Months had passed since the news of the Triple Frontier Gang and their potential demise. Libby had grieved in private, hoping against hope that Frankie had survived, that the whole gang was alive. But no more news came and the excitement of their daring raid had faded in the minds of the Longshorn townsfolk. Stories of the Triple Frontier Gang soon became background gossip. No longer a burning topic of conversation around the township, they were passed over in favor of more recent news. Consigned to legend and folklore.
But not in Libby's mind. Deep down, she still clung onto the idea that Frankie might be alive. Perhaps he was still living in the wilderness, or hiding in bustling Sacramento. It was a shred of hope that kept her putting one foot in front of the other. But left in a state of perpetual limbo, the lack of further news was concerning.
And as the weeks passed, her hope, like the townsfolk's interest in their demise, began to wane. There was no sign of Frankie appearing unannounced on her doorstep. No evidence of him being in the vicinity. No whispers of strangers appearing in town. No letters slipped into mailboxes.
Instead, silence. Just an aching, empty void.
One particular late summer morning as all hope faded, Libby stepped inside her schoolhouse and was greeted by a letter waiting for on her desk.
It was an elegant letter, crafted with the care of someone who had put thought into every detail. The cream paper felt heavy and expensive in her hands, its texture smooth and delicate. Libby ran her fingers over the envelope reverently, But she knew no one who would use such expensive paper to write on. Her eyes dropped to the red wax seal, scanning for any identifying mark. But there was no clue as to who had sent it.
Both equal parts mystified and curious, her breath was unsteady as she carefully flipped it over, breaking the seal with trembling fingers.
For a brief moment, she wondered if it might have come from Frankie, or perhaps from one of the other members of the Triple Frontier Gang. Maybe it contained news of his fate?
The thought was overwhelming. She had to stop, steady herself, and take a breath to recompose.
Inside, the letter was written in fine, cursive handwriting. Each word was perfectly formed by a steady, deliberate hand. She began to read, her heart hammering in her chest.
"Dear Mrs. Green," it began.
Libby flinched involuntarily. Although It was the name she had kept to avoid the judgment of the town, she still hated being reminded of her former husband. A name that she felt compelled to use like a shield. A shield that protected both her and her baby boy from the harsh realities of judgement, but a lie that she resented.
She read on, despite the tightness that was now rising in her chest.
"It has come to my attention that you have been doing a sterling job in Longhorn. I have recently taken on the role of Mayor in Willow Creek in an attempt to clean up this town, and feel that the children of the good townsfolk could benefit from a teacher such as yourself."
Libby paused, her eyes scanning the elegant script. There was no mistaking the sincerity in the words, but she felt something cold clutching at her heart. She wasn’t sure if it was hope or dread.
She skipped ahead to the bottom, hoping to recognize a name, but the letter was simply signed from the Mayor’s office. There was no signature she recognized.
Her eyes drifted back up to the next paragraph.
"I would be willing to increase your current salary and offer you a home to live in next to the schoolhouse free of charge."
At this, Libby’s chest tightened with an almost physical pain. The offer was too good to ignore. Too good for anyone in her position.
Yet, as her fingers clutched the paper, a single thought raced through her mind, cutting through the haze of practicality. How could I leave?
She couldn’t do it. Not now, not ever. Longhorn was where she had told Frankie she would be. The place she had hoped he would find her, if he ever returned. Although she suspected that his continued silence meant that he was no longer of this world, she had no true way of knowing if he was indeed alive. Consequently, at present, the thought of leaving would feel like abandoning the very thread of hope she had left. It would be tantamount to admitting her loss, but also, if she left and he was still alive, how would he ever find her?
How could he if she moved on?
With a deep breath, Libby drew herself up. Her decision was made. She set the letter down, her hands shaking slightly as she read through the offer once more, each word an opportunity for a new life she couldn’t take. Then, with a steely resolution and shaky breath, she tore the letter into tiny pieces and threw them into the fireplace. She watched solemnly as paper fluttered into the fire. Gone forever.
The flames crackled as the tiny shreds of paper caught light and then disappeared into nothing. Libby sat back, feeling strangely empty and yet resolute.
She wasn’t prepared to let go just yet.
Not yet.
Too busy to dwell on the loss of that fleeting chance, she turned back to the task at hand, picking up the pieces of her life and carrying on just as she had been doing for the last six months. She would continue to juggle teaching with raising her child, always with the hope that one day, she might see Frankie again and that he might yet meet his son, but knowing deep down that she couldn’t let herself be distracted by dreams of what could have been.
****
Two more weeks passed. Two more weeks of juggling teaching, caring for her baby, maintaining her home.
Homework marked, a baby fed, napkins changed, clothes washed. Exhaustion.
And then she repeated the process over and over again, never pausing to rest.
And then, another letter arrived.
This one was strikingly similar to the first—a pristine envelope of the same expensive, heavyweight paper. Libby felt a surge of irritation rising in her chest. Not again, she thought, her resolve hardening. She had no time for more temptation, more offers of a life she couldn’t take.
But, as her fingers brushed the delicate paper, a strange, insistent curiosity pushed her to open it. She hesitated, feeling a knot form in her stomach, but curiosity won out.
Carefully, she unfolded the letter and read, her eyes tracing the neat, looping script. The words were almost identical to the first letter, but this time, the offer was even more generous.
"I would like to offer you an even greater increase in salary," the letter stated. "The funds I’m offering are substantial—more than enough for you to live on."
Libby’s breath caught in her throat. The money was far more than she could have imagined. With it, she could afford help and ease the burden she carried, the endless cycle of teaching, cleaning, and caring for her son. It was a solution that made sense, one that would take a weight off her shoulders, a way to give her child the future he deserved.
She read on.
“As a token, a small parcel of literary classics will be delivered to you as a gesture of goodwill.”
She had to sit down at that, in shock. Who on earth would send her a collection of books? How did this person even know that she possessively clung to her books like a lifeline.
But as she sat there, the paper in her hand, the temptation to change her life, to choose a more comfortable path, whirled in her mind. Her heart, though, was still tethered to Longhorn, to the hope that Frankie might one day return, alive and redeemed. The letter seemed to promise so much, so much more than she had ever imagined for herself.
Libby read the letter once more, her eyes following the words. She could feel a conflict stirring deep inside her. It seemed so simple, the offer was so tempting and so full of possibilities. But it came with its own set of sacrifices, sacrifices that made her heart ache in ways she couldn’t quite explain. She tucked the letter carefully into her apron pocket. Tempting as this new letter was, she couldn’t afford to make a hasty decision.
As she moved through the schoolhouse, she found that she could not focus on anything. The second letter burned a hole in her pocket. It whispered to herself all day long as a constant reminder of the decision she may be forced to make.
As the afternoon lessons wore on, her thoughts kept drifting back to the words she had read. She found herself fumbling through Latin phrases, her normally sharp mind slipping as she tried to teach her students. The children giggled at her mistakes, but Libby wasn’t really there with them. Her mind was far away, lost in the possibilities this new letter had provoked. Her natural rhythm was broken, and she kept losing her place during the afternoon story. The room buzzed, but all Libby could think of was her future. Edward's future. The choice she had to make between the life she had built and the one she might be able to create if she took the offer.
When the bell rang, she waved the children out of the classroom at the end of the day, thinking only of the letter.
She picked up Edward from Mrs. Smith. Her questions about his day were short, polite and perfunctory. Her mind was consumed with the letter.
The evening stretched on, and when Edward had finally fallen asleep, Libby sat in the dim light of her small house, brooding over the contents of that piece of expensive paper. The quiet of the house was almost deafening, and in the stillness, the weight of her decision became intolerable.
When she couldn’t bear it anymore, she moved to her writing bureau. Her fingers trembled slightly as she took out her own finest writing paper, pen poised in her hand. She had to write. She had to make a decision, or at least, take a step toward one. She dipped the nib into the ink pot and began to write.
Dear Sir,
Thank you for your kind offer. I am very interested in taking up the position, but I have a few provisos before I make my decision. I would like to visit your township and meet you in person.
Yours faithfully,
Mrs. Elizabeth Green.
She breathed a sigh of relief. It was done. Sealing the envelope carefully, her hands became unsteady now that it was written. It was a small step, a tentative reach toward something she wasn’t sure she was ready for. As she placed the envelope on the kitchen table, she realized that even this felt like a betrayal. It was like taking a step away from everything that she had fought so hard to build in Longhorn. The thought of leaving, of moving forward without knowing what had become of Frankie, made her heart ache in ways she couldn’t bear.
Libby decided that she would sleep on it. She needed more time to think, to clear her mind. But as she slipped into bed that night, sleep refused to come. Her mind was restless, replaying scenes from her past, flashing moments of Frankie—his face, his touch, the way he had made her feel alive again, if only for a brief moment. In the quiet of the night, his voice seemed to echo in her dreams, weaving through the fabric of her sleep, telling her what she already knew deep down—that she had to take the job. You can’t stay here forever, she imagined him saying. You have a future, Elizabeth. You have to let go of Longhorn. Of me.
The dreams twisted and turned, blurring between the past and the present. Libby awoke with a jolt, her body weary and drained, as if she hadn’t slept at all. The sun was just beginning to peek through the curtains, but the morning light brought little comfort.
The weariness of the restless night’s dreams carried over into her waking hours. She felt as though she was swimming underwater. Her body felt heavy and fatigued. Every time she looked at her son, sleeping peacefully beside her, all she saw was Frankie. She saw his eyes in Edward’s. Those same dark, soulful eyes that had captivated her. Eyes that still haunted her dreams regularly.
The future she had longed for, the one she had built in her heart, was slipping further away, and she didn’t know if she was ready to let go of the hope that one day, Francisco Morales might come back to her.
She sat there, frozen in the quiet, her hands clutching the edge of the blankets as the enormity of her decision pressed down on her.
Could she really leave Longhorn, leave behind the life she had created, just to chase the possibility of something more? Or was she simply running from the pain of her past, from the life she had wanted but could never have?
Her son stirred beside her, a tiny frown pulling at his forehead, and Libby felt a wave of love wash over her, stronger than anything she had felt in a long time. She kissed his forehead softly, a tear slipping down her cheek, as she whispered to herself, For you, Edward. I will make the right choice.
But in her heart, she still wasn’t sure what that choice was.
Before dropping Edward off at Mrs. Smith's house, Libby decided to change her usual morning route to the schoolhouse. The weight of the decision she had made the night before hung heavy in the air, and today, she would drop the letter off at the town's postal service. With Edward cradled gently in her arms, she walked through the town, the cool morning breeze waking her up fully. Her fingers tightened around the letter she had written in response to the Mayor’s offer, a feeling of unease rising within her with every step.
She stopped outside the general store clutching the letter in her hand. Before stepping inside, she stopped to ask herself if this was what she really truly wanted. Once that letter was handed over, there was no going back.
Gathering up her inner courage, she stepped over the threshold and up to the post office counter inside. Her hand trembled as she handed the letter to the Postmaster. She tried to smile a cheerful good morning, but the action felt oddly forced. Her heart thumped in her chest as she watched him take it from her, sealing the envelope with finality. It would soon be on its way to Willow Creek. She had made the decision, and soon enough, it would be out of her hands.
After dropping Edward off at Mrs. Smith’s house, she forced herself to move forward with the day. The hours at the schoolhouse passed in a blur. The lesson plans she had carefully prepared unfolded as usual, and the children settled into their studies. For a brief moment, it almost felt like things could continue on like this—her life, her routine, the quiet but steady passing of days. But even as she taught, a part of her couldn’t stop thinking about what she had done. She had taken the first step toward a future without Francisco, without the hope she’d once clung to. The idea of leaving Longhorn, of taking Edward away, felt more real now. There was no turning back, no more waiting for the man who might never return. The hope she had kept alive for so long was slipping away, and with it, the last of her dreams for the life she’d hoped for.
When the third letter arrived quickly, it caught her by surprise. This letter looked just like the others. Its beautiful, high-quality paper with elegant handwriting seemed to demand all of her attention. She felt a sudden tightness in her chest as she reached for it, her fingers shaking as she tried to slide it from the envelope. Her breath caught in her throat, and she had to steady herself, sitting down at the table to regain some composure.
Her hands trembled, she carefully unfolded the letter and read its contents:
Dear Mrs. Green,
I would be delighted to accommodate you for a visit to our town and a viewing of our schoolhouse. I will send a carriage for you at 9 o'clock sharp on Saturday morning. If this is not acceptable to you, I await your updated suggestion. Otherwise, I look forward to meeting you on the aforementioned day.
Libby read the letter over again, her heart pounding with each word. This was it. The offer had been accepted. It was real now, and there was no escaping it. The decision had been made. She could feel the weight of it all. The possibility of a new beginning, of leaving Longhorn behind, of starting fresh in a town where no one knew her.
The thought made her stomach churn anxiously. The idea of leaving the town she had come to call home was unsettling, but it was a step forward, a way to secure a better future for herself and Edward.
Her mind wandered to Francisco, to the man who had once held her in his arms and told her he loved her. She thought of the life they could have had, of what could have been, but she had to face the truth. He was gone indefinitely, and no amount of hoping and waiting would bring him back. She was alone, and it was time to move on. Edward needed stability, and Libby needed to build a life that didn’t depend on memories of what could have been with a better salary and prospects.
With a sigh, Libby picked up her pen and quickly scribbled a hasty reply, agreeing to the visit. She sealed the letter with a finality that made her heart ache, then placed it on the table, ready for the post in the morning.
****
A day after the letter, a parcel arrived at the schoolhouse. It was a small, but heavy parcel, wrapped in thick brown paper, tied with twine. The writing on the address was the same, neat script as her previous letters. She recognized the cursive immediately. She had spent hours reading and re-reading those letters over and over again. They seemed to have indelibly burned the stylish script into her memory.
She eyed the parcel with trepidation, as though it might detonate in her hands like a stick of dynamite. With a heavy heart, she carefully prised off the string and began to unwrap the gift.
As promised, it contained books.
Her heart caught in her throat as she picked up each book in turn. Several books by Jane Austen, the Brontë sisters and at the bottom, Shakespeare's plays.
The books felt like another stab of betrayal as she placed them on the bookshelf in the schoolhouse, alongside the books that had traveled thousands of miles with her. Accepting them was tantamount to admitting that she would be accepting the job in Willow Creek. And more importantly, saying goodbye to Frankie.
Libby Green leaves the damp gray skies of England in early 1849 for the golden promise of California. Not to pan for gold, but for something far more simple — for to teach.
The trail West is more dangerous than she could ever have imagined. Fraught with danger and the unknown.
But what she finds is far more deadly than disease, storms, or hunger, when she is kidnapped by a band of outlaws — a group of men who will change her fate forever. Among them is Catfish: a quiet man, with blood on his hands and something she can’t quite name in his eyes.
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Libby Green leaves the damp gray skies of England in early 1849 for the golden promise of California. Not to pan for gold, but for something far more simple — for to teach.
The trail West is more dangerous than she could ever have imagined. Fraught with danger and the unknown.
But what she finds is far more deadly than disease, storms, or hunger, when she is kidnapped by a band of outlaws — a group of men who will change her fate forever. Among them is Catfish: a quiet man, with blood on his hands and something she can’t quite name in his eyes.
Warnings: mentions of sickness and death, love on the Frontier Chapter warnings will be posted (but I really hate spoiling the plot for you). Tough decisions.
Summary: Libby receives a letter with a surprising offer that tears her in two. Left with a decision to make, what will she do?
Dividers by @/saradika-graphics
Series Masterlist | Masterlist
Time marched on. The weather grew warmer, coaxing life back into the land. Spring had brought rain and fields flourished beneath the golden summer sun, and Edward thrived. He was bright-eyed, healthy, and growing stronger with each passing day. He became more alert and curious, and by late summer, was able to almost sit unaided.
His resemblance to Frankie was almost unnerving. Though his eyes had been blue at birth, they had deepened into a rich, familiar brown. Beneath his bonnet, an unruly crop of dark curls had begun to grow. His hair was curly and untamed—just like his father’s.
Before Edward’s birth, Libby had moved out of the Smiths’ familial home and into a small, vacant dwelling near the schoolhouse. She had felt that bringing a newborn, who would surely cry through the night, into an already overburdened household was a step too far. There was only so much hospitality that could be endured.
And as Edward grew, Libby's exhaustion grew too. She spent hours rocking him to sleep or reading Shakespeare's sonnets to soothe him during the early hours when he awoke fractious and alone. Her every waking moment, when she was not teaching, was consumed by caring for Edward.
As she arrived at the schoolhouse every morning, the burden of a dual life pressed down on her shoulders. Running a home, a schoolhouse, and raising her six-month-old son left her worn out and feeling like she was barely holding things together.
Months had passed since the news of the Triple Frontier Gang and their potential demise. Libby had grieved in private, hoping against hope that Frankie had survived, that the whole gang was alive. But no more news came and the excitement of their daring raid had faded in the minds of the Longshorn townsfolk. Stories of the Triple Frontier Gang soon became background gossip. No longer a burning topic of conversation around the township, they were passed over in favor of more recent news. Consigned to legend and folklore.
But not in Libby's mind. Deep down, she still clung onto the idea that Frankie might be alive. Perhaps he was still living in the wilderness, or hiding in bustling Sacramento. It was a shred of hope that kept her putting one foot in front of the other. But left in a state of perpetual limbo, the lack of further news was concerning.
And as the weeks passed, her hope, like the townsfolk's interest in their demise, began to wane. There was no sign of Frankie appearing unannounced on her doorstep. No evidence of him being in the vicinity. No whispers of strangers appearing in town. No letters slipped into mailboxes.
Instead, silence. Just an aching, empty void.
One particular late summer morning as all hope faded, Libby stepped inside her schoolhouse and was greeted by a letter waiting for on her desk.
It was an elegant letter, crafted with the care of someone who had put thought into every detail. The cream paper felt heavy and expensive in her hands, its texture smooth and delicate. Libby ran her fingers over the envelope reverently, But she knew no one who would use such expensive paper to write on. Her eyes dropped to the red wax seal, scanning for any identifying mark. But there was no clue as to who had sent it.
Both equal parts mystified and curious, her breath was unsteady as she carefully flipped it over, breaking the seal with trembling fingers.
For a brief moment, she wondered if it might have come from Frankie, or perhaps from one of the other members of the Triple Frontier Gang. Maybe it contained news of his fate?
The thought was overwhelming. She had to stop, steady herself, and take a breath to recompose.
Inside, the letter was written in fine, cursive handwriting. Each word was perfectly formed by a steady, deliberate hand. She began to read, her heart hammering in her chest.
"Dear Mrs. Green," it began.
Libby flinched involuntarily. Although It was the name she had kept to avoid the judgment of the town, she still hated being reminded of her former husband. A name that she felt compelled to use like a shield. A shield that protected both her and her baby boy from the harsh realities of judgement, but a lie that she resented.
She read on, despite the tightness that was now rising in her chest.
"It has come to my attention that you have been doing a sterling job in Longhorn. I have recently taken on the role of Mayor in Willow Creek in an attempt to clean up this town, and feel that the children of the good townsfolk could benefit from a teacher such as yourself."
Libby paused, her eyes scanning the elegant script. There was no mistaking the sincerity in the words, but she felt something cold clutching at her heart. She wasn’t sure if it was hope or dread.
She skipped ahead to the bottom, hoping to recognize a name, but the letter was simply signed from the Mayor’s office. There was no signature she recognized.
Her eyes drifted back up to the next paragraph.
"I would be willing to increase your current salary and offer you a home to live in next to the schoolhouse free of charge."
At this, Libby’s chest tightened with an almost physical pain. The offer was too good to ignore. Too good for anyone in her position.
Yet, as her fingers clutched the paper, a single thought raced through her mind, cutting through the haze of practicality. How could I leave?
She couldn’t do it. Not now, not ever. Longhorn was where she had told Frankie she would be. The place she had hoped he would find her, if he ever returned. Although she suspected that his continued silence meant that he was no longer of this world, she had no true way of knowing if he was indeed alive. Consequently, at present, the thought of leaving would feel like abandoning the very thread of hope she had left. It would be tantamount to admitting her loss, but also, if she left and he was still alive, how would he ever find her?
How could he if she moved on?
With a deep breath, Libby drew herself up. Her decision was made. She set the letter down, her hands shaking slightly as she read through the offer once more, each word an opportunity for a new life she couldn’t take. Then, with a steely resolution and shaky breath, she tore the letter into tiny pieces and threw them into the fireplace. She watched solemnly as paper fluttered into the fire. Gone forever.
The flames crackled as the tiny shreds of paper caught light and then disappeared into nothing. Libby sat back, feeling strangely empty and yet resolute.
She wasn’t prepared to let go just yet.
Not yet.
Too busy to dwell on the loss of that fleeting chance, she turned back to the task at hand, picking up the pieces of her life and carrying on just as she had been doing for the last six months. She would continue to juggle teaching with raising her child, always with the hope that one day, she might see Frankie again and that he might yet meet his son, but knowing deep down that she couldn’t let herself be distracted by dreams of what could have been.
****
Two more weeks passed. Two more weeks of juggling teaching, caring for her baby, maintaining her home.
Homework marked, a baby fed, napkins changed, clothes washed. Exhaustion.
And then she repeated the process over and over again, never pausing to rest.
And then, another letter arrived.
This one was strikingly similar to the first—a pristine envelope of the same expensive, heavyweight paper. Libby felt a surge of irritation rising in her chest. Not again, she thought, her resolve hardening. She had no time for more temptation, more offers of a life she couldn’t take.
But, as her fingers brushed the delicate paper, a strange, insistent curiosity pushed her to open it. She hesitated, feeling a knot form in her stomach, but curiosity won out.
Carefully, she unfolded the letter and read, her eyes tracing the neat, looping script. The words were almost identical to the first letter, but this time, the offer was even more generous.
"I would like to offer you an even greater increase in salary," the letter stated. "The funds I’m offering are substantial—more than enough for you to live on."
Libby’s breath caught in her throat. The money was far more than she could have imagined. With it, she could afford help and ease the burden she carried, the endless cycle of teaching, cleaning, and caring for her son. It was a solution that made sense, one that would take a weight off her shoulders, a way to give her child the future he deserved.
She read on.
“As a token, a small parcel of literary classics will be delivered to you as a gesture of goodwill.”
She had to sit down at that, in shock. Who on earth would send her a collection of books? How did this person even know that she possessively clung to her books like a lifeline.
But as she sat there, the paper in her hand, the temptation to change her life, to choose a more comfortable path, whirled in her mind. Her heart, though, was still tethered to Longhorn, to the hope that Frankie might one day return, alive and redeemed. The letter seemed to promise so much, so much more than she had ever imagined for herself.
Libby read the letter once more, her eyes following the words. She could feel a conflict stirring deep inside her. It seemed so simple, the offer was so tempting and so full of possibilities. But it came with its own set of sacrifices, sacrifices that made her heart ache in ways she couldn’t quite explain. She tucked the letter carefully into her apron pocket. Tempting as this new letter was, she couldn’t afford to make a hasty decision.
As she moved through the schoolhouse, she found that she could not focus on anything. The second letter burned a hole in her pocket. It whispered to herself all day long as a constant reminder of the decision she may be forced to make.
As the afternoon lessons wore on, her thoughts kept drifting back to the words she had read. She found herself fumbling through Latin phrases, her normally sharp mind slipping as she tried to teach her students. The children giggled at her mistakes, but Libby wasn’t really there with them. Her mind was far away, lost in the possibilities this new letter had provoked. Her natural rhythm was broken, and she kept losing her place during the afternoon story. The room buzzed, but all Libby could think of was her future. Edward's future. The choice she had to make between the life she had built and the one she might be able to create if she took the offer.
When the bell rang, she waved the children out of the classroom at the end of the day, thinking only of the letter.
She picked up Edward from Mrs. Smith. Her questions about his day were short, polite and perfunctory. Her mind was consumed with the letter.
The evening stretched on, and when Edward had finally fallen asleep, Libby sat in the dim light of her small house, brooding over the contents of that piece of expensive paper. The quiet of the house was almost deafening, and in the stillness, the weight of her decision became intolerable.
When she couldn’t bear it anymore, she moved to her writing bureau. Her fingers trembled slightly as she took out her own finest writing paper, pen poised in her hand. She had to write. She had to make a decision, or at least, take a step toward one. She dipped the nib into the ink pot and began to write.
Dear Sir,
Thank you for your kind offer. I am very interested in taking up the position, but I have a few provisos before I make my decision. I would like to visit your township and meet you in person.
Yours faithfully,
Mrs. Elizabeth Green.
She breathed a sigh of relief. It was done. Sealing the envelope carefully, her hands became unsteady now that it was written. It was a small step, a tentative reach toward something she wasn’t sure she was ready for. As she placed the envelope on the kitchen table, she realized that even this felt like a betrayal. It was like taking a step away from everything that she had fought so hard to build in Longhorn. The thought of leaving, of moving forward without knowing what had become of Frankie, made her heart ache in ways she couldn’t bear.
Libby decided that she would sleep on it. She needed more time to think, to clear her mind. But as she slipped into bed that night, sleep refused to come. Her mind was restless, replaying scenes from her past, flashing moments of Frankie—his face, his touch, the way he had made her feel alive again, if only for a brief moment. In the quiet of the night, his voice seemed to echo in her dreams, weaving through the fabric of her sleep, telling her what she already knew deep down—that she had to take the job. You can’t stay here forever, she imagined him saying. You have a future, Elizabeth. You have to let go of Longhorn. Of me.
The dreams twisted and turned, blurring between the past and the present. Libby awoke with a jolt, her body weary and drained, as if she hadn’t slept at all. The sun was just beginning to peek through the curtains, but the morning light brought little comfort.
The weariness of the restless night’s dreams carried over into her waking hours. She felt as though she was swimming underwater. Her body felt heavy and fatigued. Every time she looked at her son, sleeping peacefully beside her, all she saw was Frankie. She saw his eyes in Edward’s. Those same dark, soulful eyes that had captivated her. Eyes that still haunted her dreams regularly.
The future she had longed for, the one she had built in her heart, was slipping further away, and she didn’t know if she was ready to let go of the hope that one day, Francisco Morales might come back to her.
She sat there, frozen in the quiet, her hands clutching the edge of the blankets as the enormity of her decision pressed down on her.
Could she really leave Longhorn, leave behind the life she had created, just to chase the possibility of something more? Or was she simply running from the pain of her past, from the life she had wanted but could never have?
Her son stirred beside her, a tiny frown pulling at his forehead, and Libby felt a wave of love wash over her, stronger than anything she had felt in a long time. She kissed his forehead softly, a tear slipping down her cheek, as she whispered to herself, For you, Edward. I will make the right choice.
But in her heart, she still wasn’t sure what that choice was.
Before dropping Edward off at Mrs. Smith's house, Libby decided to change her usual morning route to the schoolhouse. The weight of the decision she had made the night before hung heavy in the air, and today, she would drop the letter off at the town's postal service. With Edward cradled gently in her arms, she walked through the town, the cool morning breeze waking her up fully. Her fingers tightened around the letter she had written in response to the Mayor’s offer, a feeling of unease rising within her with every step.
She stopped outside the general store clutching the letter in her hand. Before stepping inside, she stopped to ask herself if this was what she really truly wanted. Once that letter was handed over, there was no going back.
Gathering up her inner courage, she stepped over the threshold and up to the post office counter inside. Her hand trembled as she handed the letter to the Postmaster. She tried to smile a cheerful good morning, but the action felt oddly forced. Her heart thumped in her chest as she watched him take it from her, sealing the envelope with finality. It would soon be on its way to Willow Creek. She had made the decision, and soon enough, it would be out of her hands.
After dropping Edward off at Mrs. Smith’s house, she forced herself to move forward with the day. The hours at the schoolhouse passed in a blur. The lesson plans she had carefully prepared unfolded as usual, and the children settled into their studies. For a brief moment, it almost felt like things could continue on like this—her life, her routine, the quiet but steady passing of days. But even as she taught, a part of her couldn’t stop thinking about what she had done. She had taken the first step toward a future without Francisco, without the hope she’d once clung to. The idea of leaving Longhorn, of taking Edward away, felt more real now. There was no turning back, no more waiting for the man who might never return. The hope she had kept alive for so long was slipping away, and with it, the last of her dreams for the life she’d hoped for.
When the third letter arrived quickly, it caught her by surprise. This letter looked just like the others. Its beautiful, high-quality paper with elegant handwriting seemed to demand all of her attention. She felt a sudden tightness in her chest as she reached for it, her fingers shaking as she tried to slide it from the envelope. Her breath caught in her throat, and she had to steady herself, sitting down at the table to regain some composure.
Her hands trembled, she carefully unfolded the letter and read its contents:
Dear Mrs. Green,
I would be delighted to accommodate you for a visit to our town and a viewing of our schoolhouse. I will send a carriage for you at 9 o'clock sharp on Saturday morning. If this is not acceptable to you, I await your updated suggestion. Otherwise, I look forward to meeting you on the aforementioned day.
Libby read the letter over again, her heart pounding with each word. This was it. The offer had been accepted. It was real now, and there was no escaping it. The decision had been made. She could feel the weight of it all. The possibility of a new beginning, of leaving Longhorn behind, of starting fresh in a town where no one knew her.
The thought made her stomach churn anxiously. The idea of leaving the town she had come to call home was unsettling, but it was a step forward, a way to secure a better future for herself and Edward.
Her mind wandered to Francisco, to the man who had once held her in his arms and told her he loved her. She thought of the life they could have had, of what could have been, but she had to face the truth. He was gone indefinitely, and no amount of hoping and waiting would bring him back. She was alone, and it was time to move on. Edward needed stability, and Libby needed to build a life that didn’t depend on memories of what could have been with a better salary and prospects.
With a sigh, Libby picked up her pen and quickly scribbled a hasty reply, agreeing to the visit. She sealed the letter with a finality that made her heart ache, then placed it on the table, ready for the post in the morning.
****
A day after the letter, a parcel arrived at the schoolhouse. It was a small, but heavy parcel, wrapped in thick brown paper, tied with twine. The writing on the address was the same, neat script as her previous letters. She recognized the cursive immediately. She had spent hours reading and re-reading those letters over and over again. They seemed to have indelibly burned the stylish script into her memory.
She eyed the parcel with trepidation, as though it might detonate in her hands like a stick of dynamite. With a heavy heart, she carefully prised off the string and began to unwrap the gift.
As promised, it contained books.
Her heart caught in her throat as she picked up each book in turn. Several books by Jane Austen, the Brontë sisters and at the bottom, Shakespeare's plays.
The books felt like another stab of betrayal as she placed them on the bookshelf in the schoolhouse, alongside the books that had traveled thousands of miles with her. Accepting them was tantamount to admitting that she would be accepting the job in Willow Creek. And more importantly, saying goodbye to Frankie.
