Paradoxvalley

The camp was nestled in a hollow by the familiar trickling creek, its waters weaving a gentle melody that mingled with the fading light of the evening. Shadows stretched long and soft against wagons and makeshift tents, as though the day itself were reluctant to surrender its hold. The low murmur of voices carried through the air, interspersed with bursts of laughter and the rhythmic scrape of metal against wood.

Jolene walked a step behind Arthur, her small frame taut with unease. Her eyes darted nervously from one figure to the next, catching glimpses of rough-hewn faces and the glint of weapons at every hip. The air was rich with the aroma of stew bubbling over a fire, blended with the sharper tang of horses, leather, and faint traces of tobacco smoke. Her stomach growled softly, a reminder of her hunger, but she ignored it. The sheer strangeness of the camp—the energy of the place, so raw and alive—was enough to drown out her body’s needs. These people were unlike the townsfolk she was accustomed to: bold, loud, and utterly unrepentant in their manner.

Arthur said nothing as he led her deeper into the camp, nodding occasionally to familiar faces. Jolene startled as a voice—rich and unmistakable familiar—called out to them.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” said a man standing by the largest tent. His words were accompanied by a slow, bemused smile that deepened the lines around his mouth.

Dutch.

“Well, if it ain’t Joel. Thought we’d seen the last of you.”

Arthur, puzzled, glanced at Dutch. “You know the boy?” he asked, his tone edged with curiosity.

“Yes, we met before.”

As Dutch launched into the tale of how they first met, his booming voice laced with theatrical flair, Jolene's attention wavered. Her gaze drifted past him to the grand tent rising prominently behind the man. It was larger than any of the others, adorned with subtle flourishes that hinted at its occupant's importance. For a moment, her eyes caught on a peculiar contraption inside-its brass horn gleaming faintly in the flickering firelight.

She'd seen one like it once, sitting in the window of a shop back in a town she could no longer recall. It made music somehow, though the mechanics of it were beyond her understanding.

Her curiosity lingered, but the weight of a heavy hand on her shoulder pulled her thoughts back sharply to the present.

Jolene turned her head slightly, startled to see Dutch grinning down at her, his hand firm and commanding.

"Ain't that right, Joel?" he said, his smile widening like a predator's, his charm as much a weapon as the revolver on his hip.

Jolene hesitated, her gaze darting between Dutch and Arthur, who stood a few paces away. Arthur's expression was inscrutable, though his eyes betrayed a quiet scrutiny as they rested on her. She couldn't tell if he was amused, suspicious, or something else entirely.

Unsure of what else to do, Jolene nodded faintly, her face a careful mask.

Dutch erupted into laughter, joined by Arthur’s deep chuckle. Their laughter felt like a verdict, though she couldn’t tell what crime she’d been accused of. Jolene forced a smile, but a prickling unease crept up her spine. She’d known from the moment she stumbled into this camp that these were no ordinary folk. Criminals—every one of them. Guns hung from hips as casually as belts, shotguns leaned against barrels, and the air carried a tension that spoke of lives lived on the edge.

“Alright then,” Dutch said, waving them off with a smirk. “Go on, get to your business.”

Arthur started walking again, and Jolene hurried to follow. As they wove through the camp, she asked, her voice low, “Where’s Hosea?”

Arthur muttered without turning back, “Probably out huntin’ or something.”

Jolene nodded, though he couldn’t see the gesture. The camp’s atmosphere pressed down on her, and she startled again at the sound of another voice.

“Well, well. What have we here?”

A woman approached, her bearing stern and her plain dress immaculate. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun that seemed to amplify the sharpness of her gaze. Jolene instinctively straightened, feeling suddenly small beneath the woman’s scrutiny.

“You brought a boy, Arthur?” she asked, her tone carrying a note of exasperation. “We ain’t runnin’ an orphanage.”

Arthur grunted, clearly uninterested in engaging, and wandered off without so much as a backward glance. Jolene was left standing alone, dwarfed by the woman’s commanding presence.

“You reek,” the woman declared, wrinkling her nose. “When’s the last time you saw a bar of soap, boy?”

Panic shot through Jolene like lightning. Bathing was a dangerous proposition, one that risked revealing the secret she’d fought so hard to keep. Dropping her gaze, she mumbled, “Been a while, ma’am.”

The woman pursed her lips but said no more on the matter. “Long as you keep your stink away from me,” she said curtly. Then, narrowing her eyes, she asked, “What’s your name, boy?”

“Joel,” Jolene muttered.

“Joel what? Or d’you not have a last name?”

Jolene’s throat tightened. Every instinct screamed at her to lie, but her mind blanked under the woman’s unrelenting stare.

“Joel Winslow”

“Winslow,” Grimshaw repeated, her sharp tone laced with skepticism. After a moment, she straightened, seeming satisfied enough. “Susan Grimshaw,” she said. “Miss Grimshaw to you.”

Jolene nodded, a weak gesture of acknowledgment. The woman’s scrutiny lingered a beat longer before she finally turned and strode off with purposeful steps, her back as rigid as steel.

Left alone once again, Jolene exhaled shakily. Her gaze flickered to the campfire, its glow comforting yet insufficient to dispel the growing sense of isolation. Arthur had vanished, leaving her adrift in a sea of unfamiliar faces and dangerous intentions.

As she resolved to search for him, determined not to stand idle and draw further attention, another voice called out behind her.

“Hey, kid. Over here.”

She turned to see a tall man with sandy hair sitting on a crate, his grin and relaxed posture offering an unexpected reprieve from the tension. A small toolkit was spread out on another crate beside him.

“Name’s Mac,” he said, waving her over. “Arthur says your chain needs mendin’.”

Jolene watched as he inspected the broken chain. The firelight caught its broken link, the gold glinting faintly like a wounded treasure.

Mac whistled softly as he examined it. “Not too bad. Where’d this come from?”

“It was my mother’s,” Jolene said quietly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts.

Mac’s expression softened. “A fine piece. The ring goes onto it?”

“Yes,” she murmured. “It was hers too.”

Mac nodded, his hands steady as he picked up a pair of pliers and a small hammer. He began threading the broken ends of the chain together with care.

“Y’know,” he said after a moment, “a chain’s only as strong as its weakest link. But lucky for you, this one’s got plenty of life left in it.”

Jolene managed a faint smile, though she wasn’t entirely sure what he meant. Still, his words brought a flicker of warmth to her chest, momentarily pushing aside the sting of recent memories.

“Don’t look so glum,” Mac said, glancing up. “Things’ll work out for you, you’ll see.”

Jolene frowned slightly, her thoughts drifting to the sheriff’s harsh slap. “You can’t know that.”

Mac shrugged with an easy grin. “Sure I can. You’re scrappy, ain’t too ugly. And you’re lucky—Dutch and Hosea don’t just take to anyone. You must’ve done somethin’ right.”

She didn’t reply, but his words stirred an unfamiliar warmth in her chest. Mac studied her for a moment, his tone light when he spoke again.

“You’re all alone right?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Thought so. You’ve got a look about you—like trouble’s been a close companion. But trouble’s the best teacher there is, so maybe that’s not all bad.”

Jolene cast him a wary glance, unsure if he was teasing or sincere.

“Almost done,” Mac said, holding the chain up to inspect his handiwork. “A little polish, and it’ll be good as new.”

When he finally handed the repaired chain back to her, Jolene felt a surge of relief and gratitude. The links gleamed in the firelight, and the ring swayed gently from the end.

“Good as new,” Mac said with a grin. “Go on, take a look.”

Jolene turned the chain over in her hands, her fingers trembling with excitement. She wanted to leap with joy, to hug Mac and thank him profusely, but instead, she simply said, “Thank you.”

Mac’s grin widened. “Don’t mention it, kid. Take care of it. I reckon it’s got plenty more stories to tell.”

Jolene nodded, clutching the chain tightly. For a moment, Mac’s gaze lingered, but he said nothing more.

“Go on now,” he said, waving her off. Jolene slipped away, the chain held close to her chest like a fragile piece of hope.

After a few more moments of careful inspection, Jolene slipped the repaired chain around her neck, feeling its familiar weight settle against her chest. She tucked it securely into her shirt and exhaled, her fingers lingering briefly over the fabric before she dropped her hand.

Standing near the horses, she took a moment to survey the camp. The animals were unsaddled, most of them nipping lazily at the ground, their tails swishing in the dim light. Her gaze lingered on them, drawn to their quiet, grounded presence. Among them, she spotted Boadicea, Arthur’s steadfast mare—the first horse Jolene had ever ridden. A faint smile ghosted across her lips at the memory, the sensation of the animal’s strength beneath her still vivid in her mind.

Her attention shifted to the camp itself. She stood cloaked in the shadows, unnoticed by most as she observed the scene before her. Arthur sat at a table, a bowl of stew in hand, speaking in low tones to a pair of unfamiliar men. His manner was calm, his movements steady. Further off, she spotted Mac, the kind man who had mended her chain. He was perched on a log, a plate of food balanced on his knee, his hearty laugh carrying faintly through the evening air. The firelight caught the sauce that clung to his thick beard, and Jolene’s lips twitched in an involuntary smile. Around him, a small group of people sat, their faces warm with the camaraderie of shared stories and laughter.

The crunch of footsteps startled her, and she turned quickly to see a woman standing beside her. She was young and strikingly pretty, with black hair swept into a loose braid and a soft glow about her—likely the result of her pregnancy, which was unmistakable in the way her belly curved beneath her dress. Despite her condition, she carried herself with a quiet strength, leaning down slightly to meet Jolene’s gaze.

“I saw you earlier,” the woman said, her voice kind and curious. “Are you stayin’ with us?”

Jolene hesitated. The truth was, she didn’t know. After Mac had fixed her chain and sent her on her way, no one had told her what was next. Should she leave? The thought of returning to the town—the sheriff’s cruelty and the pain of earlier events—made her stomach twist. But staying felt uncertain, too, like stepping into a world she didn’t fully understan. “I don’t know,” she admitted, shrugging her small shoulders.

The woman sighed, a sound more empathetic than exasperated. “Well,” she said after a moment, “I’m Abigail. And you?” Her tone remained gentle, encouraging.

“Joel,” Jolene replied quickly, sticking to the name she’d given before.

Abigail nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Well, Joel, you look thin as a rail. Come eat with us.” She straightened with some effort, extending a hand to Jolene.

Jolene hesitated for only a moment before accepting. Despite everything, she was grateful for being small for her age—her slight frame seemed to invite less scrutiny. Abigail’s hand was warm and firm, and together they made their way into the heart of the camp.

Abigail led her to a quieter corner, where a nearly empty table stood. A young girl, her skin a deep, rich brown, sat there already, eating her stew with measured bites. Abigail gestured for Jolene to sit. “I’ll bring us two portions,” she said, her tone decisive.

“Are you sure? I can carry them,” Jolene offered, her voice tinged with worry as she glanced at Abigail’s pregnant form.

Abigail smiled, brushing off the concern with a shake of her head. “I’ve got it. You sit.”

With that, she left, leaving Jolene alone with the other girl, who paused mid-bite to look up and smile warmly. “What’s your name?” the girl asked, her voice light and friendly.

“Joel,” Jolene replied, keeping her answer brief.

“Tilly,” the girl introduced herself. “Tilly Jackson.” She smiled again before returning to her stew, her demeanor calm and unassuming.

Jolene sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap, unsure of what to say. Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long. Abigail returned soon after, balancing two bowls of steaming stew with practiced ease. She set one in front of Jolene and the other for herself before settling into the seat beside her. The aroma of the hearty meal was comforting, and Jolene felt a flicker of gratitude as she picked up the spoon. For now, she was safe, and that was enough.

Jolene ate her stew with unrestrained joy, her spoon diving eagerly into the bowl with each bite. If she’d been alone, she might’ve wriggled like a happy worm, her body unable to contain the sheer delight of warm food. It had been so long—years, even—since a hot meal had been anything but a rare treat. In recent times, she’d been lucky to taste such comfort once a month. Now, with the savory broth warming her insides, she allowed herself a moment of peace, the harsh edges of her world temporarily dulled.

The table was quiet as the three of them ate. Tilly offered the occasional friendly glance, but no words were exchanged. Abigail seemed preoccupied, her thoughts elsewhere as she methodically spooned stew into her mouth. Jolene appreciated the silence—it gave her time to savor her food without distraction.

That peace was interrupted when Dutch approached, a bowl of stew in hand. He greeted them warmly, his voice carrying the easy charm that seemed to envelop everything he did. Without asking, he took a seat at their table, nodding to Abigail and Tilly before focusing his attention on Jolene.

“So,” he began after taking a few bites of his meal, “how’re you likin’ it here, Joel?”

Jolene froze for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Her instincts warned her to tread carefully, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. “It’s nice,” she replied simply, keeping her tone neutral.

Dutch chuckled, his grin widening. “Nice, eh? Well, I suppose that’s one way to put it.” He leaned back slightly, the firelight dancing in his sharp eyes. “But you’ve seen enough of the world to know nice ain’t always easy to come by. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Jolene nodded hesitantly, unsure where this was going. She studied Dutch closely, her mind racing. She wasn’t dumb—uneducated, yes, but not stupid. She couldn’t read or write, didn’t know what came after 109 in a count, but she could piece things together quickly enough. It didn’t take long to understand that Dutch was the leader here. The way people deferred to him, the way he carried himself—it was clear.

At first, Dutch had struck her as charming, even kind. But now, sitting at this table with him, her wariness grew. He was the leader of a gang of criminals, after all. Her world had taught her that someone like him wasn’t to be trusted. The sisters at the church had drilled it into her head—outlaws were cruel, violent, and wicked. Yet here was Dutch, smiling and polite, offering her food and a place to sit. How many people had he killed with those same hands that held her shoulders so warmly?

Arthur, too, didn’t fit the mold of the villains she’d imagined. He’d gone out of his way to help her, had been patient and kind, even when she’d had little to offer in return. And Mac—he’d mended her chain with a fatherly sort of care, as if her small troubles mattered to him. These people baffled her. Their camaraderie, their apparent contentment—it all clashed with the stories she’d been told. Were these the same “nasty, mean” outlaws the sisters had warned her about?

Dutch’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. He leaned forward, his expression warm yet commanding, as though he could see the questions swirling in her mind.

“Joel,” he began, his tone softer now, “I imagine you’ve been through your share of hard times. Most folks like us have. You don’t end up out here without a little trouble behind you. But that don’t mean trouble has to follow you forever.” He gestured toward the camp with a sweep of his hand. “Look around. What do you see? You see folks who’ve been given up on by the rest of the world. People like Arthur, like Tilly, like me—forgotten, left to fend for themselves. And yet, here we are. Together. Strong. Safe.”

Jolene listened, her stew forgotten as his words washed over her. There was something almost hypnotic about the way he spoke, his voice weaving a picture of safety and belonging that was hard to resist.

“This here,” Dutch continued, “isn’t just a camp. It’s a family. A real family. One that looks out for each other, that fights for each other. You’re young, but you’re sharp. I can see it in your eyes. You’ve got potential, Joel. And out there?” He nodded toward the darkened world beyond the firelight. “Out there, the world’ll eat you alive. But here? With us? You’ll have a chance. A chance to make somethin’ of yourself.”

Jolene felt her heart beat faster. His words were persuasive, tugging at something deep inside her—a longing for security, for belonging, for a life that wasn’t just survival. And yet, a small, skeptical voice in the back of her mind whispered warnings.

Dutch leaned in closer, his gaze steady and intent. “It’s your choice, of course. I’d never force you to stay. But think about it, Joel. Think about what you want. Safety. Family. Opportunity.” He smiled, a gleam in his eye. “Those are things worth fightin’ for, don’t you think?”

Jolene nodded slowly, unsure of what else to do. Dutch sat back, satisfied, and returned to his stew. But his words lingered, weaving their way into her thoughts as the night wore on.

Jolene’s thoughts spun like a whirlwind as she continued eating the stew, her spoon moving mechanically as the weight of Dutch’s words settled over her. She wasn’t Joel, wasn’t eleven, wasn’t a boy—her mind felt like a maze, full of walls she couldn’t climb, paths she couldn’t see. She kept eating, her hands trembling a little, but she couldn’t stop the questions that churned in her chest. Would it be different if they knew?

Would they trust her?

Her mind flickered with terrifying possibilities. What if they found out? What if they kicked her out, just like the town had? Or worse, what if they decided she wasn’t worth keeping around—what if they killed those they couldn’t trust? A cold sweat prickled at the back of her neck, her stomach tightening with fear. She felt the panic start to rise, a knot in her throat as her heart raced faster than she could think.

But as the panic swelled, it started to subside, her breath evening out. They wouldn’t kill a young girl, right? she told herself. She was just a child, barely fifteen. Surely, that was enough to save her, to make her inconspicuous enough that they’d never think to harm her. The lie she’d told, that she was Joel, would be harmless, right? After all, Dutch had said it himself—he knew what it was like to come from hard times. He’d understand, wouldn’t he? He might even appreciate it, the way she was just doing what she had to, surviving the best she could.

A small, quiet voice in the back of her head told her she was fooling herself, but she pushed it down, focusing instead on the plan beginning to form in her mind. Hide it at first, she thought. Let them think she’s Joel. They’d never question it. And when the time was right… she’d tell them the truth. When she was bigger. When it wouldn’t matter so much. Maybe they’d accept her then.

She could leave once she was older, stronger, but still not manly. She’d make a life of her own, maybe find a place in this strange, chaotic world. And maybe—just maybe—there’d be a place for her here, among these outlaws.

As her thoughts continued to churn, her nerves slowly calmed. The swirling confusion settled into a plan—fragile, uncertain, but a plan nonetheless. She finished the last spoonful of stew, forcing herself to keep calm. She could do this. She just needed to keep up the charade for now. Keep it hidden. They didn’t have to know the truth. Not yet.

Tilly stood and carried her empty bowl away, breaking Jolene’s reverie. She watched the girl go, her movements easy and familiar, and then turned her attention back to the camp around her. Her mind was still racing, but her thoughts were sharper now, more focused on the idea of not just surviving but living. If she stayed, she felt like she actually had a chance.

Jolene set her bowl down, the warmth of the stew still lingering in her stomach as she looked up at Dutch. Her hands were steady now, her heart still pounding but with a newfound resolve. She swallowed her fear and, in a quiet but firm voice, said, “I want to stay. With you… with the gang.”

The words felt strange, almost foreign on her tongue, but they were true. The offer, this chance, was something she couldn’t let slip through her fingers. This was her chance to survive, to find something better than the streets, the town, the constant fear.

A week had slipped by since Jolene walked out to the ranch with Sister Amelia. The Sister’s words had drifted in and out of her mind, but Jolene didn’t think much of them—this wasn’t her first visit to the church, after all. Reverend Thomas was a kind man, if a little odd in her eyes. He was generous to a fault, which she supposed was expected of a pastor, but there was something about him she couldn’t quite place. It left her uncertain, like the man didn’t fit neatly into her idea of people.

Jolene had been in this town for about seven months now, ever since she left her old town and a friendly couple had offered her a ride. She’d traveled with them for a few days, but when the outlines of a new town appeared on the horizon, she’d thanked them, jumped down, and set off alone. This town had a quiet charm—some people were pleasant enough, and most didn’t pay her any mind. But not everyone was easy to overlook. The Sheriff, for one, was a thorn in her side, always patrolling with a watchful eye that made Jolene feel like she stood out more than she wanted to. And then there was Mr. Finch, a man whose mere presence could steal the warmth from the sun. She’d only seen him up close twice: once with his wife, heavily pregnant as they entered the doctor’s office half a year back, and another time leaving the church just a few weeks ago. Jolene wouldn’t dream of lifting anything off a man like that; the consequences alone were enough to keep her at bay.

Now she sat in the cool shade of a narrow alley, nestled between Johnson’s shop and the saloon, working on her latest attempt at whittling. She’d borrowed a small knife and was trying to carve a wooden bear, though it looked more like a lumpy oval topped with a circle than anything resembling an animal. Still, she was focused, letting the shadowed alley shield her from the blistering Western sun as she chipped away, one small flake of wood at a time.

Jolene had worked at her little wooden bear for a while but eventually grew bored. After two hours, it looked a bit more bear-like, though hardly a masterpiece. Still, she nodded at her rough carving, then winced as she stood, her backside sore from sitting on the hard ground for so long. As she stepped out of the alley, she wandered up the porch of Johnson’s shop, leaving the wooden bear and the borrowed knife on the outer windowsill with a faint hint of satisfaction.

With the afternoon stretching lazily before her, Jolene headed toward the town’s outskirts, wondering how best to spend the hours until sunset, when she’d go to the saloon to gather her coins. It wasn’t much, but she’d learned how to sneak a few from the pockets of the saloon girls and sometimes had enough for a warm meal from the bar. Her stomach growled as she thought about it. Pickings had been slim lately—people had gotten to know her, and now, at the sight of her, their hands instinctively guarded their pockets.

Leaving the dusty roads behind, she followed the familiar path that led out of town, weaving along the riverbank and into the cool shelter of the woods. She considered visiting the ranch but knew it was too far to make it there and back in time to reach the saloon before dark. So instead, she trotted along the pathway , grateful for the damp, shaded air as it warded off the day’s relentless heat. Her mind wandered as she walked, lost in idle thoughts. Her hair had grown long enough to curl at the nape of her neck, and she’d grown a bit taller, though she still hadn’t filled out much. For now, her slim build kept her boyish-looking, but she knew that wouldn’t last forever.

Wandering off the trail, she spotted a large fallen tree. The trunk was thick, almost chest-high, and curiosity got the better of her. She scrambled up, struggling for a moment but managing to hoist herself on top. She tried to sit astride it as if riding a horse, but the trunk was too wide, so she simply stood, looking around with a newfound sense of height.

That’s when she noticed smoke rising in the distance. Jolene’s curiosity sparked to life, and she jumped down, moving toward the source of the fire with caution. As she drew closer, she slowed, pressing herself against a tree, listening intently. Voices drifted faintly from between the trees—several people by the sound of it. Her heartbeat quickened as she hesitated, wondering if she should risk it. A gathering like this could mean trouble, and she didn’t fancy getting caught up in it. After a few tense moments, she decided it was best to turn back. Life had finally settled into some kind of balance, and she didn’t want to tempt fate now.

By the time Jolene reached town, the sky had deepened into shades of light purple and orange, casting long shadows across the dusty streets. She strolled into the saloon, which was still quiet in the early evening, only a few regulars and a couple of travelers scattered across the tables. Jolene made her way toward a group of saloon girls lounging near the back, exchanging glances and laughter as they prepared for a long night ahead.

One of the women spotted her immediately. “Hey, Joel,” she called out, her voice smooth and teasing. “What brings you in here so early?”

Jolene grinned, letting a hint of her boyish charm play across her face. “Aw, nothin’ much,” she drawled, with a slight shrug. “Starvin’ out there on the streets, y’know how it is. But one look at you fine ladies, and I reckon I’m better fed than if I had a whole bowl of stew.” She winked, earning herself a few chuckles from the women. She’d picked up the knack for charm, a little trick she’d learned to keep folks from looking too close.

One of them sighed with a smile, reaching into her pocket. “You’re a good kid, Joel. Here, don’t go hungry,” she said, pressing a few coins into her hand. Another one tossed in a couple more, shaking her head in amusement.

“Well, ain’t you all too kind?” Jolene replied, her grin widening. “Much obliged, and good luck tonight, ladies.”

She sauntered over to the bar, where the barkeep was watching her with a smirk, having overheard the exchange. “You sure got a way with those ladies, Joel,” he joked, wiping down a glass.

Jolene shrugged, feigning confidence. “Only natural,” she said, tipping her nonexistent hat in mock swagger. “I’ll grow up a real lady’s man, mark my words.”

The barkeep chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, the stew ain’t quite ready yet,” he said. “If you’re lookin’ for somethin’ hot, you’ll have to sit tight for a spell.”

Jolene sighed, glancing around the room. “Fine, I’ll come by later” she muttered, preparing to wander back toward the door.

But as she turned, the barkeep called out to her, his voice shifting from friendly to firm. “And, Joel—listen here. I don’t want no more of your funny business in my saloon. You’re scarin’ off good customers with all that foolin’ around.”

Jolene rolled her eyes, then turned to face him with a half-smile, raising her hand in a playful salute. “Got it, sir. No trouble from me,” she replied, starting to back away.

Just as she turned toward the exit, she collided with something solid—a wall of muscle, by the feel of it. She stumbled back, glancing up at the man she’d just bumped into. He was tall, with light brown hair and a rough stubble lining his jaw, and the faintest scowl etched on his face. She recognized him instantly—the same man she’d seen with his buddy at Johnson’s shop last week.

“Sorry, mister,” she said quickly, forcing a respectful tone.

The man gave her a once-over, then tipped his hat just slightly, though his gaze was sharp. “Just watch where you’re goin’, kid,” he said, his voice a low rumble, before stepping past her toward the bar.

Jolene nodded, letting him move on before she quietly slipped out the saloon door, a bit relieved to be in the evening air again. She made a mental note to keep her head low around him from now on—she’d seen that look in a man’s eyes before, and it didn’t belong to the friendly type.

Jolene was on her way to Johnson’s, half-hoping he might be in one of his rare generous moods and toss her a peppermint or a caramel. She knew it was unlikely, but she’d grown used to small hopes, and Johnson’s treats had a way of making the day feel a bit sweeter, however briefly.

But her thoughts were broken by a scream that sliced through the air. She jerked her head toward the doctor’s office just in time to see Dr. Abery stumbling out, his face ashen, his eyes wild.

“A damn shame!” he cried, voice nearly cracking. “Who in their right mind’d do such a thing?”

Jolene frowned, her mind already turning. What in the hell…?

A crowd began to gather, drawn by the doctor’s outburst. The Sheriff appeared, storming down the street with a dark look, his boots pounding out a fierce rhythm as he pushed folks aside, his eyes set dead ahead on the doctor’s office. He brushed right past Jolene without a second glance, leaving her more intrigued. She noticed Johnson step out of his shop, narrowing his eyes toward the commotion.

“Somethin’ happen?” Johnson asked, glancing at her.

Jolene shrugged, playing it cool. “No idea,” she replied, though she felt a pull of curiosity tightening inside her as she joined Johnson on the porch, both of them straining to catch bits of the murmured conversation around them.

And then came a voice that made her heart skip a beat. The Sheriff’s voice, loud and angry, calling her alias: “JOEL!”

She froze. Shit. Her pulse quickened as she tried to keep her expression calm, though her mind raced.

Johnson glanced sideways at her, his brow lifted. “What’s this all about? You up to somethin’?”

Jolene forced a laugh, shaking her head. “Ain’t got a clue, Mr. Johnson.”

She was still trying to act nonchalant when she heard the Sheriff’s boots pounding toward her. She debated running, just tearing down the street and out of there—but that’d only make her look worse. Better to stay, look innocent.

She stepped down from the porch, trying to keep her shoulders loose. But before she could say a word, the Sheriff was on her, his palm coming down in a sharp, stinging slap that knocked her off balance. Before she could even react, his hand was at her collar, jerking her forward as his voice dripped with anger.

“Where is it, you little thief?” he snarled, his voice thick with accusation.

“Where’s what?” she managed, choking on her surprise, one hand grabbing at his wrist as he held her close enough that she could see the fury burning in his eyes.

“Don’t play games, Joel!” he spat, giving her another rough shake. “The nerve of you, takin’ what ain’t yours!”

She felt her pulse hammering in her ears, the humiliation sinking in as she realized everyone was watching. “I didn’t take nothin’! Wasn’t even in town till just now!” she protested, her voice hoarse, desperation slipping into her tone.

“Oh yeah?” he sneered, his grip tightening painfully. “And who’s gonna vouch for you, huh?”

She clamped her mouth shut, realizing she had no alibi. No one would be able to confirm where she’d been. The Sheriff’s eyes gleamed with grim satisfaction at her silence, and he slapped her again, this time hard enough that her cheek flared with pain.

“Now,” he said, his voice a low, menacing growl, “hand it over. Everything ya took.”

The crowd watched, their faces hard and judgmental, their stares boring into her. She’d felt like an outsider in this town before, but now their silent verdict left her feeling exposed, small, and utterly alone. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep her head up even as her heart twisted with a mix of shame and frustration. Nobody believed her—hell, nobody even questioned if she might be innocent.

The Sheriff tightened his grip on her arm, and his rough hands started patting her down. He found the few coins she’d managed to collect earlier and tossed them to the dirt, sneering.

“That all you got, boy?” he mocked, giving her a dark look as he continued his search, hands roaming her pockets and every corner of her clothes.

Then his fingers brushed against the chain around her neck. Her heart seized.

No, please no. But he’d already noticed, his face twisting with a smug sort of triumph as he reached into her shirt collar, his hand finding the small necklace and yanking it free, the chain digging painfully into the back of her neck before snapping.

“No!” she gasped, her voice breaking, her hands reaching instinctively to try to grab it back.

He held it up, dangling the necklace in front of her face. “Oh, ‘no,’ is it? Figured you stole this too, didn’t ya?”

Her breath hitched, panic flaring up as she saw the small ring hanging from the broken chain. She watched helplessly as he tossed it to the side, the ring slipping free and falling to the dirt at her feet. It was her last bit of comfort, a scrap of memory, something she hadn’t let go of since she’d started wandering these dusty trails. She lunged downward, desperate to snatch it up, but the Sheriff shoved her back, hard, sending her sprawling to the ground.

He glared down at her, his face twisted in disgust. “Where’s the rest of it, huh?” he demanded, voice harsh.

“I didn’t take nothin’,” she murmured, her voice hoarse, trembling with the weight of the tears threatening to fall. She felt hollow, worn out by the humiliation.

The Sheriff scoffed, clearly unimpressed, and gave her one last contemptuous look. “We’ll see about that,” he muttered before turning on his heel and heading back toward the doctor’s office.

Jolene sat there in the dirt, her cheek stinging from the slaps, the ache in her heart cutting deeper than any of the bruises. All around, people were watching, their faces twisted with judgment and disappointment. Not one of them spoke up in her defense. Not one of them had a shred of faith in her.

She swallowed hard, her throat tight, her heart feeling heavier than ever. Even Dr. Abery, whose eyes held a faint sadness, had looked away with disappointment.

They all think I’m the thief, she realized, a bitter ache sinking into her bones.

Slowly, she scrambled to her knees, her hands trembling as she reached for the broken necklace and the ring lying in the dirt. She held them close, clutching the torn pieces to her chest, something inside her breaking with each tear that slipped down her cheeks. She finally rose, glancing back one last time to see Johnson shaking his head, his lips pressed tight.

Unable to bear it any longer, she turned and ran, her legs carrying her out of town and away from their accusing stares. She didn’t stop, her heart pounding as she ran past the last buildings, her breathing ragged and shallow, her thoughts churning in a blur of anger, hurt, and betrayal.

By the time she reached a large rock by the path, she couldn’t run any further. She collapsed against it, sliding down until she was sitting with her back pressed against the cool stone. She stared down at the torn necklace in her hands, her breath hitching as the storm of emotions finally overtook her.

And then the tears really came, fierce and unrelenting, pouring down her cheeks as she sobbed, the anguish spilling out in waves. Her cheek throbbed, her hands were scraped from the fall, but none of it mattered next to the hollow ache gnawing at her heart.

She curled her fingers tightly around the broken chain, her chest heaving with grief and frustration. She hadn’t thought it would hurt this bad, hadn’t thought that one slap, one broken chain, could make her feel so utterly defeated. But as she sat there, clutching the last piece of her past, she realized the weight of her loneliness—the kind that no clever disguise, no snappy comeback, could ever hide.

Back in town, as the crowd thinned and the gossiping settled, people still shot glances toward Dr. Abery’s office, where the Sheriff’s raised voice could be faintly heard. Standing alone on the saloon porch, a tall cowboy with dust-streaked boots and a gunbelt slung low across his hips took it all in, a deep frown creasing his brow. With a muttered, “Well… hell,” he felt the weight of Dr. Abery’s money hanging heavy in his satchel. He let out a slow sigh, rubbing the back of his neck before heading toward his horse, already feeling the sting of regret settling like a bad taste in his mouth.

He mounted, urging his horse into an easy gait down the dirt road leading out of town, his sharp eyes scanning the landscape for any sign of the kid. Not far out, he finally spotted a slumped figure beside a big rock near the edge of the path. Another sigh escaped him as he pulled the horse to a stop, letting her trot onto the grass. He reached into his saddlebag, pulling out a peppermint stick before heading over slowly.

The kid, hearing his boots on the ground, looked up, his tear-streaked face quickly buried against his sleeve, wiping his cheeks. Seeing the cowboy, he put on a tough front, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Don’t be cryin’ none, boy,” the cowboy said, his voice low as he leaned against the big stone. “Folks like them back there… they ain’t worth it.”

Jolene pushed herself to her feet, eyeing him with a mix of curiosity and caution. “You’re the man from the saloon,” she said, sizing him up.

He gave her a nod, then held out the peppermint stick. “Here,” he said, offering it like a peace offering, his mouth twitching with a faint smile.

She took it hesitantly but didn’t unwrap it just yet, her gaze still wary as she studied him. “Why’d you come after me?” she asked, suspicion flickering in her voice.

The cowboy scratched at his beard, glancing out toward the open plains before answering. “What the Sheriff did… didn’t sit right with me.” His tone was calm but firm, like he’d come to a decision about her that he couldn’t quite explain.

She gave him a long, searching look before leaning back against the rock, finally unwrapping the peppermint stick and sticking it in her mouth. Her other hand still clutched the broken chain and ring, and she looked down at them, the sadness in her eyes clear.

“You live back in that town?” he asked after a long, uncomfortable silence.

“No. Not anymore. Not like I ever really did,” she muttered, the words coming out quieter than she meant.

The cowboy nodded, his eyes softening a bit, and for a moment, they both stood in silence, just watching the sky darken a shade as the sun slipped lower.

After a beat, she broke the quiet, her voice small and cautious. “You don’t think I took it, do you?” Her eyes flicked up to meet his, a spark of vulnerability there.

He scratched his beard again, considering his words before he shrugged. “Didn’t seem like it to me.”

She nodded, relief visible in her small smile. “I didn’t take it. Dr. Avery… well, he’s been real deep in debt, I heard. His wife was real sick before she died, and he paid a fortune for her medicine. Spent everythin’ he had.” She didn’t notice the way her words deepened the guilt in his expression. He’d thought the doctor was doing well enough, seeing the fine trimmings in his home when he’d snuck in through the back.

He sighed. “Arthur Morgan,” he introduced himself, a touch of his former confidence creeping back.

“Joel,” Jolene mumbled, and she unclutched the broken chain, looking down at it with sorrow. Arthur glanced at the ring in her hand and gave a slight nod.

“That there can be fixed,” he said without thinking.

Her face lit up, hope flickering in her eyes. “Really?”

Arthur nodded. “Maybe someone back at camp’s handy enough to do it. And if not, I’ll pay to have it done proper.”

She looked at him, suspicion creeping back in. “Why would you do that? You don’t even know me.”

He shrugged, searching for the words. “Just feel bad for ya, son,” he replied, his voice gruff. Jolene looked at him, considering, then nodded, maybe starting to believe this cowboy was more generous than he seemed.

“I was thinkin’ of leavin’ this place anyway,” she said softly. “After today… they’ll treat me like shit.”

Arthur gave her a slow nod of understanding. “Well, come on back to camp with me first. We’ll see if anyone can fix that chain.”

He whistled sharply, and his horse trotted up to them, her coat shining in the late sunlight. “This here’s Boadicea,” he said, patting the horse’s neck fondly. Jolene’s eyes widened, a spark of fascination flickering across her face.

She approached carefully, letting the horse sniff her hand before giving her a gentle pat. Arthur reached out his hand. “Gimme the chain for now. I’ll keep it safe.”

After a beat of hesitation, she handed it over, watching as he carefully pocketed it. Arthur swung himself onto Boadicea’s back, then looked down at her expectantly.

“Go on, get up behind me,” he said.

She tossed the remains of her peppermint stick aside and tried clambering up but managed only to kick dust. Arthur sighed, sliding back in the saddle a little. “You ever ridden before, boy?”

Jolene shook her head, cheeks flushing.

“All right, c’mere,” he muttered, reaching down to grab her under the arms. In one smooth motion, he hoisted her up onto the saddle in front of him. She swung her leg over carefully, making sure not to kick Boadicea’s neck. Arthur nodded approvingly, his arms settling on either side of her as he took hold of the reins.

Jolene awoke with a jolt, someone’s boot nudging her leg repeatedly. She scrambled to sit up, her heart pounding from the sudden disturbance. Squinting up through sleep-heavy eyes, she recognized the scowling face of the Sheriff looming above her.

“This ain’t a bed, boy,” the Sheriff grumbled. “You’d best find yourself somewhere to sleep where you’re not botherin’ honest folks.”

Jolene bit back a retort, knowing better than to mouth off while the Sheriff was still in a mood from the night before. Instead, she sighed and picked herself up, brushing the dust from her clothes. Without another word, she turned and trudged out of the alley, her stomach growling softly. Morning sunlight barely stretched across the street, and Jolene guessed it was still close to five in the morning. Too early even for the shopkeepers to start setting up.

With her thoughts drifting back to yesterday, she found herself absently fingering the coins in her pocket, feeling the remnants of the previous night’s meal warming her. It had been good to go to sleep feeling full, and for once, she had enough coin to make that feeling last a bit longer. She stifled a yawn and decided to head out toward the river. A quick wash would do her good, and the early hour meant she’d have some privacy.

The walk took her out past the town’s edge and along the riverbank, her worn boots leaving faint prints in the morning dew on the path. She followed the water until she reached her favorite secluded spot, where she could clean herself up away from prying eyes. Glancing around to make sure she was alone, Jolene stripped off her shirt and pants, exposing her feminine teenage figure, and setting them on the bank beside her boots. Only her necklace stayed on—a long, thin chain with a golden ring hanging from it. She always kept it hidden under her shirt, the one thing she’d never part with.

Wading into the cool water, she shivered as she scrubbed away the dirt from her arms and neck, then dunked her head, fingers scrubbing her scalp with determination. Days on the road and nights on the ground left her feeling grimy, and though the river water wasn’t exactly soap, it would at least rinse some of the dust away. Her fingers brushed the bruise on her jaw, still tender from the chubby man’s punch last night. She sucked in a sharp breath at the pain, her face darkening at the memory. But the water was cold, numbing the ache as she washed the dirt from her skin.

After a few minutes, she stepped out, water dripping from her lanky frame. She tugged her clothes back on, wet fabric sticking to her uncomfortably. The necklace glinted briefly as she tucked it back under her shirt, and she rubbed the ring absentmindedly before pulling her collar up over it. Feeling a bit refreshed, she started her walk back into town, taking the long way through the forest.

As she strolled, Jolene picked up a smooth stone and began flipping it in her hand. Her thoughts wandered to Dutch and Hosea, the strangers from last night. She wondered what sort of life they lived, drifting from town to town. They intrigued her, those men—confident, daring, unbothered by the rules she always found herself breaking. She felt a twinge of envy and wondered what it might be like to live that way, with nothing to lose.

The crunch of hooves on the forest path pulled her out of her thoughts. Glancing up, she saw two men on horseback approaching. They were deep in conversation, one of them speaking in low, annoyed tones. Jolene slowed her steps, curious.

“This ain’t how it works, you gotta stay, help her,” the larger man was saying, his voice gruff but steady.

The other man, younger with dark hair and an irritable expression, glared back. “Just keep to your own business,” he snapped, his tone sharp.

Jolene kept her head down, not wanting to draw too much attention, but as they passed, the larger man dipped his hat and muttered, “Good morning.”

Startled, Jolene gave a quick nod. “Mornin’,” she replied quietly, watching as they continued on, their voices fading as they disappeared down the trail. She wondered briefly who the “her” was they were talking about, but her curiosity quickly waned. In this town, everyone had secrets, and some things were better left unknown.

As she made her way back, Jolene debated what to do with her day. If she lingered in the forest, she could avoid trouble with the Sheriff. Sometimes she spent hours out here, crouching by the water, watching for fish, or tried carving small animals from wood scraps she picked up along the riverbank. The solitude wasn’t so bad—sometimes she even welcomed it.

A sudden rustle in the bushes made her freeze. She crouched instinctively, watching as a fox darted out onto the path, its bushy tail flicking behind it. It paused, eyeing her with as much curiosity as she felt, before bounding off into the trees. Jolene exhaled, feeling a strange peace in that brief encounter. It reminded her of how she felt last night, sitting across from Dutch and Hosea, eating warm food and feeling… almost seen.

Eventually, as the sun rose higher, she made her way back toward the edge of town, deciding she’d risk the streets a bit longer. It was quiet enough at this hour; most folks would still be at breakfast. Jolene wandered down an empty road, fingers tracing the coins in her pocket, as she kept her eyes peeled for any signs of trouble—or opportunity.

Jolene made her way to Johnson’s shop, already savoring the chance to pester the calm, steady shopkeeper. Johnson never raised his voice, not even when he caught Jolene slipping a piece of candy into her pocket or trying to haggle for half the price. The man had an endless well of patience, which only made Jolene want to test him all the more.

As she strolled into the shop, Jolene caught sight of the two men from before, standing by a shelf in quiet conversation. The taller one, the man with the black hat, glanced at her briefly, giving Jolene a small nod of acknowledgement before turning back to whatever he was inspecting on the shelf. Jolene nodded back, moving on toward the counter, where she leaned forward, her hands braced on the smooth wood as she peered over its edge, hoping for something new or interesting to catch her eye.

After a moment, she heard the familiar footsteps approaching. Johnson appeared from the back room, an eyebrow raised at seeing Jolene yet again. “What do you want now, kid?” he sighed, though a small, reluctant smile hinted at his amusement.

“Just checkin’ in,” Jolene said, grinning. “How you doin’ today, Mr. Johnson?”

Johnson shook his head with a long-suffering sigh. “If you’re that bored, why don’t you go on and bother the folks over at the church? I’m sure the sisters’d be happy to fill your head with a sermon or two.”

Jolene groaned, rolling her eyes dramatically. “They’re no fun. All they ever talk about is God and what’s proper and how ‘the good Lord is always watching.’” She slouched against the counter, hoping she might at least drag out a few more minutes of conversation. “Not my style.”

Johnson gave her a gentle shove toward the door, still chuckling. “Well, I’m too tired to be dealin’ with you right now, and unlike some folks, I actually got customers who pay.” He gestured toward the two men by the shelf, and Jolene, feigning offense, put a hand to her chest.

“Fine, fine, I’m goin’,” she muttered, putting on a show of reluctantly dragging her feet as she shuffled to the door. She could feel the eyes of the two strangers on her back as she left, their gaze lingering as though she were worth more than a passing glance. It sent a slight shiver down her spine, though she couldn’t say why.

Out on the street again, Jolene squinted up at the rising sun, considering her options. Johnson had been half-joking about the church, but the idea of a free meal and maybe a sip of wine to warm her belly made her mind up for her. Bread and wine, she thought, chuckling to herself as she crossed the street. She didn’t like the taste of the wine, really, but it made her feel grown up, in a way, and that was enough for now.

As she walked toward the little church on the edge of town, Jolene thought about God—or rather, about how she wasn’t sure she believed in Him, or any of it. Still, there was something about the place, the quiet hum of hymns, the light filtering through the dusty windows, that felt safe. And right now, that was all she needed.

Jolene pushed open the heavy church doors, letting the quiet hush of the sanctuary settle around her. Morning sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting patches of vibrant colors onto the wooden pews and stone floor. She looked around, taking in the rare peace, and saw Sister Amelia emerging from a back room. She had a kind face, framed by a white wimple, her expression softening as she spotted Jolene.

“Joel,” she greeted warmly, stepping closer. She ruffled her hair, eyeing her with an amused but gentle concern. “You don’t come by too often, do you? How are you doing, child?”

Jolene gave a small shrug, not quite meeting her eyes. “Been better,” she muttered, rubbing a hand over her bruised jaw absentmindedly.

Her brow furrowed as she leaned in to get a closer look at the purpled skin. “Looks like you’ve had a rough time,” she said, sighing. “Come on, say a prayer or two. The Lord listens, even when you don’t think He does.”

Jolene knew what this meant—a quick prayer, and she’d get some bread for her trouble. She nodded, heading toward the altar and dropping to her knees, muttering the only prayer she could remember. Satisfied, Sister Amelia watched her, a small smile tugging at her lips.

When she finished, she slumped back onto the pew, stretching out her legs a little. Sister Amelia gave a nod, pleased, then looked at her with a glimmer of encouragement.

“How about you step into the confessional while you’re here?” she offered, gesturing toward the wooden booth.

Jolene stiffened. “I, uh…don’t think I got much to say.”

But at that moment, Reverend Thomas appeared from the hallway, giving Jolene a warm, expectant look. “It never hurts, Joel,” he said, his voice gentle. “If you’re here, might as well. Come on now.”

With a reluctant sigh, Jolene trudged over and stepped into the confessional, the wooden seat creaking as she sat down. The small, cramped space was shadowed, with only the thin screen separating her from Reverend Thomas.

Jolene cleared his throat, feeling awkward. “Uh…bless me, Father, for I reckon I’ve sinned.”

The reverend’s voice was calm, inviting. “Go on, Joel.”

Jolene took a shaky breath, then the words tumbled out. “I steal a lot. I take from people ‘cause I don’t got anything. I lie all the time, too. Just…tryin’ to survive, y’know?”

There was a moment’s silence, then the reverend spoke. “And you feel like there’s no other way?”

Jolene’s voice was barely a whisper. “Ain’t nobody out there helpin’ me, Father. Gotta do it all on my own.”

The reverend’s voice softened. “Remember, child, even in the darkest times, the Lord is watching over you. He understands your struggles, and there’s always a chance to choose a better path.”

Jolene wasn’t entirely sure she believed that, but she nodded anyway, feeling oddly lighter for having said the words. She shuffled out of the confessional, where Sister Amelia waited with a small piece of bread. She took it eagerly, not bothering to ask for the wine she usually hoped for. The bread alone was a treat enough.

She sat in the back row, chewing the bread slowly as she gazed up at the colored light filtering through the stained glass, studying the way it painted the floor in patches of blue, red, and green.

A moment later, Sister Amelia walked over and sat down beside her, watching her with a gentle smile. “Something on your mind, Joel?”

Jolene shrugged. “Just lookin’ at the light, I guess. Pretty colors.”

They sat in a companionable silence, and then she said softly, “I need to fetch something from the ranch. Would you like to walk with me?”

Jolene’s eyes lit up at the thought of getting to look at the livestock. “Yeah, sure,” she said eagerly, stuffing the last of the bread into her mouth as they stood.

They walked side by side, the morning air fresh and the town just beginning to stir behind them. Jolene started talking, telling Sister Amelia with enthusiasm how she managed to evade people when they chased her, darting into alleyways, scaling fences, and slipping away into shadows before they could catch her. She enjoyed recounting it, her voice quick and animated as she described near-misses and the thrill of outsmarting grown-ups.

Sister Amelia listened patiently, smiling but also frowning slightly. “Quite the little escape artist, aren’t you?” she said, her tone amused but tinged with concern. “But Joel, you shouldn’t have to live like this. It’s no life for a child.”

She shrugged, trying to brush it off, but the Sisters words gave her pause. She looked at Jolene with a sad smile. “I’m sorry you’ve had to face so much hardship, child. No one should have to grow up alone.”

Jolene nodded, but said nothing.

She reached out and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “God has His plans, Joel. Sometimes life feels unfair, but remember, everything has its purpose. One day, all the challenges you’ve faced will lead you somewhere. You have to trust in that.”

She didn’t fully understand or belive that, but something in her words felt reassuring. They walked in silence for a while, Sister Amelia’s presence a steady comfort as they strolled through the quiet woods.

After two long hours of walking, they finally reached the small ranch on the other side of the forest. Jolene’s legs ached, but the sight of the sprawling fields, livestock, and warm sunlight brushing the landscape made her forget the stiffness in her limbs. Sister Amelia moved toward the ranch house, her long skirts swishing with each step, while Jolene lingered behind, her gaze roving over the faintly familiar surroundings.

She thought briefly about telling the sister about Dutch and Hosea, but something held her back. It felt like a secret she should keep to herself for now, so she stayed silent, watching as sister Amelia made her way toward the rancher and his wife, exchanging quiet greetings and a few words.

Nearby, Jolene spotted a group of pigs rooting around in the dirt. Their snorts and grunts filled the air, and she couldn’t help but grin at their comical faces and muddy snouts. They smelled terrible, a thick, earthy stink that even the open air couldn’t quite carry away, but she didn’t mind. She leaned on the fence, enjoying their silly little dance as they rolled around and nosed each other, completely oblivious to her.

After a while, Jolene moved to another pen, where a large horse stood still as a man crouched near its hooves, carefully lifting one to check its shoe. The horse was a beautiful, sleek bay with a coat that shone like polished wood in the sunlight. Jolene felt a tug in her chest as she watched the animal shift and nicker softly, its big brown eyes calm and gentle. Horses had always fascinated her, but she’d never had the chance to ride one. There was something about them—their power, their quiet strength—that made them seem like creatures from a different world, untamed but loyal, wild but willing.

The man tending to the horse looked up and noticed Jolene watching. “Like horses, kid?” he asked with a hint of a smile.

Jolene nodded, almost shyly, not wanting to seem too eager. “Yeah. I…never got to ride one, though.”

The man chuckled, patting the horse’s neck affectionately. “They’re somethin’ else, that’s for sure. This here’s Daisy, strong as any horse I’ve known.” He gave Daisy a pat, and she nickered softly in response.

Jolene took a tentative step closer leaning against the fence, feeling a thrill in her chest as the horse’s massive head turned toward her. “She’s real pretty,” she murmured just loud enough.

The rancher smiled, nodding his encouragement. “Come here, give her a pat. Just be gentle.”

Jolene quickly jumped over the fence and jogged over letting her fingers brush against Daisy’s nose, and she felt the warmth of her skin, the velvety softness beneath her fingertips. She could hardly believe it. She nuzzled her hand, and she couldn’t help but grin, a quiet, rare moment of wonder lighting up her face.

“You’ve got a way with animals, don’t ya?” the rancher said, watching the gentle exchange.

Jolene shrugged, her eyes still on Daisy. “I guess.”

Just then, Sister Amelia returned, a loaf of fresh bread and a jug of milk laid in her basket. She looked over at Jolene with a soft smile, seeing her reach out to the horse, and for a moment, she didn’t interrupt, watching the quiet moment unfold.

“Joel,” she called gently after a moment. She looked over, reluctantly pulling her hand back from the horse.

“Got everything we need?” she asked, a bit sheepish as she met the sisters gaze.

“All set,” she said, and together they turned back toward the forest, the morning shadows now stretching toward afternoon. But as they walked, Jolene kept glancing back over her shoulder, her mind lingering on the horse and the feeling of its warm, gentle breath against her hand.

As they walked back through the forest, Sister Amelia glanced over at Jolene, noticing the way her eyes sparkled with a lingering excitement. “Did you like that horse?” she asked, her voice warm and inviting.

Jolene nodded, her smile wide. “Yeah, she was real pretty. I always wanted to ride a horse, but I never got the chance.”

Sister Amelia smiled knowingly. “You’re still young, Joel. There’s plenty of time ahead for you. One day, I’m sure you’ll have the chance to ride.”

Her heart lifted a little at her words, feeling a flicker of hope. “You think so?”

“Absolutely,” she said, her voice gentle. “It’s important to dream, you know?”

“Dream?” she echoed, tilting her head slightly.

“Yes,” she said, looking thoughtfully ahead as they continued down the path. “What do you dream about? What do you wish for, beyond a warm bed and a full stomach?”

Jolene thought for a moment, her brow furrowing in concentration. She often wished for those basic things, for a place to call home and enough food to fill her belly. But something deeper tugged at her—a desire she couldn’t quite articulate. “I guess… I wish I had a family,” she admitted slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But that’s hard because I’m an orphan.”

Sister Amelia’s heart ached for her, but she smiled softly. “That’s understandable, Joel. Family is a precious thing. But what else? Something bigger, perhaps?”

She thought hard, her mind racing through fleeting images of her past—faces of people who had come and gone, the fleeting warmth of kindness, and the painful loneliness that sometimes enveloped her. “Maybe to fly?” she said unsure, but her voice gained a hint of excitement.

“Fly?” she asked, laughing lightly. “How do you mean?”

“Yeah,” she said, her enthusiasm building. “I just feel like birds are so free, especially the eagles. They can go so high, unbothered, just do whatever they want, go wherever they want.” She looked up at the sky, imagining the vast expanse above them, a world where worries and fears didn’t exist, where she could escape from the life she lived.

Sister Amelia chuckled at the innocence and honesty of her dream. “That’s a lovely thought, Joel. Flying does sound wonderful. The freedom of soaring through the sky, looking down at the world below. You’re right; eagles are magnificent creatures.”

“Yeah, they are!” she exclaimed, her excitement spilling over. “They can just glide and catch the wind. I wish I could do that.”

“Who knows?” Sister Amelia said thoughtfully, looking at her with encouragement. “Maybe one day you’ll find a way to make your dreams come true. You’re resourceful, and you have a good heart. That counts for a lot.”

Jolene felt a warmth spreading through her at the words. For the first time in a while, she felt seen and understood. “Thanks, Sister,” she said quietly, a small smile forming on her lips.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Summer, 1895, Western America

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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