The House Of Lore

I know I said the spice will be in this but this story has completely formed a life of its own! HOWEVER, I promise there will be smut in part 3. For now enjoy Arthur being a big yearner instead. Thank y’all so much for the love, it really means a lot that your warm response to it!

His name echoed in your head like a church bell. Growing louder and more consuming each time.

Arthur Morgan. Arthur Morgan.

You tried to wrap your brain around what he told you, and yet it simply would not settle.

Wanted Posters. Alias.

It was festering inside you, an itch to find out just who he really was. What he did that was so bad he had to use a fake name and hide in cruel climates for God knows how long. You stood in front of the jailhouse, your eyes glued to the words before taking a breath and walking in. You had never been inside a jailhouse in your entire life, but it was just as eerie as one could imagine it to be.

“Excuse me, sheriff?” You announce yourself to a half-sleeping man at a desk. He jerks awake in a loud snore, gathering himself as he takes a good look at you.

“May I help you, miss?”

“Yes. Do you happen to still have a wanted poster of Arthur Morgan?” You ask; you can see the clear confusion on the man’s face.

“With all due respect, ma’am, but I don’t think bounty hunting is the right profession for you.”

You let out a small laugh as you shake your head.

“Oh no, I um…I’m doing research about outlaws in the area and was hoping if you had anything about him?”

The sheriff looks you over before slowly getting up from his chair and walking over to a chest.

“Pretty odd subject to research on, but sure. It's not like I got anything going on.” You nervously twiddle your fingers as he looks deep inside.

“Arthur Morgan, now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time,” the sheriff continues. “Last I heard, he got killed during an operation with some agents up near Annesburg.”

He then stands upright and hands you a very worn piece of paper. You give him a gentle thank you, opening the paper only to be met by a photo of Arthur’s face staring right at you.

“$5,000 reward wanted dead or alive,” you read aloud. “What exactly did he do?”

“What didn’t he do is the real question.” The sheriff replied as he went back to his chair. “There was a big ferry heist back in Blackwater ‘bout a year ago. Took a lot of money, killed a lot of people. But no one’s got a clue where it could be. But from what I heard, that man’s got a string of robberies and murders under his belt. Hell, I’m pretty sure he was responsible for that breakout that happened here.”

You heard about that through the locals, some crazed lunatic sentenced to hang only to escape. Almost killing half the town in doing so.

“You trying to be a writer or something?” He asks, pulling you out of your thoughts; you only nod in reply.

“Well, I suggest taking a little trip to Blackwater; they might have all the information you need for this little book of yours.”

You give him a thank you, walking out with the poster still open for display. This couldn’t be; from the little time you spent with Tac-Arthur, he never gave you the impression of being a real danger. But by what the sheriff and the poster said alone, one would think he was the devil himself, not the man who made sure you were safe and helped you down a wagon. There had to have been more to this; there just had to be!

You did know one thing for certain: if you were going to seek out answers, you needed to go to Blackwater.

Luckily for you, your father was heading there to check on supplies being shipped at the docks. You took the opportunity and volunteered to go with him, giving him the excuse that you wanted to see the ever-growing city. By the time you got there, you could hear Arthur’s words echoing in your mind:

“My freedom slipping away from me one building at a time.”

You understood what he meant, breathing in the dust-filled air as you looked at the hustle and bustle of it all. It was incredibly suffocating, to say the least. As your father parked the wagon, you could see the jailhouse from the corner of your eye. You then told him you were going to take a walk around to see the shops, something he gladly accepted without question. You made sure his back was to you before slipping inside the building.

“Well, hello there, ma’am,” a man greeted you. “How may I help you?”

“Hello,” you greeted back. “I am writing a novel about outlaws in the West. And I was told you would be the man to talk to about Arthur Morgan?”

You see the man freeze just slightly before letting out a deep sigh.

“This city never fully recovered from that day,” he begins. “What those sons of bitches did to that woman. I can think of at least ten other people far more interesting to put in a book than Arthur Morgan and the scum he ran with.”

“What did happen here?” You ask, sitting across from the man. You watch him light up a cigar, looking out the window as he begins talking.

“There was a ferry boat scheduled to dock here; had over $150,000 in bank notes on it. God, it was a bloodbath. Van Der Lindes and Pinkertons shooting at one another and anyone unlucky enough to cross paths. But that woman? She didn’t deserve that.”

That was the second time he mentioned the woman.

“What happened to her?” You ask.

“Leader of the group, Dutch, I think his name was, killed her in cold blood. Shot her right in the head, execution style. God-awful mess.”

Your blood ran cold. What kind of group was Arthur a part of?

“And…Arthur Morgan was a part of it?” You ask, trying to keep calm.

“He was Dutch’s right hand. Wherever Dutch Van Der Linde was, Arthur Morgan was always close behind.”

You could feel your heart drop, your eyes fluttering to keep composure. You didn’t even react to hear someone come in through the door.

“So um, other than the massacre. Do you have much else on him and the gang he ran with?”

The man lets out a thick cloud of smoke, giving you the impression he was carefully thinking it over.

“Other than the basic facts,” he finally replies. “Typical story: father was a known criminal before his sins caught up with him. Spent most of his life on the streets before joining up with Van Der Linde. He was their enforcer; there’s not one report about him without mentioning someone getting beaten to death or shot. The gang itself was pretty large, people from all walks of life huddled together like one big happy family; I suppose you could call them that. Some got out while they could and became contributing members of society. Some are still out there hiding like the animals they are. But the core group? Let’s just say they got what they deserved, a coward’s death.”

He then taps his finger on the desk.

“Sheriff Depree, you can quote me on that last part.”

You give him a small thank you, slowly getting up and walking out the door. The moment the suffocating air hits your face, you let out a breath you had no idea you were holding. Your hand pressed against your chest, trying to calm your heart down. The man’s words were sharp as a knife in your mind: how he described Arthur in such a light you yourself would have never seen. No wonder he was hiding away; if he was who the man said he was… maybe he was the devil.

But that just couldn’t be! He seemed so…kind. A tad rough around the edges, sure, but he was nothing but a gentleman to you. How could anyone as warm as him be a ruthless murderer? The two just…it didn’t sit right at all.

“You really gonna take his word for it?” A rough woman’s voice makes you jump, jerking around to see the source. The woman in front of you held quite a commanding presence, long leather duster and trousers you had never seen on another woman before. Her long blonde hair braided in a loose ponytail as she moved her hat to take a good look at you.

“I-I mean…I would assume the law would know more-“

“The law only knows one side, the bullshit side,” the woman cuts you off. “But if you want the real story, I can give it to you.”

She holds out her hand towards you.

“Sadie Adler, Bounty Hunter.”

You introduce yourself as you shake her hand, watching her give you a quick nod to follow her. She takes you to a saloon close by, sitting you at a table before she orders you both drinks and a pastry.

“They got the best custards,” she comments, not giving you room to argue. “So, you writing about the Van Der Linde gang?”

“Oh! Yes, yes, I am,” you reply as a maid comes by to drop off the items. “I take it you have had your fair share of run-ins with them for their bounty.”

Sadie lets out a laugh, taking a sip of her coffee.

“No, I was in it,” she replied, causing you to almost drop your cup. She was in the gang? That would mean…that would mean she knew Arthur!

“Dutch may have had his moments, but he saved my life,” Sadie continued. “Found me after The O’Driscolls killed my husband…those fuckers. I stayed with them afterward. They gave me shelter and a place to call a home, much as it was.”

“Did you ever speak to Arthur yourself?” You asked.

“Arthur…” You see her smile fondly. “You know, next to my Jakey…he was the finest man I’ve ever known. He saved all of us after it all fell apart, made sure everyone got out while we still could. I miss him, every god damn day.”

This was it; this was the information you needed.

“Tell me more about him,” you press. “Everything you wanna give.”

And she does; she tells you everything from Valentine all the way up to Annesburg. She tells you about the time Arthur brought her to Rhodes for a supply run only to be ambushed by a bunch of Civil War nut jobs. She tells you about them rescuing another member, John, from a highly secure penitentiary and how he helped her find and kill the very man that killed her husband. Despite the clear bloodshed in her stories, she spoke so highly of him. He kept the gang together while Dutch slowly went into madness, and when it became clear their time was up…Arthur laid down his life so everyone could have a chance. A real fighting chance.

This sounded more like the man you knew.

Just then it dawned on you: Sadie had no idea that Arthur was still alive. For all she, and clearly everyone else knew, he was long gone. They had no idea he was hiding up in the mountains, or that you had seen him in person. You wanted to tell her, give her the hope that he made it out okay. But you didn’t; it wasn’t your place to do so. If Arthur wanted people to believe he died, he had a very good reason to keep it that way.

“Thank you for this,” you do tell her. “This is…this will be very helpful for me.”

Sadie nods, giving you a sad smile.

“I wasn’t gonna stand by and have people tarnish his name like that,” she replied. “Arthur was no saint; none of us are. But he was a good man, lived and died for his family, even if that very family betrayed him in the end.”

Later that night, you sat at your desk. Writing down everything that you gathered. You left his poster open, glancing over it now and then. The image of him on that poster really didn’t give him justice, you thought. You placed your pencil down, brushing your fingertips over the image as you let out a breath.

“Lord,” you closed your eyes. “I know I don’t ask for much. And I know this is beyond selfish of me…but if you could please just…just let me see him again.”

Your prayers were answered several weeks later.

Your parents had left on a trip to Valentine, leaving you in charge of the store until they got back. You were looking through the delivery receipts for the day when you stopped, seeing a very familiar name along with a small number of items.

He was coming.

You began to panic, quickly gathering the things he requested before checking yourself in the mirror. You looked decent enough; maybe a small fix of your hair was needed. God, your heart was pounding! The moment you heard the door open, you rushed into view, taking in the figure in front of you. He was back to the original bear look, his beard grown out a bit but not much. You saw him pause as he turned, seeing you, the air becoming heavy with anticipation.

“Hi,” you let out a gentle breath. He, on the other hand, looked at you as if cautious at first before taking slow, careful steps toward you.

“Hey,” he replied. “Is your Pa having another spell?”

“Oh no, he’s out of town with Mama. Should be back in a couple of days,” you informed him. He gave you a small nod in return, but didn’t press further. You placed his delivery box on the counter, looking up at him almost shyly.

“So…should I still call you Mr. Kilgore or should I call you something else?”

There was a heaviness in his eyes, as if he was testing the waters with you still.

“You can call me whatever you want,” he replied, causing you to let out a breath.

“Okay then…Mr. Morgan,” you see his shoulders fall with relief. It would seem that was all he needed to know where he stood.

“I went to Blackwater not too long ago,” you begin. You could see him tense up again, but you continue. “Ran into a friend of yours…Sadie Adler?”

He gives you a surprised look, standing more at attention.

“She’s alright?” He asks as you nod in reply.

“Introduced herself as a bounty hunter, actually, so I’d say she’s doing just fine.” You confirm.

Arthur lets out a small laugh.

“She’s got the worst bloodlust than any man I’ve ever known.” He speaks before looking at you again. “How come you crossed paths with her?”

“Well, I took your advice about the wanted poster,” you reply. “Heard some things, about you.”

He lets out a defeated sigh, nodding as he looks down.

“And what did you find out?” He mutters.

“Enough,” you reply. “But Sadie filled in what local law enforcement left out. She told me…how you helped save everyone. How highly she thought of you.”

“If you knew the company she kept, you’d think otherwise,” Arthur commented before finally looking back at you. “Did you tell her-“

“No,” you quickly told him. “I didn’t tell her anything. Your secret is safe with me.”

There was a gentleness in his eyes, gentle yet sad. Like he desperately wanted to believe you.

“So, still think I’m a gentleman?” He asks you. “Now that you know who I really am.”

“Were you there that day? In Blackwater?” You ask, watching him let out another breath before looking back at the door in case anyone else came in.

“No, I wasn’t,” Arthur replied. “Me and another member were off doing something else when it happened.”

You sigh with relief.

“Mr. Morgan, I…I have lived a pretty quiet life, as you can plainly see. The only time I have ever traveled was when we moved here from the East, so my view of the world is pretty small. And be that as it may…I know a good person when I come across one.”

“I ain’t a good man, darlin’,” he is quick to tell you. “I’ve done bad things, terrible things.”

“Oh, I’m quite aware,” you point out. “But you also made sure I was safe getting to and back home. Been nothing but kind to me. And from what Sadie told me, you were willing to sacrifice yourself just to make sure your loved ones were out of harm’s way. That sounds like a good man to me.”

Then, out of instinct, you reach out to touch his hand.

“I believe in my heart that you are a good man. Not the monster they paint you to be, ” you tell him. You could see the internal struggle within him, looking down at where your hand was before going back at you. He finally lets out a huff, grabbing the box before walking toward the door. But just as he was about to walk out for good, he stops, turning his head toward you slightly.

“That heart of yours is gonna put you in a world of hurt one day,” he comments. “But it’s nice to know you see something in me.”

You could feel your heart flutter as he walked out, only to let out a breath as the room became empty once more. It was that same empty feeling within you throughout the rest of the day, and by the time you locked up the shop for the evening. It was starting to hurt, not being around him. Knowing you wouldn’t see him again for a while. You even caught yourself tearing up a bit at the loss.

What you didn’t know was that he didn’t leave right away. You didn’t see his horse hitched up at the Welcome Center as he sat on the porch, cigarette in hand. You didn’t see his eyes move as you moved, watching you head home without a clue he was even there. You had no clue how he was internally arguing with himself about whether to stop by your house now or wait till morning. How ridiculous he was being, stalking you like he had stalked many prey before.

You certainly didn’t know the small spark you had given him was now growing into a fire. Burning him from the inside with a heat he had not felt in a long time.

By the next morning, you were getting ready to open the shop when you heard a knock at the door. You paused; a look of confusion danced across your face. Odd, you weren’t expecting anyone.

You opened the door; your eyes widened at the sight of who was standing there. The air in your lungs left you, forgetting to breathe.

“Mr. Morgan…You, you came back.”

“I never left,” he informed you. The look in his eyes…so determined, nervous but determined.

“You said they would be gone for a couple of days, right?”

You could only nod in reply, your hand against the door opening to hold you steady.

“You still wanna see the countryside?” He asked, causing you to feel almost faint.

“Y-Yes! Yes, of course!” You broke out into a smile so big you could feel your face hurt. “I’ll get my hat!”

Arthur himself gives you a small smile, letting out a sigh as if relieved you said yes.

“Think the town will survive without the store?” He teases.

“Oh, please, they can survive one day,” you reply as you grab your hat and rush out the door. “I’ll just put up a sign that I’m out of town.”

You walk with purpose, the smile not leaving your face, trying your hardest not to let out a giggle. He stayed; he stayed to find you. Wanted to take you with him to the open spaces near the mountains. Oh God, did you feel like the luckiest woman alive! He was already on his horse waiting for you as you put the sign up and locked the door of the store, holding out his hand for you to grab as he guided you up behind him.

“Better hold on tight,” he warned you. You could practically hear the smirk in his tone. “This ol’ girl drives fast.”

You carefully wrapped your arms around his waist, his heat radiating against you. You had to hold back the dreamy sigh bubbling inside you, only to yelp out as you both sped off with a loud “HYAH!”

Arthur wasn’t kidding; his horse was incredibly fast. The trees were nothing but a blur to you, with only his back being the only clear thing you could see. You saw every imperfection, every scuff and loose thread along the stitching. Rough-looking, kind of like him…but it was a good type of rough.

You felt him slowing down, a clue you had arrived at the destination. Your eyes had to adjust to the light reflecting along the stream, the bright flowers growing wild and luscious as far as the eye could see. The snowy mountains presenting the perfect backdrop, a beautiful image of what this country actually held.

“It truly is beautiful out here,” you say behind him. You could practically feel the hum he let out vibrate against you in agreement.

“It is, exactly how life should be,” he replied. “Unbound by rules, where a man can just be. That’s real living.”

“I certainly can see the appeal,” you smiled before looking up at him. “Thank you, for bringing me here.”

You knew he was smiling back; you could feel it against him. He seemed more…relaxed, comfortable, hopping off his horse and guiding you down.

“Course, you deserve some kind of break from all that work you do,” he replied. You didn’t waste any time, going straight to the flowers and began to pick. You had never seen flowers like these; they would certainly look beautiful in a vase back home. Arthur, on the other hand, did not move from his spot next to his horse, watching you with crossed arms and a gentle look on his face. You were pretty much left to your own devices, taking in the scenery and making sure the flowers you picked made it back home safely.

It wasn’t all just silence; months of curiosity came to you at full speed as you began asking him questions. Simple questions at first: where he actually lived in the mountains and what his biggest kill was. You finally find out the story of the bear pelt: how he and a close friend of his went out to hunt a giant bear. Gaining the fur after almost losing his life to it.

It would seem Arthur had far too many brushes with death, only to survive on the other side with scars to prove it. He was a born survivor, a fighter, and now you were starting to understand why he was built like he was.

The questions got deeper as you both sat near the stream, the sun just barely kissing the mountains as it was going down.

“What happened that day?” You ask. “When you helped everyone escape.”

Arthur sighs, looking out to nothing in particular.

“All my life, nothing mattered to me but loyalty,” he began. “Dutch took me in when I was only a boy, taught me how to read and write. He was more of a father to me than my actual one; with him, I could be free… actually free. I look back on that now, and I just feel like an utter fool. I should have known it was all a bunch of lies, but I was too blind to see.”

You look at him as he spoke, hearing the clear hurt in his voice.

“We lost people, good people,” Arthur continued. “But he just kept telling me to keep faith, that he had a plan. He always had a god damn plan, always needing more money. Train robberies, playing against two families, fucking Tahiti. It wasn’t until we got washed out to Cuba after a failed bank heist that I started to see the cracks with clear eyes. And on top of all that? He had that some rat named Micha whispering in his ear. We should never have had him join us; he poisoned everything we worked so hard to achieve.”

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. Arthur simply shrugged in reply.

“What’s done is done, ain’t nothing we can do to change it. We can only move forward. I just hope they all made it out okay.”

“I don’t have a doubt they did,” you encourage. “You made sure of that.”

He gives you a sad smile before looking over at you.

“If Sadie made it out in one piece…at least I got that.”

It was about nightfall when he rode you back into town, dropping you off straight to your house. You slowly walked toward the door when you turned to look at him one more time.

“Thank you for today,” you told him. “I enjoyed it.”

“Glad you did,” he replied with a gentle smirk. “Maybe I can take you back there sometime.”

Your heart fluttered, holding the picked flowers close to you.

“I would really like that,” you told him before letting out a breath. “I guess…I’ll see you in another month?”

You couldn’t quite describe the look he gave you, but his eyes held a heat that almost caused you to lose your breath.

“Maybe not that long,” he informed you. “That is if you still wanna see me.”

You had to press your knees together to keep yourself upright, letting out another breath to calm your nerves.

“I do, very much so,” you confess. “I…I really like your company, Mr. Morgan.”

“Arthur,” he corrects you. “Just Arthur.”

He then lets out a small laugh, looking out a bit.

“You sure you’re not just being polite and entertaining a lonely old fool?”

You couldn’t help but laugh yourself, shaking your head in reply.

“You’re not old,” you tell him. “And I mean it, I..I truly enjoy your company. If I may be so bold, seeing you walk in the store is the brightest part of my day…if only for a moment.”

There went that heavy silence again. Your heart drumming against your chest as you await his response. You couldn’t help but see how hard he was thinking, rolling his shoulders back a bit. Finally, in what felt like forever, he spoke up.

“You’ve been the brightest thing I’ve seen in a long time,” he tells you. His eyes, those gorgeous blue and green eyes, held you in place as if he lassoed you. “Almost got me thinking I still got a heart.”

With that, he nods at you, muttering a “My Lady” before riding off into the darkness. You could barely move inside, your back pressed against the door, taking a deep breath.

Oh, you were ruined, ruined beyond recognition.

~*~

“I remember Dutch had a book with a bunch of poems in it once. Most of them were nonsense to me, but I do recall one about a woman walking in beauty. Hate that I don’t remember the exact wording. But that was the first thing I thought about when I watched her out there. Among the flowers, as if she belonged there the whole time and finally found her way back. It took my breath away, looking at her. A pretty sight to these tired eyes of mine.”

The candlelight reflected fully, barely giving him any light to see as he laid on his bed, his journal hovering over him as he wrote.

“It’s funny, here I was prepared to spend the rest of my days in coldness and solitude. Only for her to show up in my life, warming my very bones with her sunlight. I never thought I would find something like that again, to feel like I was worth a damn for something good. She learned who I was, and yet she still saw good in me. Went with me all alone to the middle of nowhere without fear. I keep thinking I’m gonna wake up and it would all be some cruel dream. That her telling me she liked my company, liked seeing me, was all just a trick my mind has been playing on me this whole time.”

He lets out a huff, scratching his freshly trimmed cheek.

“The foolish part of me wants to go back tomorrow, to knock on her door and take her somewhere else. To a waterfall, a town she has never seen. I wanna share things about myself and my past with her more, tell her stories about the gang in its glory days. Damn girl, got me feeling like a young buck again. The kind that wants to go and call on her, give her more flowers from the stream, and take her somewhere nice. But I know I’m far too old for that type of courtship. Lord knows I don’t have the greatest record of daddies approving of me to see their daughters. Still, she deserves nice things. Beautiful things. She deserves that pretty countryside and to see the world for what it actually can offer. If she’ll have me, I would do anything in my power to make sure she gets those things.”

He ends it with a drawn heart, along with one more sentence.

“Oh, Arthur. You love-sick moron.”

~*~

Several moons later…

He sees you before you see him, along with some fancy-dressed boy talking your ear off. It was shining all over your face, the torture of boredom. No doubt the boy was giving you some long-winded nonsense, trying to impress you.

Arthur rides up slowly, not making his presence known yet. As soon as you catch sight of him, he couldn’t help the shit-eating grin on his face as he sees you instantly light up.

“A-Mr. Kilgore!” You were quick to correct yourself, sitting up quickly from where you were sitting. Poor boy looked terribly confused at your sudden change of mood, Arthur’s smirk only growing more out of pure pettiness.

That’s right, kid, this one’s mine.

Arthur tilts his leather hat at you, leaning against his horse slightly.

“Madam,” he greets you. “Hope you’re doing well.”

“Oh yes, I most definitely am now that you’re here,” you tell him with a shy smile. He hears the boy clear his throat, standing up next to you. He gave Arthur a look, a look the cowboy was all too familiar with. It was a look of someone trying to size him up, miserably, in fact.

“Mr. Kilgore, is it? Otto Arkwright,” the boy introduced himself. English, Arthur picked up on, incredibly English. Arthur doesn’t mutter a word, just gives Otto a curt nod.

“Mr. Arkwright is visiting his uncle from London,” you explain in a flat tone.

“Yes, I was just telling the lady here about English weather. Most dreadful, American weather is far more pleasant. Crisp.”

The boy then eyes him up and down, silently judging Arthur.

“Have you ever been to London, Mr. Kilgore?”

“Can’t say I have, not much of a seaman,” Arthur replied.

“Ah…well, hopefully you will get to go one day,” Otto replied as if amused.

“What brings you in town, Mr. Kilgore?” You asked, clearly trying to find an escape.

“I’m here to pick up that package you got for me,” he replied. He waited until it clicked with you, watching you give him a small, confused look before your face lit up in realization.

“The package! Oh my goodness, it slipped my mind! I am so very sorry, Mr. Kilgore!”

It took everything in Arthur’s power not to laugh as you rushed down the steps. “I got it ready for you at the store. It was lovely to chat with your Mr. Arkwright, but I really must go.”

She didn’t give the poor boy a chance to speak up as she walked with purpose down the road. Arthur was close behind, giving him a short wave.

“Nice meeting you, Otter-“

“Otto,” the boy corrected.

Once you were both far away, you let out a deep sigh.

“You are a godsend,” you informed Arthur as he got off his horse. “I swear, if I had to hear about Roman Philosophy one more second, I was going to throw myself into the water.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Arthur teased. “Another one of your Pa’s attempts for a suitor?”

“No, sadly he came from the wild,” you replied with a huff. “His uncle was showing him around, and he made the grave mistake of taking my kindness as an invitation.”

Arthur smirked as he leaned against the store wall.

“Good thing I showed up when I did, huh? Can’t have him thinking you bat them pretty eyes to just anyone.”

You let out a giggle, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear in a shy manner. God, the things you do to him without even trying.

“You sure know how to make a girl blush, Mr. Morgan.”

“Just stating a fact,” Arthur shrugged.

“So what really brings you here?” You ask. “You haven’t made any orders.”

“I was around,” Arthur replied. “Figure I’d stop by, save fair maidens from unwanted men.”

You giggled in reply.

“I did want to ask you something,” he continued, catching your full attention.

“Oh?”

Arthur shifted his weight nervously, scratching his cheek as he looked down at his boots.

“I read that there’s going to be a photo exhibit at Saint Denis on American Wildlife. I helped a guy with it long ago and…I was wondering if you would like to go with me to see it.”

“Saint Denis? My goodness…I always wanted to go there,” you comment.

“It’s an industrial nightmare,” Arthur replied. “But I figure we could make a day of it, if you want.”

He watches you, feeling his own nervousness building for your response.

“I…I would love to go,” you finally speak. “Just gotta tell my folks. When were you planning on going?”

“I ain’t in no rush, but we can leave at first light tomorrow. Might even take the train.”

“The train? Oh wow, I-I’ve never been on a train before.”

The corner of Arthur’s mouth twitches, breathing out a laugh.

“Well, in that case, that’s what we’ll do. Give you a taste of civilization at its god-awful glory. I’ll, um, I’ll pick you up before sunrise then.”

“I’ll be waiting,” you spoke softly before opening the store door. “You have a good day, Arthur.”

“You too, sweetheart. Stay safe from Arkvark out there.”

You laughed at his teasing again as you nodded.

“Believe me, I think he got the hint; at least I hope he did,” you reasoned.

“They usually do after seeing me,” he smirked before he took your hand and gave it a gentle kiss. He noticed you freeze, looking at him as if he had lassoed the sun for you. It was a look that gave him all the proof he needed to put any lingering questions in his mind to rest.

As he rode off, he gave the fancy boy one more smug look. A petty and childish one, but at this point he was justified in it.

1900

Life in Strawberry was pretty quiet. The people were friendly, and crime was significantly low… well, except for one or two mishaps.

You sometimes helped your father at the general store, stocking shelves and keeping up with the books. You knew just about everyone who came in, seeing maybe one or two wandering travelers passing through the town. Other than that, you lived a very boring existence.

Not that you minded, of course; you liked having routine. Your parents, however, were starting to push you to find a husband. You could not survive one day without your father introducing you to a male customer or one of the new delivery boys he hired.

“We just want what’s best for you,” he would tell you. “Your mother and I…we’re not going to be around forever. And you’re now at that age where you should be off and having a family of your own!”

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? You didn’t want to marry out of convenience or obligation. You were sure the men you were introduced to were fine, standing men who would be great providers. But you didn’t feel any attraction to them at all, no spark. Hell, you saw it with your own parents. Yes, they loved each other dearly. But that simply wasn’t for you. If you were going to get married, you wanted to marry out of love: to not be just a spouse, but an equal.

Of course you’d have a higher chance of being mauled by a bear than ever getting that wish. So you endured your father’s attempts, giving the suitors a polite smile while gently declining. When he asks, you give your father some kind of excuse. But you knew that was going to run out soon.

You were stocking materials at the window as your father was talking to one of his delivery boys. Jerry, you believed his name was. The moment you heard your name being mentioned, you felt a wave of dread. He was trying to set you up again.

Just then, you heard the door open, a small sigh of relief escaping you. However, when you turned to look at who came through the door, your heart stopped.

He had to have been the biggest man you had ever seen; his towering presence was quite intimidating. What he wore didn’t help much either: a hat made out of the top half of a bear’s head along with a furred duster and chaps. He had to have come from the mountains, given his rough demeanor. You weren’t quite sure where his beard started, and the fur ended. But it was his eyes that really got you: the sharpest, most beautiful bluish green eyes. You let out a soft gasp, frozen in place as he walked toward the counter. His heavy boots echoed in the room in a slow, calculated pace.

“Oh! Mr. Kilgore!” Your father stumbled a bit. “Yes, I do believe I have your order ready.”

You could hear him getting the man’s supplies ready while you were glued in place. You watched as the man turned around, those very eyes catching you staring. You could feel heat rising in your cheeks, quickly turning around from the sheer embarrassment of being caught.

“Alright then, sir. Here is all the ammo you requested, plus some canned goods. You know, I can have my boys deliver any future orders for you; could save you a trip,” your father pitched. The man, Mr. Kilgore, on the other hand, gave him a grunt in reply.

“Wagon won’t make it there.”

His voice was just as rough as his appearance, deep. Sending shivers up your spine as your face got hotter. Your father decided to drop it, handing over the supplies and telling the man to have a nice day. You heard the boots approaching, making you look at him one more time.

The moment your eyes met, you could feel your chest tighten. You watched him tilt his head toward you in acknowledgment before walking out the door, and suddenly the room felt empty.

The materials you were stocking were long forgotten, and you looked to see where he went. Sadly, he disappeared just as quickly as he appeared.

“Who was that?” You ask, more to yourself than to your father.

“I’m not so sure, sweetie. I only know him by name,” your father replied. “He showed up not too long ago, but he never stays long. He just orders and picks up what he needs. I reckon he lives up in The Grizzles somewhere but…I don’t know anyone who could survive living there.”

“What’s his name?” You ask, continuing to look out the window.

“Tacitus, I do believe. Tacitus Kilgore,” he replied. “Rather unusual name. Then again, he is rather an unusual man.”

You could only nod, letting the name sink in: Tacitus Kilgore, a unique name for a unique man.

That very name and his eyes burned into your brain. After that chance encounter, you volunteered to help your father more often. Something he seemed pleasantly surprised by, but never questioned your reasoning. You had hoped you would be able to see the man again, to try to take in as much detail as possible so you could store it in your memories. But, true to your father’s words, you never saw him walk through the door for several weeks.

Your mind then began to wander as to who he really was. He was a hunter; the trophy he wore that day was evident enough. Where he could be living would be a prime spot too. All that wild, dangerous wildlife. One certainly wouldn’t have to worry about living off the land. To think, a man like that living all alone in the cold, isolated mountains. Did he not have family? A wife, perhaps? No, you could not bear to allow such silly thoughts.

After the weeks turned to months, you pretty much gave up on seeing the man again, reverting back to the same old routine. One day, your father mentioned he was not feeling very well and asked you to look after the store. Something you agreed to do without hesitation. At least this way, you would be alone and at peace. To work just like any other person. The day was smooth enough, the regulars coming and going. You were engrossed in a book to pass the time when the door opened, making you look up.

It was him, Tacitus.

You inhaled sharply, eyes growing wide in surprise as he walked slowly toward the counter. He was in the same outfit as the last time you saw him, the same rough presence, the same sharp eyes.

“O-Oh!” You stumble. “Mr. Kilgore! What brings you here?”

He looks at you for a moment, as if studying you. You then notice just a fraction of a brow raise to your question.

“Got a delivery to pick up,” he replied.

He did? He did! Oh, how could you be such a fool not to notice the delivery schedule! You quickly turned, rummaging through the sheets of paper until you found his list. It was exactly the same number of items: ammo, canned goods.

“Yes, of course! I see that now,” you laughed out of embarrassment. “So sorry about this. I’ll…I’ll get right on it!”

He doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at you as you begin to pick up the supplies. The silence between you held quite the volume, only the sound of you putting the supplies in a small box filling the room.

“You working alone?” He suddenly asks, almost causing you to jump.

“Oh, just for today,” you inform him. “My Pa’s under the weather, so I pitched in to cover.”

The man nods, as if letting the information sink in.

“Well, I hope he turns for the better,” he replied. It was simple, small talk. But boy was the air heavy. From you mostly, trying to calm your nerves around him.

“Thank you, Mr. Kilgore,” you smiled at him. “My Pa gets spells every now and then; doctor says it’s nothing severe, thank the Lord.”

Another nod, those eyes following your movement.

“So um,” you begin. You could feel your heart pounding loudly in your chest, to the point that your ears vibrated. “Is all of this for hunting? I mean…I take it by the pelt you’re wearing you must be pretty skilled.”

You could see a muscle twitch on his face, possibly a smirk you couldn’t tell by his thick beard.

“I’m alright,” he replies with a shrug. His tone felt almost playful. You let out a small laugh, eyes cast down, suddenly feeling shy.

“There you go,” you say as you place a small box on the counter. “I’m so sorry to have you wait.”

“Not a problem, ain’t got nothing better to do,” he replied. You watch as he picks up the box with ease but doesn’t move just yet. “You got a name?”

You were almost certain your heart jumped right up your throat, causing you to lose the will to speak for a moment. When you do tell him your name, you could have sworn his eyes grew warmer.

“Have a nice day,” he tells you, followed by your name, giving you a small nod before walking out of the store. Once the door closed, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. My goodness, you thought to yourself as you placed a hand over your chest, you certainly was not prepared for that chance encounter. It haunted you later that night, moments flashing across your mind as you stared up at the bedroom ceiling.

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, what made him so different than the encounters you have had before with men. You reasoned it was because you had never seen a man like him before, a man with such a demanding yet controlled presence. As if he didn’t have to tell you what he was capable of, he just had to stand there, and you instantly knew.

He almost felt…dangerous, and yet you weren’t frightened of him at all. Shy, yes, but not frightened. It was thrilling, if you were being honest.

Oh, who were you kidding? This was just a silly crush you were developing over a complete stranger. A stranger you would probably never see again for another couple of months. He probably had a wife waiting for him wherever he was, and if he didn’t, well…if he didn’t have a wife now, he most likely was not looking for one.

Still, you couldn’t ignore the fact that what you were feeling was what you expected to feel all along. That instant spark inside of you, that gut instinct of knowing. There was no doubt: if you were going to get married, you wanted to be married to a man like Tacitus Kilgore.

~*~

Meanwhile, in a cabin up the mountain.

Arthur winced in pain as he dropped the deer close to the hearth. His face twisted in pain as he held a hand over his side. He should be used to it by now, one of many aches and pains his old body graced him with; the bitter cold sure wasn’t making things better.

But he toughed it out; he always did. Bending down to skin the animal before hanging it on a hook. The size of the deer alone was enough to last him for a while before he had to venture out again.

With a heavy grunt, he made it inside the warmth of the cabin, plopping onto a chair as he tried to catch his breath. Once he could feel himself thawing out, he lifted his shirt, taking a good look at the healed stab wound that had become red from irritation.

God damn Micah.

Going back there was by far one of the most foolish things he could have done. But all he could think about was John, his brother. Making sure he and his family had something to survive. Even if that meant almost dying for their freedom, Arthur let out a deep sigh, grabbing the ointment from across the table and applied it to his side. Where the money was now, who even knew? Either Micah and Dutch took it with them, or it got lost God knows where. What Arthur did know, without a shadow of a doubt, was that what happened had happened. Now he could only hope John and Abigail had made it out alive with the boy.

As for him, as far as civilization was concerned, Arthur Morgan died in the caves of Beaver Hollow. No one will ever know how he used all the strength he had left to cut through the woods sight unseen. How he found Hamish’s cabin and spent that time nursing himself back to health with whatever was left. How once he did recover, he never stopped moving and was now living his newfound freedom in the same snowy mountains where this whole mess began. Only going down to the closest town to grab what he needed.

It had been a year since it happened: the loss of his gang, his family. Arthur had nothing left of that life except his journal, his hat he had not worn again, and whatever weapons he kept on his person. He was alone, truly alone. Such was the price to start anew, he figured.

Strawberry really was his only source of being among other people; it certainly had not changed the last time he was there. Sure, some of the people were different, like a new general storekeeper and his daughter.

His daughter.

On instinct, Arthur grabbed his journal from the nightstand. Opening it to a blank page and began sketching. His body may be beginning to betray him, but his mind was still sharp, drawing details of your face onto the paper.

“Saw that girl again from the store. She was alone this time.” He began writing. “Seems her Pa got sick, leaving her to take care of things. She wasn’t expecting me, practically fumbled over herself to get my delivery made. I did finally catch her name though, pretty. Much like her.”

Arthur catches himself in the small mirror he still had from when he cared enough to shave, a sigh leaving him.

“Can’t stop being a fool, can’t you?” He mutters to himself but continues writing.

“I can’t get how she looked at me out of my head. It was the same look she gave me the very first time I saw her. Like one would look at a dangerous animal from a distance, it’s a look of nervousness and grave curiosity. Granted, I certainly look the part of a dangerous animal. Ain't no doubt I’m only getting uglier in my old age. But her look also held something I had not seen from another person in a long time, not since Mary at least.

It was a look of warmth. The kind of warmth that could melt the coldest of hearts. I could certainly feel mine thawing a bit.

No, I can’t allow myself to play the fool again. The girl has to be at least in her 20s. She’s already got a beau I'm sure, picking her pretty flowers or talking sweet nonsense about love. And if she don’t got one, there will be one soon enough. Pretty girls like her never stay lonely long.”

Arthur stops, letting out a gruff before closing his journal. That was enough self-pity for one night.

~*~

“So um, I was thinking.”

You dreaded that sentence; it was fortunate you had your straw hat low. Otherwise, he would have seen the rather large eye roll you just pulled.

“The Farmer’s Market is going to be this weekend and…and I was hoping we could have a day of it together.”

Jerry was a nice boy, incredibly polite. He picked up extra work for your father and never made a fuss. Today he was making a delivery to a nearby ranch, taking you along so you could enjoy the scenery.

Your father’s words.

And while you were in fact enjoying the wide open spaces. You knew what this trip really was. It was a chance for Jerry to attempt calling on you. You moved in your spot next to him rather uncomfortably, mentally scrambling to make up some excuse of why you could not go. You knew this day would come; you could even feel your stomach churning with nerves. You liked Jerry fine, but the idea of being courted by him was just about as pleasant as nails against a glass window.

“Well…see I um…that would be very lovely, Jerry…but I-“

BANG!

The sound of a gunshot made you both jump, the horses neighing in fright causing the wagon to stop. Jerry tried his best to calm them down but was having little success. You then looked over at where the sound came from, watching someone walking toward what you assumed was an animal. Just then, your heart leaped; you knew that furred duster anywhere.

It was him.

He wasn’t wearing the bear head this time. His long, blondish-brown hair practically glowed in the sunlight. Oh, if this was not a sign that you were going to be saved from this awkward day, you didn’t know what else could be.

“Mr. Kilgore?”

You see him jerk his head up, on edge at first before quickly recognizing you. His face turns soft, surprised even. Oh, thank the Lord for giving you this gift!

“Pretty far from home, ain’t you?” He asks as he walks toward the wagon.

“Oh, I’m just riding along for a delivery,” you reply. You see him give Jerry a look before walking straight over to your side.

“Just you two?” He asks. “Could be dangerous out here. Don’t you at least have protection?”

“This is the safest route,” Jerry butts in. “No need to worry; I traveled it countless times.”

You could see the sharp, annoyed look in his eyes toward Jerry. Reaching out to softly calm the horses.

“It’s okay, you’re alright,” he coos at one of them. “Sorry for scaring you.”

The way he spoke, so gentle. You yourself felt a wave of comfort. But that was soon short-lived, as he looked back at Jerry with a disapproving look.

“Outlaws still roam these parts, boy,” he said. “They could be watching you right now if they haven't been watching you already. Waiting for the right moment to take everything you got in that wagon and kill you in the process. And on top of that you got a lady wit’ you, and you ain’t got no sense of protection?”

You could hear the anger brewing in his voice, Jerry only stumbling to find the right words. Tacitus then lets out an annoyed huff, reaching for a pistol he had on his belt as he walks toward him.

“Take this,” he states as he holds the weapon handle-first toward Jerry. You watch as Jerry looks at it, as if he had never seen one before.

“Don’t tell me you don’t even know how to use a gun,” Tacitus gruffs out. Jerry’s silence the answer. “Christ’s sake.”

He puts the gun back in place, whistling for something. From a distance, you see it: a beautiful spotted horse galloping toward them with an excited neigh.

“Where are y’all going?” Tacitus asks, more toward you than at Jerry.

“W-We…Pronghorn Ranch S-Sir,” Jerry stutters.

“Fine, I’ll ride along. Make sure you’re safe,” again, it was more toward you.

“There’s no need,” Jerry begins but is met with a warning look. You then watch Tacitus mount a dead deer on the back of his horse before climbing on, waiting for Jerry to snap out of it and finally continue with the journey. The ranch was not very far away; you stayed put in the wagon as Jerry dismounted and began his delivery. Leaving both you and Tacitus, who was still on his horse, alone.

“Yer feller ain’t all that bright, ain’t he?” Tacitus asks, snapping you back to reality.

“Oh! Oh no, no, no,” you were quick to correct him. “He’s not…we’re not courting or anything.”

You could see the look on his face change from annoyed to slightly intrigued.

“You’re not?” He asks in a more gentle tone.

“No, absolutely not,” you stressed. “I mean, my Pa is trying to set us up. He has been trying to set me up with a lot of boys lately.”

You could feel the silence, Tacitus not saying anything right away before he spoke again.

“You don’t like ‘em?” He asked, causing your cheeks to heat up.

“They’re okay, but I just…I don’t find them very appealing,” you confessed. There was calculation in his eyes as he reached into his satchel to grab a cigarette box.

“What do you find appealing?” The question felt loaded, and you could feel your heart fluttering again. Oh, this man was going to be the pure death of you.

“I…I haven’t really figured that out yet,” you admit in a half-truth. He then lets out a small hum, lighting a match from the bottom of his boot as he lights up his smoke.

“Well, if you want my advice. Get you a feller who at least knows how to shoot,” he replies as a cloud of smoke leaves his lips. “Man’s gotta know how to protect his woman.”

You were almost certain your heart was one more beat away from jumping right out of your chest. The wagon moving from Jerry coming back jerks you back, a wave of disappointment washing over you.

“All done,” Jerry announced. “Thanks for looking out for us, Mister.”

Tacitus, on the other hand, didn’t move.

“Gonna ride back into town wit’ you,” he stated with little room for argument. The ride back was painfully quiet, to say the least; never had you been so happy to see the archway of town. Once Jerry stopped in front of the store, Tacitus hopped off his horse, holding out a hand for you to guide you off. As soon as you placed your hand on his gloved one, you couldn’t help but look at him in his eyes as he helped you down. You didn’t pull away right away; neither did he. The two of you just stood there without saying a word.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” you finally spoke up. “That was…very gentlemanly of you.”

He lets out a small scoff at your words.

“I’ve been called many things; gentleman has never been one of them,” he commented. “Just glad you got home safely.”

“Oh! Mr. Kilgore!” Your father’s voice broke the spell, causing you both to back away from each other just slightly. “I didn’t see an order for you today!”

“Was out when they were riding through, wanted to make sure they made it back in one piece,” Tacitus replied.

“Ah, well, thank you. I’m sure there was no trouble?”

You watch him glance over at you with a look you couldn’t quite place.

“No trouble at all,” Tacitus replied in a tone that was heavily implied. “I’ll leave y’all to it then.”

You don’t move from your spot, watching him ride off back towards the mountains. You never accept Jerry’s invitation to the Farmer’s Market after that; you didn’t even bother to give an excuse. All you could do, all you even think about, was Tacitus. The way he looked at you, the way he was so quick to look out for you. As if it was second nature to him.

You had never experienced anything like that before; the closest thing was reading old romance westerns in your books. It was as if Tacitus himself stepped out of those pages and into your life, a cruel twist of fate if you were being honest. Oh, how you prayed to see him again. If only for a brief moment, but it was becoming clear the brief moments were not enough anymore. You had even caught yourself fantasizing about a life with him, riding behind him on horseback. Admiring the beauty of the mountainside untouched by man. A silly dream, you thought, but oh, what a wonderful…silly dream it would be. The feeling of freedom, freedom with a man who was just as wild as the life around him.

You then wonder, did he feel the same spark as you? Surely he must have; you couldn’t have been that foolish to imagine it. Why would he look at you like he did? Ask you what you wanted if he wasn’t interested in some way.

You then huff, mentally kicking yourself. Don’t be naive, you thought. Wanting something you know full well would never be. For all you know, he was just being friendly with you, the perfect gentleman despite him telling you he was anything but. You had to let the fantasy go…even if it broke your heart to do so.

~*~

He could burn a hole in the middle of the page; he was staring at it so hard.

He had not gone back to town for weeks, but there was a gnawing feeling of temptation to make a trip just to see you. To think, he thought that part of him died a long time ago after Mary. Couldn’t think he had it in him to feel any type of way like that again. And yet, one look from you, and he felt like he was a young cowboy again.

Only to catch himself in the mirror, the harsh reality that time was long past.

“You ugly bastard,” Arthur mutters to himself. “Just can’t help yourself, can’t you?”

He looks back at the sketch he did of you, that day he found you riding along with that boy. He could feel his jaw tightening at the memory. Stupidity was still alive and well in Strawberry, it would seem. Who in their right mind would just take a girl unarmed to the wild and not expect to get attacked?! He honestly should have pistol-whipped the boy just to prove a point!

But despite the boy’s ignorance, you admitted to Arthur that you weren’t sweet on him. On any boy, as a matter of fact. That little piece of information alone made his heart move in a way he had not felt in a very long time, as if he were alive again, truly alive.

It sure didn’t help matters that you kept looking at him the way you do. Arthur almost felt sorry for the poor shits who never got that from you to begin with. But he knew better; he knows better. He was a ghost, a shell of the man he once was. Hell, you didn’t even know his name, didn’t have a clue who he was before or how dangerous he used to be…how dangerous he could be if given the chance. He needed to squash it, bury that little light of hope you had sparked in him with just a kind word and a glance. He had already lost so much; losing one more thing was sure to break him for good.

He needed to, and yet he craved it all the same.

He looked at himself in the mirror once more, picking it up along with a pair of scissors. To hell with it, he thought. If he was bound to be a fool forever, he might as well look the part. Piece by piece, he held a bit of his beard, the sound of the blades from the scissors cutting it off him as clumps fell to the floor.

~*~

You gently hummed to yourself as you walked over the bridge, a basket full of fresh apples in hand. You were dropping them off at Old Lady Smith’s house; poor lady could barely walk anymore, plus your father had the boys running around doing other things. You didn’t mind. She was a sweet old lady after all, plus it gave you time to really enjoy the peace. You had just turned toward the welcome center when you stopped, your heart making a hard jump in your chest.

Tacitus, he was in town. Only he looked so…different.

He wasn’t wearing the bear head, but a black leather cowboy hat that had clear signs it had met a bullet or two. He also…shaved; the thick beard he once sported was now only stubble. His hair was still sort of long, but other than that you were seeing his full face for the first time.

He looked so…handsome! Not that he wasn’t handsome before, but he certainly looked almost younger. He looked like he was putting something in his saddle bag, not seeing you right away. However, when he turned around, he caught you. Causing you to freeze for a bit before walking up to him.

“Mr. Kilgore?” You almost stumbled over your words. “My goodness, you…I almost didn’t recognize you!”

He gave you a small smirk, and the fluttering of your heart came back in full force.

“It was starting to annoy me,” he told you as he rubbed his chin. You noticed a scar there, causing a bit of a bald spot. “Had it for so long I didn’t realize how heavy it was.”

He takes a look at your basket.

“Mighty heavy cargo you’re carrying,” he comments in a teasing tone.

“Oh! Yeah, I’m just delivering these,” you reply. He gives you a small nod before reaching out to take it from your hands.

“Let me take that for you,” he offers.

“Oh, oh no, Mr. Kilgore, you don’t have to do that,” you try to protest.

“Nah, I insist. Just tell me where to go.”

You let out a defeated sigh, but indulge his hospitality nonetheless.

“You are most kind,” you thank him.

“Seems every time I see you, you’re doing some sort of work,” he comments as you both walk. “Do you do anything for yourself?”

“Sometimes,” you reply with a small laugh. “Mostly I just read or help Mama with her cross-stitching. Not the most exciting thing compared to hunting dangerous animals like you.”

“Aw, I wouldn’t say that. The cougar I killed last week seemed pretty harmless. Licked her chomps she liked me so much.”

You giggle at his joke, shyly putting your head down.

“Well, nevertheless, there’s not a shadow of a doubt you live a much more exciting life compared to mine.”

“If you call living by yourself with only a horse to keep you company exciting, sure.” You look up at him, your chest tightening for a brief moment. He lives alone? No family, no…wife? You don’t press further, reaching to the house and handing Old Lady Smith her apples. In return, she hands you a warm pie to give your family as a thank-you.

“So, are you in town to get more supplies?” You ask as you walk back to your house to drop off the pie.

“No, I um…I just happen to be in town,” he replied almost shyly. You didn’t press, figuring it was none of your business what he was actually doing. “That boy hasn’t been putting you in harm’s way again, has he?”

“Oh, Jerry? No he…I think after I turned him down, he didn’t feel the need to take me anymore. Real shame, I really enjoyed riding along the countryside. It’s so peaceful out there.”

“It’s got its charm,” Tacitus replied. “I’ll gladly take it over civilization any day. Maybe one day you can get back there, really take in the beauty.”

“That would be nice, if I’m able to escape,” you shrug. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Strawberry is a wonderful place, but…even in this open space it feels-“

“Crowded?”

He catches you off guard; you nod in reply as he continues.

“I get that, more than anyone. There was once a time I lived where there was nothing but space. Where you could be as free as one could be. Then I had no choice but to hide, my freedom slipping away from me one building at a time.”

“Is that why you live in the mountains?” You ask. “To get your freedom back?”

He lets out a laugh, almost sadly, as he reaches for a smoke.

“You could say that,” he replies. There was a hurt to him, you observed, like someone who had been through hell and back and was having a hard time adjusting to the aftermath. Your heart ached for him, and you were starting to understand why he was alone.

“Well…I hope you get it back,” you tell him. “I can’t imagine how lonely it must be for you.”

“You don’t know the half of it, darlin’.” he looks at you. That same loaded look you saw weeks ago. “But thank you, I’m starting to feel like I am.”

The silence hung over you, even after you dropped the pie off at your house.

“How long are you in town?” You find yourself asking.

“Not long; I don’t like staying in one place much,” he replied. “But…if I’m gonna be honest I’m glad to have ran into you.”

You could feel the heat in your cheeks, tucking your hair as you smiled at him.

“You flatter me, Mr. Kilgore.” You let out a shy laugh.

“Just telling the truth, goes a long way these days,” he replied. “And…since we’re being truthful here. I do wanna tell you something that’s been bothering me.”

“What is it?” You watched him scratch his chin again; you were beginning to believe it was a nervous habit of his. Finally, after he blew out a big cloud of smoke from his cigarette and took a quick look around, he spoke.

“Tacitus Kilgore is not my real name,” he tells you. “It's an old alias I used to use back before…before everything. It’s Arthur Morgan.”

Arthur Morgan? Well, that certainly was a far cry from Tacitus Kilgore, but why on earth would he use an alias? Then, as if he could read your mind, he continues.

“I’m sure there’s still a wanted poster of me somewhere at that jailhouse.”

Wanted poster? Your eyes widen as the words sink into your mind. Tacitus…Arthur didn’t even give you time to respond. He just tilted his hat at you as he walked off.

“Have a good day, ma’am. Stay safe.”