Even as exhausted as she was, her mind couldn't help but dwell on what Arthur had said, on the sketch of a life he'd described. The occasional job, like the one's she'd seen already, perhaps. Days in the sunlight, learning to shoot, riding the dusty roads. Chores— hard chores, backbreaking work, sure, but surrounded by people she was growing fond of.
It certainly wasn't the life she dreamed of. It wasn't anywhere close to a 'perfect' life, whatever that meant, if that was even something tangible to strive for. It just felt… right. For this moment, for this season, it fit. Like the first cold day of a new spring, a reminder of the cold and the storm, still part of it, but passing.
She slept that night exactly where she wanted to be, knowing she was where she needed to be.
Rating: General
Warnings: Guns & Shooting
Word Count: 3.6K
Chapter 5: Over High Noon
Even the sun seemed to be kind to all the poor, incredibly hungover souls that were clinging to consciousness at Horseshoe Overlook the next day, hiding away behind thick clouds as it rose over the treeline. Even those that usually rose early were dragging their feet, and Dutch's tent hadn't opened once since the flaps had been tied shut the night before.
The bedraggled collection standing around the cookfire, coffee in hand and misery on their faces, made Lori chuckle around her morning greetings, and she swept past them before anyone could grumble about her teasing.
She spied Arthur out a ways, standing by the scout fire instead, and she carefully made her way through the space where the horses were grazing, watching her feet, and patting Maggie on her way through.
"Good morning, Mr. Morgan."
"For an unsurprising few, sure, I s'pose it's good," he smiled.
She laughed, taking in his slightly ruffled appearance. "How's your head? Loud sounds going to be hell on earth? You told me you'd teach me to shoot," she reminded him.
His blue eyes glittered a bit as he chuckled. "Takes more'n that to leave me grousin' the next mornin' like the rest of'em. And I ain't forgotten — go'on and get ready for a short ride, we'll see what we can teach'ya."
"Let me grab my things and I'll meet you by Jericho. Might even let you have the reins," she teased.
"How very kind of you, Miss Moore," he chuckled, flinging the remnants of his coffee out onto the dirt and following after her with an easy stride.
She let Sadie know where she was going, told her to keep herself safe and to keep an eye on these fools, then grabbed the flat-brimmed hat she had bought, settling it into place to shade her eyes from the sun that would eventually burn its way through the clouds overhead.
As she headed back toward where Jericho was hitched, she overheard Dutch's churlish voice and paused.
"Come on, Arthur! Stop daydreaming! I need that man of action back!"
"… Sure, Dutch," Arthur agreed with a bit of a sigh and resignation clear in his voice.
"Thank you," Dutch said, and if Lori had to name the tone, it'd be smug — and not in a proud way, in a self-congratulatory way. "Now get out of here and do something."
Lori kept one of the horses between her and Dutch as he strode away, shamelessly hiding behind the animal, not wanting to put herself in his sights.
Arthur had both hands resting over Jericho's back, his head hanging low between his shoulders until he heard her. She quickened her steps just enough to catch his expression in profile before he changed it, heavy brows held low and tight, the corner of his lips pulled down and jaw clenched tight. He smoothed it all away in a second as she came up next to him.
"What did he mean by that?" she asked.
Arthur's calm features twisted in confusion for a moment, before he glanced over Lori's shoulder to Dutch's back and relaxed. "I oughta be out tryin' to make us money, 's all." He shrugged. "Got mouths to feed, supplies and… plans for the future."
"You're already hardly ever in camp, Mr. Morgan, what does he expect from you?"
"An example, I suppose. Now c'mon, we ain't gonna be practicin' here." He swung himself up into the saddle then held a hand down toward her.
She let him change the subject and pull her up onto the back of Jericho.
"Ain't a long ride, but hold on tight."
She didn't need to, Arthur didn't push Jericho into anything faster than a trot, but she gripped the back of his sleeve anyway. Through it, she could feel the tension that coiled through his shoulders loosening as they broke through the trees into the long grasses down the hill toward the river. He took them along the dusty road to the southwest, further than Lori had ever gone, only being on foot. It wasn't long before something interesting came into view and she leaned forward to get a better look.
Once it might've been a town, or at least the start of one. Now it was little more than burnt-through skeletons of skewed old buildings.
The still-standing sign planted in the grass off the road read 'Welcome to Limpany' in bold white painted letters that were peeling with the sun.
"Figured we wouldn't be botherin' anybody here," Arthur said in explanation as he dismounted.
"Seems a safe assumption," Lori chuckled, taking one of his hands in hers as he reached up with both, taking advantage as he hesitated to grab hold of her. "Thank you, Mr. Morgan," she smiled at him as she slid down onto the ground under her own power instead.
"'Course," he coughed awkwardly as he dropped his other hand and took a slight step back.
Once she was safely on her feet, he grabbed his repeater from Jericho's saddle, slung it over his shoulder and started meandering through the ashy dirt up what used to be a main street.
"So, how much you already know?" he called.
"About shooting? Sadie showed me a little with her rifle, but it really was only a little." Lori followed after him, skirt brushing up little clouds of black behind her as it dusted the ground, and a faint irritation lingered when she thought of the extra laundry. Why'd these skirts have to be so long anyway? She'd wondered that her whole life. Who cared if it was 'proper' or not?
"Well, then, we'll start with that. Here." Arthur held the repeater out to her, smiling as she took it without hesitation, holding its weight in her hands easily, just like she'd obviously been taught to, hand at the ready but finger off the trigger just yet. "Name the pieces that you know. First step to bein' any good is knowin' the gun you're usin'."
Lori took a deep breath and looked down at the polished wood and metal in her hands, calling back on what Sadie had shown her. Her voice was unwavering, if oddly shy, as her fingers drifted across the barrel, the stock, the hammer, the lever, the trigger, the sight, naming the pieces as she went; then she peeked up at Arthur through her lashes.
"I'm afraid I don't know any technical terms, and I can't tell you what anything on the inside is called," she admitted.
"A damn sight better 'n I was expecting, if I'm honest. Said your sister taught you?" Arthur asked.
"We didn't have much else to pass the time with."
"She did good. Remind me not to piss her off — I have a feelin' she's as good with usin' it as she is teachin' it," he chuckled. "Wait here." He gestured to her to stay where she was before walking toward the husk of an old saloon.
He made it all of five steps before he spun back around, the reminder to not point that thing down range til he was behind her right on the tip of his tongue. But he didn't need to say a damn thing.
He'd have to draw this later, just because it stood out to him in how unexpected it was. The light across her was dappled through the leaves, warm sun and cool shade dancing across her form, as she stood steady and sure with rifle in hand, perfectly poised as if she'd been raised with it in her grip — pointing it down and away, her pointer finger splayed out straight along the stock above the trigger, the light catching on the grain of the wood and a thin gold band on her knuckle. She held it like she knew its danger, it's capability to kill, but she remained completely unafraid of that power. Her expression was hard, and focused, eyes studying something off in the distance with sharp scrutiny.
Arthur turned back around before that gaze found him, tucking away the image of her. He just didn't want to explain why he'd stopped, seeing as he didn't need to remind her not to wave the thing around.
Lori's attention was called away from the sparkling of the river by the sound of solid glass hitting wood. Arthur was setting up a collection of bottles along the porch of the saloon, standing them up in a row above the warped steps. He brushed his hands off as he made he way back toward her, checking his work briefly over his shoulder as he walked.
"Ya know how to load that thing?" he asked once he was by her side again.
"This… isn't exactly like the one Sadie had… given enough time I could figure it out but—"
"None of this is a test, Miss Moore, I just don't want to be made a fool for tryin' to teach you somethin' you already know," Arthur smiled. "I c'n show you, or I c'n tell you and you show me, which is it?"
Lori thrust the repeater back toward him. "Show me, please," she said.
He did so without another word, his movements well-practiced and smooth, almost too quick to follow, but Lori's warm eyes never strayed for a moment.
"Let's see how ya do, have at 'em whenever you're ready." Arthur held the gun out to her again with one hand, the other waving toward the bottles. "Remember, it ain't a test, and I ain't no judge."
Lori swallowed back the nerves she felt crawling up her throat, and tucked the repeater up against her shoulder. She didn't like shooting, per se; she'd found it easy to learn, but hard to get used to. Target practice was one thing, plinking bottles off of Sadie's fence for fun and watching the scattered shards decorate the snow like a mosaic. But this… this was different. With this gun in her hands, and Arthur standing beside her, the realization of what she might have to do with it settled heavy in the back of her mind. She had no desire to be a hunter — of men or otherwise. But she knew it might be asked of her someday.
Crack!
The sound of the gunshot was followed by that of splintering wood, not shattering glass.
Lori jerked the lever of the repeater down, hearing the chime of the spent shell as it bounced off the dirt by her feet.
Snapping the lever back up to bring the next round into place, she focused.
Crack!
Another bullet dug its way into the wood behind the bottles.
Another round in the chamber.
Crack!
This time, as the shot echoed off the hills, it was accompanied by the sharp scatter of glass and Lori let out the breath she had held in a triumphant huff.
Arthur matched her grin with a smile of his own when she looked up at him.
"Good!" he said, then nodded his head back toward her targets, arms crossed comfortably over his chest. "Ya got four more shots."
In quick succession, Lori missed the next three, but managed to solidly nail another bottle on the last.
"Well…" she sighed, lowering the gun. "That left much to be desired, didn't it?"
"We'll make a marksman of you soon enough," Arthur disagreed. He approached her, unfolding her arms and holding his hands out. "If I may? Form could use a little shift, I'll show ya."
Lori nodded and put the butt of the stock, now warm from her own body heat, against her shoulder again. Arthur's hands landed just between her shoulder blades and on her extended elbow, which he gently moved down so it was tucked closer against her side.
His short 'mmhm' of satisfaction rumbled from behind her as he reached forward, wrapping his hand around hers where it held the frame of the gun, callouses rough against Lori's skin as he tugged it back against her more firmly.
"Really pull this back against the muscle here, keep it tight against your shoulder, an' brace for the recoil. You don' wanna give it too much space to move when it kicks back, but don't flinch into it either. If you're doin' it right, it'll hurt less, not more. This 's where your shot's gettin' its stability, an' the more stable this is, the easier it'll be to aim, got it?"
Lori nodded again, and pulled the gun against her harder as he let go.
Arthur stepped away, coming up on the other side of her, studying her closely, and Lori kept her eyes on the bottle that was just starting to glow with the sun, rather than risk meeting those eyes — she felt like his gaze would cut her down to the quick if she did.
He reached out suddenly and smacked the end of the barrel, only lightly, just to test her grip, and Lori was almost surprised by the ease with which she held steady.
"That's what I like to see," he lauded, giving her a proud grin before plucking a number of bullets from the gunbelt around his waist. "Now I wanna see you load it."
"How come you get to do it the easy way?" Lori complained, accepting the small brass trinkets as he dropped them into her palm. He'd been able to slide all seven in with a slim tube he'd pulled from his satchel.
"Cause when I'm reloadin' I'm usually gettin' shot at," Arthur chuckled. "You're doin' just fine anyway without all that," he said, gesturing to Lori's slim fingers as she slipped each bullet into place easily. He hooked his thumbs into his belt and watched her ready her stance, tuck the rifle against her shoulder — then do it again more firmly.
He heard her dejected sigh of an exhale when her first shot missed.
"Try an' empty your lungs before you fire," he suggested, and Lori's eyes flicked toward him before focusing back forward.
A breeze picked up just enough to carry the sound of her low exhale to him, before brilliant green glass glittered in the sunlight like emeralds. Shortly after, amber and agate scattered across the wooden planks. Bits of diamond, topaz, and garnet littered the steps by the time Lori lowered the repeater again.
"Well look at that, we got ourselves a sharpshooter," Arthur praised.
"Hardly, if it takes me that long to aim each shot," she laughed.
"Nah, that comes with practice, and practice, well… that'll come easy 'nough in this life." Arthur accepted his repeater back from her as she handed it over, setting the strap over his shoulder again.
He tilted his head up to look at the high cliffs and hills across the river, blue eyes squinting in the steadily brightening light.
"You wanna head back to camp? Or I got a quick job I gotta do over this way," Arthur offered, gesturing in that direction. "Shouldn't take more'n a few minutes if you wanna stay out a little longer."
"Any time out from under Miss Grimshaw's thumb is far too tempting, Mr. Morgan," Lori smiled. "I'll be sure to stay out of your way, but maybe I'll learn a thing or two."
Arthur shook his head as he walked back to where Jericho was peacefully grazing. "Oh, no, the lessons're done for today, this ain't nothin' of the sort," he said.
"Right, right, I'm not supposed to want to take jobs, my apologies, sir," Lori snarked.
She saw Arthur scowl and guilt crept up on her as he hoisted her up onto Jericho's back without looking her in the face.
"I do appreciate what you're doing," she said more earnestly once he was settled in the saddle in front of her. "And I know how rare it is to find someone who would care enough to try and keep me out of dangerous work. It does mean a lot to me that you do."
"Ought to be tellin' you to get outta this life entirely," Arthur admitted.
"Well, you tried that, didn't you?" Lori teased lightly, earning herself a scoff of a laugh. "I know you think I'm a fool."
"An' I also know I'm a fool myself for it," he muttered in response before clicking his tongue against his teeth and urging Jericho forward. "You're grown, you can make your own decisions… You wanna learn what it is we really do, who we really are, I can't stop ya."
They crossed the shallow river easily, and headed up to the plateau on the other side, riding right up to the gate of a small ranch house.
"Jus' wait out here a minute, I'll see what we're dealin' with."
Lori sat right where he left her on the back of Jericho, twisting a loose thread on her blouse in her fingers as she listened to unintelligible conversation from the house in front of her. The sounds of shouting and distress. Then a pause.
"Miss Moore, would you join me please?" Arthur called, clearly enough for her to hear.
She slid down onto the ground, draped Jericho's reins over the fence with a soft command to stay put, and approached the door. Cracking it open and slipping inside she saw Arthur standing in front of a dejected, frightened man who was just starting to pick himself up off the floor..
"Mr. Wrobel here 's said we can take some things to cover his debt, an' I don't want t'be here forever, so will you help look around? Save us some time?" Arthur asked her.
"O-of course…"
Arthur stomped past Wrobel and into one of the other rooms, leaving Lori to start digging through cupboards on her own. She saw the glint of some silver earrings and took them, but found little else of consequence in either cupboard she searched before Arthur came back. He held out his hand to her and the scowl on his face deepened when he saw how little she'd found.
"Ya gotta have more'n this, Wrobel," he growled to the man, eyes sparking like flint as he turned toward him, making him flinch visibly.
"Check the other cabinets," Lori interrupted, gesturing to the one by the stove on the other wall when Arthur rounded toward her. "There'll be something somewhere." She went toward the small table by the door and tugged the drawer open to make a point.
Arthur gave Wrobel a hard look before brushing past him, and Lori noticed then the way the other man's posture shifted as Arthur went past him, putting himself between the outlaw and the table he was backed up against. From her angle, she could see there was a drawer in the table that Wrobel's hand was clutching closed as if he could hide it.
"No please — I must eat!" Wrobel begged, watching Arthur take a few things from the pantry.
Arthur hung his head for a second before he rolled his shoulders, standing up and facing them again.
"We all gotta eat buddy," he said, boots heavy on the wood as he approached. His eyes darted down to the table Wrobel was protecting, but Lori's fingers closed around the glint of metal she'd seen in the drawer.
"Here," she said firmly, catching Arthur's attention and throwing it to him. He studied the old pocket watch for a moment before shoving it in his satchel.
"That'll have to be enough," he muttered and jerked his head toward the door, letting Lori scamper out first and following on her heels.
He nearly tossed her back up onto Jericho, and she actually did have to grab ahold of him this time, as he took off before she was securely settled, one arm wrapping around him quickly.
"Are these sorts of jobs… common?" Lori asked, catching her breath as she got her bearings and let go of him.
"Enough," Arthur grumbled, tension rolling through the muscles of his back that Lori could feel under her palm.
She decided to stay quiet after that, recognizing the anger in just that single word.
When they got back to camp, Arthur's grip on her hand as he helped her down was hard enough to almost hurt, and he dropped it as soon as she was on her feet, leaving her to stumble slightly as he stalked away.
"How did you get on, Herr Morgan?" Strauss called as Lori made her way back into camp.
"Called in on the smallholder, Wrobel," Arthur replied, slapping down the ledger pencil. "Didn't even speak English."
"Good, very good."
"My pleasure," Arthur said bitterly, turning to walk away.
"Well, if it's pleasure you're after, there is one other," Strauss offered as he followed. "This farmer preacher fellow I met in Valentine, Mr. Downes."
"The opinionated little do-gooder?" Arthur scoffed. "Yeah, I know the one. I certainly know the type."
"Thank you, Herr Morgan."
"There's no need to thank me. Like you said, it's pleasure I'm after."
If Lori hadn't been standing by the dish tub, rolling her sleeves up, she wouldn't have said anything, but seeing Arthur stand, scrubbing a hand over his face with an exhausted hunch to his shoulders, brought the words to her lips.
"I don't think that's true," she called.
"What isn't?" Arthur huffed, dropping his hand to look sullenly at her.
"You didn't seem to enjoy any of that," Lori shrugged. "Just doesn't seem like it's really pleasure you're after, is all."
It was several days later by the time Arthur stormed back into camp, deep into the evening, and he threw his recent hunt down onto Pearson's table so hard the whole thing rattled. Oftentimes he would stay and help butcher whatever it was he'd brought in, but this time he dumped it, picked up a bottle of whiskey, and stalked off without even washing off the red stain from his gloves.
Karen shot Lori a distinctly 'I told you so' look from over her plate.
Like a territorial animal, Arthur chased off everyone else from around the distant scout fire, and threw himself down onto the furs, glowering at anyone he deemed too close.
Lori wasn't sure if it was kindness or bravery that led her to him. Maybe it was both.
"Mr. Morgan," she greeted softly, but despite the kindness in her tone, she saw him flinch.
"What d'you want?" he growled.
"Have you eaten?"
His eyes snapped up to meet hers, nearly searing in their anger.
"I don't need you motherin' me," he huffed. "Jus' leave me be, go dote on someone else."
Lori took a deep breath, turned on her heel and walked away.
Arthur ignored the sick sinking feeling in his gut, covering it with a long swing of whiskey to burn it away. He'd told her to, after all. She just listened for once. What more could he expect? He was good at pushing people away.
Rating: General/Teen
Warnings: very slight adult humor, brief mention of vomiting
Word Count: 3.7K
Chapter 4: Onto Sweet Morning
Lori always woke with the dawn. The sunlight that spilled across her closed eyes would drag her from whatever dream she was in and into the waking world, but she didn't mind. She liked being awake to see the sky fade from dusted lavender and grey to brilliant azure as the morning carried on, and the warmth of climbing sunshine was always so welcome in the morning chill.
Like usual, she was one of the first to be up and about. The only one that ever woke before her was Arthur, as he unsurprisingly had this morning too.
He was chopping firewood as Lori set to making coffee. It was her favorite way to start her day, and once the rest of the gang started waking, she didn't want to face anyone's early morning wrath without it.
The steady thunk of the logs as he set them onto the block, and the woosh and crack of the axe as he hefted it down in a wide arc served as a backdrop to the mindless hummed tune from the back of her mind as she worked.
She didn't notice when her little melody caught Arthur's attention, and the natural percussion came to a slow stop as he let his attention wander and watch her.
Lori was enjoying the heat of the fresh brewed coffee, curling her hands around a tin mug when she heard spurs and boots behind her.
“Good,” Arthur rumbled. “You always make it better than Pearson.”
Once he had his own mug in-hand he leaned in and added, “Don't tell him I said that.”
“Your secret is safe with me, Mr. Morgan,” Lori laughed.
“Good morning, Arthur,” Tilly chirped as she walked up, a smile on her face and swing in her step like always.
“Hey Tilly,” he returned in an easy drawl. “Easy day t'day?” he asked conversationally as she poured her coffee.
“It's washing day, but Grimshaw said we could go down to the river, so it won't be so bad. It's so peaceful down there,” Tilly said, holding her cup close with both hands, greedily taking in the warmth. “What about you?”
“Dutch asked me, Charles, n’ Javier to go get Sean's dumb ass outta Blackwater,” Arthur sighed. “I don’ know how bad it is down there, but it ain't gonna be easy…”
“There's gonna be law everywhere, he's sendin’ you back there?” Tilly exclaimed.
“It ain't smart, but if there's a chance to save that kid, you know we gotta take it.”
The younger woman sighed too, “I guess you're right, just be careful, we need you ‘round here Arthur.”
“Don’ worry, ya ain't gettin’ rid of me that easy, I'll come back,” Arthur chuckled, as low and warm as the wafting steam from the mug in Lori's hands.
“You'd better ‘r we'd all go hungry,” Abigail added as she joined them.
Even her frowning face relaxed once she took that first sip of bitter black coffee and the four of them stood in comfortable silence for a minute or two.
Arthur heaved a sigh before flicking the last dregs of his coffee out onto the grass.
“Wish us luck," he said, "with it we might just make it back tomorrow." Then he tipped his hat, showing off the bandages around his hands for just a moment before striding across the camp to where the horses were grazing.
He stopped for a moment and turned around.
“Ya mind if I borrow your boy, Miss Moore?” he called.
It surprised Lori that he'd ask. She hardly even saw Jericho as solely hers anymore, considering Arthur had been riding him for several weeks — and she was generally getting used to the more communal way of life in the gang.
“Oh! Uh, sure! Of course! Any time,” she called back.
Part of her wanted to say no. Jericho was just about all she had left from her life in New York, though she hadn't had him for very long before making her way to Sadie's remote cabin. She wanted to be a little selfish with that. But another part of her felt… honored, almost. It meant that Arthur recognized Jericho as hers, and he could've asked anyone else if he'd wanted to. Hosea was awake, Silver Dollar would be a fine steed for a day. Bill wouldn't like agreeing to let him borrow Brown Jack, but the large war horse would be a good pick if he though they might run into trouble. Instead, he wanted Jericho.
“That one's yours?” Abigail asked, nodding toward the mahogany bay as it trotted out of camp.
Lori nodded. “I'd taken him with me to visit my sister… they found him in the stable same time they found us.”
“Well we know what he's gonna be doin' next." Tilly sighed.
"What do you mean?" Lori asked her.
"He ain't gonna borrow yours forever, he'll be searching for a new one til' he finds somethin' perfect. Never seen a man so picky about his horse."
“I really don't mind,” Lori protested.
“Sure, but he does. Besides, he ain't gonna give you any reasons to stay neither.”
“He said something like that too… told me not to tie myself down to you all,” Lori mused, dropping her eyes back toward the smoldering campfire.
“You shouldn't. It's not an easy life, I wouldn't wish it on anyone,” Abigail said bluntly.
“It hasn't been so bad yet. It's hard, sure, but so would be any life I chose now. No money, no belongings… I don't have many skills to help me survive on my own, but there's no way I could afford to live in a city with the work I'd be able to find… I know it doesn't make sense, to want to stay, and I can't really explain it, but it feels like the best option for now,” Lori said contemplatively, lost in the flames for a moment before looking back up at the other two and offering a sheepish smile. “I'll do my share though, I'm not going to be a freeloader.”
“You're already doin’ more'n your share,” Abigail said. “I ain't had Grimshaw on my case in days, the work's gettin’ done easier, we all see it. I may not understand why you wanna stay, but I support the decision, selfish as it is.”
“Folks've started askin’ you to be the one fixin' their socks cause you somehow make them last longer, I'd be happy if I never had to touch one of Bill's day-old socks ever again,” Tilly agreed, making Lori laugh.
The easy morning only lasted so long though, as the piles of clothing to be washed were gathered and Grimshaw set everyone to work. All of the girls got involved on washing day, even Sadie, and Lori kept a close eye on her as they hauled baskets down the hill toward the river. The sun and having something to do to keep busy seemed helpful — Lori wasn't blind, she knew the worst times were when Sadie had nothing to do but stare and think. She tried to find her in those moments, to pull her from those thoughts, but she would still get lost from time to time.
“Hey sweetpea,” Lori murmured, setting a basket down next to where Sadie was kneeling by a large tub, and hitching her skirt up so she could get down next to her.
“Hey, Lottie,” Sadie responded lowly as she scrubbed a stained work shirt across a washboard, then she dropped it into the basket Lori had brought.
“Been meaning to ask you somethin’ if you're up to it,” Lori said quietly.
“Hm?”
“Have you been thinking about staying? Whether you want to?”
She'd learned to be specific. Just asking how she was feeling without a focus would just send her into those thoughts Lori worked so hard to keep her out of.
For now, all she needed to know was whether Sadie wanted to move on, because while Lori herself had said she didn't want to, she would in a heartbeat if it would be the best thing for her sister.
“It seems… easiest,” Sadie said after a long moment.
“I will see us through anything, easy or not, darling,” Lori reminded her, resting a hand on Sadie's arm for a moment, stilling her work. “What do you want to do?”
“I- I… Jesus, Lottie how am I supposed to know what to do?” Sadie exclaimed, throwing the next shirt she had been working on into the basket, scattering droplets of water everywhere.
Lori took up Sadie's place, moving the washboard closer to her and pulling up another soaking shirt to scrub.
“You know I'm not asking you what you're supposed to be doing,” she said primly. “I'm not asking what's ‘best.’ We can figure out what's ‘best’ for us when things aren't so chaotic. I just want you to know that I'll pack us up and leave the second you want to."
"I know," Sadie huffed.
"I want you to have what you need to recover," Lori added more softly, "whatever that may be. We'll stay unless you don't want to.”
“I want to stay,” Sadie mumbled, starting to pick at the grass by her knee.
“Okay,” Lori agreed simply, shrugging one shoulder and slapping another sopping wet shirt into the basket.
“I'm glad you're with me, Lottie… makin’ all this… tolerable.”
“I'm your sister, that's my job. Now c'mon, go get these rinsed and laid out on the dry grass.” Lori nudged her sister with her elbow, using the same no-nonsense voice she had used when they were kids.
Sadie picked up the basket with a grumble and lugged it away.
“Gonna keep us runnin’ better'n Grimshaw you keep this up,” Abigail commented, joining Lori and dumping a few more dry shirts into the tub and settling down to wash them opposite Lori.
“Sorry,” Lori cringed with a smile. “Force of habit, I suppose. I'm used to running the household — though I'll admit there weren't this many grown men in my house.”
The other woman laughed. “Weren't no insult, y'know. I'd prefer listenin’ to you over that old bag most days. At least you bother tellin’ us why we oughta do things.”
“There isn't a lot of that in the gang, is there? Explaining why?” Lori asked.
“Never has been. Not ‘s long as I've been in it anyway. Ya might get a decent answer from Hosea, if Hosea even knows. But not from Dutch, and certainly not from Grimshaw — she'd rather lecture you on ‘knowing your place’ or havin’ ‘ideas above your station’ an’ the like.”
“As if we weren't all hiding from the law out in the woods together…” Lori muttered, rolling her eyes a little. She’d heard plenty of those lectures from across the camp.
“Least you see sense,” Abigail chuckled.
“You might be one of the only ones who thinks so,” Lori sighed. “Mr. Morgan seems to think I'm a fool for staying.”
“Arthur… well, Arthur just wants what's best for all of us. To him it feels like he's protectin’ you I think, he knows this life ain't safe.”
“I suppose… though I’m not sure why he’s taken it upon himself to protect me, I’m practically a stranger still…”
“Stranger or not, that’s just what he does.”
Lori thought back to the mountain, to Arthur asking if there was somewhere they could go. Even in that moment, when they had answered they had nowhere, no one, it felt like Arthur had just… included them. He had this gang, this family of sorts, and in that one curt nod of his head he’d decided in his mind that they were part of it now. And it was that easy. He certainly had the capacity, the man’s heart was nearly too big for his chest, and that was saying something.
Perhaps that's where it really came from, the security that she felt telling her to stay. They had already been accepted so readily by Arthur — and as far as Lori could tell it was Arthur that kept the gang going. Dutch and Hosea might've been ‘above’ him, but only because he kept his boots on the ground, doing the work and the labor. He saw what needed done and did, he didn't delegate. He was the linchpin between the thinkers and the doers. He had accepted them, therefore everyone else had too. Not because Arthur's word was law, but because Dutch & Hosea trusted his judgment, and the others trusted his experience.
There was little Lori could think of that Arthur would not do for them, and to be included in that protection made the dangers of the life ahead of them seem so small.
If she had needed any examples of the lengths Arthur would go to, she found them in far too many stories slurred in an over-excited, thick brogue.
If the stories an already-drunk Sean was telling were true, it had been quite the rescue, all guns blazing, ruthless efficiency and quite a few nearly inhuman feats of heroics.
Lori was curious to hear the tale from Arthur himself, but he hadn't gotten back quite yet — it wasn't unusual after kicking up a storm that big for the gang to ride back separate. A large group of riders certainly caught more attention than one or two.
She was laughing at the antics of several of the gang's younger members when she heard Arthur ride back. She looked over at him, grinning, as he dismounted from a well-laden Jericho.
“Welcome back, Mr. Morgan. I see you've come bearing gifts,” she said, walking over to join him.
Arthur chuckled as he hauled a freshly killed deer off of Jericho's back.
“Looks like I've come back just in time! D'ya mind givin’ me a hand?” He gestured back over his shoulder to the two large turkeys also strapped to the saddle.
“Quite the feast you've brought us. You were expecting the party, then?” Lori asked, hefting one of the birds over her shoulder and dragging the other behind her by its neck, following after him toward the chuck wagon.
“Somethin’ like that,” Arthur groaned, dropping the animal with a dull thump onto the table. “So, how many drinks ‘s he downed already?” he asked, nodding toward Sean, who was staggering up onto a crate.
“I'm not going to lie, Mr. Morgan, I lost count.”
Arthur laughed openly, his low tone carrying easily through the camp. “Guess I have some catchin’ up t'do!”
Lori laughed with him, shaking her head as she watched the young man nearly topple off his perch.
“Well, I'll leave you to it," she said, then turned to him more directly. "I am glad you're back safe.”
Arthur dipped his head toward her with a softer smile than she expected as they parted ways, he to help Pearson skinning dinner, her to lighting all of the lanterns as the party began to gather steam. The world glittered with golden hour and amber lantern light soon enough, and spirits were higher than Lori had seen them in her whole time with them. She didn't even think it was all to do with the free-flowing beer and whiskey.
After a truly heartening dinner, and the company of various stages of inebriation, Lori went to go sit near Sadie and Abigail, who were at least for now keeping their heads on straight.
She almost wanted to use the given opportunity to cut loose and indulge, but only almost; she spent the time watching the others instead, categorizing them all into what kind of drunk they each turned into.
Most were merely loud, none seemed downright mean. A few of them were flirty, though those few all seemed to have a specific target in mind — Sean, for example, didn't have eyes for anyone but Karen and she wasn't looking at anyone else either, but she played hard to get better than anyone Lori had ever known. Even fewer still didn't seem keen to participate at all - Charles had vanished early in the night, silently volunteering himself to guard the camp while the others had their fun. It was one of the few occasions Lori saw Dutch extend a decent amount of romance Molly's way, a tinge of red across both their faces.
Arthur, however, was somehow… warmer. It was not uncommon to see a smirk or small, slanted smile on his face, but with enough whiskey in his system to tint his cheeks a warm pink, his smiles were broader, meeting his eyes and showing off the small crows feet at the corners. He smiled more, too; even when not directly engaged with anyone, there was a faint curve to his lips that were usually much more neutral.
Lori's eyes flitted away once she realized Arthur was headed toward where she and Sadie were sitting away from the bustle and noise. Her curiosity was going to get her in trouble, it seemed.
"How are you doin' Mrs. Adler?" he asked, bordering on cheerful with his tone.
"Fine. Not really in the party mood," Sadie said dryly.
"Yeah I understand," he said with a nod. He didn't encourage her to join the fun or to drink, or even to smile as Lori had heard Uncle once tell her, and she was thankful for it. His efforts to include them weren't unnoticed, but they never pushed too far.
"An' you, Miss Moore? How ya keepin?"
"I'm keeping just fine, Mr. Morgan, thank you," Lori smiled. "You certainly know how to throw a party, don't you?"
"When there's cause," he agreed, turning to look at the sprawl of the camp lit up in the dusk around them. "Guess we'll see if gettin' him back is actually cause to celebrate 'r not, I ain't too sure."
Lori followed his eyeline as he shook his head with a chuckle, spying a besotted Sean being dragged by the hand by Karen into the privacy of a tent that she was fairly certain was John's. She covered her mouth to muffle the laugh that burst free, equal parts amused and shocked.
"That ain't gonna bite those two in'the ass later," Arther commented.
"Certainly not," Lori giggled.
"If you'll excuse me, ladies, I'm gonna stay well away from… that. Enjoy your evenin.'"
With a tip of his head, Arthur wandered very pointedly into the loudest part of the camp.
Laughter, guitar, and banjo all wrestled with Dutch's warbling gramophone for attention and space, converging into some unholy cacophony that certainly fit the boisterous atmosphere. It was infectious, as the sun continued to set and the warmth of the firelight became the only light around, and she couldn't help but be pulled from her place on the sidelines.
Lori gave John's tent and its current enamored occupants a wide berth as she wove between the tables where smaller groups were deep in their cups and conversations, meandered past the others sitting by the fire as they sang along heartily to whatever song Uncle had started, toward an impromptu ballroom where Dutch and Molly swayed to some classical racket. She chuckled aloud to herself, catching Mary-Beth bouncing on the balls of her feet and asking Arthur to dance.
“I ain't much of a dancer,” he told her, but held out his hands for her to take anyway with a lopsided smile.
There was no grace to the dance he started with Mary-Beth, only a fun, lighthearted rhythm that was completely off the beat of the music, uncaring about Dutch and Molly lost in their own, more serious world, right next to them. Arthur could have tried. He could have stayed on beat and done at least the little footwork Dutch was managing, Lori was sure of it — but apparently the brotherly teasing and Mary-Beth's bright laugh were far too worth it.
Lori wondered, as the gramophone quieted but the gang made up for it, whether the grin on Arthur's face was more because of the dance, or the haze of whiskey.
The loud burst of laughter and comments she heard from across the camp, and Sean's indignant retorts as he made his reappearance, she could tell were more the booze than anything, lowering inhibitions but sharpening tongues.
Karen's enthusiastic rant about what would make her a lady, too, was fueled by far too much alcohol. As was the subsequent, distinctly unladylike bout of vomiting that shortly followed. Lori sighed, but smiled to herself as she brushed the younger blonde's hair back out of her face, and gave her a cup of herbal tea and a peppermint to try and combat the nausea. This wasn't the first time she'd comforted someone like this, and she doubted it would be the last.
What wasn't so clear-cut, was what exactly prompted Arthur to drop into the seat at the table next to Lori and Karen, still sitting face down with her forehead resting on her crossed arms. He propped his own elbow on the weathered wood, and perched his cheekbone on his fist, eyes alert but a little glazed over as he followed the circles Lori was rubbing on Karen's back.
"Can I help you, Mr. Morgan? You in need of some tea, too?" Lori teased him.
His chuckle was so deep it rumbled through the night air more as a feeling than a sound. "You sayin' you think I can't hold my drink?"
"As far as I can tell, Mr. Morgan, you hold your whiskey just as well as the bottle you drank it from," Lori laughed. "But you're looking at me like you want something."
"Nah… Jus'… well I think they'll miss this, 's all."
"What do you mean?"
"The girls," Arthur clarified unhelpfully, moving his head just long enough to point at Lori and then Karen, then off to where the other girls were already sleeping. "Been a while since they had this sort'a… softness."
"And why would they miss it? Am I going somewhere?" Lori leaned over and checked to see if Karen was still awake. She wasn't.
"I… well, I hope not, actually." Arthur looked surprised by his own admission, blue eyes blinking a few times in the low light.
"Then we're in agreement," Lori said, smiling at his expression. "Now, do excuse us, Mr. Morgan, I think it's time for bed." Lori stood and helped get Karen groggily to her feet, an arm around her as she led her off toward her bedroll. "Have a good night, I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning."
Bruh how do people balance this slow-burn shit? I'm so paranoid that I'm making them flirt and fall for each other too quickly, but I'm equally worried it'll seem abrupt and unrealistic when I do get to the point where they're "officially together"
"So are all you quick-draw gunslinger sorts just naturally good at this, or did you have to spend hours practicing too?" she asked.
"Spent most my life practicin' one way or another," Arthur replied.
"I suppose gunfights count as practice?"
"Ain't nothin' quite like fearin' for your life to teach ya t' aim an' aim well," he agreed. "Weren't always so dangerous, spent a lotta time doin' things like this, back when the gang was smaller. Usually turned into a competition though."
"Is that where your reputation came from?"
"Oh I don' think I wanna know what reputation you're talkin' about," Arthur said warily, but there was an amused glint in his eyes.
Lori laughed, "That you're the best shot, Mr. Morgan. I've already seen your reputation for being grumpy first-hand."
She looked over at him when she didn't hear any sort of humored response, worried she'd said something that upset him, but found him looking off in the distance pensively.
"Mr. Morgan?" she queried hesitantly, startling him from his thoughts.
"Hm? Ah, sorry, miss, I was… miles away. You wanna keep goin'? Plenty of daylight left."
"If there's nothing else that might need your attention, I don't want to keep you," Lori said, gesturing vaguely in the direction he'd been looking so intently.
"It ain't urgent," Arthur brushed her off with a wave of his hand. "Honestly wouldn't mind putting it off if you wanna keep on."
Arthur was leaning back, sitting slouched in the seat of the bench outside with his hat tipped low over his eyes, tuning Uncle out entirely, when Lori stepped back outside, freshly dressed in a deep navy skirt and cream-colored blouse, with Mary-Beth's neatly folded clothes and a wrapped package held in her hands.
"Got everythin' you two need?" he interrupted whatever Uncle was rambling about, sitting up a little straighter and fixing his hat on his head.
"Yes, I think so. Thank you again, I'll… I'm just going to put these in the wagon-" she gestured to the bundle in her hands, "-then I'll be around town, trying to find some leads."
With that, Lori's skirt brushed Arthur's knees as she swept past him and started down the steps.
"What, leads on jobs?" he asked, then got to his feet and followed after her when she didn't pause. "Why? If ya need the money I can lend you more-"
"No," Lori interrupted firmly. "That's not it."
She took in Arthur's bewildered expression and sighed, dropping her voice so it wasn't so easily overheard by Uncle sitting nearby, though the old man didn't seem to be paying much attention.
"I'll pull my weight, Mr. Morgan. You heard Dutch, no more passengers,” she said.
"Miss Moore, Dutch weren't talkin' 'bout you," he said urgently. "You're just fallen on hard times. Hell, you ain't even need to consider yourselves part of this sorry lot if you don' want to.”
Lori started to shake her head, but he reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. She was almost startled by the steady, deep warmth of his touch.
“Don' start down a road you don't wanna walk…” he added softly. “It ain't gonna lead you home."
She scoffed out a bitter laugh. "I don't have a home to take any roads back to, or do you think I'd still be here?"
"Don't play a fool. You're a smart girl, you know what I mean," he countered steadily.
"I have had plenty of time to think about whether or not this is what I should do - I've had nothing but time for a few weeks now. Sadie needs stability, I can't just pick her up and move her again,” Lori sighed. “Besides, even if I did leave with her now, where would we go? Two single women, one widowed and grieving, with no more than a few gold rings to sell between them? If you were a worse kind of man, Mr. Morgan, what would that sound like to you?"
His hand slid off of her shoulder and down her arm until he dropped his head with a sigh. The brim of his hat covered his face, but she got enough of a glimpse to see the resignation on it.
"Exactly. A target," Lori answered for him. "I think Sadie's been through enough, I don't need to get her robbed, or killed, to protect my own dignity."
"It ain't about your dignity, miss," he protested. "You stick with us, you're gonna see things you wish you ain't - both of you are. You're gonna do things you wish you ain't had to. Things that'll put you under the eyes of the law, dangerous things. We didn't save you two to make ya join this mess an’ become outlaws yourselves.”
“I know,” Lori said sadly. “But this world is difficult, and dangerous, for women with no means and no marriage. Of all my options, you’ve made this one the safest.”
“Me?”
“From everything I’ve seen - even the worst about you is still a decent man,” Lori explained, looking down to study the belongings in her hands. Then she snapped her eyes back up sharply to cut him off, as if she knew the protest was already on his lips. “I’m under no pretense about what you are, what all of them are-” Lori gestured toward Valentine where Uncle still sat on the bench outside the general store, and the other girls were hunting for rumors and scores. “I know you’ve hurt people, and I know you've done much worse. But you care, too; I've seen firsthand the way you care for your people. I know my sister and I are safe from those that would take advantage of our situation. I know we won’t go hungry. We have shelter. I didn’t have to sell everything I had left just to scrounge for a filthy, infested tenement, and then beg whoever would take me for a job that would barely make ends meet. I didn’t have to force my sister to take a job, and instead I can let her grieve in safety, with people who understand and are kind to her. Wouldn’t you choose all of that over such insecurity as everywhere else could offer?”
Arthur was silent for a long time, head still ducked so his hat hid most of his expression, but Lori could see the grimace on his lips.
“When you find out in the comin’ weeks that there’s better out there ‘n us, you jus’ let me know,” he said quietly, looking up again to lock eyes with her. “I’ll get you out. Don’ tie yourself down to this all so quickly. Please.”
“You don’t know me well, and I don’t know you any better… but can I ask you to trust me? There is no wool over my eyes, no one is twisting my arm, and you said it yourself: I’m a smart girl. When Sadie is ready, she’ll have her own choice, I’m just trying to keep her safe til’ then.”
“I s’pose…” Arthur allowed begrudgingly. “I’d just hate to see lives ruined.”
“Our lives were already ruined, and it certainly wasn’t by you.” Lori reached out and grabbed his wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze before she turned away.
“Arthur! Arthur I’ve got something!” Mary-Beth said excitedly, jogging up to them.
Lori slipped away while the younger girl took his attention, excitedly rambling about a possible robbery target.
Arthur tried to pay attention, but found himself watching Lori as she dropped off what she carried in the wagon, then walked down the worn path that went behind the town’s buildings.
She read him like she found him an open book, but surely that wasn’t what was written there. A decent man? He couldn’t doubt her intelligence, but that sentence alone made him wonder.
He wasn’t.
He wasn't good, wasn't decent.
He stood there debating the worth of robbing a train, and as he weighed the difficulty of the planning against the possible take, the people it might hurt didn’t weigh more than a feather. He was rotten, to his core. She just didn’t know him well enough to see it yet.
Wasn’t there proof enough in the satisfaction that simmered in his gut when he threatened the man harassing Tilly, sent him running with nothing more than a growl and show of force? If that left any question at all, wasn’t the doubt snuffed at the pride he felt roaring through his chest when he beat Karen’s attacker, took him down in a single punch and watched his body slump? What good man would feel that way?
“I ain't sure we should be stickin’ around much longer,” Arthur said as he gathered Uncle and the girls into a tighter cluster, circling them like a border collie with its flock.
Lori quickened her steps to be included among the other lambs and he registered her approach with a grateful murmur.
“Good, we're all here. We should pack it in ‘n get outta here.”
“You okay?” Lori asked Karen, seeing a dark bruise forming on the side of her jaw
“Sure, he only punched me,” Karen muttered. “Arthur punched him a'lot harder.”
“Punch- who is punching you?!”
“Some guy I was gonna rob. Arthur took care of'im, quicker than I could've. It's fine, he was drunk enough he might not even remember what happened,” the blonde woman shrugged.
“Hey, who's that guy over there lookin’ at us?” Mary-Beth interjected, gesturing as subtly as she could across the street.
Almost in unison, the rest of them turned to look at a well-dressed man on an antsy horse, and he pointed at Arthur.
“Weren't you in Blackwater a few weeks back?” he asked in a tentative voice.
“Me?” Arthur asked brusquely. “No sir. Ain't from there.”
“Oh, you were,” the man disagreed, wrapping his reins around his hand and settling into his saddle.
Even Lori could tell he was getting ready to run.
“I definitely saw you, w-with a bunch of fellers.”
“Impossible,” Arthur scoffed. “Listen, buddy, c'mere for a minute.” He started stepping forward and waved the man toward them.
“N-no sir, I know I did!” With a jolt of his heels against his horse’s flanks he started off. “You leave me alone!”
“I don't like this…” Uncle murmured, squinting after the man as he galloped recklessly through town.
“Me either,” Arthur agreed with all the dark thunder of a storm cloud. “Go’on an’ get the girls home,” he told Uncle, “I'm gonna go have a word with our friend.”
He looked around briefly before spotting a nearby untethered horse.
Spurs in its sides were urging the beast forward before he'd even finished swinging himself into the saddle.
“Be careful, Arthur!” Tilly called, tension clear in her voice.
“Just a word,” he assured her, eyes hard as steel as he tracked the man’s frantic run. A rough ‘hyah’ sent the stolen horse off after him.
“C’mon then, let’s get on home,” Uncle ushered them all toward the wagon.
Lori paused and watched as Arthur disappeared, but Mary-Beth grabbed her hand. It seemed like she wanted comfort as much as she wanted to pull her along, so Lori squeezed her fingers and followed after her easily.
“What was he talking about?” she whispered to the younger women. “What happened in Blackwater?”
The others looked at each other warily, sharing unsure glances before Tilly spoke up.
“Somethin’ bad,” she said, “but they won’t say much, the boys… There was a job, but it went wrong - real wrong. We had to move, and fast, and we got chased all the way up into those mountains. It’s why we’re goin’ East, still running.”
“Arthur was there?”
“Involved, but… well he’s asked the others about it enough, I don’t think he was in the middle of the mess for once,” Mary-Beth said. “It’s best not to pry, I think.”
Lori nodded, glancing out toward the rolling hills around them as the wagon made its way back into the prairie. She didn’t think she would see Arthur, there was no way she’d know where he went or where to look, but a curiosity pulled her gaze outward.
If he caught the man, would it end like it did for Kieran? Or would it be worse?
“Don’t worry,” Karen urged, probably to all of them together, not just to Lori, but she looked at Lori first. “If anyone c'n make sure nothin’ll follow us back to camp, it’s Arthur. He looks out for us.”
Lori had no doubt of that. If Arthur was anything, he was fiercely loyal and doggedly protective, particularly to those less likely to be able to protect themselves. He was a shield that held itself like a weapon. Nothing would ever make it through him. She was thankful for that, as not only were her and Sadie included in that protection, but she had also already come to care for the other girls more than the rest of the gang, and she knew she herself was no use in protecting them.
She tried to put her worries out of her mind, returning to her chores without complaint when they got back to camp - there was no need to raise Grimshaw’s ire more than slipping out of camp for so long already had. But as the sun began to hang low in the sky she couldn’t ignore something itching at the back of her mind.
“I’m just saying I would've expected him back by now, it's not like he could've taken off on one of his long trips, his horse is still here,” she said to Karen, sitting near her as they each worked on darning a sock.
She glanced one more time at the path through the trees when she thought she heard hooves, but it turned out to be nothing.
“It wouldn't hurt to go take a quick look, right?” she asked.
“You’re too nice to’im,” Karen laughed, “but I’ll cover for ya should Grimshaw come askin’, s’long as you return the favor.”
Lori chuckled as she set her project back into the basket of work and stood. “Absolutely, sweetpea.”
It wasn't the most comfortable ride, as she didn't have her own saddle, and didn't take the time to adjust Arthur's stirrups before heaving herself up into his.
“Hey, boy… Been a while just you and me, huh?” she murmured down to Jericho.
The horse snorted with a shake of his head, the forelock of his mane falling over his eyes. She flicked it out of the way with a chuckle.
The sunset had painted the land gold by the time Lori gave up using the stirrups at all, tucking her feet against Jericho's sides and relying on the squeeze of her thighs and wishing she'd decided to forego the saddle entirely. Luckily for her sore muscles, it was a short ride.
When she first caught sight of him, walking casually alongside the dusty, rutted road, Arthur was looking off toward the dry plains, squinting toward the low dip of the sun.
She laughed at his expression when he turned back and saw her trotting up. He stopped dead for a moment, his head tipping to the side like a curious dog before an amused smile slid across his lips.
“Safe to say we were the last thing you expected to see?” she asked, pulling Jericho to a stop.
“There isn't much I'd’ve expected less,” he admitted with a chuckle, reaching up and running a hand over Jericho's nose, letting the soft muzzle nudge into his palm eagerly.
“I remembered you wouldn't have your own ride back, seeing as you sent Uncle home with the one you took into town,” Lori found herself explaining.
“Well thank you, Miss Moore,” Arthur said kindly. “I woulda been back ‘n hour ago, but… meeting up with some'a the boys didn't quite go to plan, I'll admit.”
She gave him a more thorough look and saw the dried mud on his clothes, the deep bruise sprouting across his cheekbone, and the split and bloody lip. The bleeding knuckles caught the majority of her attention though, as he reached up to pet the white patch between Jericho's eyes.
“Your plan didn't include the fistfight, I assume?” she asked.
Arthur glanced up at her, eyes wide and surprised.
“It's hard to miss when you're bleeding, Mr. Morgan,” she pointed out.
He glanced down at his hands, then gave her a chagrined smile. “It certainly weren't my intention, no.”
“C'mon, then. This is your saddle, up you get.” Lori shifted backward, scooting off the seat to sit on Jericho's back.
Arthur carefully pulled himself up into place, making sure he didn't even come close to kicking Lori as he lifted his leg over onto the other side, settling comfortably into the stirrups she had barely been able to reach comfortably.
With the sudden extra weight, Jericho shifted, dancing in place a bit, but Arthur brought his attention back in with a soft word.
“There we are, boy, nothin’ to be worried about,” he soothed, patting the side of Jericho’s neck.
He calmed immediately, and Lori smiled.
“He didn't used like strangers. But I guess at this point you're not a stranger, are you?”
“Used to?” Arthur asked, looking over his shoulder at her as well as he could and raising a brow. “What, he yours?” he asked, though his tone suggested he didn't think she'd answer in the affirmative.
“I don't think I can call him mine anymore, he seems to like you. But he was at one point,” Lori chuckled.
“Hell, I didn't think about that when we took ‘im, figured he belonged to one of them O'Driscolls,” Arthur said, fidgeting with the reins for a moment like he was debating getting down or trading places. “I'm sorry, didn't mean to take your horse.”
“Have you heard me complaining?”
“Well… no.”
“Cause I haven't been," Lori said warmly. "It's not like I have anywhere to go with him, and you needed a horse. I'm just glad he made it at all, and if I had to pick anyone for him to end up with it'd be you.”
“How pragmatic of ya,” Arthur mused, swinging Jericho around to head back toward the camp.
“That's me,” Lori sighed, “ever the pragmatic one.”
She awkwardly hung onto Arthur's broad shoulders as they started into an easy canter, eventually slipping her hands down to just rest on his back, trying to give him more space than the last time they'd been in this position.
Dark hadn't quite settled completely when they came riding back into camp, and most of the gang were still milling about, gathering around the fire or the tables.
Arthur dismounted and tethered Jericho briefly, stepping up to where Lori was seated and offering a hand to help her down as well. She took it gratefully and let him take some of her weight - though it was clear she could've let him take it all and it'd have made no difference to him. He didn't let go until she did, perfectly content to wait until she was sure her feet were under her and stable on the uneven ground.
“Thank you again, for comin’ to fetch me. You didn't have to, but it was real kind of ya,” he said as she took half a step back to show him she'd made it back to solid earth just fine.
“Of course, Mr. Morgan, I was more than happy to,” she smiled up at him as she smoothed her skirts back out.
She caught another glimpse of the red mess of his knuckles as he reached up to tip his hat to her, and she reached out to stop him before he could turn away.
“Did you… I can take a look at those, if you'd like.”
Arthur looked down at the back of his own hand, then to her.
“Have experience with this sort of thing, do ya?” he asked.
“Treating sickness, yes. Scrapes and bruises, too. Wounds from beating against another man's skull, less so, but my studies can still offer something I'm sure.”
Arthur scoffed out a single laugh through his nose, but accepted with a genial “Well sure,” and a gesture toward the lantern burning brightly by his cot.
He eased himself down to sitting stiffly, then held out his hands for her to look at more closely.
“Do you have any bandages, or rags?”
“Nope.”
“Do you ever take care of your injuries beyond ignoring them?”
Arthur laughed. “Miss Moore, the closest we've got to any kind of doctor is Miss Grimshaw, and it ain't her area of expertise - an’ even if it were, none'a us wanna deal with her lack of beside manner.”
Lori rolled her eyes, then looked at the small pail of water near his open shaving kit.
“That fresh?” she asked, pointing to it.
“Should be.”
“Wash your hands well, try and get any dirt and grit out of the broken skin. I'll be right back.”
She'd done enough laundry to know there was an old shirt slated to make rags out of, so she snagged it from the line where it'd been drying and started tearing it into strips as she walked back toward Arthur's tent. He was just drying his hands off when she approached.
“Give ‘em here,” she commanded, “let's see how well you did.”
Arthur dutifully held his hands out again and let her take them in hers one at a time, scrutinizing his work. He had the same bemused smile on his face as she started weaving the strips of clean cloth around his fingers.
“Weren't kidding when you said you weren't going to keep a low profile, were you?” she asked, eyes flicking up from her work to meet his briefly.
“I'm nothin’ if not honest, Miss Moore,” he grinned.
She shook her head at him but he could see the smile playing at the corners of her lips.
He studied her in the quiet pause as she tied the bandages, and he offered his other hand before she asked for it.
“So, you find any jobs in town?” he asked conversationally.
“Unfortunately there isn't much out there for a woman that can't handle a gun. Besides being a maid or washing woman and I doubt Miss Grimshaw would give me a pass to be away from camp so long. Doubt Dutch would trust me to either.”
“You're not wrong… but hey, I have somethin’ I gotta handle, but when I'm back, come find me,” he said. “I'll show you a thing ‘r two.”
“I don't want to impose-”
“If it'd be a bother I wouldn't've offered, Miss Moore,” Arthur smiled.
Lori laughed softly.
“Fair," she admitted. "Alright, I will. I hope I'm a good student. Have a good night, Mr. Morgan.” She nodded toward his bandaged hands, “keep those clean, alright? Once they scab over you can take the bandages off.”
“Thank you, Miss Moore. Sleep well.”
She let her expression falter as she turned away, not having to hide her surprise at the state of Arthur's hands from him anymore, and she wrestled with the idea of a kind man having so many scars before sleep finally took her.
Arthur sighed so heavily she worried for his lungs for a moment, fearing they may spill out onto the ground by her feet with the force of his dejection.
"My foul moods are so distinct you c'n categorize 'em then, Miss Moore?" he asked.
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be so presumptuous."
"Ain't presumin' too much if you're right," he chuckled once, then nodded. "There was another one, damn fool tried to run, sent me on some wild chase 'nd then a goddamn treasure hunt just to get his debt back. Least he actually had the money."
"Have I been too bold already, or can I ask you a question?" Lori asked as Arthur stood and meandered toward the table nearby, taking a bite of the stew as he went.
He spread out a hand toward one of the other seats as an answer, and she sat slowly, leaning against the surface toward him.
"Why do you do those jobs if you hate the work? Surely someone who's been in the gang for so long, someone Dutch trusts so much, has the freedom to choose which jobs he takes."
"'Course I do, but it ain't so simple as picking and choosing which ones I like," Arthur said, tearing one of the pieces of bread in half and soaking it in the hearty broth. "We do what needs done. It's about keepin' them safe, keepin' them armed, protected. Keepin' 'em all fed." He gestured with the bread before popping into his mouth and chewing.
"Couldn't someone else go then?" Lori pressed after he swallowed that bite.
"None of us are over fond of what Strauss does, no one wants any part of it when it comes back to bite us n'the ass. Strauss knows I get the job done, and that's more important than whether I dislike it. At this point it's… I dunno, habit more'n anything," he shrugged. "It's always been me cause I'm big and mean and get results when people try holdin' out on us."
"Well you're more than that, but I suppose you are that too," Lori mused, leaning back up straight and tapping her fingernails on the wood as she looked over toward where Strauss' table stood.
