Disclaimer: I don't own the Hatfields and McCoys series. Though historical accuracy may appear, this is a work of pure fiction. I do not claim any connection to the real William 'Cap' Hatfield, or any other historical people mentioned in this story. Newspaper articles inspired by existing wanted posters from the time period.

A/N: In love with this miniseries. I have seriously watched it a zillion times by now. So here goes nothing. Please don't forget to review!

Almost Heaven, West Virginia
Part I

Hatfield Cabin
Logan, West Virginia, 1863

"My stars. I see it with my eyes, but I don' believe it." The man who'd spoken pulled his hat from his head, pushing his dusty brown hair away from his eyes to get a closer look in the midday sun. "Devil Anse Hatfield? That you?"

The man in question stood at the opening of his front door, having woken up at an unusually late hour on his first morning home since retreating back to Logan County from his cavalry. He hadn't expected any visitors this early, knowing it couldn't be any of his kin, since they tended to let themselves inside.

The visitor thought the old friend in front him would only come back in a casket, if at all, having heard tales of the Confederacy's losing battle against the Union. Chester 'Savage Chet' Sawyer had served in the ongoing war for the south already, under Anse's platoon no less, before he was shot in the shoulder and sent back home to Logan County, West Virginia to recuperate, unable to hold his gun properly with the injury. And his strong arm, at that. He was still feeling the effects of the damage done to the limb, but the wound was healing nicely, and Doc Rutherford had said it looked like it would be fully functioning in time, as long as he took care not to overuse it.

The day Chet'd been shot he was sure would be the last day he'd ever lay eyes on his cavalry leader, William Anderson Hatfield. Anse to his friends. Devil to those who feared him.

But here he stood, in the flesh, still in one piece. "War's done. Known it since before you got hit with that Yankee bullet." They had shared their cynical views on the outcome of the war together before Chet had been wounded, and by the defeated look on his friend's face, Chet could tell things had not improved any.

Chester would never utter the word 'desertion' at Devil Anse Hatfield, no sir. The man had been a mentor to him in his younger years, and was likely the man Chet respected most in the world. For him to be standing here though, Chet knew that was what had been done. But the man couldn't lie and say he hadn't considered doing the same before he got hurt. He'd already left his lonely, pregnant wife, and couldn't bear to do it again now. Anse had wanted what they'd all wanted; to go home alive, and the man had just ensured that he had. Chet couldn't persecute or blame him.

The war was already lost for the South, if proud men like Anse and Chet saw it that way.

It had been six months since etChet had been waiting here at home for over six months now, waiting for any sign of victory… or defeat, which it seemed in this case, he could count on. He and Jim Vance had kept the Logan Wildcats alive away from the field as best they could back here, though it consisted mainly of capturing and killing straggling Yanks.

Unsure of how he was about to be received by his colleague, Anse waited for a reaction from him. He'd known the younger man all his life. Chet was even a major investor in Anse's timber business, and donated acres of land to the cause. He was the man holding down the fort when Anse was still out fighting, along with Jim and Lias, but Chet had the financially stable mind of the three, and kept the books. Which was fine for now, Doc advising Chet not to push his luck in the tree groves by getting back to the physical labor before his shoulder was fully healed.

Anse couldn't decipher what was occurring through the mind of Savage Chet, as his face had contorted into somewhat of a blank stare, almost as though he realized he might really be looking at a ghost. Hope for confederate victory had dwindled greatly, and honestly, most never expected to see the brave men who rebelled against the Union again. To see the leader of their cavalry, still standing here breathing, was a miracle in itself.

Not another hesitant moment passed before Chet moved forward, roughly embracing the man he called a brother though they shared no blood. Anderson Hatfield was home, and alive, and now, life could go on as it once was.

Both chuckling deeply and clapping one another on the back, they pulled away simultaneously, Anse stepping aside to invite his friend in. "Levicy's just makin' some ham an' eggs. Yer welcome ta join."

Chet declined, waving his hands. "No, I won't intrude brother. Jus' needed ta see ya with my own two eyes 's all. An' congratulations on that boy a yers." Anse had only just seen how his firstborn Johnson, had grown upon his arrival back at home while Chet had been watching him grow these past few months.

Things seemed restored now, right to Chet, the feeling in the air settling now that Anse was back. So many looked up to and depended on him. They'd all helped Levicy as best they could in his absence, but he could see the woman's exhausted face as he tipped his hat to her in brief greeting from where she stood over her cooking. He noticed now though, there seemed to be a joy in her eyes that had been missing. Her husband was home and alive. She looked much like his own wife had the day he'd rode into the front yard himself, shoulder bandaged, but still alive, and in these times, that was what mattered most of all.2

"We're blessed today Chet," she called to him with a smile, pure happiness etched into her voice.

"Yes m'am, it seems so." Focusing back on Anse, Chet gave him a small nod. "I won't keep ya. Jus' wonderin' though… any news from the cavalry? What of the others?" It was a solemn question, but one Anse knew he would need to answer.

Anse's face became remorseful, knowing they both had friends and family fighting the hopeless fight. Anse closed the door behind him, walking outside onto the porch and leaning against the railing. The smell of Levicy's cooking wafted through the cool, early morning air, and Anse took a second to savor it, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. Lord, how he'd missed that smell.

Chet sat on a bench Ellison had carved that was kept on the porch alongside the rocker, hands on his knees, awaiting a response. He was expecting grave news.

When Anse looked back at Chet, he told him the truth. "I don't know what's become… of anyov 'em. Not now. The battle was lost. I made 'em retreat and held off the Yanks as best I could. Lucky ta escape with my life at all. Blew some kid's brains… allover the place. Didn't even flinch." He became lost, reliving the moment, one of the many that had turned him harder than he used to be, which seemed almost impossible when he wasn't made of stone. "Guessin' they're either dead, prisoners, 'r they smartened up like me an' came back ta their families. War's lost. Ain't much use in 'em dyin' fer it, so that's what I hope fer."

Chet was silent for a minute before he bitterly chuckled. "Hell, knew that 'fore I even got shot." He and Anse had had sat nights by the fire, discussing their desires and making false threats to just go home, false until now anyway. Both had left behind pregnant wives, Chet having already lost his first son at birth.

"Thought Ol' Rand'll McCoy was gonna shoot me. Caught me packin' my horse. Guess he thought better of it though Proud man, that McCoy." He pushed off the railing and stared off into the sunrise. "I saved 'em all before that. I saved 'em all when hope seemed lost. Thought about my wife, my little boy, my brothers. I needed to come back. I tried to tell him ta do the same… but you know him. Always was more of a… god fearin' man than you or I."

This was heavy information. If Devil Anse himself had abandoned his post, then there truly was no hope. The North had won.

A long silence passed between them, filled only by the morning crickets and birds chirping away before Chet spoke. "I'll pray fer him. I'll pray fer 'em all."

Remorsefully, Anse turned back to Chet and approached him. "Speakin' a prayers, ol' friend… give Lucy my condolences. Fate is unkind, but works in mysterious ways. The right time will come." He placed a comforting hand, towering above Chet, whose head hung low.

"Another son. Just when we think everythin's right…"Chet's wife had taken ill, resulting in another stillborn child, another lost son, their second now. Fighting back tears, Chet stood quickly, again embracing his comrade. The loss of his second child had been tragic and strained Chester's marriage greatly. Lucy was always under the weather, spending most of her time locked away in the house, sleeping, eating or not, and rocking the empty cradle while staring out the window at the family plot, where both boys lay buried.

She was not a woman like Levicy, who gladly got her hands dirty farming or tending the animals. No, instead she had been educated to read and write and play instruments, a true finishing girl, a proper lady. In these hills, those kinds weren't necessarily popular, but Chet had chosen to marry the girl from the North even still, lucky enough to afford assistance with the things she was too prim to bother with. Cooking was her rare talent, but even that seemed to make her miserable now. Instead of the once excitable girl from the city in the north she had once been, enthusiastic in her romance with Chet, Lucy was now the hollow shell of that young woman, aged now and tied. And both their misery was becoming more than Chet could handle on his own. The sorrow was consuming them both, and destroying their unconventional love.

"This should be a joyous occasion. No more talk of lost children of waning wives." Chet didn't want to burden his friend with these problems, not today. Anse of course, obliged, shaking the man's hand as they pulled away. "I'll leave you to your breakfast. Seeing you here gives me faith I thought was lost, brother."

Sawyer Cabin
Logan, West Virginia, 1866

The pacing motions of Chet wearing the soles of his work boots across the porch of the Hatfield's was the only sound through the thickening silence previously drowned out by the moans and groans of Lucy Sawyer as she gave birth for the third time, the sudden quiet an good indication the child was out, and Chet feared the worst, as did both Devil Anse and his brother Ellison, each men showing support for their life-long friend.

Chet stopped suddenly, shaking his head sadly, too familiar with the quiet. It would be another baby born dead, their third, another son likely. Chester had promised his wife this would be their last if it didn't survive. They would not try again, as she couldn't bear to go through another birth, only to have a dead child in return.

Even Johnse and William sat quietly, both boys not entirely aware of the severity of the situation, but feeling the air around them calling for their silence. Johnse sat tall at his father's feet, four years old now, Will seated on Anse's lap, a wooden block clutched tightly in one hand, though he was ignoring it, the younger of Anse's children just past two years old now. He had successfully bore another son, while his friend and his wife instead had suffered the loss of another child at birth. Guilt consumed him, and he searched for words of comfort, though he thought of none.

The door opened to reveal Levicy, blood staining the apron she wore and wisps of hair sticking to her sweat-covered brow, tears streaming down her rouged cheeks. She had midwived over the two stillbirths beforehand, but her tight-lipped smile rocked Chet with confusion this time. "A girl." And a second later, he heard the distinct sound of an infant crying. "A healthy, baby girl."

Rushing past her, wide eyed, Chet made his way to the bed where his wife had given birth, seeing her looking exhausted and pale, though her eyes and smile brightened the entire room as she held a bundle of white sheets to her chest, Doc Rutherford drying his hands near the washbin as the new father entered. "Congratulations, my boy," he said, shaking the man's hand gladly as a smile spread over his face for what felt like the first time in his life.

In a daze, he made his way to Lucy, perching on the edge of the bed and looking down at the face of his first surviving offspring, no matter that it was a girl. All that mattered was she was healthy and beautiful, just as he was pleased to see he was when he first looked into her impossibly dark blue eyes through the small slits she seemed to peer at him from. She was fair-haired, like her mother, with a sweet face, pink rosebud lips suckling aimlessly at nothing, arms reaching out to him.

Scooping her up into his arms, he smiled brightly, raising her above his head and staring up at her lovingly. "I'll brig her right back. Elizabeth, is it still?" Chet questioned his wife, that having been the name they'd discussed, after her mother.

"Elizabeth Grace," she affirmed despite the obvious drowsiness in her appearance and voice. Lucy's eyes drifted shut in her exhaustion, though she continued to talk. "Our sweet Elizabeth."

Heart filled with warmth, Chet left his wife to sleep, placing a kiss atop her head before bringing the baby outside to see daylight for the first time. It had been an early July morning when Lucy had gone into labor, and six hours later, the sun was still shining bright high in the sky now.

Joyful chuckles from the men echoed through the open area of land as they passed the child around, each commenting on the beauty of her, the first girl of the bunch. Ellison had none of his own, and Anse only had the two boys.

"She's little… an' wrinkly," Johnse piped up as he peered at her while his uncle Ellison cradled her lovingly.

"Mark my words boy, you an' yer brother are gonna be chasin' this one 'round someday. Along with every other boy in Logan County," Ellison teased, passing the newborn over to Anse before he reached out and ruffled Johnse's blonde locks as the child pulled a face.

Anse laughed deep in his throat, wondering what a little girl of his own would look like, his wife's belly plump with the early swell of their third child. "Whatdya think 'a this little baby, huh Will?"

"Baby?" Will repeated, just beginning to really talk and understand words at his young age. Again, laughter filled the air, Anse passing the infant back to the proud father.

"Elizabeth Grace. Hell if you ain't damn near perfect," Chet said down to the baby as she stared back at him. "Never knew I could love somethin' so much just like that."

Mate Creek
Mingo County, West Virginia, 1874

"Hey, I know you. Yer Savage Chet's kid, aintchya?"

Elizabeth Grace stared at the boy who'd so boldly approached her. He looked to be about Johnse's age maybe, which was twelve, quite tall compared to her eight year old self. "He ain't a savage," she meekly corrected him, though she herself had no idea who this boy was, nor if she should be speaking to him. But she could see her father and mother were busy, speaking with an older couple who she had never seen before over by the post office.

The boy just rolled his mossy eyes and ignored her protest, shrugging his shoulders instead of arguing with her. "What's yer name anyhow?"

"Elizabeth," she answered shyly, wondering why he had chosen to speak to her out of nowhere. From a young age, her mother had trained her to expect a life fully dedicated to a husband, and bearing him a family, so even at her age, she noticed boys. And this boy, with his shaggy chestnut colored hair and playful smile was noticeably something she would call cute, never out loud, but in her own mind. "And who are you?" she inquired back, feeling it was unfair that this kid seemed to know her but she still had no idea whom he was.

"Name's Calvin. That's my pap there, talkin' ta yers," he informed Elizabeth, pointing over her shoulder to where her parents, and apparently his stood, conversing.

"Looks like my Calvin's taken a likin' ta yer girl, Chet," Randall said slowly, watching as the children spoke to one another, then turning back to Chester, a man he considered a friend, despite the rocky relationship the McCoys now had with Devil Anse, Chet being practically kin to the Hatfield brothers.

Sawyers weren't Hatfields anyway.

"Girl already cares more fer boys than I'd like her to. Makes eyes at Ellison e'ry chance she gets. Don't encourage it, please," Chet expressed in a joking manner, though it was something he hated to admit was true. The girl was constantly surrounded by boys, and instead of wanting to do what they did, she was the type to instead want to possess their attention somehow. They all treated her quite fragilely most of the time, knowing they'd be punished for anything that involved her crying or getting hurt. On most occasions, she was assigned as a lookout for them while they did something bad, or left to entertain Cotton Top so he didn't get himself hurt when the boys would roughhouse. And that was just fine by her because she wasn't one to rip her dresses romping around anyway; she was just happy to be accepted by them, though all the adults, and maybe even Libby herself, could tell the boys weren't usually enthusiastic about having to drag her along with them.

But regardless, at the tender age of eight, she had already figured out how to play to their sympathies, Chet having seen her purposely trip over her own skirts and twist her ankle, feigning accidents to get the attention of the boys when she felt she was being forgotten about. And like suckers, each Hatfield boy, or cousin, or friend, would come rushing over to check on her and make sure she was okay.

It worked without fail, each and every time, especially on Johnse, William and Robert E.

"Well, I will throw any of my sons' names in the hat, though I'm sure there will be a long line of suitors for that one once the time is right. I won't envy you." A rare smile spread over Randall's lips, though it wasn't exceptionally wide, and Chet rubbed his face, realizing the truth in his words. She would be just like her mother.

"Now, now. She's just a baby still! You can't possibly even be thinking of marrying her off yet!" Lucy insisted, having been unable to reprise her pregnancy since the birth of her daughter. This made it hard to let go, her youth precious and possibly singular in her lifetime.

"Of course not, Miss Lucy," Randall assured her, though he wasn't entirely false with his offer. He and Sally had been promised to one another, so it was nothing he hadn't considered for his own children.

Tolbert, Calvin, Pharmer or Bud would be a suitable match for his friend's only daughter, the clear rose among a garden of weeds. Her mother was known for her loveliness, and the child was no different, even young.

"Your family is beautiful, Lucy," Sally offered the younger woman happily, having known of her struggle to birth a live child, and the pride the parents took in their only daughter.

A wagon rattling down the dirt road being led by trotting horses was what ended their conversation, and the driver was noticeably Devil Anse himself, even from this distance, Levicy up front beside him.

"Calvin!" Randall quickly called to his son, distracting him from his first, but certainly not last, encounter with Elizabeth Sawyer, and always one to obey, he swiftly gave her a tip of his hat and regretful smile before immediately rushing over to his parents, who had bid farewell to Chet and Lucy and were heading towards their own wagon to leave. Though Chet said nothing, he knew it was undoubtedly due to the arrival of Devil Anse. He could sense a growing tension between the two men, one ha had yet to address, with either party, though he was pretty certain it pertained to the war. War changed men, and in Randall's case, it was apparent the change had made him a much angrier soul.

It might've been the first time Elizabeth Sawyer had ever noticed, what would be known, as a great feud between the Hatfields and the McCoys.

The boys jumped to the dirt from the back of the wagon right near her, William's gaze fixed on her, his boots creating a cloud of dust. "That McCoy kid botherin' ya, Lib?" he questioned, hands on his hips, his brand new pistol tucked into the holster at his side, proudly displayed. He'd been given it by hid father, Johnse much the same, though he was cross that he'd only just been given his own pistol by his father this year as well, and he was a whole two years older than Will.

Libby was confused, her face scrunched in question as to why that would be Will's first assumption. "No. We was just talkin'."

His brow rose and he looked over at his older brother knowingly, Johnse shaking his head before shrugging his shoulders and taking off after Robert E, who'd disappeared around the other side of the wagon.

Will refocused his attention on her. Letting his arms fall to his sides and once again, shaking his head. "Don't get to keen on McCoy's bein' friendly with ya Libby. Ol' Rand'll likes Hatfields less an' less e'ryday, my pap says."

"But I ain't Hatfield," Libby corrected him, not understanding his point. People not liking others for their name wasn't a totally unheard of thing, though Libby found it a bit silly.

"Sawyer's practically Hatfield. Y'know that," he countered matter-of-factly, with a roll of his eyes. The Sawyers were as close to kin as any of Devil Anse's actual blood, ever present, as long as any of the Hatfield boys could remember. Libby was like their sister, and always had been, and Chet was as much their uncle as their actual relations. And Lucy, well, she had been the first crush of every Hatfield boy in the house in their younger years, still fair as ever, even with the age and stresses of the war and motherhood.

Will smirked at Libby, seeing a swell of pride suddenly rise in Libby's natural glow. She'd always wanted to be a Hatfield.

Sawyer Cabin
Logan, West Virginia,1976

"Why don't we jus' go an' ask Libby ta read it?" Johnse persisted, as if it were clear as day.

"Tellin' me ya wanna go ask a girl, 'specially that girl, ta read ta us like she's our mama?" Will questioned, pulling a uninterested face at his elder brother.

"Well, who else're we gonna ask, Mama? Ya know she already don't want us knowin' bout them bandits," Johnse pointed out, already aware that there was no chance Levicy Hatfield would be filling her sons' heads with any of those outlaw ideas, and she was the only other person they knew could read besides their pap, and there was even less of a chance he'd entertain them with the tales of Billy the Kid and Jesse James. "Mama already thinks I's too... impressionable, whatever that means," Johnse reminded his younger brother.

Libby wasn't so bad, Will just thought she was a priss, always causing a fuss if he or Johnse played too rough with her and got her dress dirty or something along those lines. She was always crying over spilt milk, and he hated when she acted like that, a spoilt little apple of her mama's eye, and her father's perfect little princess. It was enough to make him sick the way she was doted on. But she did have an education from her mama, who came from lots of money, and Will supposed his brother was right. She was likely their only hope in finding out the details in the newspaper articles.

"Fine," Will reluctantly agreed before he snatched the paper from his brother and slid off the lumber pile he'd perched on, then set off full speed towards the Sawyer household, knowing though Johnse could take longer strides, Will could outrun him any day.

Both winded, and being rowdy as they approached the area where the Sawyers lived, on land that had been given to the Hatfield timber business by Chet as an investment. Lucy Sawyer stood on the porch, having heard the two boys running up the dirt drive, hooting and hollering at one another. But the second they'd noticed Libby's mother waiting for them with a raised brow of curiosity and her arms crossed over her chest, they quickly put their straight faces on and slowed their pace. "Afternoon A'nt Lucy. Libby wouldn't be 'round, would she?" Johnse inquired, politely removing his hat from his head.

"Hello Johnse. William. I believe my daughter likely heard you boys running up the way making a scene. If I know my daughter, I'd guess her face is pressed right up against the window behind me." Peering over her shoulder, the boys following her lead, they saw it was true. Libby was watching through the front window, appearing startled when she'd been caught, instantly disappearing from their view.

Rolling her eyes, Lucy opened the front door and called inside. "Elizabeth! Johnse and William are here calling on you!" she humored her child as to not embarrass her too badly. The young girl hated being caught showing any interest in the Hatfield boys now she was a bit older, aware that they found her pesky most of the time. And in order to spite them, she paid them as little mind as she could, staying with her mother of theirs in the kitchen, learning to sew and weave or cook another meal. Every once in a while it would work, and her disinterest would cause them to feel obligated to ask her to do something with them. But it wasn't every day they came running up the drive to see her like there was a fire to be put out.

In an instant, Libby reappeared in the doorway, looking rather confused. The Hatfields must've had something really exciting going on if they were calling on her like this. They were usually finding some way to ditch her instead of see her.

"If you kids go anywhere, you better be home by supper time, you hear me Elizabeth Grace?" Lucy reinforced before turning to go back inside. The boys snickered at the stern warning, though they knew they were expected home under similar pretences.

"Mama!" she whined, concluding her mother must embarrass her intentionally. Lucy just dismissively waved her hand in her daughter's direction, sending her off to play before closing the door on the children and returning to the chicken and dumplings she was preparing.

Turning her attention back to the boys, Libby anticipated what they wanted from her so badly they'd come running like wild men, kicking up dust behind them. The Hatfield cabin was quite a ways away from her own home on foot, though the properties had nothing between them but timber to be harvested and cornfields.

"Yes?" she offered, spying the folded up newspaper in Will's hand. She was denied the privilege of reading the paper, though she was already quite literate, having a library of books to herself, constantly showered with gifts on holidays and special occasions. Her father insisted she was much too young to be worried about the sorts of things they wrote about in the paper though, she assumed he meant the stories of the bandits and the aftermath of the war, or just the plain old murders. Not to mention the local buzz that turned up here and there when Hatfields and McCoys got into tousles in the streets or taverns.

"Not here," Will insisted, being the most sensible of them all, not wanting to be caught.

Glancing back to make sure her mother wasn't eavesdropping, Libby turned and followed them quite some way down the drive, before moving toward the direction of the Hatfield home. When they finally stopped near the swimming hole, which sat somewhere between both their homes, Will thrust the paper in her direction, pointing to the words beneath the picture of the notorious Jesse James on the front page. "What's it say 'bout him, huh?"

Taking the wrinkled and yellowed pages in both hands, she held it out before her, eyes scanning over the letters before she read them aloud. The shock of the story made her eyes widen, and also made her realize why her father didn't want her reading the newspapers.

"Well? C'mon!" Johnse urged her, both boys eagerly awaiting her dictation.

"It says 'James-Younger Gang Rob Bank in Northfield, Minnesota. On September seventh, The James-Younger Gang, led by Jesse and Frank James, attempted a robbery of the First National Bank of Northfield in Minnesota. Though they were denied access to the safe, two victims were killed in the midst of the gang's retreat. Both Frank and Jesse James escaped capture. Proclamation by the Governor: Wanted, five hundred dollar reward for the arrest and conviction of the James brothers.'"

Once again, Libby read the article, this time silently, wanting to be sure she hadn't made a mistake, still disbelieving such things could be going on. But if it were in the paper, it must be true. "I been hearin' lotsa people talkin' bout them," she commented, having heard the whispers when she was at church or about the town with her parents on errands. The young boys were especially interested, seeing these bandits as post-war heroes of the frontier.

"Course ya have. 's all anyone's tlakin' 'bout," Will stated obviously, taking the paper back. Another robbery was quite exciting, only building the reputation of the James brothers.

"Can ya imagine… Pa wants me ta be a workin' man. Shoot, I might just start robbin' trains 'nstead. Seems a helluva lot easier than choppin' wood forever," Johnse daydreamed.

"Cause yer a lazy jackass," Will snarked back to his brother, earning a giggle from Libby. Their bantering was always amusing, especially because it was generally Will getting the better of Johnse, and not the older brother teasing the younger as was usual within families.

Johnse shot her a sour look, Will instead pleased he'd amused her. "Proper ladies ain't s'posed ta find that sorta cussin' funny, y'know Elizabeth," Johnse reminded harshly. Libby was a proper little thing, much like her mother, seemingly suited better for the city than the hills of West Virginia, but Lucy Barrow had not prepared herself to fall in love with the rough and rugged, backwood, gun-slinging, Savage Chet Sawyer when she was sixteen, either.

"Yer the one cursin', so it's you who ain't proper, Johnson. An' if I told yer mama, she'd tan yer hide," Libby spit back snidely, sticking her nose up in the air at Johnse. That's where it usually was, unless it was buried in books that weren't even about real things, which William just thought was plain stupid. The only use he saw in being book trained was to keep up to date on his favorite American heroes; Jesse James, Billy the Kid, Black Bart. They were real, and he and his brother, just like every other young man who didn't live under a rock, dreamed of being outlaws, just like them someday.

"Would ya'll cut it out?" Anythin' else good in there, Lib?" Will persisted, still interested in the latest news. He didn't care for the politics and junk, just the crimes, especially the ones committed by the notorious ones.

Because it had been William who'd asked, Libby turned through the few pages of the paper and came across a continuation of the proclamation for the capture of both James brothers and the rest of his gang, one by one. She read each one aloud to the boys, what they were accused of, and how much they were worth.

"These men all got some prices on their heads," Libby observed, shaking her head disapprovingly, before her eyes stopped reading the words and looking over the pictures, then flicked up to William. "The Bandit Queen, Belle Starr? Ain't that a girl?" Libby was completely dumbfounded, the idea of a woman behaving the way these men did not even a fathomable idea until now.

"Sure is, Lib. See? You can be our very own Belle Starr someday when we's makin' every headline in these here United States," the younger Hatfield boy persuaded her. He wanted to get her on their side, have her take an interest in it too, so she'd be more willing to entertain their indulgence.

"An' I'll be Jesse, a'course," Johnse informed them both, but the two sets of eyes of his present company shifted back and forth between one another, neither one of them buying Johnse's suggestion.

"If anyone's Jesse James, it's me, Johns, hate ta tell you," Again, Will had succeeded in making Libby laugh, once more pleasing himself. "Who'd you say'd be the leader, huh Lib?" Will questioned the girl, for confirmation, though he already knew she was on his side. She was always on his side. If Will had been old enough to notice these sorts of things, he'd realize she had quite an infatuation with him.

"Sorry, Johnse," she shrugged, eyes returning to the pages. "She must've done some real bad stuff. They's payin' near eight hundred dollars for her capture."

Peeling herself from her sudden intense interest in these criminals, she handed the paper over to Will, who looked over the different wanted posts as though he was literate.

"Wouldn't it be easier fer me ta just teach ya'll ta read?" Libby questioned, knowing William was struggling with all but the numbers, likely, and the names he already knew by heart.

"Then Will'd have no excuse ta come an' see ya," Johnse taunted out of nowhere, to which Will reacted by elbowing him hard in the ribcage, the older boy wheezing with the sharp contact.

"Shut up, ya idiot!" Will hissed at his brother before looking back to Libby. "Ya'd truly teach me?" he questioned her, completely ignoring how his brother had embarrassed him. It was a constantly joked about subject, how one day Will would marry little Libby, and Will tried his best to prove the theory wrong but he couldn't deny the soft spot he seemed to have for her, and somehow, he always just ended up giving them more reason to assure him that was his future.

"It ain't hard, Will, an' yer smart," she encouraged with a smile, eyes peering at him through long lashes, her hands clasped behind her back.

It might've been the first time William Hatfield ever noticed, Libby Sawyer was quite pretty.

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