Chapter Four

"I'm still standing, which is an improvement on the last time you saw me."

Arthur opened his eyes. Sun streamed in from an open window and a warm breeze blew across his skin. He looked down at himself. He wasn't wearing a shirt and a thin blanket covered him up to his chest. Confusion clouded his mind. Where was he?

He turned his head to see the rest of the room. A wardrobe stood against the wall, next to a couple of boxes and a dresser. A chair was set up next to the bed. A pitcher of water and a glass sat on the bedside table. There was gentle humming coming from the other side of the door.

He tried to sit up, but pain struck across his chest. Not the normal chest pain after his coughing fits, but somewhere on the right side of his ribs. Had he been knocked from his horse?

Another glance around the room and he realized he recognized this place. He'd woken up here before. Just as he reached this conclusion, the doorknob twisted and a dark-haired woman stepped in. She caught his eye and froze, her mouth dropping open and her eyes widening.

Charlotte Balfour.

She quickly made her way to the bed and flung her arms over his neck, startling him. "You're awake!" she exclaimed with an excitement no one in their right mind had ever greeted him with.

"It appears so," he told her, his voice hoarse.

She leaned away from him and dropped her arms, her cheeks pinkening. "Pardon my exuberance, Arthur. I've just been so worried."

"Worried?"

"I..." she hesitated. "I didn't know if you'd make it."

He rubbed his jaw, feeling a beard he didn't remember growing. How long had he been out? "What happ-"

And then it all came back to him, walloping him with the force of a horse's hoof to the face.

Dutch..."It pains me to say it, Arthur, but he's right..."

Milton..."You're losing your strength, Mr. Morgan..."

Sadie…"Arthur, there's no time..."

Dutch..."Who amongst you is with me and who is betraying me..."

John..."You're my brother..."

Dutch..."It is over now, Arthur. It's over..."

"Arthur?"

Charlotte's voice brought him back to the present. She'd placed a hand on his arm, a look of concern on her face.

"Why...ain't I dead? How did I get here?"

"I brought you here. Well, me and a farmhand."

He indicated the bandages. "You did all this?"

"Most of it." She shrugged, her fingers twisting in her skirt. "A doctor's been here a couple of times. He told me to order some tonics when you woke."

He remembered Dutch turning away from him, Micah leaving for him for dead. Crawling to the cliffs... "You shoulda left me to die."

She flinched. He supposed he'd never spoken so harshly to her before. "Please don't say that."

"It's the truth. I ain't worth the time."

"I disagree and now that you're awake, you can eat something-"

"I don't give a damn!" he snarled and felt awful the moment the words were out. Before he could fumble an apology, she bristled, abruptly turned on her heel and slammed out the front door.

Damn it. What the hell was wrong with him? Comes back to life and the first thing he does is scare off his caretaker. Arthur flung off the blankets and swung his legs over the side of the bed, groaning at the pain that wracked through him from the simple movement.

He stood, but swayed, clutching the bedpost for support. How was he in so much pain? It was a stupid question. He'd been shot out by Pinkertons, Micah had thrown him off a cliff and nearly beaten him to death.

He gritted his teeth and took a step, jolts of lightning reverberating over him. He pushed on, taking another couple of steps. Pain radiated through him and his legs trembled from the effort.

He stumbled, hitting the wall. He was breathing heavily, and over hardly moving at all. He rested his back on the door frame and thought he couldn't feel worse.

He was wrong.

A coughing fit came over him that didn't want to stop. His head whirled, darkness creeping the edges of his vision. His legs gave out from under him and he slid to the floor.

Somehow, he managed to stay conscious. When his coughing subsided, he tilted his head back against the door frame, using all his energy to heave air in and out. Even that hurt to do.

He'd rest another minute and then...and then what? He was weak. He couldn't walk across a goddamn room, much less find himself clumsily climbing atop a horse. He closed his eyes, imagining the torment if he tried to ride. He'd feel every bump. Hell, by the first turn, he'd probably be passed out and slipping out of the saddle to the ground.

Damn, he was in rough shape. The worst ever. Maybe. Probably. He wheezed painfully, but it mercifully didn't turn into coughing.

"Arthur!"

Charlotte was back. He hadn't even heard the door open. Maybe he was halfway in the grave again already.

She slid to his side. "Are you alright?"

He tried to stand, his foot slipped and he fell on his ass, jarring his whole body again. He groaned.

"Stop!" She pressed her hand to his shoulder. "Stop, before you further injure yourself."

He glanced up and told her roughly, "I didn't mean to snap at you."

Her eyes softened. "I know, but I might have expected it. You look like you've been through a lot."

"To hell and back, it feels."

"I don't know all that's happened to you, but it won't end here, sir, on this floor." She offered her hand and added kindly, "Now, come on. Let me help you, Arthur."

He took her hand, and she heaved him upward with surprising force. Clearly, Mrs. Balfour had only gotten stronger while he'd gotten weaker.

As she helped him walk, she scolded, "You shouldn't be getting up on your own until you get your strength back."

He eased onto the bed and told her bitterly, "I'll never get my strength back."

Unexpectedly, she said, "Because of your tuberculosis diagnosis?"

Likely, that nosy doctor she'd mentioned had revealed the worst of it to her. "Yes."

She sighed. "Arthur, you won't be bedridden for the rest of your life."

"It would serve me right if I was."

She poured him a cup of water and handed it to him. "Tell me this, what was the last thing you were doing before..." she gestured at his injuries. "...this happened?"

He wasn't about to get into particulars over all of that. What little she knew of his life as a gunslinging outlaw was for the best. She might reconsider her stance on keeping him alive.

"Riding your horse?" she prodded when he said nothing. She added teasingly, "Perhaps brawling?"

He grunted and sipped his water, not looking at her.

"Your TB feels worse when you're exerting yourself, pushing your body too hard. With rest and mild exercise, you can get back to a life."

"You can't know that for sure."

"The brawling wouldn't be recommended," she told him with a twinkle in her eye. "But, you could ride a horse again. You just have to take it easy."

"Can't say I'm too familiar with 'taking it easy'."

"Well, I hope you'll try your best." Her gaze slipped past him and far away. "We don't all narrowly escape death."

"I don't know." He scratched at his beard. "Folk like me don't tend to get second chances at life."

She refocused on him. "Then please, cherish the one that's been given to you."

She said it so meaningfully that he stopped to think on her words. Aw, hell. She'd been talkin' about her husband. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, ma'am."

"It's quite alright." She straightened. "Now, you haven't had a decent meal in awhile. I'll get dinner ready. Are you up for that?"

"That sounds fine."

Before she left, Charlotte offered, "How about a book in the meantime?"

"I ain't much for reading." He was staring out the window, but turned his head in time to see disappointment flicker across her features. Damn. He couldn't deny her. He added reluctantly, "I'm partial to journaling though."

Her smile couldn't have been any brighter. A real smile, one he wasn't sure he'd seen on her before. "I might have an old sketch book from school. Will that do?"

He leaned back against the bed. "Sound's perfect."

Her skirts rustled as she left. He heard her rummaging in the other room and closed his eyes as he waited for her return...

"Arthur?"

He opened his eyes. The room had darkened. Had he fallen asleep? Damn. He was weaker than a newborn babe. "How long was I out?"

Charlotte was lighting the lamp beside his bed. "A couple of hours. I would have let you sleep longer, but I want you to eat a full meal."

That's when he noticed the tray at his bedside table. Food, a leather journal, and pencil. She'd cooked and kept busy while he wasted away.

He sat up, wincing despite his care. "Charlotte, you don't got to go through all this trouble just for me."

"I don't mind." Charlotte said easily as she adjusted his blankets and transferred the tray over to him. She smiled. "Besides, it's time I learned what I put my maids through during my rebellious years."

"You, rebellious? You don't seem the rule-breaking type."

"You'd be surprised." She chuckled. "I grew up with two brothers and always getting left out of their games. It makes for a defiant child."

She was about to leave the room, and he found himself blurting, "Where are you going?"

She paused and looked back. He frowned at himself, realizing he'd expected her company. Don't get greedy, Morgan. She's been more than accommodating. More than he deserved.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I was going to fetch my tray, but I should have asked first. Do you mind if we ate together in here?"

He felt a thousand times a fool. He said gruffly, "'Course I don't mind. This is your house. You do what you want."

She smiled and left the room to return with her own tray. She settled down in the chair next to his bed.

Even though Arthur wanted her company, he thought it might be awkward conversation, that she would ask him the particulars of what happened to him on the mountain. The likes of which he didn't want to ponder yet. However, he slipped into unexpectedly simple conversation with Charlotte. Mostly, she told him what she'd been up to since they'd last met. She apologized for what she called the 'inadequacy' of the meal, but he didn't mind it. She liked to talk and he found he liked to listen to her.

All in all, it weren't a bad afterlife to wake up to.