Chapter Ten
"I have no doubt that one can survive here...whether Charlotte Balfour can is a different matter entirely."
The moment Charlotte walked out the door, Arthur placed his hands on his head and released a groan of frustration. He was a goddamn fool, but he weren't blind. She didn't want him to leave anymore than he did.
But why hadn't she pushed back? For some reason, he'd expected her to argue, to tell him it weren't good for his health to leave. To order him to stay.
He released a long sigh. Now, he was having doubts. Maybe he'd read into things that just weren't there. Maybe there weren't nothin' going on between he and Charlotte except his own imaginings and wishful thinking.
He got tired of going in circles in his head so he fetched his journal and sat at the table and drew. Nothing grand, just sketches of the inside of the cabin.
He hadn't been lying about not feeling hungry, but he almost wanted to call Charlotte in to cook just to have her near.
"Don't be an idiot," Arthur muttered to himself. He was reminded again of why he had to resist being taken in by Charlotte's warmth and kindness. All he wanted to do when she were around was take advantage of it.
He lifted his head when he heard a gunshot. Charlotte had taken the rifle. Maybe she found something to shoot that weren't him. The shot sounded close so he went to the window to check.
He frowned when he saw the bucket Charlotte had taken overturned and spilled. That weren't right. Why the hell—
Then he spotted the rifle, abandoned on the ground. The sight caused a terrible feeling to eat at his gut.
He didn't think. He slammed open the door and bolted to the well. He picked up the gun and cast a look around.
"Charlotte?"
He heard nothing. But the ground was disturbed. It weren't hard to track. Two lines dug into the dirt leading down the hill.
He loped down the trail leading into the woods, gun in hand. What he saw stopped his blood cold. Some no good vagrant had his arm around Charlotte, struggling with her as she gave him hell, but edging towards an awaiting horse in the trees. If Arthur had a clear shot, the bastard would already be dead.
He took off at a run, his lungs protesting when he was only halfway, but he pushed on. The assailant's eyes widened dramatically right before Arthur barreled into the man. Charlotte was wrenched free of the man's grasp and stumbled to the grass.
The gun had fallen from Arthur's hands as he crashed to the ground beside the stranger, but he didn't need it as he leapt on the bastard, throwing punches.
"I found her first!" the stranger whined between hits.
"You ain't found shit."
Arthur thought he had the man nearly unconscious until he was struck by an aimless fist to the chest. Arthur gasped and the intruder slipped free of his hold, skittering away. In his prime, Arthur wouldn't have flinched at the blow. Now, it damn near debilitated him.
The stranger staggered to his feet, clumsily pulling a revolver from his belt. He wiped his bleeding nose, smearing it across his face. "This here's my woman, friend."
He lifted the gun and pointed it at Arthur. He couldn't do a damn thing, but gulp in air.
Then Arthur heard the cocking of a rifle and a shot echoed in the trees. He looked up and saw Charlotte standing beside them now, heaving, and holding her rifle with wide eyes. The assailant stumbled backwards, his gun slipping free of his grip as he stared at the blood seeping from his chest. He collapsed to his knees and then the ground, lying still.
"Nice shot." Arthur commented with a groan and fell onto his back.
"Arthur!" Charlotte slid to her knees beside him. Her hands roamed over his chest and arms. "Are you okay?"
He blew out a wheezy, "Fine."
"Is he..." She swallowed and stared at the body nearby. "Dead?"
With care, Arthur rose to a sitting position. What kind of question was that? The man was on the ground with his chest wide open. Then he caught sight of the pale expression on her face and the way her hands were trembling. It had been a long time since he'd held company with someone who was shook from killin'. For a moment, he didn't know how to respond to it.
Charlotte faced him, swaying and blinking rapidly. "I think...I'm about..."
Her eyes rolled up into her head and she tilted towards him, her head lolling. Arthur grasped at her shoulders to keep her from falling. He supposed even Charlotte's strong will had its limit. Well, he wasn't gonna sit in the dirt waiting for her to come to.
He gathered her in his arms, maneuvering her so he could reach the rifle on the ground. Then he scooped Charlotte up and stood, holding her to his chest.
He murmured, "C'mon, let's get you to the house."
Every step was a sharp stab to his chest, but he eventually made it without collapsing himself. The door was wide open from when he'd slammed out of here. He carried Charlotte to her room and laid her gently on the bed. He set the rifle against the wall and went to find a piece of cloth to wipe his knuckles of blood.
He returned to check on Charlotte. She was still out, but her brow was wrinkled with worry. He sat on the edge of the bed. He drifted a thumb over her cheek, frowning at the reddened skin on the left side. When he realized what it was, his temper surged. That bastard had managed to lay a hand on her?
Now, he wished he had been the one to pull the trigger.
"Arthur?" Charlotte's voice was quiet.
He found her hand and squeezed. "Right here."
Her eyes fluttered open as she looked around in confusion. "I'm in my room." She used her other hand to cover her face. "I fainted, didn't I? Pathetic anti-heroine indeed."
"Ain't no shame in it." Hell, he'd passed out in front of her before.
She uncovered her face and her eyes were teary. "I-I killed that man."
"It had to be done. Ain't no fault of yours."
Fear shone in her eyes and he wished he knew the right words to lay it to rest. "He—he was trying to take me."
"There ain't no shortage of bad men in this world, but you're safe now." Only just, he thought grimly. What would have happened if she hadn't got that gunshot out? How long would it have taken for him to realize she was gone? Despite not knowing how he could have prevented it, he blamed himself.
He made to stand, but Charlotte tightened her grip on his hand. "Where are you going?"
"I got to bury the body. Last thing we need is a rotting corpse attracting wolves." He took her hand in both of his. "You got a shovel?"
"In the shed, to the left of the door." She was badly shaken, but had the mindset to ask, "Are you sure you can handle it yourself?"
He raised a brow. Did she expect him to say no? His ribs were aching something fierce, but like hell he was having her out there digging a goddamn grave.
He patted her hand, leaned over and briefly pressed his lips to her temple. "You just lie down for a bit. I'll take care of everything else."
She stared at him a moment, as if seeking reassurance. She musta found something in his eyes because she loosened her grip on him and leaned back. "Okay." As he headed for the door, she called out, "Arthur?"
He paused in the doorway and turned halfway. She said softly, "Please, not by Cal."
He nodded and left, closing the door behind him.
Arthur headed to the shed first and collected the shovel and a wheelbarrow before striding down to where Charlotte had nearly been abducted.
He stopped over the body and stared. He didn't forget a face, even one covered in blood. Arthur knew this godawful bastard. He'd run across this nasty shit-head randomly one night. The villain had told Arthur there was a pretty woman he'd been stalking. Arthur remembered his words and only now made the connection. Bony, but beautiful as the day is long. Real elegant fancy type...don't know what she's doing out there in the middle of nowhere, but turns out she's a widow...I watched her from the bushes for awhile. Saw her cry...
If this vile bastard had waited until he'd left Willard's Rest...Arthur couldn't continue to think on what the outcome could have been.
He started the task at hand, rolling up his sleeves. Firstly, he picked up the revolver from the grass. He didn't have his gun belt no more so he tucked it in his waistband at his back. Next, he checked the stalker's pockets. A dirty picture and 23 cents on his person.
The hardest part was loading the body into the wheelbarrow, but after that, Arthur took his time so as not to overexert himself. It was messy work that he hadn't had to do in awhile. Most fights he'd been in lately had been quick and bloody, with no time to bury the dead.
It was late afternoon when he finished covering the body with the last shovelful of dirt. He leaned on the shovel, wiping his brow. He'd made a deep enough hole to get the body underground. He returned the tools to the shed and headed down to the river. More than anything, he wanted to go inside and rest, but he probably looked like the gravedigger he was.
Arthur stood in the river, splashed water on his face and wiped the dirt off his hands and up his arms. He'd worked some muscles he hadn't used in awhile. Nothing too strenuous, but his stomach was growling now.
As he emerged from the river, he heard a whinnying from the trees. He'd nearly forgotten the stalker had a horse. The mare wasn't even tied up. He must've been about to make his getaway. He shuddered. Damn, he'd cut finding Charlotte close.
Arthur approached the horse, slowing his steps and raising his hands to calm the dappled brown. "Whoa, whoa. It's okay, girl."
She nervously stepped foot to foot, but allowed his presence. He rubbed on the horse's neck. "That's it. You're a good girl, ain't you?" He kept his voice low. "Didn't run off at that shot. Mighty brave of you."
Arthur led her back to the house. He hitched her to the shed and removed the saddle, placing it on the ground. He rummaged through it. He knew what he'd find in the satchel and it disgusted him all the same. He shook his head. Numerous obscene pictures of women. Best not let Charlotte see those. She didn't need to know the extent of that man's perversion. He'd throw them into the fire once he got inside.
There was also a box of revolver cartridges in the saddle. Lastly, he found a brush for the horse. At least that bastard had the proper grooming tool for his horse.
He brushed the mare for awhile, murmuring to her gently. His heart pinched as he remembered the stallion he'd lost on the mountainside. He patted and praised the mare one more time.
When he finally reentered the cabin, Charlotte was ladling up a bowl of stew. She turned at his entrance and relief overtook her expression. "I was just about to come searching for you."
They was simple words, but something about them had his stomach flipping. Or maybe he was only hungry, going on delirious. "Smells good in here. I'm starved."
Her lips twisted. "I'll remember you said that after you've tasted it."
He pulled the revolver out of his waistband and set at the end of the table before taking a seat. "How you holding up?"
She set a bowl in front of him and sat before answering him. "I've seen death before, Arthur. Even gun shot wounds. But, I was never the cause of it."
He nodded and picked up his spoon. "You did what you had to."
She stared out the window. "Just when I think I'm getting the hang of this life, something comes along to knock me down and prove I'm just as pathetic as the day I arrived."
"That ain't true. You've had a bad scare is all."
"I was helpless."
"You handled yourself well enough, in the end," he told her. "Besides, I can show you how to better defend yourself if it happens again."
She turned to him sharply, her eyes wide in alarm. "Happens again?"
You moron, Morgan. That was the last thing the woman needed to hear.
He tried to backtrack. "Not that it will, but it don't hurt to be prepared."
"Prepared?" she echoed. Her knuckles were whitening from the grip she had on her spoon.
Damn, he was bad at consoling someone. The only thing he knew to do now was distract her. He informed her, "Looks like you own yourself a horse now."
As he'd hoped, that fearful glitter in her eyes dropped and confusion replaced it. "I...what?"
"I reckon you got every right to her after what her owner tried to pull."
"Me?" She glanced out the window. "What if that man has a family who needs it more?"
He stared at her. Family? What the hell was she talking about? "Charlotte, a man like that, trying to abduct a woman in broad daylight, ain't got one of his own."
"It still doesn't seem right to relieve him of his possessions."
"Darlin', that's how it works in the land of the lawless."
She looked unconvinced so he appealed to her nurturing side. "I s'pose, I could set the lady free, to wander these woods on her lonesome. Maybe she'll find some wild fillies who'll take her in, but I reckon she's likely too timid to survive without a handler."
Her worried frown disappeared and she raised her eyebrows at him. "Are you trying to manipulate me into adopting that horse?"
"Depends." He scratched his jaw. "How's it workin'?"
"Fairly well, unfortunately." She sighed. Then she straightened up suddenly. "Actually, I think you might have more use for her."
Arthur frowned. "How you mean?"
She gave him a look. "For your upcoming journey. You said you wanted to leave soon. A horse is exactly the start you need."
Shit. She was right. If he really wanted, he could saddle up and take off right now. He cast his mind about for an argument against it. Then he had it.
He blurted, "Saint Denis!"
"Pardon?"
He snapped his fingers and pointed at her, saying triumphantly, "Can't leave yet. I already promised I'd take you to Saint Denis."
"Okay..." Her brow was wrinkled again like she was trying to come up with an excuse to not keep a horse.
No. He narrowed his eyes on her. Exactly like she was trying to come up with a reason to not keep the mare. He crossed his arms. "Alright now. I know I'm slow, but you're hidin' something."
She twisted her hands together. "I don't know the first thing about taking care of a horse."
"Your parents don't own some big fancy stable?"
She bit her lip. "I mean, in those terms, yes, they do. But the stable hands are the ones who do all the work and the horses there are mainly for the carriages."
"Ain't you never ridden a horse?"
"I have," she said defensively, but then hesitated. "However, not since I was a girl. And it threw me. I've always been too afraid to try again."
He'd been wondering why she hadn't bought a horse and wagon for herself by now. Seemed like a worthy investment for any traveling she had to do. "Well, you gotta horse now. Why don't you come meet her?"
She glanced anxiously towards the window. "I fear my nerves may be too frail to subject them to anything more today."
This woman baffled him. Shoots a man straight dead without hesitation, but is too afraid to approach one of the most docile horses he'd ever met. "First thing in the morning then?
"Alright, yes."
Arthur rolled his shoulders and winced when he felt some soreness. "Don't think you're gettin' out of it."
She crinkled her nose at him. "There's no need to bully me. I'm agreeing with you."
"I'm just makin' sure you ain't going to try another excuse."
Charlotte gaze went to him rubbing his back with one hand. "Is your shoulder hurting you?"
"Think I mighta got a knot from..." shoveling a hole for a corpse "...you know, but it's lower than I can reach."
"Let me." She stood and moved behind him.
Arthur eyed her warily. "What are you doin'?"
"I'm going to massage your back." Before he could object, she placed her hands on his shoulders and started kneading.
He dropped his head forward, feeling immediate relief. He resisted the urge to groan aloud. "You didn't say nothing about knowin' witchcraft."
"Is this me casting a spell on you?" He heard amusement in her tone and he was glad for it.
"Could be. Reckon I wouldn't be able to tell the difference anyhow."
"I suppose, I am halfway to being a witch in a story book. Old maid that I am, living in the woods with a devil cat hanging about."
"I ain't resisting," he murmured, closing his eyes.
She chuckled. "So eager to be my victim."
If only she knew. He'd been hellbent on keeping her at a distance after last night and it had nearly cost him today. Finding that abandoned rifle on the ground had scared him half to death. Seeing that bastard's hands on her, the mark on her face—
"Arthur," she interrupted. "This is supposed to make you less stressed. Stop thinking."
He let out a breath in an attempt to relax. He focused on her touch and tried to quiet his mind. She continued massaging his shoulders for a long while without speaking and began humming a tune he didn't recognize.
Eventually, she said in a quiet tone, "You were brave today."
"Call it what you like, but it didn't take much thinkin'."
She paused and he thought she was about to pull away. Instead, her arms came around him, crossing over his chest as she held tight. In whispered breath, she said, "Thank you, Arthur Morgan, for being there when I needed you most."
He heard the emotion in her words and he didn't even try to remind her that she'd been the one to save his skin in the end. She pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and a selfish urge arose to turn his head and catch her lips with his.
Too soon, Arthur missed his opportunity as she moved away. He felt the loss of her touch keenly as he watched her clear the table.
She faced him and said, "Considering the day's events, I think I'm going to turn in early tonight."
"Fair enough." He glanced at the fire, remembering the pictures he still needed to dispose of. "I think I'll stay up awhile yet."
"Alright." She paused in her doorway, one hand on the frame as she cast him a last look. "Goodnight, Arthur."
"Goodnight, Charlotte."
Arthur didn't dilly dally. He knelt and threw the lewd pictures in the fire one by one, making sure they burnt to ashes. As he watched them curl and blacken, his thoughts went to the turmoil in his head.
Last night, he'd convinced himself Charlotte was better off without him. And today, she had been in desperate need of him. It was like the world were workin' against his intentions. Did he know what the hell he was going to do, where he could go? No.
The worst of it was, the more he kept thinking on it, the more reasons he kept finding to stay on at Willard's Rest.