A few months have passed since she had seen Arthur. She wasn't sure why her thoughts would wonder to him from time to time, but they did. The sound of his voice caused her to rattle something deep within her, and her body to flush something hot and cold at the same time. It was a weird concept to her, to be honest. Like something that lingered in her stomach and chest and caused her arms and legs to tingle.

She sighed the thoughts away, and tried her best to get back to work before the sun feel too far behind the mountains. The sky went from blue to purple to teal and the clouds settled low in the sky. The smell of fresh water from the falls behind her and calming soothing sounds of crashing, echoing water from below were calming, but they weren't enough.

She had a sinking feeling in her stomach as night seemed to settle too fast. Annabel was scared, and she wasn't sure why, but she was. That bit of her that wanted to hide from all the dangers the world could bring tugged at her, and she almost succumbed to it, until gunshot rang through the air.

Birds squawked and scattered into the sky, deer and other small game animals were running away from the noise.

"Little bell?!" her father called from inside, "Come inside! I don't want you to get hurt!" he wheeled himself out the front door and onto the porch to watch her, just to make sure.

She looked between her father and where the battle raged on. A strong feeling in her stomach tugged at her, even though the fearful child in her sobbed for her to run to pa and be safe.

But she couldn't be fearful forever.

Annabel huffed, running up the stairs and past her father, who screamed at her not to leave. She snatched the Lancaster that hung unused by the front door and jumped out towards her horse.

Her father's cries were drowned out by the gun shots and the rush of blood filled her ears and the thumping of her heart.

Why? Why was she doing this? She shouldn't get involved, but here she was jumping on her horse with no gear but the gun and pushing her gelding hard. She raced the cream buckskin up the path towards the hills and mountains and tried to keep the tears of being too late away. She wasn't going to be late, she wasn't going to let anyone die tonight.

Silence washed over the moon lit valley and she was scared that things came to a stalemate. It approached so abruptly, so painfully. Annabel hoped that there was someone alive. She prayed even though she has never prayed in her life.

Her horse slows to a trot as she ascends the mountain and upon the scene, and her she can feel her throat tighten and tears threaten to fall. Bodies littered the base of the mountain, and some near the top.

One shot, then two. The noise echoed through the night and through her and it felt like it pushed her back. Dread filled her body as yells of pain and anguish filled the sky right after.

She pushed the gelding once more, whispering words of appraisal to him as he climbed. Her body was numb from the cold, but she didn't care. She just wanted to see if anyone was alive.

As she reached the top, she yelled out, hoping someone would answer her plea.

"Hello?" She dismounted her horse, pulling him by the halter even though he resisted a bit.

"Hello!?" She called again, but louder, worried that maybe she was too late. Annabel felt hot, painful dread fill her body as she scanned the area again. She wanted to scream and cry but no noise left her lips.

She was ready to turn back, to leave the area full of death and dread and depression, but there was a faint sound that just tugged her back.

A voice…

"I'm here…" his voice was weak, and filled with tension and despair. "I'm here…" she heard a wet cough and then a wheeze, but she was filled with hope again. He was alive. This person was alive and she could help.

She pulled her horse with her hard as she tried to rush to the man's side, hope and faith filled her body too fast that it made her feel the cold again. As she closed on the source of the voice, she was met with a familiar face and a familiar drawl.

"I'm 'ere…"

It was Arthur…

"Oh, Mr. Morgan…" she released the halter and ran to his side, kneeling next to him and assessing the situation. Two bullet wounds, one in his left side the other in right shoulder. His shoulder wasn't too bad but his side was nothing but soft, tender tissue and he was bleeding too much.

She removed her apron and pressed hard on the side wound causing him to yell out in pain and seethe. He did his best to take deep breathes but his couldn't keep a steady rhythm. "Mr. Morgan, what are you doing out here?"

"Annabel..?" he winced as she tried to stuff it deeper in the wound. "Ya need to get out of 'ere…"

"There all gone, It's okay."

"It's not safe."

"So much safer for you then, huh." He grumbled, but she wasn't sure if was because of her or because of the pain. He grimaced and huffed, "Mr. Morgan, I need to get you on the horse." She was quiet, soft hands brushing against his forehead. He didn't realize how hot he was until her cold fingers grazed over his cheek. He practically leaned into her touch, it was just to comforting to lean away from. "Can you stand?"

"I dunno…"

"Can you try?" she place a hand on his shoulder, hoping that would encourage him to try.

"Sure, but… But yer tiny and I'm dead weight."

"Don't be so snarky, Mr. Morgan." She was being playful, but her tone could say otherwise.

She barely managed to get him up onto his feet, but with a few stumbles and pain filled noises, they made it up. But now she has to get him on the horse.

She strained to keep him up on his feet, as he leaned on her just too much and it almost caused her to fall. Annabel commanded her gelding to lay down on his stomach and she thanked herself for all of those years of dedication and sleepless nights training him.

"Arthur…" she was breathless from the work, but they managed – he managed. "You're going to be okay."

"Ya so sure, huh…" his voice was soft and laced with exhaustion.

"I am…" she placed Arthur on the back and kept his steady as she got the horse to stand. "This is Flynn… He won't let you fall off…"

"He's a good horse… Layin' down like that."

"Years of training can get that, you know." She led them both home, making sure to keep Arthur awake. She was scared, that she was only extending his pain than helping him.

As they descended the mountain, things seem to lighten up. The sun started to rise as they came upon the little cabin nestled in the woods.

"Are you still with me?"

"Unfortunately …" He coughed, then sighed.

"Don't be that way." They came around the bend, and all they could hear was the sound of her father's cries.

"Annabel!" he couldn't get past the porch stairs, she pulled in the ramp earlier that day. "Sweet child! You can't go doing that! What if you got hurt!?"

"Pa, please!" she pulled Arthur off her horse, and tried not to collapse from the sheer weight he put on her. "Now is not the time for arguments!"

"Little bell…" he saw the shape that the man was in and he cursed himself for raising her to be so heroic and encouraging her to be so courageous. "Get him inside, I'll make some hot water."

"Arthur, you still with me?" his groans and pained coughs were enough for her, but he still grumbled out some words.

"Yeah…"

"Good. I need you to walk a little if you can." He groans, and Annabel can feel his pain vibrate through her.

He stumbles as she supports him up the porch and up another flight of stair. Her praises felt like milk and honey in a disgusting cup of coffee and her feather like touches were so careful but firm.

"We're nearly there, just a little bit more okay?" he nods, not sure if she saw it but he did anyways. His vision was blurring and his body was getting heavier and heavier with each and every step. He wanted to collapse right on the creaky wood flooring and not care if he bleeds out and dies right there.

He was ready for it anyway.

"Just a little bit more… please…" her voice brought him comfort as they took a few more, pain filled steps before he was allowed to fall onto the bed.

He doesn't remember much after that. Some memories cling to him though.

The soft hands along his side, the slight stinging of stitches and the hushed, soothing hums coming from Annabel. She checked on him a lot through the days, changing his bandages, keeping his temperature down, and giving him water through the day.

He was happy to not remember much of the pain he had endured, and he was lucky that she showed up to make it go away.

This went on for weeks, until he woke up and started to understand his surroundings.

The room smelled of lavender and mint, and a fresh breeze flew through the open window over to the right of him. The sheer curtains wisped in the wind and the sound of leaves rustling in the wind calmed his nerves.

His body felt so heavy and he had no urge to get up yet. He wanted to stay in this moment, this calming moment where the world around him didn't want him dead.

Arthur felt like he needed to get up after what felt like minutes, but he noticed the sun started to fall and shine into the room. He groaned as he shifted and pushed himself up. His arms felt weak as he pushed himself up and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. His legs shook as he steadied himself, not wanting to fall flat on his face trying to stand up.

Just as he was about to stand up, there was a knock. Then a soft voice.

"Arthur?"

Did he make too much noise?

"Can I come in?"

He cleared his throat only to cough and wheeze. He covered his mouth and coughed hard, making a weird noise he's never made before. He was so busy coughing that he didn't realize that she had come in and offered him a cup of water.

"Drink it slowly, too fast and you might choke." She was kneeled down in front of him, hand on his knee and looking up with love and warmth.

He tried his best to drink it slowly, but he felt like he hadn't had water in years and ended up downing the cup in seconds. His gulp and his gasp of satisfaction were followed by a loud singular cough to clear out the phlegm in his throat.

"I'll bring you more water, in the meantime," she passed him a small bowl of stew, and the smell was heavenly, "Eat. I'll be back."

He watched as she stood and wiped her hands on her apron. Her dress fell right before her ankles, showing her scrunched up socks and lace up boots that fall right above the ankle. Her apron tied around her waist and fell all the way down to the end of her dress, the pockets filled with was looked like herbs and small tools. Her top half looked relaxed, with her quarter sleeves and a low neck line, showing a scar along the side of her throat that he didn't remember her having. Her hair was long, no longer put up in a large bun but instead in a low braid that ended right at her hips. Her skin was golden tan and her eyes gleamed auburn and hazel, like a prehistoric stone.

Watching her sway her hips as she leaves was enticing and painful. A woman who looks so delicate was so strong and powerful intelligent.

He looked down at his stew, and the smell of thyme and rosemary and basil as well as what smelled like venison filled his nose. He took one bite, and ended up downing the rest within minutes. He didn't realize how hungry he was.

She came back, folded clothes in one arm and a glass of water in the other, "I brought you some fresh clothes. I didn't know what size you wore but I used your old clothes as a reference." She placed the neatly folded clothes on a chair across from the bed.

"Thank you…" he looked down at his clean bowl, wanted more but too afraid to ask for more. She already did a lot for him.

She took the bowl from his hand gently and replaced it with the water, "get dressed and come down stairs if you want more stew." She smiled at him and stared at him for a moment too long before leaving and closing the door behind her.

She leaned against his door and took a deep breath. She didn't think he would pull through, after being asleep for as long as he was, but she was ecstatic that he was alive and awake.

Annabel came down the stairs, smiling from ear to ear and the older man at the end of the table noticed. "He's awake?"

"He is. I didn't think that he would pull through." He put down his paper next to his bowl of stew and took a bite.

"It'll be nice to have another person around the house to help you with the work."

"Pa, do not force him to stay." She pointed at him and scowled, "Once he's down healing and he wants to leave, he may. He doesn't owe us anything. He doesn't me anything."

"He should. Plus, it would be nice to know that my daughter is safe once I pass."

"Stop talking like you're about to die." Her father shrugged.

Loud, sloppy steps descended from the stairs and they both look towards him. Arthur froze, not used to having eyes on him, even if it was only two people.

"Good morning, Mr. Morgan." The old man spoke, then took a sip of water, "I'm glad to see you up and about."

"Thank you, Mister…" he couldn't really remember his name. Hell, he wasn't sure he was even told.

"Morgan. You can call me Morgan." Morgan's eyes brightened at Arthurs manners. "Take a seat, she'll get you some more stew."

He stumbled over to the table, noticing the lovely smell of dried wild flowers and dried herbs and roots hanging from the wall and ceiling. Bundles upon bundles were lined in rows above the dining table and the kitchen island. The cabin was homey, the couch was covered in furs, and the coffee table had books and old maps bundled together. The fire place was made from stone and cement and adjacent to it were three large book shelves line right next to each other over flowing with books. Some of the books were lined up and stacked to hip height on the floor.

It was cozy, and homey, and he didn't want to leave this world ever.

A bowl of stew was placed in front of him and it was that same heavenly smell, but this time he had a bigger serving and a bigger bowl. "There's plenty more in the pot if you want any more."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Oh, he's using honorifics, little bell." Annabel giggled and shook her head.

"Anna is just fine, Mr. Morgan."

Arthur was still in a daze, still trying to get his baring's and understand and wrap his head around what happened and how long he was out.

"Anna." Her name rolled of his tongue almost too well, "I don't really… remember much." He started, not sure how to ask these questions that lingered in his head. "And I don't know how to ask these questions."

"You've been out for two and a half weeks." She served herself some stew and took a seat, "You have been in and out of consciousness the whole time, but I was worried that you wouldn't pull through."

"How did you find me?"

"The battle was not too far from here. I just heard the gun shots and ran towards them."

"Why did you save me?"

She hesitated, wanting to give him the answer that he wanted to hear but his tone showed that he wanted death. He was prepared to die on that mountain, and that was depressing.

"Because I'm a doctor, and that's what I do naturally." She took a bite of her stew, not looking at him. Morgan interjected just to cut the uncomfortable silence.

"If it's worth anything to you, I didn't want her to leave and run off towards those gun shots."

"Pa, what are you implying?"

"That if you weren't so damn tenacious and willing to help people so much, he'd be dead." His tone was too cheerful for Annabel's taste.

"Papa, don't be so rude." She pointed her fork at him and huffed.

Arthur felt so out of place, with the playful bickering that was happening in front of him and all he could do was shove the stew in his mouth and try not make things worse.

"Arthur?" he looked up at Annabel, "I would like it if you stayed a little bit longer, just until you feel like yourself."

"How long do I have?"

"Take as much time as you need okay?" he nodded.

"Okay."

THREE MONTHS LATER

"Arthur! Come here and help me with this hay please!"

Arthur looks up from his position, trying to butcher this fresh deer before Annabel had to cook dinner. He puts the knife down when he saw how much she was struggling to lift the large bale of hay to bring to the horses.

"Anna, yer gonna hurt yourself." He grabbed the towel and wiped his hands, walking towards her. She was sweating and breathless. "I'll get it, it's alright." He lifts the bale with ease and puts it on his shoulder. Her relieve smile was enough for him.

"Thank you, Arthur."

"It's no problem." He sighed as he placed the bale down in the small, four stall barn, "I'll get the rest of these if you want to get to the chickens."

"If that's okay with you."

"You always have a problem when you move the bales, I don't know why you try."

"Because you always do the heavy lifting."

"For a reason."

"Children! Children!" Morgan pitched in from the porch, not looking up from his daily paper, "There's no need for bickering over who moves the hay bales."

"Pa, just read your paper."

"Little bell, don't sass me." Annabel huffed and Arthur chuckled.

"Anna, I'll handle the bales. It's fine."

Anna smiled at him, eyes catching his a little too long. She bit her lip, looking away before walking off to feed the chicken.

Its times like these Arthur wished things would stand still.

He loves when night time rolls around and Annabel starts to make dinner. The whole house smells fresh and the fire place is blazing some nights, he and Morgan talking about the days of the Wild West, and his wife and embarrassing stories of Annabel when she was younger.

"So, my wife fought in the Civil War."

"Hold on." Arthur leaned forward in his chair and looked at him with a dumb smile, "Your wife fought in the Civil War. How the hell did a woman fight in the Civil War?"

"Arthur, many women fought in the Civil War." Annabel chipped in, laughing at Arthur's amazement.

"Did they really?" Morgan nodded.

"Oh, yes." He coughed, then took a sip of his tea, "My wife was a Doctor during the War, but she soon got tired of how many bodies ended up coming into her tents. She ended up taking a uniform from one of the dead men and fighting in the war for many years until it ended."

"She was the one who taught me how to shoot." Arthur turned to her as she walked over to the couch and sat down, letting the stew simmer for a while. "She taught me how to stitch people up as well. She taught me a lot, really."

"I mean, my wife taught me how to read and write. I didn't really do much before her." Morgan mused on, swirling his tea.

"She sounds like she was a wonderful woman." Arthur added, silently wishing he could have met her.

"Oh, she was." Morgan nodded, sipping his tea once more.

Nights always went this way. They would have a great conversation, before a comfortable silence laid over them. Annabel would lay on her side on the couch, reading her books even though he never knew what she was reading. Morgan would stare at his newspaper from that day, reading it over and over until he got the next one tomorrow, and Arthur would pull out the journal that Annabel gave him – a hand crafted leather bound journal with blank pages and a beautiful carving on the front and the back and the spine of the journal – and he would draw her. Every night, he would sketch her beauty and write little notes next to it, little reminders on things she might like when he goes out or things that would be needed for the house that she would forget by the next day.

Then she would bookmark her pages with a pressed flower, place it on the coffee table and get dinner set up for the two men and herself. They would eat, and talk some more and Morgan would always try to get Arthur to open up about his past gang, even though he never wanted to talk about it. He knew Morgan was curious, but the old man pushed a lot.

Once food was eaten, and the fire place was no longer a blaze, it was time for bed. Annabel would put her father in the down stairs bedroom, tucking him in and pulling out his clothes for tomorrow. She would close the door, and take a moment to herself on the couch while Arthur took a bath and washed all the grime off of him.

He would come out from the bathroom and hour later to find her asleep on the couch, arm dangling over the edge with her thumb between the pages. She was a heavy sleeper, and she snores a little as well but to him it was peaceful.

Arthur would end up placing the pressed flower between the pages and putting it aside for her to do again tomorrow, pick her up and take her to her bed so she would actually get a night's sleep.

Arthur would always be the last to go to bed. He would do one last round of the house, of the chicken pen and the barn before coming back inside and sleeping himself. He would lay in the same bed that he woke up in three months ago, and look out the window into the gorgeous night sky and wonder when he'll ever get to sleep under the stars again before lulling himself into a deep slumber.

This would go on for two years. The cycle repeats every day and soon enough, Arthur becomes content. It's steady, lovely and calm and that helps him with the nightmares he went through. Annabel would become lovelier each morning of every day for those two years, and the urges within him were starting to get hard to resist. His last love – Mary – had ruined him for love, but he feels like this could be something different. That he would be able to have her, and she would have him and things would be okay in the end. He wanted that so badly that it hurt his chest when he thinks about it, but things never seem to go according to plan for him.

And that was always the problem with him.

No matter where he went, he would always bring bad luck.

I have so many ideas for this story that I can't do my homework and I hate it. Chapter three is already in the works, or at least it's on actual paper and I am trying to get them to be really long word count wise and this one was really really long (4000+ words)

I'm really proud of this chapter, and I can't wait till I get later into this story because I've put so many hours into it.

Also, I have a pinterest board for Annabel which is found here - pin. it / 4t43l7ehrjjayg