So I forgot to put a disclaimer in the last chapter but I'll put it here instead.
The names of the cities I use for these chapters are REAL places.
They way I describe them are all fake.
AKA: I didn't want to do research on what each town looked like in a specific time frame so BOOM I made them up. I'm sorry for those who live there or near there and I'm making it all wrong. I'm just lazy.
Within a few days of staying at Dublin, they were on the road once more, leaving the disgusting mining and drilling town for the wild country once more.
They were still bundled up in thick coats and dealing with a few inches of snow. They were still in the thick of November, not even close to being done with the cold and the fresh powder. Not that it matters, because once they hit the mountains in California the snow and the cold wouldn't bother them as they try to cross over.
But, they weren't in California.
So they would have to deal with the snow for now.
"I can't feel my legs…" Annabel groaned, pulling her legs out from her stirrups and shaking them out. "You think we should stop and take a break?" she called over to Arthur, who was looking down at his journal with a cigarette hanging delicately from his lips.
"Ah, it's up to you, Anna." He called out, looking up for a moment before going back to writing, or drawing or whatever he does in that journal of his.
"What are you doing?" she asked, almost scared of the answer he might give her, "You better not be drawing me."
"Nah, I'm drawing some of the landscape. Too pretty to pass up." She huffed as he continued to stare intently at his journal.
"A few more miles, and I think we should stop and make camp." He grunted, his only response.
Silence overtook them once more, like it always did. Annabel never once cared about the comforting silence he brought her but today was a day where she just wanted to talk, and drink and do something.
The only thing that stopped her was her anxiety.
That deep seated fear in the pit of her belly and the high pitched, nagging voice that constantly told her that she wasn't going to be good enough for anyone or anything also made her huff in frustration and groan in pain.
She took a swig of water from her leather canteen, hoping that it would cause the weird taste in her mouth to go away.
Annabel had dreamt the night that they stayed in Dublin, despite the environment around her and the smells that invaded her nose. She had dreamt of Arthur, despite her better judgment and her need to mourn. She had dreamt of him, with his rough, calloused hands and his gruff but oh so smooth voice. She had dreamt of his laughter fluttering around her and invading her senses with something better than those disgusting smells.
She had to take a deep breath, to keep herself calm from the small and brief memories of her dreams.
They had made camp as the sun fell over the white horizon, somewhere by the cliff sides where an alcove could shield them from the high wind chills that would pass through the valley and trees. A fire was easy to set up, and making a meal from some goose that Arthur killed on his way up was good enough for a simple, warm meal.
The silence was starting to get to her, but she knew if she opened her mouth she would say something that she would regret. Her anxiety laughed at her, causing her head to pound and throb as she slowly ate her small dinner.
"You alright?" Arthur asked, his quiet voice still echoing within the alcove. Annabel nodded meekly, rubbing her face with one hand.
"I just have a headache, I'll be fine." He looked like he wanted to push the subject, pursing his lips into a thin line and grumbling something that she couldn't care to figure out.
She went to bed early, the sun still lighting the sky some, telling Arthur that she couldn't deal with the headache any more. He had hesitated on saying goodnight to her, and she could see in his face that he wanted to help in some way.
In the end though, he mumbled his goodnight to her and sat by the fire as she closed the flaps of her canvas tent.
So now he was surrounded by a cooling silence, a slight breeze coming into the alcove and hitting his back. He shivers at the feeling of cold hair hitting the back of his neck, and fixes his fur collar for added protection.
He opened his journal to the page that he had opened when they were on the trail. He looked at the piece filled with graphite and charcoal marks as it showed the landscape of trees and hillsides.
He wished he had some sort of color to add to it, give it some kind of pop and a bit more life to it but there was nothing he could do for that.
He flipped the page, giving him an empty canvas to fill with something. Words this time, wanting – almost needing – to get his thoughts out to paper.
He scribbled down words in his chicken scratch cursive, scratching out words that he misspelled or didn't want to use.
There's been a weird tension going on between me and Annabel. Almost as if something has been bothering her.
She seems chatty, which isn't something she usually is unless something is bothering her, and getting her to say what's bothering her is harder unless she drinks. And there's a good chance she's gonna drink once we get to Odessa.
Let's just hope that saloons in Odessa are filled with people who can keep their hands to themselves.
The large town of Odessa – could he call it a town if it had a population big enough to house a damn skyscraper he saw in the newspaper once – was a quaint little town. It was definitely a livestock town but the place was bustling with people who were doing a sport he never thought he would see anymore.
Bull riding.
Now, Arthur wasn't someone who would boast about his bull riding skills, because he didn't have any.
That didn't stop him from wanting to try it out once more before he got too old and his back gave out.
Annabel had made her way to the hotel where she wanted to stay, got them a room with two beds. He grumbled just as hard as she huffed, saying that was all they could offer. The only perk was that it was connected to a personal bathroom with a working tub.
Annabel insisted that Arthur went first with his bath, only because she wanted to go look around and shop by herself. There wasn't much room for arguments because all she did was tell him to take a bath before running out the door with a small smile of curiosity.
So he ran a hot bath for himself, letting the steam clear up his dried nostrils and calm his tense nerves. He lathered some of the soap in his hair, watching as the water turned from clear to a murky brown. He grew so comfortable to a life of having a bath constantly that he scrunched his nose at the idea of being this damn dirty.
He was growing soft, and some part of his hated it.
He was a wanted man once, running around causing fights, stealing money, exploring the land for its hidden treasures.
And now?
Now he was a man of leisure, sleeping in a bed and not trying to get caught up with his simple, late night thoughts. He was getting old, too old to do the things he once did before but that didn't mean he didn't miss enticing thrill of a shootout or a bank robbery.
Those were the good old days, the days when outlaws ruled the heartlands and valleys.
Civilization brought it all tumbling down, and Dutch…
He huffed, dunking his head under the water to rinse his hair.
He couldn't really think about his old gang anymore, not without feeling far too much, far too fast.
The water started to grow cold, and that was when he knew it was time to get out and grab Annabel. He dressed himself, watching himself in the mirror and noticing how long his hair has grown and that he was in dire need of a beard trim.
Maybe once the winter is over, he would cut it shorter. Right now, he would hit up the saloon and the barber for a haircut.
He found Annabel in the saloon a few streets down, out drinking some Irish man with a thick accent going on and on about how well he could handle his liquor. She slammed shot after shot after shot of cheap vodka until that Irish man collapsed onto the ground in a gurgling mess.
"I hope he holds up his side of the bet." She looked at the bartender, nodding with a satisfied smile. "Put it on the drunken fool's tab, please." The woman behind the bar served her another drink, a gin and tonic, saying it was on the house and that she would be bringing her a stew out for her soon.
Annabel had her glass in her hand, walking over to a table by the window when she saw Arthur with an amused smirk on his face.
"To think you could out drink that fool."
"It was water, the bartender said that he was always causing trouble and I challenged him." She took a seat closest to the window, a glorious grin on her face
"You cheated?"
"Is it really cheating if the bartender helps?" Arthur chuckles, calling out for a whiskey.
"But I do really want to get some alcohol in my system and just…" she huffs, gesturing her hands in odd circles, "I don't know. I'm feeling antsy."
He called it.
"Well, we could always get service to the room if we get too drunk."
"I didn't know they offered room service at the hotel?" Arthur nodded, smiling a little at her peaked interest and childlike excitement.
"Yeah, I saw it on a little sign by the front desk." She hummed, sipping her drink slow.
"I'll keep that in mind."
He stayed a sober party for a majority of the night, while Annabel filled her belly with stew and gin. Her cheeks were red from the alcohol and her yawns were large from the amount of food she shoved down her gullet.
"Maybe we should head back to the room." She leaned her head back, letting out a groan. He smiled at her, before looking at her throat and seeing the peaking scar. It was a little bit, all pink and raised.
For the last three years he kept his secrets close to him. The secrets of his gang, of the people who had killed and stole from. The secrets of who he really was.
But she too had secrets of her own that he never knew of.
"I don't wanna go to bed."
"Well, I really don't want to beat anyone because they can't keep their hands off of ya." She mad a noise, throwing her head back towards him.
"Aww, you don't have to worry. I can handle myself, Arthur."
"Yeah, let's get back." She sighed as he got up from his chair, leaving a few dollars for the bartender. She groaned, but didn't protest anymore as Arthur offered his hand for her. Annabel took it, wobbling a little as she stood up. "A bit dizzy ain't ya?"
"Shut up, I don't know what you're talkin' about." She mumbled, as she watched her feet to keep from tripping over herself. "I might be a little dizzy." His chuckle makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
"Let's get to the room, so you don't eat shit or get hurt." She hummed, smiling like an idiot as they walked out of the saloon.
He helped her towards the hotel, completely forgetting how much of a lightweight she was. She never drank that much back at Donner Falls, maybe a glass or two once her father was put to bed and the night was calm enough for it when she needed to muse upon her thoughts
She hated the whiskey that her father collected and drank, and she was disgusted once she found out that he himself was a whiskey person. Arthur remembers fondly the scrunch of her nose and her sticking out her tongue, complaining about the gross taste and the harsh burn that it would leave in her throat.
But she loved her gin, and sometimes if one of her richer clients liked her enough during Christmas time, she loved her dark red wines. Annabel was never one to drink to get drunk, but one to drink to enjoy the craftsmanship that was put into making something so delicious and fragrant.
Before meeting and living with her, he would merely grab a bottle of alcohol and drink it because of the effect that it left on his body. Now, he was picky and snooty about what kind of whiskey he was drinking.
High quality, imported, ten plus years.
He had truly grown spoiled in his time staying with Annabel.
"How did ya manage to get so sloshed on only a few drinks?" she giggles, stumbling over her own feet as Arthur held onto her arms to keep her from eating shit.
"I think I'm fine for the amount of alcohol I was given." He stifles a chuckles and holds her hand as she climbs the stairs. "Maybe a little woozy, but I can manage."
Calmness washed over both of them as they stepped into the hotel room, and relished in the warmth that the fireplace radiated. It was cozy and warm, and Arthur finally had a chance to look over the room
Two beds, with a full bathroom attached off to the right of beds. There was a chair off by the window with a thick linen canopy hanging over it, making it feel like a nice reading nook.
The blankets that covered the large mattresses were thick quilts, solid tan with brightly embroidered flowers covering them. They were ugly, no doubt, but they would keep them warm through the night once the fire smoldered from being unattended.
Annabel had peeled herself away from Arthur, wobbling over to her bed before jumping into the pillows and the spring mattress. The springs creaked under her weight, but she sighed in relief finally getting off of her feet.
He watched her, amused with her childish actions and calm attitude as a goofy smile crossed over her lips. She turned from her back and onto her side, pulling off her boots and socks.
Arthur always knew that she wasn't built like the other women he's encountered and known. Most of them had an hourglass figure to them in some way from the tight fitting corsets that they were either forced to wear or adamant on wearing. They were proportionate from shoulder to hips to thighs.
Annabel; however, was not like that.
Her hips and thighs were bigger; wider compared to her tight waist, her small chest and narrow shoulders. He always remembered her altering the new dresses she bought because they either fit well against her hips but was too big in her chest and shoulders or vice versa.
Annabel always complained there was nothing for a pear shaped woman like herself, thus leaving her to either get custom made items, or alter her own dresses.
He hummed as he lit a cigarette, watching as her hips and legs flex and move as she pulled off her boots roughly. The large, gorgeous curve of her hip as it sloped deep into her waist. He always caught himself staring, and there were times when she caught him staring but never did anything to stop him.
What was there to do that would stop him from staring?
"You're staring, you know?" she teased him, throwing her boots to the other side of her bed. She was giggling for a moment before rubbing her face and stifling a yawn. Her stomach fluttered from her little laughs, and Arthur couldn't help but smile.
He sat on her bed, back towards her, "Woman, you are drunk." He simply shook his head as she shifted to lay on her back once more and stretch deeply.
"Nah, I'm just relaxed."
Silence just washed over them again, and it was comfortable and soothing as a breeze blew through the open window; keeping the room from getting too stuffy from the fireplace.
The birds still chirped, even as the sun was done and dipping past trees and the hills and the moon took its place. The lamp on the night table between the beds was enough to light the small area between the two beds; between the two of them.
"Tell me about your gang." Annabel sighed, sounded content and relaxed. She wouldn't lie, she felt like she was melting into the bed, and her eyes were starting to flutter close and her body was starting to fall into the cycle of sleep. She was quiet when she spoke, and she wondered if it would even reach his ears.
But it did, and it caused his soul vibrate.
"Why?" she chuckled, low and hearty as it reverberated in her chest.
"Why not?" she had taken her hair tie out and let her hair fall from its confined braid and into curls that fell over the edge of the bed and spilled across the clean pillows. "You never liked talking about it, but I really want to know about what your life was like before all of this. Before me."
"It's not that interesting, ya know." He grumbled, and she flopped onto her side and pushed against his lower back.
"I'll tell you about my college days if you talk about your gang."
The deal was enticing, but seemed too risky. Too risky for him, anyways.
"You gonna tell me about that scar on yer neck?" she laughs sharply, running her hand over the collar of her blouse.
"I might. It did happen during my second year." He contemplated for a moment, snuffing out his cigarette in the dish under the lamp as he tried to piece the words together in his head.
"If not, you could always sing me to sleep." She joked, still running her fingers at the edge of her collar.
"I'll tell ya 'bout it." He huffed at her, shifting to lay down next to her on the bed, "But ya better tell me about your dame college days. And don't go fallin' asleep on me." He pointed at her, and she merely smiled at him as she turned onto her back.
"I promise." She debated sticking her pinky out to him, thinking that if she made a pinky promise, maybe he wouldn't be so annoyed with her questions.
She decided against it as she heard Arthur sigh deeply and then groan in pain as he stretched out his back.
Arthur is at a loss, completely unsure of how to start his story. He wasn't sure what he should be mentioning due to the fact that what he did before he ever met her was particularly… unsavory.
"What do ya wanna know?" he asked her, hoping that he could avoid certain topics and not have to tell her the whole day story of his life.
That wasn't going to happen though.
"Everything." She hummed, not looking at him. "Start at the beginning, and stop trying to avoid this."
He huffed once more, slightly frustrated with the situation that he managed to get himself into.
"Where does one even start…" he mumbled, rubbing the scruff on his chin. He truly didn't know how to word it, but he could see every life moment of his with vivid detail.
"When did you start running with a bunch of misfits and outlaws?" she tried to help, poking fun at what he used to do and who he used to be.
"Oh, I was fifteen, maybe sixteen at the time when Hosea and Dutch took me in…"
This went on for hours, finally finding that bubble of motivation in the pit of his stomach to talk. He always thought his life story was boring in a way; all he ever did was murder, stole and ran. That's all he ever really knew what to do before he was forcefully taken in by Annabel and her father.
He was almost a coward with the way that he ran around in the past, even if he tried to do good by his own moral status.
But things have a tendency to not go according to plan.
He mentioned some of the bad things he did, trying not to get too graphic with the amount of violence he had seen. He talked about his gang members; alive and deceased. He talked about Hosea and Dutch, and how those two raised him to be the man he was now, talked about Ms. Grimshaw and how her bark was smaller than her bite. He mentioned the girls of the camp; Karen, Tilly and Mary-Beth and how they tended to the camps chores even when all they wanted to do was explore.
He talked about Sean, about Mac and Davey, Lenny, Jenny, and Kieran too. How their deaths were too soon and too harsh to talk about in full. He wanted to mention how he felt like it was all his fault, how he had caused their untimely demise but he knew that it was just his demons nagging him all over again.
He lingered on the idea of talking about Mary, a woman he thought he loved so carelessly and deeply only to be thrown to the dirt because of who he was.
And soon enough his mind wandered to Eliza and his boy Isaac.
Arthur wondered if Annabel would judge him because he had a son with a girl who was barely a woman. He wondered if she would be ashamed to be around him at the idea of him having a child bored out of wedlock.
Oh, how he wondered if she was ashamed of who he used to be.
But when he looked over to her, all he saw was sleepy eyes and a sleepy smile.
She had listened to the whole thing, oh so intently and carefully taking in everything he talked about.
The crickets outside chirped loudly and the cicada's that hid in the trees clicked and echoed their calls. They stared at each other for who knows how long, and Arthur flicked his eyes over her features.
Sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline; freckles that seemed to be dusted lightly over her cheeks and her nose and her forehead made him sigh. The slight gold tone in her brown eyes and the warmth of her skin caused him to shiver, especially when she brought her hand up to run her delicate fingers over his worry lines, his crow's feet, all down towards his smile lines and the raised, puckered scar on his chin.
"Life has been so cruel to you, but you are still here…" she mumbled, too entranced in his soft eyes and her own sleepiness.
"I'm barely here." He chuckled at her drooping eyes and her sheepish smile.
"It's worth something…" her thumb caressed the scar on his chin, and he couldn't help but close his eyes and sigh. His body relaxed deep into the spring mattress, not wanting to get up from his spot that he was oh, so comfortable.
But soon enough he would have to get up.
"You still owe me a story." She hummed, which turned into a giggle, and Arthur couldn't help but smile even as her finger and well-kept nails dragged over his lips.
"Can you get some water, and then I'll tell you?" she had those big doe eyes, with a fake pout which only caused him to chuckle.
"You still gonna tell me about your college days?" he pushed with a crooked smile and bright eyes. Annabel still giggled like the drunken girl she was, but her eyes were starting to droop from the exhaustion of the ride and the alcohol running through her system.
"Water first, than story." She pointed at him, grinning up at him as she pulled her hand away from him and he started to sit up.
So, he got up, huffing and stretching out his back before going towards the bathroom to get her some water. He had to shuffle around for a moment, trying to find a clean glass for her to drink out of.
He came out with a glass water and his jacket thrown off only to come out to see her out like a light.
"Good lord…" he mumbled as he took her in. She had twisted onto her side facing away from him and her shoulders rose and fell with every calming breath she took. Her hair took over most of her pillow, and ended up spilling over it and onto the mattress.
She was sound asleep, and he knew that by morning time, she would be back to her normal self.
He wasn't ready to sleep just yet, leaning against the backboard of his bed with his journal in his hand and his thoughts eating away at him slightly.
He took the silence of the night to write down his worries and thoughts; thinking of something to keep his mind off of the bad memories an unusual dreams of his past. His head felt wary and his shoulders heavy as he held the world upon his shoulders even though he didn't have to anymore.
He ended up flipping through his journal, glancing at several pictures that he had drawn only to stop when two photographs fell from the pages.
It was of Annabel and her father from the photography store that was in Valentine, and the other of just Annabel and Arthur surrounded by flowers.
The one with Annabel and her father was simple, flowers laying everywhere, basic décor with Morgan sitting in his wheelchair with a thick knitted blanket and Annabel standing behind him with a hand on his shoulder.
The date on the back made his brows furrowed as he remembered something important.
November 23rd
Happy Birthday Annabel
He sighed, running his hand over his face.
Her birthday was yesterday.
No wonder she was so antsy.
Annabel was never really one for celebrating her birthday, but her father was always adamant on celebrating. He would always send Arthur down to Saint Denis to get something from a specific bakery for her, and she would always protest because she always knew what he was making the man do.
He placed the photos to the side, and tore out a blank page from his journal.
Short and sweet, was the little note he left upon the paper as he folded it in half and tucked the photos gently between the folds.
He placed it on her side of the night stand, turned off the lamp, and went to bed.
Tbh I really wanted to add more to this but it felt so dragged out anyways.
And yes, Annabel is a Scorpio-Sagittarius Cusp
Wait till you find out what I made Arthur.