I know Seth's and West Dickens' contributions are important to the progression of the game, but the point of this story is to focus on John and Bonnie. So I may gloss over their parts or perhaps omit them altogether. I'm not quite sure yet. At this point, we're far enough in the game's storyline that West Dicken's at least should have made an appearance but I had no interest to introduce him into my story. Sorry if anyone is eagerly awaiting either of their arrivals.

All recognizable dialogue does not belong to me. Also I'm terribly lazy and did not read through for mistakes. Hopefully there are not too many of those...

Bonnie was gratified to learn of John's past. She could not condemn him for his actions, not when she wasn't sure what she would have done under the same circumstances. Would she now be a prostitute in one of the saloons that she'd always looked down on with distaste? It was something she'd needed to consider, something that had changed her outlook fundamentally. She'd always felt a certain amount of pity for the loose women of the country, women who earned their meagre pay on their back, doing something that Bonnie did not have any personal experience with. Now she viewed them with, not respect, but with a measure of leniency. Her life was so far from theirs that she could not compare experiences, could not pass any judgment on their choices, or lack thereof, with any certainty. John was a man, and he'd made a choice that had shaped who he had become, and Bonnie could not find fault with that man. She knew his purpose here, knew that with Bill Williamson's demise, John would return to his son at Beecher's Hope. And didn't that thought create an ache in Bonnie that she was afraid to examine too closely. But she also saw the good in him, patrolling her father's ranch late at night while refusing to accept pay when his debt had surely been paid thrice over. Hunting down outlaws, while it did earn him a healthy amount of coin, also created a safer environment for the folks around these parts. And he'd killed men even here, Bonnie was not oblivious to his actions, but he'd done so in self-defense, in pursuit of dangerous criminals that he usually brought in alive, hogtied to his horse. And Bonnie tried to quell the fear that John risking his life caused, the silent voice that wished he'd just kill the bounty rather than bring them to justice, if only so he had a better chance to return, safe and sound. It was not Bonnie's place to worry about a man who clearly did not concern himself with his own safety. It would never be her place, and the thought was drilled in her head when she brought to mind John's declaration that he was married, or had been, which amounted to the same thing. No it didn't, her mind urged her.

And wasn't that the crux of the issue. John had been married, probably for several years at this point. It should matter that his wife was dead, it should make Bonnie rethink every blush-worthy thought she'd ever had about the man. And she mourned for him, for the man who'd lost a daughter and wife to a cruel world that had forced him to fight for every little thing he had. But some part of her rejoiced in his wife's demise, a part of her that also sickened her. It was hard to contemplate that Bonnie MacFarlane, morally righteous to a point, had felt relief that John was free to marry again. Amos would perhaps suggest that John had corrupted her, and her father would probably agree if he'd been aware in the slightest that she was even interested in a man. But Bonnie had kept these feelings close to her chest, though John must be aware of them to a degree. She'd all but blatantly demanded that he call her by her first name, an honor reserved for family, close friends, and any man that was courting her. And while she could claim him as a friend, at that point they'd known little more about each other than their names.

John had rejected her minor advances, inept as they'd been. He'd had a very good reason to, but Bonnie was equally certain that he'd also felt some regret about it. Whether it was because he was still in love with his wife and had no desire to hurt her feelings, or that he actually felt something for her and was guilty for it, Bonnie couldn't be sure. She needed to figure out what to do about these feelings, how to approach John now that she was aware that he'd been a married man. Her interactions with him so far had been innocent, and yet her father would have frowned at her driving to town with a man he did not know. Amos was slow to trust anyone, and yet he clung to his dislike of John with a surprising amount of vehemence. It seemed the world was telling her to let John go, to forget him. And it should have been easy, but her heart was stubborn and Bonnie was very much afraid that she'd given even the smallest sliver of it to John. Enough that she would torture herself with his presence for as long as he was willing to endure her.

Bonnie laughed bitterly at the sudden realization that she was just like those women in those penny dreadfuls her brother used to read voraciously. She was falling for a man that would leave her far behind him.

"You okay, Bonnie?" Her father's voice interrupted her thoughts and Bonnie flushed.

"Yes, dad. Just lost in my head." She smiled weakly at his concerned frown.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with that drifter that's been staying here, would it?"

"Jo- Mr. Marston? He's not a drifter," she chastised him gently. "What would make you suggest that?" Bonnie hated hiding anything from her father, had always been open with him about everything. Yet, her discovered feelings must remain hidden. Even if her father approved of John, he would be sorely offended on her behalf to know the man had shown no inclination thus far that he returned her interest.

Her father shrugged, offering an apologetic smile. "Amos mentioned something in passing about the length of time you spent with the man."

"He was shot!" Bonnie defended. "And he was paying us back like you'd insisted. I was only making certain that he knew what the hell he was doing."

"As you should've," her father assured her with raised hands. "You've always been one to take in strays. I just wanted to make sure you realized you couldn't keep this one," he teased her gently.

"He's not a cat," Bonnie retorted in exasperation. She smiled at her father's boisterous laugh.

"Well, I hear he's a fair shot and he's done the ranch a world of good. Bring him by the house one day. I'd like to meet the man. Been hearing interesting things about him from all over."

Bonnie agreed readily, knowing that her father was not a subtle man in the least. If he'd suspected anything, he would have told her outright. That type of candidness was harder to find now, and she appreciated her father all the more for it.

XX

John jumped on his horse, following closely behind Johnson, who set a hard pace in pursuit of the bandits. They trailed them through Cholla Springs towards Mercer Station, the ruins of which were still smoldering from the previous attack.

"Hey!" Eli called. "Who's that up there?" He gestured at the cliff face they were approaching, and to the men that were silhouetted at the top of it.

John pulled sharply on his reins, bringing his horse to an abrupt halt as the voice of Bill Williamson called down to him.

"I didn't kill you John. But I as sure as shit will now!"

John stared at the man who'd left him for dead twice now, eager to finish the job he'd been sent here for. "Give it up, Bill. We both know you're not man enough to stop me." He shook his head, "I don't want to kill you, but I will."

Bill laughed without mirth, bitterness lacing his tone. "You always did have a high opinion of yourself John. Dutch always told me you were an arrogant sonofabitch." He paused, looking around at the men that surrounded him. "I guess he was about right. Get 'em boys!"

The shots began to rain down on them and the horses whinnied in panic. "Take cover," Johnson called out, "in that shed!"

John slid off his horse, making his way quickly to the crumbling foundation of what was once a brick building. The cover it offered was meager at best, but he could feel the adrenaline coursing through him, his focus sharpening as he viewed their opponents.

He barely took note of Bill's retreat as the men swarmed down from the hill, coming at them from several directions. He wasn't aware of how many men he shot down, some falling from panicked mounts and others hit while trying to make their way stealthily to the building they were pigeonholed in. John heard the shouts of Johnson and his two deputies, of the handful of men that had followed to help. The attacking horde seemed almost endless, another man replacing the bandits that fell. Despite the bloodbath, it was over in mere minutes, without a casualty in their small group.

The deputies took stock of their group's injuries, the Marshal watching them idly with an exhausted slump of his shoulders. John scoured the bodies for spare bullets, anything useable, ignoring the flies that had already begun to swarm in this heat, and the gruesome signs of the men's deaths. Bullet holes, shattered bones, missing flesh no longer disturbed him as it had so many years before. He heard Eli gagging discreetly, watched the Marshal turn his face away from the evidence of their work, perhaps out of respect or disgust, or even indifference, John couldn't be sure. It certainly might not be the last bloodbath Johnson would witness. And Eli would either gain the stomach for it or he wouldn't. He still managed to do his job despite his weakness.

"Hey!" Jonah crowed, "Lookee what I got 'ere. This sonofabitch is still breathin'." The bandit was on his hands and knees, crawling away from Jonah. Jonah pretended to ride him, giggling juvenilely at his own display. "Giddy up, Bessie," he taunted, stepping away from the man as Johnson approached them.

"Norman Deek," Johnson aimed a kick at the man's side, watching with satisfaction as he fell to his stomach with a few choice swears. He turned to John, nodding his head in thanks. "Thanks for the help John. Norman here is going to help us get to Bill. Aint you?"

"Thank you Mr. Deek. Mighty kind." John was in a jovial mood, now that he was one step closer to his goal to capture or kill Williamson. He watched them hogtie Deek up and settle him none too gently on Johnson's horse. He offered a wave in farewell, eager to return to the ranch, to rest his aching body, and maybe to see Bonnie, though he would not admit it aloud.

XX

John spent the night out on the side of the road, exhaustion forcing him to stop before he reached MacFarlane's Ranch. He could have made it, but his arrival would have been well into the dead of night and he had no desire to oversleep. Things seemed to be coming to a head with Williamson, Norman Deeks perhaps being the key to bringing him down. And when John did bring Williamson to Ross and Fordham, he was certain to never see MacFarlane Ranch again. It was for the best. Bonnie deserved more than a broken man with a criminal past and nearly grown son that seemed to despise him more with every letter John sent him that went unanswered.

He rode into the ranch and set his sights on the main house. It was still early enough that Bonnie was unlikely to be toiling away just yet. He knocked on the door and entered at Bonnie's voice urging him to step inside. It seems she'd been sitting in the room that John had once fallen asleep in, getting to her feet with a broad smile at his approach.

"Hello, Mr. Marston. How are you?"

John smiled briefly, pleased by the sincerity of the question, Bonnie's eyes studying him for any perceived injury. "I'm well, how are you?"

"Just fine," Bonnie insisted, waving off his question.

She gripped his arm, drawing him towards the man that had been sitting at Bonnie's side. Her father, John realized, noting the faint resemblance between the two.

"John Marston, this is my father, Drew MacFarlane."

John took his hat off in respect, clasping Drew's hand briefly and shaking it.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Marston." His grip was tight but the smile on his face belied any hostility. "Please, take a seat." John sat down on their loveseat, Drew settling heavily on the chair to his right. "So my daughter tells me you're here on some secret mission to remove undesirables from our county."

"Something like that." John agreed amiably. "I'm grateful for the hospitality, sir" He smiled at Bonnie as she served him some tea.

Drew nodded. "We came from the East, been living here for thirty years now. For ten years we fought the Indians, tough men. We've seen outlaws and drought, small pox, cholera. There's been terrible winters. I've buried more children than I've raised."

John held his cup in his hand, inclining his head in sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that, sir."

"I've seen strong men wither and die under that unforgiving sun, with whole herds of cattle take sick and die." Drew emphasized his point with a precarious jut of his cup, the tea threatening to spill over at the gesture. "Yet, I've never once doubted my life here."

"No, sir."

Drew got up and turned away, disgust clear in his tone. "Then I hear about the Federal government sending out someone to covertly murder and control people. It makes me worry. Williamson is a menace," he conceded," Men like him are like a plague on our county, but isn't the government a worse menace, with all their intentions?"

John agreed. Men like Edgar Ross ruined lives without care. "You may be right, sir."

Drew sat down, his vehemence placated by John's words. "You're a brave man, I'll give you that. And you'll always be welcomed here. You tell those men out East that we have no interest in living that way here. All the sneaking around and secrets are preposterous."

"I agree with you sir," John commented, appreciating Drew's forthright nature, if a little rankled by his veiled accusations.

"Well…good. I won't insult you any further." Drew got once more to his feet. "Come on Bonnie, we've got things to do."

Bonnie nodded, watching John with concern. Had her father offended him? It surely wasn't something he hadn't heard before, or at least been aware of some of the confusion surrounding his purpose here. Her father meant well, a man of principles and strong moral character. But he'd ruffled more than a few feathers with his open distrust of the government. Perhaps John hated the government as well as Drew, but then he'd never stated an opinion before either way, except hinting at a dislike of the men who'd commandeered his help. She didn't want him to think ill of either her father or her. Her father had given John his stamp of approval, even if he'd insulted John to some degree in the process.

"Would you like to join us, Mr. Marston?" she offered with a smile. "It's Daddy's favorite pastime, apart from political discourse that is."

"What is?"

"Breaking in horses," Drew responded. "Come on, I hear you're a pretty good rider, for a city dweller."

Bonnie chuckled, knowing just how well John rode a horse.

John followed Bonnie out, accepting the lasso she offered him with an incline of his head, his thoughts lingering on the brief touch of her hand against his. Bonnie was a woman used to the physical demands of running a ranch, her calloused hands evidence of it. Abigail's hands hadn't been soft by any means, but she'd been unused to hard labour, her hands delicate and the skin easily broken. Perhaps other men preferred that. It was no secret in their family that Abigail had been a prostitute for their gang. John did not condemn her for the way she'd chosen to make her way in life, having little to no other options. She'd been hardened by their previous lives in a way that Bonnie would never know. She'd found sex pleasant with John, but she was too jaded to truly enjoy the experience. It had taken some time before John could bring her out of her mind during the moment, Abigail too used to losing herself in her head so she did not need to focus on the man rutting above her. John loved Abigail but it hadn't been instant. It had happened in a slow slide, moments spent together turning to affection, desire for her turning to an appreciation for her sharp tongue and wearied mind. They were jaded, the two of them and they worked on many levels. Jack had not been planned, but after Abigail got pregnant it seemed a natural progression to marry, though John could never be 100 percent certain that Jack was his from the start.

Now there was little doubt, the boy as headstrong as his old man, their countenances bearing an unmistakeable likeness. John had married Abigail knowing that the child she bore might not be his, but loving her all the same. She'd given up lying on her back for money, and John had worked twice as hard to support both her and Jack. Jack had grown up in that life, always a little sheltered from the more brutal aspects of their lives. But the boy had known how his mother had joined Dutch's gang, and John couldn't shelter Jack from everything. He'd been surprisingly resentful when John and Abigail had decided to get out of the life altogether. Jack had seen Dutch and his men as a sort of surrogate family, and he'd been angry that he'd been saddled with only his father after John's brush with death. John could admit that he'd always been more focused on providing for his son than raising him, and Jack rightly despised him for it. He promised himself that he would fix things when he returned, if he returned.

"John?"

He looked up, shaking his head of his regrets, to see Bonnie watching him with concern. Her father was already on his horse, the distance between them gaining.

"Sorry, Miss MacFarlane. Just caught in my head."

Bonnie smiled ruefully. "There seems to be a lot of that going around." John raised his eyebrow in query but she only shook her head and gestured to his horse. "Shall we?"

XX

Roping horses was surprisingly exhilarating. John would not go so far as to call it fun, as Bonnie claimed, but it challenged him and he enjoyed the entire process of breaking in a horse, from the chase to the dominance and submission. It was an accomplishment borne from his own skill and determination. He did not disagree when Bonnie claimed he'd caught the finest of the stallions, some part of him warming with pride at her praise.

"Why don't you keep him, as a thank you…from all of us?"

John smiled in genuine pleasure, patting the stallion's neck. "Thank you. He's a fine animal."

They stared at each other perhaps a moment too long, Amos' loud cough breaking their gaze. Bonnie watched as John ducked his head, distracting himself with finding more comfortable seating on the stallion's back.

"Have you thought of a name?" Bonnie inquired, eager to keep him by her for just a little longer.

John smirked. "A name? I've had him barely five minutes."

Bonnie flushed at his teasing tone. "It was a silly thought. I better be heading back to the ranch, Mr. Marston."

She flicked her reins, John's voice halting her departure. "It's a fine idea, Bonnie. You'll be the first to know when I do name him."

"I look forward to hearing it." Bonnie ignored the glare Amos was aiming at the both of them, riding towards the ranch with what was surely a dimwitted smile on her face. He'd called her Bonnie.

As the story progresses, I find John and Bonnie may be getting a little OOC. Hopefully that doesn't bother anyone. I think I did mention that it might get fluffy in later chapters? Thanks for reading!

P.S. Does anyone have any suggestions for the name of John's horse? That last part was added last minute because I had no idea how to end this chapter...now I'm stuck with coming up with a name :P