Charlotte stood on the balcony, outside of Arthur's room, pondering over the odd last few days. She'd certainly met an assortment of new people. She stared into the night as she recalled them one by one.

Her memory of Miss Grimshaw was fuzzy at best. She'd been going through the worst of it during her visits and Charlotte hadn't seen the woman since she'd felt better. Of what she remembered, Miss Grimshaw didn't have a gentle touch, but she'd done well in reviving Charlotte's health.

The image of Miss O'Shea had her frowning. A vibrant woman, but deeply troubled and too spiteful for one so young. Charlotte had a minimal understanding of Miss O'Shea's situation, but she'd done her best to listen and give her advice. In return, Miss O'Shea had given her a warning of the kind of people who resided here.

John had been quiet and watchful, almost like a hound ready to take action. Judging by his scars and guns, he wasn't new to a fight either.

She'd had a pleasant visit with Tilly and Mary-Beth, though those girls had some silly notions regarding her and Arthur. Tilly had been guarded, but not unfriendly and certainly accommodating. Mary-Beth remained a mystery, as flighty and innocent as any girl Charlotte had known from school. But maybe her charm was what made her a perfect criminal.

It was hard for Charlotte to think of any of them in those terms. Unexpectedly, they were all normal sorts of people, simply men and women who'd fallen on hard times. At least, on the surface.

During their game, Hosea had seemed a kindly man, but more than once she thought he'd been testing her, evaluating her trustworthiness. Fox-like, she thought him. Cunning, but not only that. The way he referred to Arthur had her thinking he served a more protective, paternal role in this gang.

Interestingly, the one she'd grown most curious about was someone she hadn't yet met. Dutch. Their 'esteemed leader' Hosea had said, but she hadn't missed the hint of bitterness in his tone. Then there was Miss O'Shea, longing for Dutch's attention, but willing to befriend and enlist a total stranger to help her speak to a man she claimed to love.

Charlotte wondered if he was the one attributing to the unease she'd been sensing or if that was a general state of a group at odds with the law. Was Dutch one of the wolves Miss O'Shea had referred to?

Inside the bedroom, Arthur entered all of a sudden, closing the door behind him. His back was to her as he discarded revolvers and his bandolier on the table. Strangely, his clothing was wet, dripping on the floor.

Charlotte stepped through the balcony doors and asked, "What's happened to you?"

"Jesus!" Arthur jumped and spun around to face her.

She tried not to laugh out loud at his startled expression. "Did you forget I was here, Arthur?"

"No."

She firmly pressed her lips together. His tone implied he had. She stepped closer and plucked at his clothing in confusion. "Why are you soaked to the bone?"

He grumbled, "I fancied myself a swim with a gator."

She stared at him. "I sincerely cannot tell if you're joking or not."

"Ain't no joke. Nearly got eaten by a monster."

"Oh my." She rested a hand on his arm. "Then I'm grateful for your safe return."

"You might be the only one."

Down his sleeve further, she noticed blood and asked in alarm, "Were you injured?"

Arthur looked down at his arm. "No, that's from some other feller."

Her eyes widened and he added quickly. "He got bit, but he'll pull through."

Charlotte stepped back from him and said, "I'll give you the room to change."

"Hold on," Arthur stopped her. "That ain't a good idea in case you run into Dutch. I heard he's real pissed over Molly leavin'."

There it was again. A disquieted tone when mentioning Dutch. Curious, she asked, "Was Miss O'Shea not allowed to leave?"

"No, well, yes." The question seemed to throw him. "I don't know. Dutch ain't happy about it is all."

"Alright..."

"Best he not see you right now either and get worked up over nothing," Arthur said. "Just...turn your back and I'll be quick about it. Don't peek none."

"As you wish." Amused a little at his suggestion, she moved to the cabinet in the corner and faced away from him. She commented, "I'll endeavor to do better than Psyche, at least."

"Who?" he asked as she heard him dropping clothes.

Trying to ignore the sudden heat in her cheeks, she explained, "The wife of Eros. She was quite happy with him and they were both in love. However, he never let her see his face and only visited her at night, making her promise to never sneak a look at him."

She heard Arthur open and close the trunk. "What, was he an ugly bastard? Scars on his face like Marston?"

Charlotte ran her fingers along the wood grain of the cabinet as she continued, "Eventually, Psyche began to wonder the same thing, worried she'd married a beast. One night, she lit a candle and dared peek at his face.

"He was handsome as could be and her worries were laid to rest. But before she could leave, wax from her candle spilled on Eros and he woke. Because Eros felt Psyche broke his trust, he left her."

"For only wantin' to know what her own husband looked like?"

Charlotte shrugged. "He was a god and originally ordered to kill her before he fell in love with her. Keeping his identity from her was to protect her as much as himself."

"I hope the next man she married weren't so damn skittish."

Charlotte smiled. "On the contrary, she spent the rest of her life seeking Eros out, completing impossible tasks until the god Zeus took pity on her and reunited them in Mount Olympus."

"That's more patience than I woulda had."

Thinking of Cal, of the life she'd left behind in the city for the unknown wilderness, she said softly, "Love, Mr. Morgan, can make you do things you never imagined you would."

"Yeah, I suppose it can."

She found it an interesting remark from him, that he'd easily agreed. She hadn't known him for long, but she hadn't taken him for a romantic.

Finished changing, Arthur made his way over. "Sorry I ain't been here all day. I had something to take care of and then Dutch and me, well, we were on some business."

"Wrestling alligators, was it?"

"I wish that's all it were."

Charlotte wondered what he meant by that, but she said easily, "I kept busy enough. Tilly brought a book and Hosea was in here awhile ago playing cribbage with me."

"Hosea?" He asked curiously, "What you two get to talkin' about?

"Why?" she asked teasingly, "Are you worried he revealed the misdeeds you've been up to?"

"No." He frowned. "Did he?"

She laughed. "Oh dear, are you implying their existence?"

He released a crooked grin. "I guess I am."

Charlotte drew his attention to one of the pictures in the cabinet. "I wanted to ask, who's this adorable dog on your shelf here?"

His smile was warm. "That's Copper. He was adorable alright and he knew it. Used to get into all sorts of trouble without getting punished."

She liked the affection in his voice and observed softly, "You loved him."

"Yeah, except he only had one speed, all out runnin', all the damn time." Arthur added, "He was wild, but a loyal pup. Always came home. More impressive, he always found home somehow, when we had to move suddenly and he was out exploring."

"A true friend then."

"Yeah, I miss him."

She pointed at another portrait. "And who's this beauty?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "That's...er, Mary."

He'd certainly grown uncomfortable very quickly. "And where does Mary fit into..." She swished her hands around the room. "...all of this?"

His jaw clenched. "She don't."

She'd hit a sore spot there. "I apologize, Arthur. I didn't mean to upset you."

He sighed, rubbed his jaw as if to loosen it. "It's fine. I..."

Arthur picked up the portrait and studied it as Charlotte studied him. There was deep pain there, maybe regret.

Eventually, he said quietly, "Last time I saw her, she asked me to run away with her."

Since he was still here, something had held him back. "And why didn't you?"

"It ain't that easy." Arthur set the portrait back on the shelf, but face down. "I got people here to look after, to get out of this mess we've made of things. Mary didn't want to hear it."

"There is a certain challenge to devoting oneself to an outlaw, I suppose."

"Simple way of putting it." With his next words, Arthur's tone grew stronger, determined, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as her. "But the gang only needs one last good take. We can escape the law and maybe settle down to a life of farming or something."

"Sounds like an attainable goal." She nodded. "Excepting the way it's accomplished, I assume?"

He narrowed his eyes on her. "I ain't gonna tell you what we're plannin'. The less you know about anything, the safer you'll be."

Charlotte raised her hands in surrender, though curiosity burned through her. "Alright. I won't ask specifics. But I assume you don't mean to stick around this area for long?"

"No. Dutch's got an idea about some island we can escape to."

He didn't sound too excited about it so she prompted him, "Is it not somewhere you want to go?"

"Not exactly."

She dared to push him a little. "Where would you like to travel, Arthur?"

A half smile turned up as he slipped into memory. "Always been partial to open country. Out west, small towns and less people. Golden fields and plenty of wild horses. Mountains are always on the horizon and there ain't no factories, mines or cities encroaching on nature."

She'd never been far west, only east, but the way he described it had her wanting to see it. "Sounds beautiful."

"Yep. But at the rate and direction we're goin', I ain't seein' nothing that way again."

"I'd recommend Chicago, but even I wanted to escape from there." She eyed him sidelong. "And I think I recall you telling me you've already been. More on the withdrawals side of banking, was it?"

"Good memory," he muttered.

She poked his arm once. "I thought you'd been teasing me."

He looked abashed. "'Fraid not, ma'am."

She shrugged. "Certainly, it was my mistake to assume."

"It's always a mistake to assume the best in people," he said darkly.

"I don't think that's true."

"Well, look where you are now."

She raised a brow in challenge. "Alive and well?"

"With outlaws," he told her. "In case you ain't noticed, we're all bad people here."

Maybe she hadn't noticed. Or maybe she had yet to meet the people he and his friends kept warning her about because so far no one seemed reprehensible.

Now that Charlotte was learning more about Arthur, she wondered at his reasoning for initially helping her. Sure, she'd eventually paid him what money she had at the house, but he could've just as easily disposed of her, taken it himself and been on his way. It was a grim scenario she'd expected in the days after Cal passed, being on her own in this wild country.

Truly curious now, she decided to ask, "Arthur, why did you help me instead of rob me?"

He shifted, didn't meet her eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know. Didn't feel right, you crying at your husband's grave, lookin' half-starved."

When she envisioned a man who robbed to survive and provide, she didn't expect a conscience to be had. She commented, "You're very strange for an outlaw."

He asked her wryly, "You met many outlaws?"

Charlotte laughed a little. "I suppose not."

"And you probably shouldn't meet any more," Arthur told her. "You feeling well enough for a ride home in the morning?"

She smiled and gestured at the window, at the lightening sky. "It is morning, Mr. Morgan."

He rubbed a heavy hand down his face. "Shit. Maybe we should head out now then."

As she regarded him, he yawned and the dark circles under his eyes became more pronounced. She shook her head. "I don't think so. You're dead on your feet."

"I'll be fine."

Charlotte wasn't so sure about that. "How close are we to town?"

"Not too far," he said reluctantly.

"You can drop me off at the nearest train station," she suggested.

Arthur told her stubbornly, "You ain't got your rifle or a ride from Annesburg to the house."

"I'm certain we wouldn't make it halfway before you slipped off the saddle and left me stranded." She lifted a brow. "And if we do make it without any mishap, what about your ride back on your own?"

"I'll manage."

She could always offer him the spare bedroom to sleep, but she had a feeling he wouldn't linger. Charlotte wasn't in any rush to leave and Hosea had graciously invited her to stay as long as she wanted. She thought a moment. "How about this? You rest for a few hours..."

"I'm fine."

Charlotte clutched his arm and veered him towards the bed, ignoring his protest. She insisted, "You take a nap and when you wake, we can set off."

Arthur stopped next to the bed and studied her. She made sure to keep steady and challenging eye contact. He grumbled, "What the hell are you gonna do if I'm here nappin'?"

He was relenting, but searching for a reason to refuse her, as much as he wanted to listen to her suggestion. She leaned over the desk, where a book lay on a map. "I'll read."

Arthur continued to stare, indecisive, for a moment. "Two, three hours and then you wake me."

"Of course." She nodded, before ordering, "Now get some rest, Arthur."

Charlotte motioned to the bed again and finally he sat. He laid back, hands together on his chest and reminded her, "Only for a couple hours."

"Close your eyes, Arthur," she said soothingly.

He let out one long exhale and closed his eyes, yet his shoulders remained stiff with tension. He clearly wasn't relaxing and she worried he might change his mind. But exhaustion overtook him before his objections arose. Soon, his snoring started, indicating he'd been more tired than she thought.

Seeing Arthur fast asleep threw Charlotte's mind back to the day he'd collapsed in a faint on her floor. Lord, she'd feared she'd accidentally poisoned him for a moment, before she'd heard the rasping in his breathing. He seemed to be doing better nowadays as she hadn't seen any hint of his illness since she'd arrived.

Despite that singular mishap, she'd truly enjoyed his visits because they eased her own loneliness. She'd welcomed Arthur wholly, thinking he'd been a lone traveler. But Arthur had friends here, plenty of which to speak. Why had he wasted his time with her?

Perhaps, she could hazard a guess. She recognized Willard's Rest for what it was: solitary, picturesque and peaceful. It was an oasis in a desert for a man wanting to escape his troubles.

And Arthur seemed to have a fair amount of them, if what little she'd picked up on was any indication. Even in his sleep, he looked troubled, his forehead wrinkled and a deep frown cutting his face.

Charlotte simply couldn't comprehend the burdens this man shouldered. She thought her life had become difficult, but she had only herself to worry about. Being responsible for so many seemed incomprehensible.

Maybe...maybe before Arthur took her home, she could help these people in some capacity. She'd met a few of them and, despite Miss O'Shea's dire warning, they'd seemed decent enough. She wouldn't involve herself in their criminal activities, obviously, but she was clever and capable. There must be something she could do to help, to repay the debt she owed Arthur of her own life.

Charlotte's eyes landed on the soggy clothes Arthur had draped over the chair and remembered Mary-Beth complaining about laundry. Charlotte could start with a simple task and go from there. She plucked the garments up, quietly left the room and set out in search of Miss Grimshaw.