"They'll never stay home,

and they're always alone—

even with someone they love.

Cowboys ain't easy to love,

and they're harder to hold.

Each night begins a new day.

And if you don't understand him

and he don't die young,

he'll probably just ride away."

- "Mammas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys," Ed & Patsy Bruce, sung by Willie Nelson & Waylon Jennings

.

.

"Mama, Mama!" Isaac shouted the next morning, knocking boisterously on the door of his mother's bedroom. He heard whispers from behind the door.

"Shhh!"

"Shit. You latched it, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Mama! You have to come see! I taught Allie a trick!" He pounded even harder on the door, beginning to jostle it on its hinges. "It's morning, Mama! The sun is up! Come on!"

"…so damn hard, he's gonna unlatch the damn door," he heard a deep voice rise in tone on the other side.

"Come on! Mama, you have to see!"

Suddenly the door opened, and Arthur poked his head through. "Isaac!" he said looking down at him. "I know you're real excited, and I know you wanna show her; but give your mother some space, all right? She'll be up in a minute. Go play with the pup! Go on!"

He briskly shut the door.

Isaac stood there. It took him a moment, but he realized Arthur's hair looked a mess, and he hadn't been wearing a nightshirt. Sometimes Isaac looked like that when he woke up, but it was strange to see Arthur like that. He was usually already up and about by this time.

"What are you guys doing in there?" Isaac said beginning to knock again, this time hesitantly. "Can—"

"Isaac, I won't tell you again, boy," he heard Arthur say. "Go on, go play with the dog!"

"Okay."

"We'll be out before you know it."

"All right," Isaac groaned, turning to scoop up his pup and take her to the other room.

It wasn't until later that morning that the bedroom door finally opened and his mother stepped out. She didn't look Isaac's way as she pinned her hair into a bun and briskly headed for the kitchen, the heels of her boots clacking on the wooden floor.

Arthur followed closely behind, fully dressed in his boots, breeches, shirt, suspenders, and hat—only he headed straight for the front door. "Come on, Isaac. Come show me the dog's trick," he said. "We'll see if we can't teach her a few more."

Isaac hopped to his feet and followed him. "Can't mama come?" The two looked back at Eliza.

She smiled at the sight of her boys' expectant faces. "A few minutes. And then I've gotta get back. You want breakfast, don't you?"

When the three of them had played outside longer than Eliza had anticipated, she left them and rushed to her room for something.

With a breathless smile she went to her vanity and scoured the drawers, looking for a little something—anything—she could wear that might spark Arthur's interest. Like a giddy schoolgirl she was disappointed when nothing turned up.

There was a light blue satin ribbon somewhere around here that she knew he preferred. She turned and eyed her bedside nightstand. Rushing to it, she began opening the drawers.

And she saw it. Not the ribbon, but a stack of bills sitting next to it in the drawer. Her breath caught, and her stomach felt weighted down by a boulder. She knew. She knew as soon as she saw it. He'd be leaving today. And nothing could keep him here.

She sank on the bed. She was so stupid. She'd let herself forget, yet again. It was like she was on an endless voyage that met alternating smooth seas and horrific whirlpools, and she foolishly couldn't resist remaining aboard each time the ship docked. He'd given her hope and dashed it himself. It was like poison. And he was the snake oil salesman. And she couldn't stop taking the bait of his charms.

The sight of the cash…it disgusted her. What was she, a whore?

She felt her heart thud and her temple pound at the loud answer that immediately resounded in her own head. She swallowed, trying to remember that he was leaving it for them, so they'd be safe and well-taken care of.

But it never failed. Every time she stumbled upon the new stack of cash, it never failed to change everything.

He was leaving today.

The gravity of it fell over her as she slowly closed the drawer.

When she went to rejoin the boys, she found them back inside and at the kitchen table joking and laughing, with the dog in Isaac's lap.

"Isaac, puppy or no, that dog doesn't belong at the table," she said quietly. "Put her down please."

Isaac silently obeyed.

"Can I help you with breakfast?" Arthur said.

"No. Shouldn't take me long."

When she placed eggs and biscuits before them, they began devouring them. She sat across from the pair and tried to be interested in the plate before her.

"Mama, are you okay?" Isaac asked slowly.

She looked up at him.

"What's…that?" He pointed at her neck.

At the question, she immediately noticed the apple of Arthur's cheek define and rise as he followed Isaac's finger. He then conspicuously returned to his food with a continued grin.

Confused, she went to the small mirror on the wall to find what Isaac had been referring to: a small, circular red bruise on her neck just under her jaw.

Mortified, she tried to cover it with the collar of her frock to no avail as a heated flush began to rise up into her face.

"I'm fine, Isaac," she said returning to the table. "Eat your breakfast."

Satisfied, Isaac's attention went back to his plate of food.

"More than fine, I'd say," Arthur said with a wry grin from underneath the brim of his hat.

She immediately kicked his shin under the table, and he choked and coughed for a moment.

Her mouth went dry, and she swallowed past the lump in her throat as she tried to regain composure. Tiny prickles covered her chest and arms as her mind drifted to the scene this morning, when Isaac had been pounding on her bedroom door.

"Isaac, I won't tell you again, boy," Arthur had said as she remained in bed. "Go on, go play with the dog!"

"Okay," she heard her son's little voice say from the other side of the door.

She held the quilt tight under her chin as she watched Arthur, who had not a stitch of clothing on him, stand near the door.

"We'll be out before you know it," Arthur said.

"All right," Isaac groaned.

Arthur listened, and after a few seconds said, "All right, I think he's gone." He came over to the bed and hopped back in. "Where were we?"

She smiled as he kissed her. "Where we were was sleeping, Arthur."

"That's right. Before we were so rudely interrupted by that son of yours," he smiled. "But it weren't just sleepin'—I was holdin' your bare-naked body in my arms." He kissed her with a wry grin. "Waking up naked next to you wouldn't be easy for any man."

It was true. When they'd awoken minutes earlier to the sound of Isaac banging on the door, she'd had her back to Arthur, and he'd been pressed up against her with his arm over her, his forearm curled up over her breasts, and her arm was over his. She never remembered waking up like that before.

He smiled as he pulled the quilt open and slid under, and she felt herself go flush as he pressed the whole of his warm body atop hers. Her pulse always raced faster when she felt the buds of his tongue brush against hers. If he'd been wearing a shirt, she would've balled it up in her fists. She smiled and sighed, closing her eyes as he kissed the crook of her neck. "He's waitin' on us, Arthur. He's expectin' us to be up soon."

"My son can wait. Believe me," he said trying not to laugh, "he'll understand well enough when he's older."

She smiled as she felt his hands run over her. The irony was not lost on her that such rough, calloused instruments could initiate goosebumps in her the way they did, passing over every sensitive part of her as lightly as clouds, tracing the outline of her hips, one of them eventually finding its way under her thigh. She slid a hand down to make room for him, but he was already taking care of it. She grinned and looked into his eyes as he lifted her thigh. "You're a creature of habit, Arthur Morgan."

"Sure. I'll admit that. Only you can't quite decide if this qualifies as a good or a bad one," he said, his grin brightening. "Not that it matters much."

She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck, running her fingers through his hair. "Oh, Arthur."

Eliza blinked as she came back to the present moment.

She'd fallen back into his arms and opened her legs to him again last night, and yet again this morning, even after the horrible things they'd said to each other just two days before. Oh, god, she burned at the thought. She looked at Arthur as he ate. He'd always looked a little older than he actually was; he was brooding that way. But god only knew he was nothing less than her Achilles heel.

She wasn't stupid. She was well aware of the ways of the world. If her life before hadn't taught her in head knowledge, Arthur himself had seen fit to show her by experience. She loathed the possibility that all she was to him was a piece of ass, his own private well of honey secreted away from the world for him to return to and dip into every few months. The mere thought brought her to the brink of madness.

She hated the thought too that he regretted ever meeting her, regretted tying themselves in a knot to each other forever with the choice they'd made that night.

She looked at Isaac and Arthur sitting across the table from her as they ate their breakfast. She watched as Arthur reached over and ruffled Isaac's hair and Isaac nudged him back playfully, causing Arthur to smile.

Father and son. Long lost puzzle pieces. And there the three of them sat: a makeshift family.

She glanced at Arthur. They'd stumbled into incidental monogamy, the pair of them.

She couldn't eat. She decided to get up and try to busy herself with kitchen work.