A/N: Thank you everyone for the support and the favorites, follows and comments. I really appreciate it! I hope you continue to love reading the story as much as I love writing it.
It's a dull ache in Florence's left side. She tries to roll over and open her eyes, but the pain flares when she moves her left arm. Snaps of yesterday's adventure leak into her mind. The shots around her, the man's frensized but calm aim at her. His words about William, the lies he spouted or were they lies? "Don't move," a soft voice says above her. Mary-Beth.
"What happened?"
"Oh dear, you really are stupid sometimes, you know that?" Karen's voice floats in. "Going out by yourself without the proper protection." Florence opens her eyes to find both Mary-Beth and Karen standing over her, cutting most of the sunlight aiming straight at her face.
"I had protection. My gun."
"Did you use it?" Karen leans back, allowing the sun to hit Florence full in the face. She blinks and shakes her head, clearing the webs from it. "No. Arthur had to come and save your ass."
"I didn't need saving," Florence insists, leaning on her right side and sitting up on the cot. Her feet hang over the edge and graze wet and cold grass. At least she didn't sleep until noon.
"Girl, I understand not wanting a man rescue you at every given opportunity," Karen says, kneeling and brushing back Florence's hair. Mary-Beth knows behind her, giving the bruised woman a small smile in support. "But there are worse men than Arthur to do the saving. If you don't learn how to aim a gun and hold your own in a fight, how will you expect to be able to save your own hide?"
Florence sighs, running a hand over her tired face. Her entire body feels like she was riding for days and the dull ache in her left side has turned to flames licking at the center of her upper arm. Oh yeah. The man had shot her but it only stung when it happened. "I didn't realize how much damage a bullet could do," she says quietly and quite, in her opinion, dumbly as she twists her head to look at the covered wound. Spots of blood seeped through the otherwise pure white.
"Oh Florence." Karen laughs, shaking her head. "You have a lot to learn."
So it seems. Florence is forced by Miss Grimshaw to take it easy. The older woman just about had a heart attack when she saw Florence up and moving about. They at least give her one of her other shirts to throw on so her undershirt is completely covered. She sits at the table, playing with the domino chips, setting them up into a line and watching them as they topple over. "Having fun?"
Florence looks up at Dutch. "Nah. I'm stuck here."
"For good reason. You were shot, Miss Florence." Dutch sits opposite of her, turning the chair around so the back faces her and he's leaning over the top. "You shouldn't have gone out on your own, you know," he says, helping her build up a longer line.
Florence focuses on the white and black dotted rectangles in front of her, not willing to acknowledge he's right. That everyone in the damn camp is right. If she'd only waited for Arthur, she would've been fine, but that would have put him in danger and possibly got him shot. "Who are those men?" Dutch's asking it gently, but she can tell this won't be the last of this kind of questioning for a while.
"I don't know," Florence says desperately, looking at him. Her hand knocks over a domino in the middle and the right side of the line cascades down, the light porcelain tinkling together with a satisfying sound. "I don't know. It was about… a year ago William became more secretive. He hit me more, swore at me. Raised his hand after I undercooked a chicken."
Dutch is watching her, not bothering to pick up the pieces. He folds his hands in front of him and she can practically trace the line of his frown down along his cheeks. She looks away, hating the feeling of his eyes intruding on the very private center of her. "I *wish* you would believe me. I'm not the kind of person who brings trouble intentionally to anyone. I didn't even know you all existed before Arthur showed up. How can… Please believe me Dutch."
He's quiet for a moment too long and Florence pictures them kicking her out, packing her bags and tossing Chance out with her. Or least she'd hope that would happen if it had to.
Dutch sighs, sitting back with his arms supporting him. "I do, Florence. I do, but I have to think of the people who have been with me for years and their safety."
Florence's stomach drops. She picks up a tile and turns it in her hand, looking at the reflection of the sun glinting off he smooth surface. Her face remains composed despite the battle of emotions in her head. "I know," she says simply. "I know."
"Remind me why we're back here," Uncle complains for what seems like the third fucking time. Arthur grits his teeth, looking down at the missing bodies. The farm is the way he left it except both corpses are gone. And they certainly didn't get up and walk away. "Why didn't you bring Javier if you needed someone to track for you."
"Javier is busy." He's busy saving Sean's ass from bounty hunters. "Now will you shut up and just help me look." Arthur came back to the farm to look for a clue of those who men were. If they're going to keep bothering the camp, he needs to know more. Perhaps they can ambush William's gang before the camp gets overrun. A puddle of blood lays in the doorway of the front of Florence's house with a large boot print in the middle. Someone came through here last night. Whether it's someone looking for a place to stay for the night or rob, he doesn't know nor does he care.
Uncle mutters something about his lumbago, a disease or disorder Arthur's pretty sure he made up to keep from doing all the heavy lifting. He brought Uncle because it's better to listen to Uncle's incessant talks and complaints than Bill's need for a drink. Both men get on Arthur's nerves, but Uncle less so.
A quick inspection of the one bedroom house reveals something grotesque. A large bed with a frame against the wall takes up most of the bedroom. In the bed lays the headless corpse of the man who shot at Florence, his legs missing and entrails sneaking out of the lower, ripped half of his is splattered across the wall, words written messily in it. *I'll find her*.
"What is his damn obsession with Florence?" Arthur asks the corpse. Of course the man doesn't answer. He searches the room more, finding that the head had rolled underneath the bed, though the man's lower half seems to be completely missing from anywhere in the room and in fact, the entire house.
"Nothing seems out of the-" Uncle stops in the doorway. "What the hell happened to this poor fella?" he asks, stepping in and looks up at the writing on the wall. "And who is her?"
"For the love of-" Arthur stops before he says something he regrets and pushes back Uncle to the living room. He makes one more sweep around, just to make sure there isn't anything that's worth keeping stays in the house. He does find a diary put under a loose floorboard in the washroom with Florence's name engraved on the inside of the leather cover. Unable to help himself, he opens the book to a random entry.
*William came home tonight in high spirits. But those spirits beat the daylights out of me once again. I don't understand why he's doing this or what his new buddies are saying to him about me. What happened to my sweet man?*
It's short and there's a splatter of dried blood above William's head. She's lived a hard hard and will continue to live a hard life as she becomes more comfortable with the gang. With herself. He shoves the small diary into his jacket, right next to his own.
"Uncle! Let's go!"
Uncle comes out of the room, coughing and sputtering. "How do you stand a smell like that?"
"Smelling you every night at camp isn't easy, you know."
"Oh ha ha." Uncle and Arthur head out of the house and for a quick second, Arthur considers burning the structure. Hide what's inside of this because if the lawmen get wind, they'll be up and down the trails from Valentine to Strawberry looking for whoever did this. "Let's burn it," Uncle says as if reading Arthur's mind. He's already half-way grabbing a bottle of alcohol and a rag from his saddle.
"Yeah, let's." Uncle gives a whoop, lights it with a match and throws it into the open house. The bottle shatters, flames spreading and licking at the wood in a journey to quench its hunger. It's too late to stop the fire but regret passes through him and he can hope it doesn't spread to the land around. They mount their horses and gallop away from it and for Arthur, he leaves something behind. A bit of the past to be consumed by the fire, never to show again.
"I'm going into Valentine. See if anyone has heard anything about corpses like that," Arthur says, reining in Lemon. Uncle nods soberly. "Go back to camp and please keep her there. I don't care if you have to hogtie her."
Uncle grins.
"On second thought, don't hogtie her. Just keep her in camp." Arthur turns Lemon towards Valentine.
It's quiet along the road to Valentine and Arthur keeps his mind occupied by allowing himself to think of Florence in *that* way. It washes over him, settling in the bottom of his heart. How many years has it been since Mary broke his heart? Five? Ten? Why hasn't he kept track?
It's painful to remember that's why. When she left him, when she listened to her daddy's orders, it was like a bullet to the heart and it took him months just to get out of the camp. Dutch just about put a real bullet in his heart, threatening to kill Arthur if he didn't go to town and pick up a whoring woman to get over Mary because she's not worth his time.
Valentine materializes around him, shaking him from his thoughts. He hitches Lemon to a post right outside the deputy's office. Two men are arguing about the cost of coffee when he steps through the door, hesitating with his hand on the knob. "Should I come at a later time?" he asks roughly.
"No, no. Are you a bounty hunter?" The deputy looks at him hopefully. "Here to catch some people?"
"More like looking for a person." Arthur steps fully inside the office, finding it cramped and small. To his almost immediate right is a metal door leading to four small cells and one door against the outer wall leading out. "I'm wonderin' if you've heard any reports of… corpses."
"Mister, we hear about corpses *all* the time. You'll have to be more specific," the deputy says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.
Arthur didn't want to say. Small towns talk and he doesn't want this getting out. "Fine." He leans against the wall with the board of posters on it, making a note to come back at a later date to pick one up. "I…" How much to actually tell them? He doesn't want to say anything about Florence and his husband. "I rescued a woman from a gun fight last night and the next morning went back to the house to grab a few things for her. I found a corpse on the bed, intestines hanging out, head underneath the bed, blood everywhere. I'm wonderin' if you've found something like that?"
The deputy seems to consider him for a hot second. "And if we have? Is the woman safe?"
"Yes, but that's not the-"
"Then why are you so concerned about? We've got it from here."
The other man stands suddenly and slaps the deputy outside the head. "We'll take any help we can get," he growls. "Names Joseph and this here idiot is Harry." Joseph extends his hand out to Arthur and Arthur gladly takes it. "Can you tell me everything?"
It takes skill, but Arthur is able to tell Joseph as much as he can without bringing up Florence or the fact that he's the man who shot William a few nights ago. He'd land himself in jail right then and there no matter if he was protecting a lady.
Joseph pulls a hand over his face, pushing Harry from the chair. Harry stumbles out of it, the two front legs hitting the wood hard. "Go on. Out. Go make sure no one's causing trouble for us." Harry nods, holstering his gun and pushing past Arthur with a stony look on his face.
Arthur isn't sad to see him go. He's been nothing but trouble since Arthur walked in. "Sorry 'bout him. Sometimes he takes his job a little too seriously and won't listen to logic." Joseph collapses into the chair.
"These corpses are making more of an appearance, especially around Valentine. I've heard of some up near Strawberry and the surrounding lands between the towns, but it seems to circulate around this town." Joseph waves a hand in the air, pulls out a metal flask and drinks long from it. He offers it to Arthur who refuses. "Gruesome shit."
"Yeah, I know."
"This woman you rescued, does she have any connection with the killings?"
Telling Joseph the truth would certainly aid in them finding the people after her, but it will also possibly land him in jail. Arthur shifts, looking out the window over his shoulder before answering vaguely, "I believe so."
Joseph seems to be a bright man and nods. "There's more you aren't telling me and I won't push." He stands up, dusting off his jeans. "I appreciate the truth even if it wasn't the whole truth." Where did they find this man and why aren't more lawmen like him? "I know our world is going through a change and that makes men do stupid things but this… Jesus, this is ridiculous."
"Nah, I agree with ya. The house burned down. The corpse is gone." He regrets letting Uncle throw the bottle but if it leads back to Florence, it could lead back to him. This investigation is already shoddy at best.
Joseph pulls at his face once again. "Look, I'll tell you what, I'll give you the locations of the bodies we found. We've preserved them just in case but it's been hard with all the wildlife and stupid idiots who want a close look at it."
Arthur nods and he pulls his out his. Joseph draws five circles, most next to Valentine and one over by the stable by Strawberry. "I don't usually worry about the corpses in Strawberry, but this one struck home. It had the name of my wife in blood. Now I don't know if that was a coincidence or not, but it happened." He slaps the map. "There you go."
Arthur doesn't visit any of the places, not today. He needs to get back to camp, speak with Dutch about what they're going to do. When he rides into the camp, it's strangely quiet. Neither Lenny nor John's voice greets him. Chance is gone as well as he hitches Lemon to the post and removes his saddle from the poor horse.
"Uncle!" Arthur finds the old drunk fast asleep against the wagon. He kicks his leg and Uncle sputters awake, handing blindly searching for the pistol that isn't there. "Where is Florence? Where is she?"
"Calm yourself pal," Uncle grumbles. "She left."
"I asked you to do one thing…"
"Dutch told her to leave. Who am I to get between that?" Uncle shifts and is back asleep, snoring louder than a train.
Goddamnit it all to hell.
Arthur marches into the camp, pushing back his hat and preparing to fight Dutch on his decision. He doesn't always- no, he never fights Dutch on his decisions. Arthur trusts the man with his life and trusts him to make the right call. This one-this one feels wrong. It sickens his stomach and speeds his heart so it's nearly coming through the skin on his neck. "Dutch!" He hates how his voice shakes around the edges, making him sound panicked.
"Arthur, boy, did you find anything worth checking out?" Dutch closes the book and sits back on his cot to look at Arthur.
"You sent her away. Where is she? Where'd she go?"
"She'll cause trouble. Bring men upon us that we *don't* need. We're trying to live our life and keep a low profile. Florence would have made that impossible."
There are no words for Arthur. He splutters through his sentence. "You never do anything without consulting me first."
"You were attached to that girl like fly on honey, Arthur. You would've fought me."
"You're damn right I would've. You sent her to her death." Arthur throws his hands up in the air and spins around, headed straight for Lemon. It's too late to put the saddle on him, though Arthur does put the saddle bags over him to at least have a bed roll if he has to sleep out. "I'm bringing her back and then we can talk about what to do with the gang after her."
"We shouldn't be doing anything, Arthur!" Dutch yells after him as he gallops out of the camp.
What is there for a woman to do but laundry and whoring outside of having a home and husband? She attempted to go back to her home, but only found it burned to the ground. Whether it was an act of God or William's friends threatening her, she doesn't know. Luckily the fire burned very little of the surrounding land. If she absolutely had to, she could contact her brother in New York and get him to take hold of the land and allow her to stay there. Though she knows if he found out William is dead, he'd be having her on the next train out without a second thought. No, it's best if she tries this on her own.
Inadequately set for camping out in the open, she tries many different methods of starting a fire. Rubbing sticks together, rocks igniting off of one each other. Even a wet match she found in the mud, but nothing seems to work. She sits against the very same wagon Arthur hid behind as he saved her life, her shoulder shaking from the work she forced it to do. In reality, she should have never left the camp, but Dutch was right. He was gentle as he told her what she needed to do, but hell, he was right. It's not fair to bring down the wrath of William's friends.
And that's why she has to look for them first. If she can find them, then they'll leave Arthur, Mary-Beth, Karen, even Bill, and all the folks back at the camp alone.
"Thought you'd come back here," Arthur says, approaching her on Lemon.
"It's all I know."
"Yes, I suspect it would be." He dismounts and approaches her, stopping short of doing something. Was he going to hug her just then? And why didn't he? "I thought I lost you."
"I didn't know you cared so much."
Something crosses his face and makes him hesitate again. She almost pushes but it's not worth it. She finds her feelings for the man to be well past liking.
"Come back to camp. Dutch made a mistake. We'll protect you and go after that wretched gang," he says, holding out his hand.
"It's not fair to make people pay for my husband's mistakes." Arthur glares at her and pushes off his hair where it makes a ring of dust on the ground. He really wants her to go with him.
"Florence, you need to listen and listen closely." He crosses the distance between them, coming up short and then turns around, pacing away. "What Dutch says may be true but... "
Is he really going to confess his feelings for her after only a few days of knowing her? She's just so fucking stubborn and beautiful and smart and…
"You've earned your place in that gang and it wasn't right for him to kick you out," he finally says dumbly.
Florence raises an eyebrow at him, green eyes blazing across his face, searching for the lie. "And how have I done that? I've only eaten your food and taken time away from you."
"I am my own person. I may listen to Dutch when he has a good idea, but most of the time, I go do things on my own. Just come back with me. Don't do this. Don't *be* like this." He desperately waves to the horses. "You know you won't survive out here on your own and with that gang searching for you, the rates of survival are even smaller."
Florence looks back at the burned structure and guilt razes through him much like the fire through the wood. "Alright…" He almost lets out a whoop of excitement, barely holding back when she throws something into the house. "My husband's wedding ring. I was going to sell it to pay you back but…"
"That's a more appropriate place for it." He closes the distance and places a hand on her shoulder in support. She leans against him. "Come on. It's dark and I don't have the proper tools to sleep outside."
The two of them turn around and mount their horses, leaving Florence's past long behind. Now if only he can do that with Mary and move on.