Old Love New Problems

Chapter 2

Safe to say, over the next few days, John and Bonnie managed to build up the foundations of a beautiful friendship. From driving her into Armadillo to racing her around the ranch, he was there.

This is what led him to her house that morning. She had asked him to help with simple tasks around the ranch to pay off the medical bills that he owed her. On this particular morning, she was perched on her front porch, overlooking the chickens in the road when John had approached her, looking better than he had the last time he saw her. He had combed his hair, washed his shirt and tried to shave as best he could.

"Mr. Marston. I've been hearing about your plans." She greeted, standing from her chair and leaning on the barrier that surrounded the porch.

"Have you, Miss MacFarlane?" He replied, chuckling slightly.

"Yes, from Leigh Johnson. To settle here and build a life for yourself." She answered, gesturing randomly as if to prove a point.

"I'm afraid those aren't my plans. You see, I already have a life. Well, I had one, and I'm trying to reclaim it. Or maybe what you could say is that I had two, and I'm trying to end one so the other can survive." He rambled, struggling to explain what was happening. Truthfully even he had no idea what was going on with his life.

"You do so love to talk in riddles, Mr. Marston. Do you do that, I wonder as a substitute for having anything interesting to say?" Bonnie shot, smiling up at him through those oh-so-beautiful blue orbs.

"Probably, Miss MacFarlane."

"Ugh, call me Bonnie, you fool. Call me Bonnie." She groaned, throwing up her hands in frustration and falling back down in her chair.

John seemed to think over what he could say to her. Would she be angry about him keeping his past from her? Would she view him differently? Oh, to hell with it. She had to know!

"Miss Macfarlane, I'm a widower. I have a son. I had a daughter but she was stillborn." He admitted, leaning against the railing and looking out into the ranch, watching two children play with their dog in the road. "Years before that I rode in a gang. We robbed trains, banks, held people ransom. We killed people we didn't like. Bill Williamson was in that gang. Now, if I don't capture my former brother in arms, great harm will befall my seven-year-old son. Now, I don't suppose any of this is very interesting to you but, I hope it explains why I wasn't so eager to talk about it."

"No, I do understand. I had no idea. You poor man." He heard her say. Somehow, her voice seemed to be getting closer, until she finally stood next to him, resting her elbows on the railing.

"Even in this new country, memories don't really fade." He continued, looking down at her. "My father was an illiterate Scot, born on the boat into New York. He never saw his homeland, but to hear him talk about it, you would imagine he only ever ate haggis and wore a kilt. And he hated the English for what they had done to his great-grandparents he'd never met. People don't forget. Nothing gets forgiven."

"That's true," She agreed, resting her hand on his shoulder. "Especially when it comes to money. And you know even now, after all his labours; my father's debts are still terrible. I worry every day about us losing the ranch. It would kill him."

"My father died when I was 8 years old." John elaborated, feeling her head rest against his shoulder. "His eyes were...well, let's just say he was blinded in a bar fight south of Chicago. My mother died during childbirth. She was a prostitute and he was her, well I don't know what he was. Then I was sent off to an orphanage and ran away and fell in with a gang."

"My word, what a difficult life you've lived." She sighed. Her voice held what John would later describe as true sympathy.

"The leader of the gang taught me how to read. Taught me how to see all that was good in the world. He was a great man in a way." He explained, trying to shed at least some light on the subject. After all, he didn't want to upset her. Hell no! He would die before that happened.

"But you still killed people?"

He grimaced, hearing the shocked and somewhat disbelieving tone of her voice. Her hand didn't move though, staying firmly on his arm, so that was a start.

"Sure, and I've suffered for it. And that's the life I left, or tried to leave." He sighed, running his hand over his face in frustration. "Ah, I've said too much, Bonnie. I'm an uneducated killer sent here to do all I can do well, kill a man in cold blood so that another man may do his part to cut crime in an area, and a rich man can be elected governor on the back of these promises." He agreed, nodding his head and looking back down at her.

"Civilization is a truly beautiful thing, Mr. Marston." She laughed, moving her head and looking up at him. "Listen, can you help me?"

"Well, I can try. What do you need? Money?" He asked, shrugging his shoulders, but knowing deep down that he would do anything in his power for her.

"Jesus, John! What's wrong with you?!" He mentally scolded himself. "Abigail's barely been gone for two years! Now is definitely not the time! Besides, the MacFarlane's are good people; too good for the likes of you!"

"No. Nothing so complicated..." She responded, snapping him from his reverie and staying completely unaware of his inward battle. "I need an extra hand to take the herd out to pasture."

"Sure, point me in the right direction." He chuckled, shaking his head as if he were trying to rid himself of these thoughts. He saw her raise her hand and point in the direction of the jail. He copied her, kicking off with his foot and making his way to his awaiting horse.

A Week Later

He honestly had no idea what had led to this point, sitting around a campfire with a cold drink in his hand and Bonnie MacFarlane sitting next to him. Amos sat on his other side, plucking away at his guitar and softly singing along to whatever tune he was playing.

After rescuing the livestock and horses from the burning barn, everyone had gathered in the cooking area and insisted upon celebrating their success. Bonnie had been dragged from the confines of her home, leaving her father to sleep the days stress off.

"Come on, Mr. Marston!" Bonnie chuckled as Amos started playing a rather jolly tune. Other coupled stood, embracing one another and prancing around the fire. "Time to see if a city-man like yourself can dance."

"Oh no, Miss MacFarlane!" He chuckled, holding his hands up in a mock surrender. "I ain't no dancer."

"Funny…" She smiled, still keeping her slender hand outstretched in his direction. "Neither am I."

They had a grand time, prancing around in one another's arms and laughing at their own inability to coordinate their dancing. Eventually, under the influence of a romantic song and the feeling of holding the woman he loved, their lips met in a soft and tender kiss.

He walked her back to the house about an hour later, kissing her goodnight with a promise to return the next day.