The ride back to camp was quiet, with Arthur and Rosalie trotting side by side. Unlike before, Arthur stayed close to her, his eyes scanning their surroundings for any potential threats from the O'Driscolls. Rosalie was not as attentive to the greenery around her. She held a vacant look in her eyes as they traveled, the far away, glazed-over expression she wore not weaning even as she dismounted Blitz and hitched him to a nearby tree once they arrived back at their campsite.
Arthur watched her wearily as she walked away from the horse, her father's hat clutched to her chest. Rosalie didn't bother walking over to the waterfront to get cleaned, or to her tent to find a change of clothes. Instead, she dropped to the ground in front of the firepit, leaning against a log as she stared into the coals, remnants of the morning fire.
Arthur rubbed a hand against his face with a deep sigh. He patted his horse's neck, before walking over to the firepit and setting up a few stray twigs to make the beginnings of a fire. He didn't say anything to her as he pulled a match from his pocket and struck it, holding it under the dried moss as it began to smoke.
Rosalie watched him quietly. He kneeled before the fire, watching it from underneath the brim of his hat as he slowly added larger sticks as the fire grew.
Rosalie was still covered in blood. Her clothes were dried, but they reeked of iron, the black material of her button-up covered in the O'Driscoll's blood and stiff. Her hands were splattered with red, and her neck and bottom half of her face were covered in it as well. She looked wild, her blonde curls frizzy.
Arthur cast her a sideways glance. Rosalie met his eyes but didn't say anything, her expression blank.
He frowned, eyes dragging over her dirty appearance. "Ain't you gonna clean up?"
Rosalie blanched, her blank features contorting into frustration at his question. "I'm sorry?"
Arthur continued, not seeing anything wrong with his response. "Well, you're covered in O'Driscoll blood. You gonna just sit there in it?"
"Why, you care if I sit here in it?" Rosalie snapped back. "Willing to talk to me of your own accord now, huh? Or you just feel sorry for me?"
Arthur looked at her in confusion, frustration mixing in with the furrow of his brows. He was starting to get defensive from her tone. "Now what's that 'posse to mean?"
Rosalie scoffed and got to her feet, her father's hat clutched in one hand as she curled the other into a fist. She glared down at him with her jaw set. "You've been ignoring me ever since I stole that damn wagon! It's like–like you're mad at me for doing it! Like you're mad at me for showing you up!"
The adrenaline from the fight with the O'Driscolls coursed through her. She felt like she could run a marathon, or tackle a man twice her size from that alone, but now Arthur was pushing her buttons. Rosalie felt like she was being attacked from all sides. Maybe she was letting her temper get away from her, and maybe she would regret it later, but Arthur was being plain stupid. There was no way he was so dense! Had he mentally checked out over the last week?
Arthur sputtered as he got to his feet, shocked and infuriated at her accusation. "Who the hell do you think ya' are accusing me of that? You think I'm jealous? Of you?!"
Rosalie's eyes flashed with defiance as she met his gaze. "I don't know what I'm supposed to think. When you came to me that morning we stole the wagon and brought me coffee, I thought maybe we could be friends… but after I pulled that stunt, you completely changed. You act as though I'm not even here! Or that it's the worst thing to be near me! I know I haven't been here long, but you don't have to be mean!"
Rosalie huffed and took a menacing step forward, pointing at him. Arthur took a step back in surprise at how angry she was, the nice girl Rosalie had been playing disappearing in an instant.
"I don't know if you want me to be sorry for stealing it, but I'm not!" She shouted. "I'm not sorry for it! I needed to do something to prove myself. And if I had to show off a bit to prove that I belong here, then so be it! I won't apologize!"
There was a bout of silence between them, her words hanging in the air.
Arthur took a deep breath to steady his emotions as he met Rosalie's gaze with a level stare. "Rosalie… I ain't mad at you for proving yourself. Hell, I admire your spirit. But it ain't about that. It's just... I'll admit it. I ain't used to havin' someone new around. I jus' ain't sure what to do or how to treat ya'."
He sighed and rubbed at his chin. "As for me askin' if you were gonna get cleaned up… I wasn't tryna' make you mad. I got worried is all. Worried 'bout what happened back there with them O'Driscolls. You were cryin' and callin' out for me to help ya' and I couldn't get to you in time. Knowing this life is different than what you lived before… I ain't know how to act sometimes. I know you ain't helpless, that wagon stunt you pulled proves enough…"
Arthur let out a breathy laugh and shook his head. He looked off to the side, the awkwardness radiating off of the young man as he did anything he could to avoid her gaze.
Rosalie's expression softened slightly, her anger subsiding in the face of his genuine concern. "Worried?"
Arthur nodded, his voice softer now. "Yeah. Worried. 'Cause..." He hesitated, searching for the right words. "'Cause you matter, Rosalie. You can't just go throwin' yourself around like that in danger. It's just… like I said, I ain't used to nobody else being around Dutch and Hosea, you know? It's been just the three of us for years. I'll admit, I was a little sour about havin' you around 'cause l ain't know what to do with ya'."
While Rosalie knew he didn't mean any harm by his comment of 'not knowing what to do with her', she found it a bit funny. Was he that perturbed by her just… being there? Her presence startled him that much?
At least she knew Arthur didn't hate her guts and was more confused by her presence than anything. She had to resist the urge to let out a laugh at how absurd it was.
Arthur scratched the back of his neck awkwardly as he continued to avoid her gaze. "And, uh, truth be told, I ain't used to having someone so nice around, especially not a girl." He glanced back up at her, his cheeks flushing slightly. "But that don't mean I ain't glad you're here, Rosalie. Shitty circumstances you arrived under, but I don't hate ya' or despise you."
Rosalie swallowed and shuffled on her feet, wringing her hands around the brim of her father's hat. "Well… I'm glad. That settles it then."
Arthur nodded his head, still not looking at her. "If you wanna go get cleaned up I can make us lunch. Dutch n' Hosea will probably be back soon."
Rosalie nodded her head and complied, stepping around him to walk over to her tent and get the things she needed to clean up.
Dutch and Hosea returned in the early evening, the setting sun casting a gentle glow over the water. Colors of purple and pink were painted across the sky, darkness already in the east. The sound of frogs and crickets filled the air, creating a peaceful atmosphere on the warm spring evening.
The evening was peaceful, but Rosalie did not feel the same.
Arthur made her lunch as he said he would, but she didn't talk much. It wasn't because she was still upset with him; it was far from that. It just finally settled in that Rosalie had killed a man—the blood scrubbing off of her fingers and washing out of her shirt as she washed.
It wasn't that she felt guilt for it. Or… maybe she did. She was disgusted as she washed her hair, rubbing the bar of soap against her scalp. She couldn't shake the feeling of him running his fingers through her curls, caressing her as though she was a pretty plaything.
The defiling things he had spoken of…. Rosalie did not forget them. They were despicable acts they spoke of, and they were despicable men. But she still couldn't get over the fact that Rosalie had murdered someone. She had shoved a knife through a man like a wild animal. Stabbed him repeatedly, bringing the blade down over and over, even when he was long dead.
Rosalie had lost herself in the madness of murder. She was fearful, defending herself from the disgusting things that man would have done. Defended herself from the acts he intended to do. But she was so far gone at that moment that she didn't even recognize Arthur's voice. What if she had attacked him? At that moment, she was so afraid and only defended herself, but there was no denying the fact she had killed someone. She had taken the life of another human.
The distress must have still shown on her face as she sat before the fire, as Dutch was watching her with a heavy gaze through the flames. Hosea had a beer in hand, as he did most nights, already almost drunk. Dutch was also drinking, but he was not as nearly far gone as his friend who was red in the face. Arthur was smoking a cigarette, the bud between his fingers as he drew it to his lips.
Rosalie knew Arthur told the two men about their run-in with the O'Driscolls. This area was not safe for them anymore. It didn't matter anyhow, as while in town Dutch and Hosea picked up a job of delivering some personal documents to a wealthy businessman in Illinois. Dutch said this man had issues with O'Driscoll's robbing him and would help point them in the right direction.
They were to set out for Illinois in the morning. It would take about a week to reach their destination from their campsite in Iowa, so Dutch and Hosea made sure to gather enough supplies accordingly until they came along a town to do a proper restock.
Rosalie was right about Dutch taking notice of her distressed expression. He broke the night's calm energy with a firm tone, the beer bottle held tight in his grasp, knuckles white as he spoke.
"Those people got what they deserved. Them O'Driscoll's had it comin'. A dirty thing, they did. Don't you carry any guilt for it," Dutch said, his voice rough and resolute, his eyes glinting in the firelight from across the crackling flames. "You did what you had to do. Ain't no one gonna think of you any different for it."
There was a silence. It hung in the group, Hosea's expression far off as he took a swig from his bottle. Arthur took a slow drag of his cigarette, his gaze drifting between Dutch and Rosalie.
"But he gets to live." Stated Rosalie plainly, her eyes boring into the fire. With her jaw set, she realized that she did feel guilty about killing that O'Driscoll, but she also felt an overwhelming emotion of… satisfaction, followed by a hunger for something more.
Cormac O'Drsicoll's nasty face flashed in her mind. The crooked, twisted grin as he took joy in putting a bullet through her uncle. The bloody, crumpled body of her father. All of it was horrible.
Rosalie curled her hand into a fist, eyes flicking from the fire to meet Dutch's gaze. "He's somewhere out there, alive."
A tense silence hung in the air again, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Dutch's gaze bore into Rosalie, his expression muddy in the shifting shadows. There was a hunger in his gaze as he looked upon her, unmistakable even in the dim light. A hunger that Rosalie recognized, the same emotion eating at her insides as she longed for something more satisfying. A better ending than what they had now.
Dutch spoke again, an edge to his voice as he stared at her through the flames. "And do ya' think that's right?"
Rosalie took a sharp breath, her jaw tightening and eyes squinting as she shifted her attention to the flames.
The silence paired with her expression was enough of a response in itself, and Dutch seemed to be satisfied with it as he drank his beer. He leaned back with an arm thrown over his knee. "He won't get away. Ain't a chance I'll let that happen. And when the opportunity arises… you'll get your share too."
Rosalie nodded, her gaze far away as she continued to stare into the fire, the orange flames crackling at the open air.
Arthur moved closer to Rosalie, their shoulders almost touching, and extended an unlit cigarette to her. She hesitated for a moment, then accepted it, placing it between her lips. Leaning forward, she met the flame as Arthur struck a match, his hand cupping around the flame as he brought it to the tip of the cigarette.
Rosalie leaned back, her shoulder resting against Arthur's, both of their backs against a log as they stared into the fire, a somber silence resting over the group. She took a slow drag of her cigarette.
Cormac O'Driscoll would get what was coming for him, just as Dutch said. She would be the one to put a bullet through him, even if she had to be the one to beat Dutch to it.
The group left in the early morning. The travel was easy and smooth, riding through the countryside during the day and camping at night. It was only by the fourth day that their extra supplies dwindled. Dutch and Hosea thought it to be a good idea to stop at the next town to stock back up and maybe find extra work if they could.
The intense travel was not something Rosalie was used to. Usually, her father and Uncle had a much more leisurely approach and would take their time through each town, which meant their journeys were considerably longer. The slow pace her family carried made it difficult for her to notice the changes along the way, but she hoped she could notice more this time.
To her, the terrain from Illinois didn't look all that different from that of Iowa—though Rosalie mostly attributed that to the fact they were on the outskirts of the state and had barely crossed into it.
The morning they were to head into the nearby town Rosalie dressed in her black pants and black button down paired with her brown boots. Her blonde curls were unruly and wild, so as part of getting ready that morning, she ruffled through her bag for the wooden, wide toothcomb to attempt to fix the curls. As she did, she came across Arthur's red bandana. It was a surprise to see it amongst her stuff. It had probably ended up in there by accident when she washed her clothes.
Rosalie tucked the bandana under her arm and continued to ruffle through her bag. She let out a small gasp of victory as her fingers curled around the wooden handle of the comb. Stepping out of her tent, she began to gently run the comb through her hair, scanning the area for Arthur.
Rosalie found him splashing water on his face from a bucket he dragged from the nearby river. He sat on a log, feet planted on either side of the bucket, his hat on the ground The water ran down his arms and sat in droplets on his skin. The spring morning was cool, the clearing not yet defrosted with the help of the sun, so she could only imagine how cold the water was. As she approached, her nose and cheeks tingled with the cold, turning them slightly red.
"Hey," greeted Rosalie, flicking the comb through her hair.
Arthur looked up at her, blinking the sleep away still. "Mornin'."
Rosalie paused her combing to pull the red bandana out from under her arm. She offered it out to him. "I found this in my things. It must have ended up there while doing laundry… thought you might want it back."
Arthur stared at the bandana, droplets of water running down his face. He reached for a towel on the ground and patted his face, sniffing idly. "Nah, I ain't mind. You can keep it."
Rosalie looked at him in surprise. "Really? You sure? I wouldn't wanna take anything of yours unless you mean it."
Arthur shrugged and tossed the towel over his shoulder. He placed his hat back on his head, looking up at her from his spot on the log. "Nah, it's fine. You need one anyway."
Rosalie hummed and looked at the bandana with interest, before she shrugged and tucked her comb under her arm. Arthur watched as she tied the bandana around her neck, the red fabric popping against her all-black outfit.
"Thanks, Arthur." She flashed him a smile, before turning and walking back to her tent.
Arthur remained silent, feeling a faint blush creeping up his cheeks as he watched her retreating figure.
A chuckle broke the quiet, and Arthur looked over to see Hosea with his arms crossed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, aren't you a gentleman, Arthur," he teased in a playful tone, the hint of mockery underlying his words unmistakable.
"Shuddup." Grumbled Arthur, dipping his hand in the water and flicking it in Hosea's direction.
The group broke down their camp and mounted their horses, trotting towards the nearby town. It was a nice day, the early morning now not as cold as the sun-glazed over the countryside. Open fields swayed with the easy breeze, blowing Rosalie's curls that were not held down by her father's cowboy hat.
They were following the path to the town, it mostly vacant save for the few stray single riders and the occasional wagon. Nothing was interesting enough for them to stop, that was until they came up on a quant homestead tucked within the hills.
The wooden boards were withered and distressed from years of exposure to the elements. A pasture was off to the side, the fencing traveling deep into the fields behind the home, grazing cows meandering the open space. A small barn and other buildings filled the fields beside the house.
"It's quite nice." Commented Hosea, eyes drifting over the homestead.
Rosalie nodded in agreement. "It is. Maybe… if I get enough money I'll consider the life of a rancher. Could be fun."
Arthur gave her an incredulous look. "Really now? A rancher?"
Rosalie raised a brow at him coyly. "Don't act too surprised now, Mister Morgan. I have been running with y'all for a while. You don't think I can handle living on a ranch?"
Arthur chuckled. "I ain't sayn' that you can't do it… just didn't take you for the ranchin' type."
Rosalie hmphed. "Well, maybe there's a lot you don't know about me."
Dutch let out a chuckle of his own, shooting a look at the two squabbling young adults. "I think she got ya' there, Arthur."
Arthur shrugged and held one of his hands up in surrender, the other still holding tightly to the reins. "Alright, alright."
The group continued on, nearing the homestead on the beaten, dirt path. A towering oak tree stood beside the home, a group of men and women standing beside the tree and shouting about something. Rosalie squinted, trying to see what they were surrounding, but the figures were nothing more than little specks in the distance.
"What are they hollering about?" Asked Hosea aloud as they neared.
"I'm wondering the same thing." Responded Dutch.
The closer they got, Rosalie was able to make out a rope tied around a low-hanging branch of a tree. Someone stood on a box, the small group consisting of mostly men, but a few women, shouting at the person standing on the box. Some seemed to be standing by and observing the scene sourly, but no one opposed the event vocally.
"Are they… are they hangin' someone?" Asked Arthur incredulously.
"Seems so." Mused Dutch. "Wonder what that man did to upset these homesteaders."
Rosalie had never witnessed a hanging. Her father did what he could to shield her from some of the harshness of the world, still claiming her to be a lady who should not have to witness such a thing if he could help it. The notion was ridiculous and a tad ironic, knowing where she ended up now, but she knew he came from a good place. Despite his efforts, Rosalie wasn't ignorant of these things, as she would hear about it in towns they would pass through or when she decided to swipe a newspaper.
Hangings were a barbaric thing, that much was decided in Rosalie's mind.
The group trotted along the path, and as they neared the towering oak tree, Rosalie realized the person the homesteaders were shouting at was not a grown man, but a skinny, young boy, a noose around his neck as he was perched on a short box. He was so small that they barely needed to prop him off the ground to give him a proper hanging.
"That's no man…" gasped Rosalie, disgusted at the sight. "That's a kid!"
"Now, don't go doin' nothin' crazy." Dutch tried to reason, hoping to prevent her from making any rash decisions, but she was already taking off towards the group with a yip, urging Blitz towards the scene.
"Should have known it woulda' been no use, Dutch." Hummed Hosea with a shake of his head, before he took off after her.
Arthur shared a look with Dutch, before the two men followed closely after.
Rosalie thundered to a stop as she pulled on the reins, Blitz giving a snort. The group turned to see who had arrived at the sound of her horse, confusion, and frustration littering their faces as they saw a random person on their property.
Rosalie hopped off her horse and sprinted over, anger thundering through her veins as she neared the group. She threw her hand up in his direction. "What the hell are you doing? Hanging a kid?!"
It was stupid of her to run up on a large group of people, she knew that. But she was armed, revolver heavy against her side, and she didn't feel threatened by a group of savage homesteaders trying to hang a child for a crime. Stopping the barbaric act meant more to her than being tactful about the situation.
A man at the front with a worn hat and dirty face stepped forward, fist clenched. "Who do ya' think you are comin' over here? This has nothin' to do with ya!"
"This boy ain't innocent!" Shouted another lady, her fine blue dress free of any dirt. "He stole from us! He needs to pay for that!"
Rosalie looked at the kid behind them, his mouth gagged by a dirty piece of cloth. His clothes were mangy and torn, having to be at least a few years old. He was skinny, his brown hair long and hanging in his face—the appearance of a kid who lived on the streets with nothing. If he was stealing, it was to survive. There was no reason he should be murdered for that. Didn't these people have a heart?
The kid was looking at her with wide, fearful eyes as though he was pleading for her to do anything to help him. Like hell, would Rosalie walk away from such a skinny little thing hung by a rope.
"What was he stealing anyway?" Asked Rosalie, folding her arms across her chest.
The lady in the blue dress mirrored her actions, crossing her arms across her chest. "Broke into the house and took money from my coin purse."
Rosalie was baffled. "Coin purse? And how much was that?"
The lady tried to appear smug, but the sheepishness was shining through. This lady was doing anything she could to stand her ground even though she knew how stupid she sounded. "Twenty dollars."
If Rosalie wasn't mad before, she was now. Were they going to kill this boy over twenty dollars? It was ridiculous! If they went through with the hanging, she wished this group could have been tried for murder.
The man in the worn hat stepped closer, his expression hardening. "It's the principle of the matter, miss. We can't have thieves running amok on our property."
Rosalie scoffed, her eyes blazing with fury. "And killing a child is your solution? That's barbaric!"
She heard Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur come up behind her to witness the scene. They too bristled at the sight of the young boy perched on a small box, his worn clothes a painful contrast against the plush faces and nice clothes of the homesteaders. The situation was plain enough.
The lady in the blue dress bristled at Rosalie's words, her face flushing with indignation. "He's not a child! He's a criminal! A criminal who needs to be taught a lesson!"
Rosalie shot her a withering look. "He's a child, regardless of what you believe. And even if he did steal from you, that doesn't give you the right to take his life over a measly twenty dollars!"
The homesteaders exchanged uneasy glances, their resolve wavering under Rosalie's intense gaze. The boy behind them trembled, his eyes pleading for mercy. She couldn't see for sure from so far away, but she thought she could see tears in his eyes.
Arthur made a noise as he came to stand beside Rosalie, hands on his hips as he gave the lady a flat look underneath the brim of his hat. "Ain't sure he'll learn much of a lesson from this, ma'am, 'cause he'll be dead."
The lady did not like this, as she grit her teeth and was about to spit back a nasty remark, but was intercepted by Dutch before she could.
He stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "Now hold on, folks. Let's not do anything rash here. I'm sure we can resolve this like civilized folk, hm? Please forgive my female friend, as she is just very moved by uh… what she deems immoral acts."
Rosalie turned to him, her expression incredulous at how he was approaching the situation. She knew he wasn't trying to cause any problems, and she appreciated his tactful maneuvering, but he was making her sound as though she had done something wrong.
The man with the hat spoke up again, looking at Rosalie in disgust. "Ain't know why I'm listenin' to a woman in the first place! You should shut your damn trap instead of runnin' up here and stickin' your nose where it ain't belong! Women ain't supposed to be so opinionated." he looked her up and down, eyeing the dirtied black pants and button-up she wore, his distaste showing in the way his lips churned. "If I can even call ya' a lady. Dressin' like a man."
Rosalie let out a shout of aggravation and advanced towards the man. "Why you son of a bitch–!"
Before she could take more than a step though, Arthur grabbed her by the arm and pulled Rosalie back. "Hey, hey, c'mon and let Dutch n' Hosea handle this…"
Rosalie begrudgingly took a step back, standing beside Arthur as Hosea came up to stand beside Dutch with his hands raised, trying to let these people know he meant no harm.
"How about we strike up a deal," Hosea suggested, tilting his head to the side with a raised brow. He dragged his eyes over each person in the crowd, his gaze purposeful as he did so from underneath his hat.
The lady in the dress spoke again, disdain in her voice. "And what might that be?"
Hosea reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. He licked his fingers as he came closer to the group of homesteaders, thumbing through the paper bills. "You said he stole twenty dollars, correct? Here," He pulled out twenty-five dollars and held it to her. "Now it's as though you made some commission off this kid. Let him go and we'll take him off your hands. You'll never see him sniffing around your property again, you have my word."
The woman stared at it for a moment, her lips twitching. The man with the hat let out a sharp breath of air, throwing his hands up and walking back towards the boy. Snatching the cash out of Hosea's hand, the lady hmphed and tucked it into her dress.
"Take him and get outta here." She hissed.
The man dragged the boy over by the arm and shoved him forward, sending the skinny, malnourished kid to the ground at their feet.
Dutch sighed and shook his head, coming over to the boy. "Are you alright, son?"
The kid scrambled to his feet and nodded firmly, his voice scratchy and rough, most likely due to lack of hydration. "Yes, sir. I ain't hurt."
"Good," Dutch clapped the boy on the shoulder. He turned around and faced Rosalie, jabbing a thumb in the boy's direction as he walked back over to his horse. "Since you felt so compelled to help this young man, he's riding with you to town. Then we can… decide what to do from there on."
The boy stood, dumbfounded, looking at Arthur and Rosalie through dirty hair in his eyes. He was in disbelief at Dutch's words. Maybe he expected them to just let him loose once they got further from the homestead, but he made it sound as though they had no intentions of dropping him off in some random field. He felt especially startled by the smile Rosalie wore as she waved him over and walked over to Blitz.
Arthur only shook his head and let out a deep sigh, walking beside Rosalie as the boy still stood with his feet planted. He gave her a sideways look. "I hope ya' know what you're doin'. He's your mess now."
Rosalie scoffed and boosted herself into her saddle. "So negative. I couldn't help it! Look how skinny he is! He was probably just hungry. Horrible people hanging a kid like that." She gestured to the boy who still hadn't moved to come over, disbelief in his eyes.
Dutch and Hosea began to trot away towards town, a conversation occurring between the two men that neither Arthur nor Rosalie could hear from their spot in front of the homestead.
Arthur shook his head and trotted past her after Dutch and Hosea. "Mmkay. Whatever ya' say."
Rosalie rolled her eyes, before turning her attention back to the boy. He was fidgeting with the bottom half of his dirt, eyes watching Arthur ride away on his horse before he dragged his gaze back to the blonde girl watching him atop her saddle.
"Well, c'mon!" Shouted Rosalie, waving him over again.
Startled, the boy jumped and ran over to her. He stopped next to her horse, looking at the animal wryly.
Rosalie could tell from his timidness that he had never ridden a horse before. Something they would have to change, but she didn't mind all that much. He could just ride with her till he learned.
"What's your name?" Asked Rosalie gently, keeping a small smile on her face to let him know she really meant no harm.
The kid shifted on his feet. "Uh… Marston, ma'am. John Marston."
"Well, John." Rosalie leaned down and held her arm out for him to take so she could give him a nice boost into the saddle. "Won't do you any good to stand there lookin' up at me. I'll help you up."
John looked at her arm warily, and then back to the horse. Rosalie waited patiently with her arm still extended for him to take when he was ready. A beat of silence passed, and Rosalie wondered if he was going to back out entirely, but the thought was crushed when he placed his hand against her arm with a firm grip. He let out a cry of shock as Rosalie hoisted him up without much effort, John fumbling to place his foot in the stirrup so he didn't fall backward. He lodged his foot in the stirrup and swung his body over the horse, sitting in the saddle behind Rosalie.
Rosalie peered at him over her shoulder, amused at how he went red in the face, arms stuck to his sides as he refused to grab onto her.
"You're gonna wanna hold on there, John." She teased.
"Ah, I dunno 'bout that, ma'am–Ah!" John cried out as Rosalie let out a yip, Blitz taking off after Arthur, the empty dirty path enough evidence that they'd covered a decent amount of ground and they needed to catch up.
John scrambled to throw his arms around Rosalie's waist. Rosalie couldn't help but chuckle at the iron grip he had on her.
He was a cute kid. She liked him already.