"No greens or side dishes, John? Couldn't have the boy peel a couple potatoes while that venison was cooking?" Dutch snorted, eying the ribs and haunch meat that the man had prepared while he had been wandering in the woods.
"I never had to be much of a gourmet chef out in the wild, Dutch. You gonna eat or complain?" John replied as he started carving up a couple ribs off the rack in front of him.
"I know damn well you know how to prepare vegetables, son," he looked over at Jack and gestured, "no wonder the boy's so scrawny then. I doubt your whore—"
"Quit it." Marston hissed in response, his knife slipping through the last of the venison meat and clanging to the wooden board beneath it loudly. His eyes narrowed and the two men regarded each other bitterly.
"Or what, John? You gonna shoot me?" He taunted, folding his arms against his chest and raising an eyebrow.
"You can't even pretend to be considerate anymore, can you Dutch? I don't particularly want to be needled into squabbling with you more than I already have." John snorted back, shaking his head and returning to the ribs. He nodded to Jack. "Pass your plate, boy."
"I ain't hungry, sir." The boy mumbled back mournfully, his eyes glancing from one man to the other before he looked at the empty plate in front of him and pushed it away. He felt uncomfortable sitting across from Dutch, nervously watching the two of them eye each other like wolves trying to determine who was the leader of the pack. He felt guilty knowing the only reason he figured Uncle Dutch had even agreed to eat with them was probably on account of him. He wanted to be flattered, but this forced interaction between them was growing more awkward by the minute.
"I don't care. You'll eat and you'll like it." His father snarled in response, snatching the plate and shoving venison on it. When he piled it with about two ribs and various pieces of meat that had come off the bone, he shoved it back in front of the boy.
Dutch began to chuckle a bit, reaching up to fidget with the ends of his beard and earning a look of reproach from his adopted son.
"You got somethin' to say about my parenting, Dutch? Somethin' funny to you?" He growled, playing with the sharp hunting knife in his hands a little.
"Do you remember when Annabelle cooked for camp one night because she got sick on account of Pearson adding spoiled produce to the cook pot? And you," he laughed a little more now, "you told her you wouldn't eat?"
John flushed pink a moment, recalling those dark brown curls bobbing as Annabelle flitted between anger and hurt. He set the knife down and exhaled loudly through his nose, staring off at a wall as though he were inspecting it for something for a long while. Dutch's smirk faded as he began to realize the thousand yard stare John was doing had less to do with embarrassment, but regret. He sighed, clutching the very end of his beard tightly for a moment and lowered his gaze to the empty plate in front of him.
"You know, I thought when I made sure that Colm paid for his sins that I would finally be able to say goodbye to her. Put her out of my mind for good. But, there's a part of me that just won't or maybe can't. I guess…I'm just surprised to see that you're still mourning her too after all this time." He let go of his facial hair and slowly placed his hand on the table, resting the other arm against the cold wooden surface just behind the plate.
"Yeah." Was all John could reply back, blinking a few moments before holding out his hand and gesturing to the plate in front of the older man. "Pass me your plate."
"How did you meet her, Uncle Dutch?" Jack asked, picking at the pile of meat and bones in front of him with his fork idly.
"Well," he picked up the plate and handed it over to John, "I went to a little town about a day's ride from Rhodes. You see, a man lived in this town, named 'Old Man McLean' and he was responsible for cutting my daddy down during the Civil War. A wealthy man with a young, intelligent, annoying, and gorgeous daughter named Annabelle. I had been runnin' with Hosea for a while, Uncle Arthur too but he was maybe a couple years older than you are now. Bout fourteen or maybe sixteen, but I never could keep track of time even in my younger days. We made a plan to rob Old Man McLean, though I planned on killin' him as recompense for my daddy, unbeknownst to them. We were walking to the saloon one afternoon, just Hosea and I, when I saw her standing outside it looking over the swinging doors. Wearing a bright blue dress, the color of a clear summer sky…with a paper parasol in hand, twirling it nervously as she debated going in or not."
"She liked that color a lot, huh? Pa, you said light blue was her favorite, didn't you?" Jack asked, having stabbed a small piece of meat with his fork as John handed Dutch's plate back and the older man took it with a nod. Though neither of them could make eye contact with the other.
"It was. She looked real pretty in it too, on account of her fair skin and dark hair. Made the green in her mostly brown eyes…" John's voice trailed off as he began to serve himself now. "You still got that sheath you made for the knife that you cut open Hamish O'Driscoll with, Dutch? The one I gelded Ming with."
"Lost it in Blackwater, when Miss Grimshaw and I had business to attend to." He replied quietly, choosing to forgo his utensils and simply lift a rib in his fingers to gnaw on. When she and Trelawny forced me to quit opium, which I was only doing on account of the grief and pain, bout the only thing that seemed to help.
"Who did Ming belong to? Was that someone's horse back then? Like Boudicca or The Count?" The boy figured it had to be an animal, but some part of him knew deep down they weren't talking about gelding a horse.
"Ming sold Annabelle out. Told Colm O'Driscoll where to find us when we went into hiding, but didn't think the man would do what he did to her. Said he wanted me dead. Which, I guess in a way…he got his wish. He was a friend of hers, back in Saint Denis, a lot like that Italian the Braithwaites gave you to. Annabelle had a gang of her own once, though not like ours at all 'cept maybe in terms of charity. She dealt in the black market while her cousin Trelawny dealt in information, probably how she got involved in that sort of thing to begin with. Fences, drugs, bootleg alcohol, whores…while we conned and robbed like the miserable peasants we really were. Scratching at the dirt like starving fowl all over the country, but Annabelle didn't mind living in the muck with us, despite being accustomed to the refinery of civilized life." Dutch tore at the venison rib, ripping a chunk of meat and fat away with his teeth.
"So she was a bad woman then." Jack replied flatly and both John and Dutch cracked a smile.
"No," he said as he chewed the meat into a more manageable size, covering his mouth a moment with his hand before swallowing, "she wasn't. Despite her lucrative but unsavory career. Though at the time, Jackie I would've been inclined to agree with you. I hated her for seeming to so easily grab a hold of the finer things in life as she pleased, when men like me could only dream of such pleasures."
"Get back to how you met. I always wanted to ask but I was afraid to. She always just said you 'knew each other a long time' before she decided to run with you. She never talked about…well, her roots I guess or why she chose to be with a miserable fool like you." John opted to do the same as Dutch, simply picking up a rib with his hands and tearing meat from it with his teeth.
"Right, right…how we met," he fidgeted with his bone a little, turning it over and taking another bite as he conjured up the memory, "hmmm."
"So," he covered his mouth with his hand again as he chewed, swallowing before he continued and set the rib down, "I see this pretty girl standing outside the saloon, peering over the door like she wants to go in but is too afraid to…"
—-
"Miss," He smoothed his hair back with his hand quickly, leaning forward a little into a sort of makeshift bow to her, "you look like you might need some encouragement. I could…escort you in–if you'd like, I mean. I'm–"
He felt hot and nervous when the girl stopped twirling her parasol in her hands, wearing small white fingerless gloves made of lace and turned to look at him. She was tall for a woman, maybe only a few inches shorter than he was, slender with small breasts she had obviously pushed up to threaten the collar of her dress. Usually he liked a thicker whore but something about her suggested this was no ordinary fancy dressed painted lady. She was young too, with a long and gaunt fair skinned face and tightly curled dark brown hair, he reckoned maybe seventeen or eighteen.
"Well, spit it out. I ain't got all day." He gritted his teeth at the sound of her accent, while it wasn't quite a slow drawl like the other folks in town, it was enough to be off putting. But…still, he thought, I suppose as long as she doesn't speak she's easy enough on the eyes. He quickly tried to change disgust into charm as she took down her parasol and folded it shut.
"You seemed apprehensive about heading into the saloon. We could go in together, maybe chat a while, I could buy you a drink and–" He began but she quickly interrupted him, glancing over at him disinterestedly and shrugging.
"I ain't scared."
"Oh I didn't mean to suggest–" He held his hands up in surrender with a chuckle, trying to flirt with her a bit by looking her over with a mischievous grin and raising his eyebrows a bit. But his attempts at flattery seemed to only make him less appealing to her.
"You were the one who just said I seemed 'apprehensive', boy. So which is it? Do you think I'm scared or don't ya?" She tapped the top of her folded parasol to the wooden floor and inhaled through her nose sharply, raising an eyebrow of her own and regarding him as though he were bothering her.
"You sure are mouthy for a fancy whore, I'll give you that." He slowly lowered his arms and wrapped his thumbs against his suspender straps, scoffing a bit at the nerve she had to call him 'boy'. It bothered him. He hadn't met a woman like this before, and she was starting to get on his nerves if he was perfectly honest.
"Oh, I'm a 'fancy whore', am I? You sound like a Yankee, so I'll cut you a little slack outta respect for the men that fought bravely on your side and died for a cause they believed in. That's how y'all won the war, ain't it? With the power of faith. Now, I sure as shit ain't a nightwoman and if I were, your broke ass definitely couldn't afford my rate." She looked him over, though he was surprised to notice that it wasn't out of annoyance or disdain but rather…well, like he was a piece of steak and she a starving dog. Despite her obvious temper and bad manners, he still might try his hand at bedding the girl if he could, if for nothing else except to practice his love game. If he could tame this shrew, he could conquer any woman and surely that would be of use to him later on in life. It would be challenging but there was thrill in this and the irritation she had caused him passed instantaneously. He liked that she had a bit of fight to her.
"Well Miss, this Yankee appreciates your cutting him some slack," He ran his tongue over his teeth and extended his right hand to her, "where are my manners? I'm Dutch."
"And I'm Scottish." She snorted, taking his hand and gripping it tightly into a firm handshake that shocked him. She went to let go but he kept a careful grip on the underside of her hand with his thumb and the top with three of his fingers, pulling it to his mouth to kiss the top of it for a moment.
"No, my name is Dutch. Miss?" He smiled at her and she furrowed her brow but didn't take her hand away even though he was trying to let go of her as politely as he could. She looked puzzled at first and then narrowed her eyes a bit as she looked over him again. As though he had made some sort of jest and she hadn't quite understood the joke.
"What kinda name is 'Dutch'? You're tellin' me that your parents named you, 'Dutch'? Just like that, without a thought whatsoever? They illiterate up in the North or are you fresh off the boat?" She finally pulled her hand away, slowly and rubbed the top of her hand against her forearm as though she were trying to wipe the feeling of his mouth off of her. He was back to square one with the young woman.
"It's not really my name, it's sort of a nickname…" He feigned embarrassment though he was quickly growing impatient again as he watched Hosea draw nearer to them out of the corner of his eye.
"So, what is your real name then, Dutch?" She folded her arms, leaning the parasol against the front of her hoopskirt and raising that dark eyebrow again with a smug smirk.
"Let's just say it's difficult for most to pronounce and leave it at that, Miss?"
"Annabelle," she replied softly, looking down at the floor a moment before glancing up at him coyly, "and try me, I speak French and Italian, oh and Spanish too. Well…a little anyway, but they're all based in Latin so–"
"Ah you're well educated, I'm surprised, and here I thought you hillbillies were the illiterate ones. I guess we're both makin' assumptions we ought not to about one another, Miss Annabelle. My parent's mighta been poor farmers but we can read and write. I can read a little Latin and Greek too, you know." He smiled as he interrupted her, speaking to her in a teasingly playful manner to see how she'd react. She blushed a little, looking away from him and down at the wooden floor now. Ah, he thought, you've been toying with me, darling. You've been foul tempered on purpose to test my resolve.
"Huh, is that so, Dutch? I guess we did make assumptions about each other. You ain't half bad for a Yankee. I saw you chewin' in frustration over my attitude, most men cut me a wide berth on account of it. I ain't unfriendly, I'm just accustomed to men bein' interested in me for what I am rather than who I am. I'm 'sposed to be 'demure', 'submissive'…spend the rest of my life spittin' out more blue blooded babies for troglodytes and assholes like a 'fine southern woman ought to'. But, that ain't who I am. Folk believe it's queer in these parts for a woman to be educated, or intelligent, or shit…have opinions of her own I guess. But…I've always liked readin' on account of books takin' me to places I'll probably never see. It helps me escape for a little while, ain't just the summer heat that's smotherin'. What kinda books do you enjoy readin' Dutch?" She scowled a bit, nibbling her lower lip in her teeth and he took a step towards her to put a hand on her shoulder.
"Huh, I like reading for the same reasons you do, I suppose. You, uh, don't need to be 'demure' or 'submissive' with me. I think an educated woman with a little more bite than bark, who enjoys reading is attractive. Very attractive actually," He smiled even wider as she looked back up at him in surprise, "so, how about you and I mosey on up to the bar? And I'll tell you all about the sorta books I like reading."
He moved in close to her, slowly lifting an arm to escort her in when she stepped back and nervously fidgeted with her parasol. Perhaps he had put a little too much emphasis in his words, honeyed them more than he ought to. She's certainly observant, he thought, most women melt like warm butter when you tell 'em you find them appealing.
"Hold on a dang minute, I ain't so easily persuaded to ruin my reputation with a man I just met, Dutch Whatever-your-real-name-is." She went to step back but he inched closer to her and she stopped, gulping a little bit as he put the other hand on her shoulder now gently.
"Van der Linde. Dutch Van der Linde. And I ain't tryin' to ruin your reputation, Annabelle. It's just one drink, sweetheart and a little intelligent conversation. And then I'll leave you be…if," he paused and raised an eyebrow, lowering his voice, "that's what you want."
"You're crowdin' me a bit, Mr. Van der Linde. Besides," she nervously looked over the top of the saloon doors again and lowered her voice to a near whisper, "I'd like to, but…I ain't 'sposed to talk to strange men, people in town might talk and it'll get back to my daddy. And trust me, you do not wanna meet my daddy."
"Oh? And why should I be afraid of your daddy, Annabelle?" He let go of her and took a step back and she relaxed a little, but continued to shift nervously in place. People inside the saloon had begun to look over and it must've felt to the girl like she was on trial. Being judged by the neighbors for talking to a young man in a dirty white shirt and black slacks who clearly wasn't from this neck of the woods.
"You oughta be real petrified of Old Man McLean, Mr. Van der Linde, most boys are for good reason. Unless you got a burin' desire to get blown apart like a clay pigeon." She smiled at the older men at the bar who looked like they might get up to intervene, nodding her head and acting like Dutch was simply asking her directions.
Shit.
"There you are Dutch, made a new friend I see." Hosea took off his hat and tipped it to the girl who curtsied in response. The man turned to whisper in his ear. "You realize that girl is–"
"Yep, sure do." He turned to whisper back as the girl took a few more tentative steps back and finally entered the saloon on her own accord, leaving the two of them outside. Taking a seat near some men she knew worked in her father's household. "And…it's given me a brilliant thought about how we might get in with the asshole we're here to rob."
"If it's bedding that girl, Dutch, that is a terrible idea. I can see the expression on your face. It'd be one thing if she were a common whore, but she ain't." Hosea put an arm around his shoulder and began dragging him off towards the alley so they could talk more freely. When they rounded the corner and checked their surroundings, they looked at one another again and continued their conversation.
"I'd rather put my cock in a bear trap for starters. But," Dutch chuckled and held up both his hands at Hosea, "I could seduce information about daddy's habits outta her. Give her a bit of that 'Van der Linde charm' and have her eating out of the palm of my hand!"
"And if the girl realizes you're just bullshitting her to get even with her old man on account of your own? What then? You gonna get yourself, Arthur, and I killed because she tells her daddy you deflowered her just to get even with you for breaking her heart! She has a reputation, Dutch! For toying with men before siccing her daddy on 'em!" Hosea hissed back in response, folding his arms and shaking his head. "It's a bad idea!"
"Not if I can get her to actually fall in love with me. She ain't gonna let 'daddy' kill her sweetheart. Just a little romance, platonic and real tender too. A real gentleman, Hosea. Above belt and all that." Dutch replied pointedly, tapping Hosea with his hand excitedly and practically licking his lips just thinking about really sticking it to the McLean family.
"Are you out of your goddamn mind!" Hosea snarled, gripping the young man by the collar and shaking him a bit.
"Let me buy the girl a bit of booze, liquor her up, butter her up a bit, and get some useful information outta her. I've got a good feeling about this plan! We have to at least try!" He begged and Hosea relented, waving his hand and rolling his eyes before covering his face with his hands and sighing loudly.
"You're thinking with your dick instead of your brain, Dutch. The second you screw this up, and it will get screwed up on account of your pecker doin' the planning, trust me–we bail on the plan. I ain't gonna get blown to bits by that girl's old man when he catches you with your pants around your ankles mounting his precious daughter like a dog."
"It won't come to that, Hosea! Her maidenhood stays intact, we rob her father, we leave and keep going forward. When I said 'above belt', I mean it! You have my word I'm not going to bury my cock in that girl and I'm hurt you'd think my lower brain is the one planning this. I can control myself, my friend. Besides…she's too lean for my liking anyway." Dutch smiled widely, looking almost mischievously now at Hosea who continued to shake his head and sort of pace nervously in the alley.
"Fine, but…I sure hope you know what you're doing."
"How hard could it be? The girl's young and naive!"
—-
"Wait," Jack leaned on his elbows and stared in disbelief at Dutch as he finished part of his story and reached over for another rib in front of the boy and his father, "you didn't really fall in love with her at first sight? Or did you? That's how it usually goes, right?"
"Real life ain't like your fairy tale books, Jackie. Contrary to what you may have read, love at first sight doesn't exist." The old man chuckled as he snatched a second rib and set them down on his plate.
"I fell in love with Abigail at first sight, Dutch. Or did you forget?" John snorted, narrowing his eyes a little and picking at the meat between his teeth with the edge of the knife he had used to carve the venison.
"You're going to cut yourself, I got a metal toothpick next to that wash bowl, at least try to be civilized, John." Dutch pointed to a small basin on a stand and Marston stood up to go retrieve it.
"Was it at least 'true love', Uncle Dutch?" The boy asked, rubbing the back of his head with his fingers as he rested his chin in his palms.
"I would say it was, but she and I didn't exactly live 'happily ever after' like we ought to. Hosea once said we were poison to each other, she had a temper but, so did I and we weren't always…shall we say…tender with one another the way lovers should be." He inhaled sharply through gritted teeth as he tried to explain without getting into too much detail. Hosea had been right, he knew, that he and Annabelle were like a couple of venomous snakes constantly spitting and biting the other. For a long time the toxicity between them felt more like part of their courtship than an actual detriment.
Annabelle had wanted him to be someone he could never be and he would've preferred if she were less inclined to annoy him when he was already in a foul mood. Though their sex life had been more fulfilling as a result of their private bickering, it seemed sometimes that she preferred him to be enraged and savage instead of gentle the way he preferred to be with her.
Though, despite her fierce temperament behind closed doors, she almost never challenged him in public unless she had a real reason to call him out on a bad plan or a lapse in judgment. And even then, she was very careful on how she chose her words. He was never sure if she was showing him respect simply to preserve his status of authority or if she actually respected him. But despite their poisonous relationship, he knew she loved him. And he, well…he hoped she knew he loved her just as intensely as their altercations.
"They argued, son. A lot. Sometimes the whole camp would wake up as a result of them screamin' at each other in the middle of the night. But, your Uncle Dutch was usually the one who started it." John grumbled, working the metal pick between his teeth and wiping pieces of meat he fished out onto part of his shirt as he stood in front of the mirror and wash basin.
"If you're referring to the time I…lost control in the heat of the moment, that was an accident. She forgave me, like she always did but it didn't happen again like I promised her." He raised an eyebrow and reached for the small tin cup of moonshine, glaring at John over the rim of the cup.
"Lost control?" Jack cocked his head and looked at one man and then the other. There was an awkward pause between the two before John set the metal pick down and brushed the debris off his shirt.
"You remember how upset you were when the mallard drowned that poor female while trying to…do what nature does…"
"Yeah…" Jack raised his eyebrow and cocked his head a little more as he looked at his father with confusion.
"Dutch did to Annabelle what that drake did to the lady duck, 'cept Miss Annabelle didn't drown. Did she, Dutch?" John's voice was somewhat hushed and Dutch shifted uncomfortably, looking away from both of them and returning to the moonshine without a word. "Wasn't the first time you hurt that woman either."
"Enough. I paid for my sins I committed against that woman the night she bled to death in my arms, John. I loved her as best I could at the time, she knew that and willingly chose to stay by my side regardless of the horrible shit I did to her. And vice versa. Annabelle wasn't without sin, son as much as you'd like to fondly remember her as a saint. She even said it herself once, 'there is no happily ever after for us, Dutch and there never was' but we tried anyhow like the fools we were. Yes John, I hurt her, intentionally sometimes too. But that doesn't mean I didn't adore that woman. Like you ain't never hurt your woman, son? Don't be hurling stones at me when I could tell the boy about your misdeeds." His words came out as a growl from the tin cup, his eyes narrowed and John knew not to press the matter further.
"Guess we're both shit husbands and fathers, huh Dutch?" John folded his arms and looked down at the floor, tapping one of his boots a little and causing the spur to jingle on his ankle.
"Somethin' you unfortunately inherited from both her and I. At least you ain't got my temperament, as much as it annoys me that you took after her in more ways than I think you realize." He lowered the cup and set it between his hands.
"She was all I had sometimes, when you'd go off plundering the countryside with Hosea, Arthur, and the Callender boys. Grimshaw was hard on me, harping on me for bullshit all the time."
"I know," Dutch replied softly before looking back up at John, "why do you think Annabelle stopped going on rides with me, with us? Sue bullied you because you were our son, I spoiled you more than I ever did Arthur and she didn't particularly like that. There were plenty of nights Sue and Belle tore into each other like alley cats, on account of Miss Grimshaw being jealous of my favoritism towards you two."
"Why'd you let your old girlfriend stay with us anyway? I never understood that." John glanced up now and the old man shrugged.
"She wanted to. Before Belle and I, well…'married', I think she hoped I'd get sick of my woman and come crawling back to her. Tempting as it was sometimes, one of Belle's conditions was that I didn't take another woman to bed. I may have broken other promises I made to her over and over and over again, but…" His voice trailed off and John finished the thought for him.
"You never broke that one, allegedly. If she hadn't died, do you think you would've kept it?"
"You really gonna start in with that bullshit about your who–" He paused, grinding his teeth for a moment and glaring at John before continuing, it wasn't worth the argument. Again. No matter what he said, John would always believe Jack could be his or Javiers, or whomever.
"I don't know, John. And I don't want to spend the rest of the evening debating whether I would or wouldn't have. Whatever hopes and dreams I could've had for a future together were crushed in front of me by Colm and I would prefer not to chat or think about that night either. Considering this is her grave, son. Seein' Arthur and Sadie in the shape they were in after a run in with that rotten bastard was reminder enough. Only reason I got away is because of Belle, even though that woman was dying and undoubtedly in agony. Using the last of her strength to grab an unattended knife while those assholes slept and inched over to cut me free. She didn't run when I told her to. They would've tortured me, maybe raped me cuz they could, and killed me. And I would've been just fine with all that if it meant she and the child could live happily ever after. Happiness ain't something meant for me, son. Never has been."
There was a long and tense silence where neither man would look at the other, though the boy realized it had little do with resentment or hatred or even regret. It was shame. He realized by the distraught look on both their faces that whoever Annabelle had been, to either of them, the gang may have never fallen apart had she lived. Jack realized he needed to change the subject and quickly too.
"Uncle Dutch?" He asked softly, glancing over, the man seemed to have shrunk from his usual 'larger than life' personality into a small, dejected, and heartbroken mortal. The man straightened up, as though he had been cued to appear bigger than he was again. Cold, calculating, and devoid of feeling. That feral Dutch Van der Linde who seemed unpredictable, quick to anger, and prone to use violence as a first resort. It scared the boy, but he tried to swallow his feelings of discomfort.
"What is it, Jackie?" Those dark brown eyes were devoid of warmth, tenderness, or consideration. Even the boy's father seemed apprehensive as his gaze went from Jack to Dutch and back again. John debated putting a hand on his revolver but simply left his hand to hover, hoping that the older man wouldn't notice.
"I just…I wanted…I…" the boy began to stammer a bit, avoiding eye contact now and fidgeting with his plate.
"Spit it out, son." Dutch's voice was almost a growl, his eyes narrowing a little as he went to retrieve a half eaten rib from his plate. His eyes shifted to John and he curled his lip back in a sneer. "For a child that you claim ain't yours, John, you're certainly protective of him."
"Why don't you read somethin' out loud for us, boy?" John suggested, his attention turned solely to Jack now as he took his hand away and set it back on the table in plain sight. The boy nodded, gulping a little as he felt Dutch's gaze lift off of him and turn to his father now.
"You do deserve happiness." Jack mutedly replied, quickly rising from the table to clear his and John's plates and take them to the wash bucket. "What would you like me read, sir?"
"Canterbury Tales." Dutch responded softly, gesturing to the bookshelf behind him nonchalantly as his displeasure seemed to pass. "And no, I do not. While it's kind of you to believe that, it is not what I deserve. Happiness ain't something outlaws can keep a hold of for very long, ain't that so, John?"