1888, West Elizabeth, Great Plains

"They're getting away!" Rosalie shouted, her brown gaze narrowed on the thundering wagon in the distance, the wheels kicking up dirt as it spun wildly and thumped over the dry ground.

At twenty-one, Rosalie's blonde curly hair was now waist length, the top part pulled back into a tight braid out of her face, the rest loose underneath. Her father's black cowboy hat was secured atop her head despite her rough riding.

Her deep red button-up was rolled to her elbows, her black pants dirty and pulled over her brown boots, silver spurs glittering in the sun. A black bandana covered the bottom half of her face, her brown eyes narrowed over the fabric as she stared down her target in the distance from under the brim of her hat.

Rosalie tightened her grip on the reins and dug her heels into Blitz's sides, the black stallion huffing as he pushed on, feeling his rider's urgency as she tried to gain on the wagon.

"Come on boy!" She shouted. "It seems I gotta clean up after everyone else, like usual!"

"It ain't my fault John spooked the feller!" Arthur shouted, appearing beside her as Boadicea pushed to match Blitz's speed, the hooves thundering underneath them as they rode at breakneck speeds. "I told him to wait n' he didn't listen! I told you this ain't the kind of job for him to come on with how he's been actin' lately!" He shouted in aggravation, giving her a look.

Rosalie rolled her eyes, not in the mood for his lecture.

"I don't want to hear it! I thought John was doing just fine!" Rosalie shouted, leaning over and urging Blitz to ride faster.

There was the sound of another horse beside them, kicking up the dry dirt and huffing from the exertion of their high-speed chase.

Rosalie glanced over, meeting the gray eyes of Mac Callander, his blonde hair swishing in the wind underneath his bowler hat as they rode. His eyes were squinted from the bright sun and dirt being kicked into the air. His knuckles were wound tight around the reins of his brown and white American Paint mare, Annie.

"If you sissies are done fightin', we got more important things to worry about right now, like gettin' that damn wagon! We ain't got a lot of time!" He shouted, nodding in the distance toward the wagon.

He was right. They needed to catch up quick.

Rosalie shouted in aggravation and thundered forward, leaving Arthur and Mac in her dust. Mac couldn't help the grin underneath his brown bandana at her form picking up speed. Arthur only shook his head and pushed Boadicea forward to catch up so they didn't lose sight of her.

"Come on, boy, we've done this before, haven't we?" Rosalie said under her breath as they neared the wagon, patting his neck in encouragement.

Blitz snorted in response and increased his speed. Rosalie grinned, but it was quickly wiped off her face at the sound of a gun being fired and a bullet whizzing past her ear.

"Shit!" She shouted, tugging Blitz to the side.

Leaning over the back of the wagon, standing in the driver's seat was a man with a long beard wearing a gray rodeo hat. He pointed a rifle in her direction, the barrel still smoking. His partner continued to drive the wagon, whipping the horses wildly with the reins as they tried to get away.

Rosalie went to grab the revolver at her hip, but before she could even unholster the weapon, gunshots rang out from behind her. Two shots were placed in the man's chest. He tumbled out of the wagon and hit the dirt in a bloody heap.

She glanced over her shoulder to see Arthur with his revolver outstretched, Mac thundering beside him. She mentally thanked him for covering her ass, and took off even faster, gaining on the wagon now that she had an opening. There was only the driver to deal with now.

Rosalie pulled up on the opposite side of the driver, parallel to the wagon seat. Slowly, she raised herself to her haunches, gripping the saddle horn for dear life so she didn't get bucked off. With the speeds they were traveling at, she was sure to get her ass kicked and be littered with some painful bruises.

Rosalie also knew Mac would never let her live it down if she fell.

"Now what in hell is she doin'?!" Mac asked from way back beside Arthur, the pair simply tailing her now. He glanced at him for help in understanding.

"She's doin' a party trick," Arthur said in amusement, before kicking up speed and racing past Mac toward the wagon.

Mac looked at Arthur like he had grown two heads before following after him.

With a shout, Rosalie launched herself onto the wagon. Her boots slammed against the wood as she landed, and she quickly grabbed onto the back of the wagon to keep herself steady as they went over a rock, the wagon jostling to the side. They were moving faster than before, the driver whipping the horses wildly, the wheels squeaking and bumping over the dry terrain.

Rosalie was surprised the horses hadn't given up or turned on the driver in anger. It pissed her off even more how brutal the driver was being to the poor animals. Running this long at such high speeds wasn't good for them.

Before the driver could react, Rosalie pulled the rifle off her shoulder and slammed it into his head. He fell off the wagon and got caught under the wheel, the sickening crunch of his bones under the spinning wood filling the air. She cringed at the sound, not intending for that to happen at all, but quickly grabbed the reins, pulling the horses to a stop.

"Hey! Slow there!" Rosalie called, standing as she pulled on the reins.

The horses ran a bit longer, before slowing to a trot. Rosalie led them off to the side so they weren't in the middle of the road and away from prying eyes.

Once they were at a complete stop, Rosalie slid off the wagon and hit the dirt with shaky legs. She dusted off her front, looking up at the sound of Mac and Arthur galloping over. They pulled their horses to a stop once they reached her.

Mac dropped off his saddle and walked over, tugging his bandana down. "Damn, that feller over there got crushed to hell by the wagon wheel. You're brutal, ma'am." He teased, slapping her shoulder.

Rosalie made a face and pulled down her bandana too. "I didn't mean for him to get crushed… I just hit him too hard and he fell off."

Arthur rolled his eyes as he walked over to the back of the wagon. "So you're sayin' you don't know your own strength? Didn't peg ya' for the strong and aggressive type." He said, grabbing onto the side of the wagon and hoisting himself into the bed.

Mac snorted. "John's temper rubbin' off on ya', ma'am? I thought it was just his poor temperament from growin' into a man, but maybe he just watched ya' slap people around too much and he decided to follow your lead." He teased, crossing his arms as Arthur went through the goods in the wagon.

Rosalie scoffed and rolled her eyes. "I don't know what John's problem is lately. Driving me mad, but I can certainly assure you it's not my fault he's acting like that."

Rosalie went over and cut the horses tied to the wagon loose, yipping for them to get lost, as they had no plans to bring the horses into town or do anything else with the wagon. She came back to stand beside Mac, letting out a breath now they seemed to have a moment of peace. Never mind the dead bodies in the tall, dry grass a ways back.

There was the thunder of hooves. Rosalie and Mac looked over to see John, his shaggy hair sticking out underneath the gray hat on his head. He pulled his horse to a stop and dropped off the saddle. He ran over, rifle slung over his shoulder looking much too big and awkward against his gangly self. He appeared very much like a young boy in the middle of puberty.

"Why the hell did ya' leave me?!" John cried, his voice cracking. He turned bright red and clamped his mouth shut as soon as the sentence left his mouth, realizing what sort of sound he made.

Arthur let out a deep sigh and stood up, cracking his back. He thumbed through the pile of cash in his hand that looked much, much too small to be right.

Rosalie made a face as she eyed the cash, sharing a look with Mac, whose face of displeasure told her he was already thinking the same thing.

"'Cause you didn't do what I told ya'. I said to wait, John, n' you spooked em' when you charged without my instructions!" Arthur said sternly, dropping off the wagon and walking over to them.

John grit his teeth. "I jus' thought I saw a better way to do it! Don't be mad because I had a better idea!"

Arthur glared at John. "Better idea, meanin' what? You screwin' up the job?" He asked flatly.

John looked like he was going to start shouting at Arthur, or maybe even charge at him, but before he could get another word in or act on anything, Rosalie cut him off.

"Just leave him alone, Arthur," Rosalie said, coming over to take the cash from him. She thumbed through the bills and looked up at Arthur with a deadpan expression once she finished counting. "A hundred dollars? Really? That's it?"

Mac scoffed and threw his hands up. "I'm gonna kill 'em." He declared, and Rosalie honestly believed he would go on a violent streak directed at the man in question.

She rolled her eyes and started breaking up the bills, handing Arthur his share, before coming over to Mac and pressing the cash into his palm. She gave him an unimpressed look.

"Not if I don't first. I'm real sick of him sending us on these jobs he claims are good finds. Stupid and lazy son of a bitch," Rosalie grumbled before heading over to John.

Mac scoffed at the piddly amount of cash in his hand, staring at the bills in disbelief.

Arthur waved them off and began walking over to Boadicea. "Whatever. I ain't give a shit anymore. You both can have your fun with 'em. At least we got somethin' out of this mess." He pulled himself into the saddle and turned Boadicea toward the road, kicking her into a trot.

John gave Arthur a death glare as he walked by, which Rosalie caught, the fourteen-year-old not as slick with his attitude as he thought.

"Be nice," Rosalie remarked, flicking him on the forehead.

"Ow!" John cried, slapping his hand against the spot she just hit that was turning red.

Rosalie went to hand him the cash, John reaching for the bills. Before he could grab it, she pulled the cash away out of his reach, John's face turning red in anger at her berating.

Rosalie raised a brow, it inching into her hairline.

Sheesh, his temper was really horrible lately. She missed that sweet little twelve-year-old who was eager to do anything with her.

"Arthur's right though," Rosalie said. "You're out of control lately. You need to listen to us or we're not gonna bring you on jobs. It'll be out of my hands to vouch for you if you don't cool it, okay?"

John clenched his jaw and looked off to the side at her scolding. "Fine."

"Good," Rosalie said, holding the cash out to him.

John snatched the cash out of her hand and thumbed through the bills. He gave her a dirty look under his hat, then turned on his heel and headed back to his horse. He saddled himself and kicked Old Boy into a trot in the direction Arthur had gone without another word.

Rosalie rolled her eyes at his attitude.

Teenagers. They really were a menace. She could only wonder what she was like at that age, though she certainly was a lot less angry.

Mac came to stand beside her, watching John trot away. "Did you give him a smaller share?" He asked.

Rosalie scoffed. "No! We all worked on the job so we get an even split." She said, then whistled for Blitz, the black stallion coming over the hill and trotting to her. She boosted herself into the saddle and flashed Mac a grin from atop her horse. "Though I gave you a smaller share."

Mac made a noise. "Huh? Whatchu' mean?!"

Rosalie flashed him another grin, and turned Blitz away, kicking him into a gallop. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it!" She called over her shoulder.

Mac whistled for his horse and boosted himself atop Annie, taking off after her. "Give me the rest of my cash, woman!" He shouted, racing after her.

Rosalie and Mac were the last to arrive back at camp in the far south end of the Great Plains.

The camp was small, but much more than anything they had lived out of when she first joined the gang in 1885.

A fire crackled with logs and random crates positioned around it for seating. Their tents were pitched much more strategically now too: Arthur's was off to the side with a small wagon next to it, while Rosalie's was a stand-alone tent nearby, much larger than the one she used to have. Dutch's tent was the largest of all though, placed right next to Arthur's, Hosea's smaller one beside it, followed by the Callander brother's shared space.

John's tent was next to Rosalie's, the last one in their little assembly line other than Miss Grimsahw's. John was already at his tent, boots kicked off as he lazily lay on his side, snoring away in an afternoon nap.

Rosalie hitched Blitz near the other horses and dropped off her saddle, heading into the center of the camp, her eyes darting around for a particular face.

"Uncle! You old geezer, where are you?!" Rosalie shouted, walking deeper into camp for any sight of him.

A tall, thin man poked his head out of the Callander brothers' tent. His brown hair was short and spiky, and the bottom half of his face and upper lip were covered in short facial hair. He looked at her with amused gray eyes before stepping out to his full height and flashing her a grin.

"What, Uncle give ya' another bust?" Davey Callander asked, crossing his arms.

"Shuddup!" Mac shouted, coming over and smacking Davey on the shoulder, sending his brother stumbling.

Davey wasn't annoyed at the roughhousing. He only howled with laughter, tears practically coming to his eyes. "I don't know what ya' expected! I told ya' anything Uncle sends you on is gonna be nothin' but horse shit! Should have listened to me, ya' fools!" He cried, leaning over and holding his stomach.

"Shuddup or I'm gonna add you to my list, right after Uncle!" Mac shouted, shoving Davey so hard he landed in the dirt.

Davey's amusement was gone in a second, and he was on his feet. He slammed Mac in the stomach, wrapping his arms around his waist and taking him to the ground. They rolled around, punching and hitting each other in the dirt, the thought of Uncle gone from both their heads as they fought each other.

Rosalie stared at the both of them in dismay, wondering how the hell she got stuck with the both of them. They were like little boys, despite Davey being twenty-four, and Mac twenty-six.

"Now what the hell are you two doin'?!" cried Susan, coming over from behind her tent, a bucket full of soapy water in her hands. She dropped the bucket to her feet and pulled the rag off her shoulder, making her way over to them. "Stop squabblin' in my camp! I swear to the Lord above, this never ends with you two!" she cried as she began whipping her towel at the two men.

They were unfazed, though, continuing to roll around and pummel each other.

Hosea leaned against Dutch's tent post with a smoking cigarette, watching the two brothers roll in the dirt in amusement. He had no intentions of stepping in, that much was clear to her.

Rosalie shook her head and walked past the brothers and Susan toward Hosea. He glanced at her as she drew closer.

"Where's Uncle?" Rosalie asked, folding her arms over her chest.

"Probably drinkin' in town," Hosea said idly, taking a drag from his cigarette. He raised a brow. "The job really was a bust, hm?"

Arthur meandered over to them from his tent with a scoff. "Yeah, I don't know if 'bust' explains it enough. It was a load of horse shit, as Davey put it. A hundred dollars total. To split between all of us… and then when the camp gets their share too… ain't nothin' special." He said with annoyance.

Hosea shrugged. "Not sure what else you expected. Uncle ain't exactly the most reliable."

Rosalie threw her hands up. "Well, you know, I almost got shot for this, so I wanna have a little chat with him anyway. He insisted he couldn't come with us because he's got lumbago!" She scoffed and shook her head. "I'll tell you what, I'll kill him before the lumbago does!"

Hosea shrugged. "As long as it ain't in camp."

Uncle was probably her least favorite of those they had picked up over the last couple of years. He was lazy, a drunk, and always seemed to have leads that were too good to be true, landing them in heaps of trouble. Rosalie had learned to stop humoring him a long time ago, but with Mac's encouragement and Uncle's promise of at least a thousand dollars on that wagon, she decided to go out on a limb.

Obviously, that was a mistake.

After they left Lemoyne in 1885, they moved to the Big Valley in the State of Colorado. The leads were not great, and soon enough they moved down to the far West part of New Austin. Things were much more promising there, and they were doing well on money.

Honestly, Rosalie had never felt more rich when they lived in New Austin, as there seemed to be a lead everywhere they looked. She spent a lot of money on her wardrobe there—more than she probably should have, but life was about the frivolous things sometimes, right?

The point is, things were smooth sailing. That was until they robbed their first bank in 1887.

That was a doozy. It was fun, as Rosalie had never done anything like that in her life, but still a doozy. It turned out that at the same time, Mac and Davey were planning to hit the same bank. In a strange turn of events, the brothers had their back, and they worked together to make off with whatever cash, bonds, and gold they could, traveling from New Austin to West Elizabeth. From then on, the brothers had been running with them.

Mac was a very good friend of hers from the moment he joined them. They got along well, and the pair cooperated like a well-oiled machine. Davey was good too, but he was much too rowdy for her sometimes. Mac also had a better head on his shoulders compared to his brother. She could trust Mac to keep himself in line when it was really necessary. Davey... not so much.

The last person they added to their traveling group was Simon Pearson. He was a nice guy and really meant no one any harm. He made good food too, and he could actually do something worthwhile with the rabbits and deer they brought back to camp. It beat whatever spices Arthur would try to slather on their food before, that was for sure.

Pearson was brought back by Hosea and Dutch after they had been drinking at a nearby saloon when they first crossed into West Elizabeth. He had been cornered by some loan sharks, and Pearson had stumbled at their feet, begging them for help. Feeling heroic, the pair saved his life by killing the loan sharks and brought him back to camp after Pearson said he could make himself useful with his skills as a Navy cook.

Rosalie no longer had to lie about the food tasting good, and that was all that really mattered to her.

Dutch rode into camp, pulling the reins of his white stallion to a stop and hitching him with the others. He came over to the group, shuffling through the letters in his hands, having just done a mail run.

"Miss Klein, got a letter here for you," Dutch said, the grass crunching under his boots as he stopped in front of his tent. He held the crisp, fancy-looking envelope out to her.

Rosalie blinked, taking the letter.

On the front was curly lettering that she immediately recognized as her cousin Louis's handwriting. She wasn't sure why he was writing to her, as the only people she ever received mail from was her cousin Julie, her friend Isabella, or George Langley. Louis wrote to her sometimes, but it was only when he had something important to say.

She opened the letter, tucking the envelope under her arm as she walked over to the fire, unfolding the crisp, very expensive paper.

Cousin,

You're probably confused about why I'm writing to you. I'll make this letter short and brief since I'm a bit afraid of someone coming across it… I don't know how I would explain away the contents if someone here were to read it. I surely would be in trouble with Grandfather then.

Isabella and I married. Yes, you read that right. Her mother found out about us and promptly disowned her. She's distraught over it, but I think it's merely a blessing in disguise. Now that she has nowhere to go, it seems time is of the essence. I plan to follow in your Mother's footsteps and rob Grandfather blind. While I love him, his archaic beliefs have become unbearable. We have to be progressives like the men up North. I tire of all the nonsense. While crass, I cannot think of another way to explain it besides that I simply do not care what the Spaniards did to my Great, Great, Grandfather of a nobody.

We plan to leave tomorrow. By the time you'll receive this letter, Isabella and I will be on the first train out of Lemoyne. Knowing you are in West Elizabeth, and the nearest stop is Blackwater, could you meet us there? We need to get away quickly and quietly. Grandfather will be hot on my tail for my thievery.

I suppose you're not the only crook in the family anymore.

Louis Montgomery

Rosalie gaped at the letter in her hands.

She wondered if she had forgotten how to read English for a moment, unable to believe that Louis was running away with Isabella.

It was surprising, but she couldn't help but think good for them. It was about time Isabella and Louis were happy together. Learning that Louis was going to rob her grandfather too… that part was probably the most shocking. Louis was a very intelligent, quiet, and well-mannered man. Him, committing crimes?

Well, it was almost laughable.

Rosalie knew her Grandfather hated the Spanish, though these reasons, as Louis put it, were very archaic.

The Montgomerys were a very old French tobacco family who had resided in North America before the Louisiana Purchase. The territory had been under French control for the most part, except for a brief period in the 1700s when there was a dispute with the Spanish.

Though Rosalie heard from others that it had actually been under Spanish control for the majority, then taken by the French in a sort of tug-of-war. But really, Rosalie didn't care about the details. It was enough to fuel her Grandfather's hatred, even though the dispute had long been resolved by the time he was born.

"Some interesting details?" Dutch asked, coming to sit by the fire. He lit a cigar, puffing on it idly as he looked into the distance.

Rosalie sputtered, blinking as her eyes skimmed over the page again. "Uh, yeah. My cousin, Louis, the quiet blonde one?"

"I remember him," Dutch replied, nodding as he recalled the image of her well-mannered cousin from the various meetings with her Grandfather, Charles Montgomery.

"Well, turns out he ran away with a girl and robbed my Grandfather," Rosalie said, resting her hand on her knee, the paper in her hand held loosely.

Dutch laughed, placing his hand on his knee. "Well, I'll be. Ain't that somethin'. I'm sure he ain't too happy about that. He get anythin' good?" He asked, obviously thinking that maybe Louis had something to give her too.

Rosalie snorted. "I don't think he has anything for me. I was probably the least of his thoughts. But he says he wants to meet me in Blackwater. I assume he's already there, so I'll head out that way tomorrow if that's fine with you." She said.

Dutch nodded. "Family is family. As long as you try to rake in some leads on the way back. Been a little dry lately."

Rosalie nodded, about to say something else, when she noticed a bearded figure stumble into camp, beer bottle in his hand.

She grit her teeth and stood up, walking across the clearing, every thought of Isabella and Louis leaving her mind, Dutch watching in amusement as she went.

"Uncle!" She shouted. "You owe me at least nine hundred dollars!"

The older man looked at her, obviously drunk as he stumbled forward. He grinned at her and let out a laugh. "Why, Miss Rosalie, how did that wagon job go?" He asked innocently.

Mac was at her side in a second, as if he had teleported there at the mention of Uncle being back at camp. "It wasa' complete bust, ya' old geezer," he said, taking a step toward him, his fist outstretched.

Uncle reeled. "Well, it ain't my fault you're bad at bein' an outlaw! What, you get those bruises from the wagon riders? They was just guns for hire! Ain't nothin' impressive!" He insisted.

Rosalie glanced at Mac, raising a brow at how his white button-up was disheveled, a few bruises on his face from his fight with Davey that certainly were not earned from the wagon job.

"These are from Davey, you drunkard!" Mac said, swinging at Uncle.

Uncle dodged his hit and sputtered. "Hey! Don't you go swingin' at me, boy! I gave you the information, you know how this goes! I gave you a tip, but things can be wrong, information can be misinterpreted! That ain't my fault!' He defended, raising his beer and stepping back, wanting to put as much distance between himself and Mac as he could.

"It would be nice if you would give us a tip that isn't complete shit for once," Rosalie said. She threw her hand up and scoffed. "And, oh, I don't know, just make yourself useful for once!"

Uncle looked at her in shock. "I have given you good tips before!" He cried.

He cleared his throat and readjusted his suspenders, plastering a solemn look on his face. "Besides, you know my condition. I can't be doin' too much work. It'll spur on the Lumbago."

"Why you–!" Rosalie shouted and moved to charge Uncle, the old man shouting as he tried to move away from her. Before she could take more than two steps, she was grabbed around the waist and held with her toes a few inches off the ground.

"Let's jus' all calm down now, yeah?" Arthur said, holding Rosalie up, her back against his front.

Rosalie huffed and pushed herself out of Arthur's arms. She dusted off her front, giving Uncle a sideways look and pointing in his direction. "Fine, I'll let this one go. But the next time you get a lead, make sure it's something good! Don't waste my damn time." She said.

Mac stood next to Arthur with his arms crossed as he looked at Uncle, "I can't believe I thought that for once, you would have somethin' worthwhile. A mistake I won't be makin' again." He said gruffly, watching Uncle skirt past them, his hands held up in surrender.

Uncle scoffed, pretending to be annoyed as he slinked away. "Well, I'll be. So much hostility in this here camp today! And I thought we was supposed to be family! Thank you, Arthur. Seems like you're the only one who can see reason!"

Arthur scoffed and waved him off. "Nah, don't you go thankin' me. You gypped me too, you old man! I ain't so happy with you either." He glanced at Mac. "I jus' have more decency not to go swingin' at an old geezer."

"Whatever." Mac rolled his eyes and turned back towards his tent, where Davey sat in the grass, a bloody rag held to his nose.

Arthur turned back to Rosalie, but before he could say anything more, she waved him off too. "Yeah, yeah. I know. I just got so mad since he's done this so many times. It's bearable at first, but gets real annoying after the third or fourth time…" She shook her head. "I'm gonna go see if Pearson needs any help. I know Uncle won't go anywhere near there unless there's a crate of beer."

Rosalie walked across the clearing to the small table and stew pot where Pearson was huddled over. His gray button-down was rolled to his elbows, and he wore an apron over his clothes, stained with blood from the animal he had just been butchering.

"You need any help?" Rosalie asked, coming to stand beside the pot.

Pearson looked up at her, grinning once he realized who it was. "Ah, Miss Klein! Yes, would you mind chopping those vegetables over there? I just got done skinning the buck Arthur brought back this morning. The food won't be anything great since we need to make a spice run to the general store, but the vegetables will help." He said.

"Sure," Rosalie walked over to the table where some carrots and celery lay. She began chopping the vegetables into thin slices, this not being the first time she helped Pearson cook.

Rosalie had never lived in a real house, except for the small loft she and her father lived in when she was a little girl in New York. Because they never had a house or a stable place to live, she never learned to cook. Most of her life was filled with memories of her father and Uncle Kurt on the road, eating flaky fish or canned goods.

Her father tried to do honest, odd jobs for a while when she was a girl, but he quickly realized that, despite his efforts, he just couldn't go straight. Uncle Kurt soon rejoined him, and together they spun up any scheme they could to get money for food and a place to live.

While lots would probably shake their head in disapproval at the way her father raised her, Rosalie wouldn't have it any other way. She knew he loved her, and taught her everything he knew to try and make her a well-rounded, educated young girl. Even if most of her education was about trickery, and getting people to do what she wanted with sweet words.

Cooking was a more recent skill she picked up, adding it to the list next to swindling and robbing a stagecoach.

Pearson came over to look at her chopped vegetables. He nodded his head in approval. "These are looking pretty good! Much better than whatever chop shop those uh… poor tomatoes came from the other day." He said.

Rosalie laughed. "Hey, I am trying, you know. I haven't cooked much before you."

Pearson straightened out his collar. "Yeah, well you're definitely making some improvements. Only because you have a good teacher, though." He added.

"Uh huh…" Rosalie said, side-eyeing him.

After the stew was done, the group ate around the fire, John sitting off to the side to put some distance from him and everyone else, claiming he needed some 'alone time'. Susan had half the mind to force him to sit at her feet, but Dutch waved her off, telling her to leave the boy alone.

Once Rosalie had finished her food, she pulled up her father's guitar, securing the instrument in her lap. She ran her fingers over the hand-painted ivy from her mother, smiling idly to herself before she began to play a soft, gentle melody her father used to play when he was in a good mood. The song brought a warmth to her stomach, filling her with a sense of comfort and nostalgia.

The others continued to talk idly to one another as she played. Rosalie couldn't help but feel a sense of peace at this, thinking about how great everything seemed now. Even when she was drowning in grief two years ago, missing her father and uncle more than words could ever express, she had a steady feeling that everything would be fine.

Oh, how wrong she was.