1888, West Elizabeth: Great Plains
It was spring, so the early mornings were cold, even in the warm, rocky climate of West Elizabeth. The sun hadn't risen yet, the far edge of the horizon just beginning to turn a shade of auburn. No one else was awake except for Rosalie.
She sat at the edge of camp, her arms wrapped around herself as she tried to warm up, shivering and taking a slow drag from a cigarette every so often. Tucked into her father's canvas jacket, the fur lining on the edges kept her warmer than if she had no other layers, but it was still freezing.
Nothing had changed over the past three years. Rosalie still could barely catch a wink of sleep. On a good night, she would get a solid five hours, but that was rare.
She often woke up filled with anxieties, flashes of burning saloons towering overhead, or her father's blood covering her clothes. Sometimes she would wake in a heap of distressed bedding, her hair sweaty against her forehead and no memories of her dreams, just the impending doom hanging over her. Despite knowing she was safe in her camp, surrounded by many who would lose an arm and a leg before any harm came to her, the feeling persisted.
This morning was no different. She woke up covered in sweat, her heart pounding out of her chest as she tried to regain awareness of where she was.
Rosalie didn't know if there would ever be a time when she would feel completely at peace.
It had been some time since her father and uncle were murdered, but she still missed them dearly, and they seemed to haunt her with their fond memories, the nostalgia more painful than happy at times. Thoughts of them left her filled with longing.
Just a moment more with them was all she wanted. It didn't have to be long. Even if it was just a few seconds, hearing her father's laugh, his smile, or her uncle tousling her hair affectionately, would be enough for her.
Rosalie took another drag of her cigarette and tossed it to the ground. She stomped it out with her boot, before returning to her tent and pulling out her father's guitar. Setting the instrument in her lap, she began to strum the guitar, her fingers plucking at the strings as she allowed the somber melody to calm her.
As she played, the morning went on, the sun coming over the horizon as the camp stirred awake. She didn't realize how much time had passed until Hosea came over to her with a steaming cup of coffee.
"Early morning?" Hosea asked, looking down at her with the tin cup extended.
Rosalie paused her playing and looked up at him, smiling idly as she set the instrument inside her tent and got to her feet. She dusted off her front, before taking the cup from him and holding it with both hands, enjoying the warmth it offered.
"Not really. Same as usual," Rosalie replied, looking out on the camp as Arthur shaved just outside his tent, Susan sipped her cup of coffee by the fire, and Dutch combed his hair on his cot.
"I heard you playing quite a bit earlier than you normally do," Hosea said, sending her a sideways look.
Rosalie shrugged. "Like I said, the morning was the same as usual. I couldn't sleep."
Hosea patted her shoulder. "Go easy on yourself, alright? I reckon with all that sleep you've been losin' you're feeling the effects of it. Need you to stay sharp. One of the few in the group now who actually has a brain."
She knew he was referring to the tousle Mac and Davey had the day before. They weren't dumb, but Hosea thought they were comparable to a bag of rocks at times with their hot tempers.
Rosalie gave him a smile. "Ah, you know I'm always sharp."
"Maybe as sharp as a butter knife," He teased, drinking from his steaming cup.
Rosalie shook her head and clicked her tongue. "Hey, now. We're not talking about you."
Hosea chuckled in response, but didn't say anything else, sipping his coffee quietly, the pair enjoying each other's company as they looked out on the camp stirring awake.
Rosalie dressed not too long after that, wearing a pale blue button-up and her black pants. She tied her hair back into a partial braid, the top half pulled out of her face with the rest of her curls hanging loose. After applying the red lip tint Julie had given her all those years ago and light eyeliner at her corners, she put on her mother's necklace, the gold cross resting just beneath her collarbone, and secured her father's hat on her head.
Rosalie walked over to the horses, her boots crunching under the dry grass as she rolled her shirt sleeves to her elbows.
Coming over to them, she noticed Mac brushing his horse, Annie, humming some kind of old Scottish tune to himself.
Mac glanced at her as she neared, his shoulder-length, blond hair messy without his hat, his partially unbuttoned white shirt rolled to his elbows.
"Where you off to?" He asked, running the brush through Annie's coat.
"Blackwater," Rosalie said, grabbing Blitz's saddle and beginning to secure the straps. "Meeting my cousin there since he ran away with a girl who also happens to be a close friend of mine. I haven't seen him in a few years, so it'll be interesting."
"Want me to come with ya'?" Mac asked.
Rosalie snorted. "No, I think that might make them skittish. They probably want to meet with me to catch up… but I think they also hope I'll offer them some kind of protection, or maybe a hideaway from my Grandfather."
"Why they hidin' from your Grandpa?" Mac asked with a raised brow, pausing his brushing.
Rosalie shot him a grin. "Because they robbed him."
Mac snorted and shook his head, returning his attention to Annie. "No shit?"
"No shit," Rosalie confirmed as she finished securing the saddle. She pulled an oatcake from the saddle bag and fed it to Blitz, the horse munching in appreciation for the treat.
"You sure Dutch is gonna let them come here?" Mac asked, not facing her.
"I didn't ask," Rosalie said, boosting herself into the saddle. She gave Blitz's neck an affectionate pat, before turning the reins to walk away. "But it's better to ask for forgiveness than permission." She said mischievously, flashing him another grin.
Mac looked at her over his shoulder with a raised brow. "Huh… ain't heard that one before."
She could practically see the gears turning in his head as he thought about how to use that in the future.
Rosalie snorted. "By all means, use it to your advantage… as long as you don't say the idea came from me." She added, making a face at him, before turning Blitz around and kicking him into a gallop with a yip, the ride to Blackwater ahead of her.
By the time she got to Blackwater, it was late morning, and it was much warmer than when she was shivering underneath her father's coat, desperate for any kind of heat.
Blackwater was a nice town, and it was probably her favorite out of all those she had been to before with the gang, and even when traveling with her father and uncle as a girl. Of course, New York and Boston would always have a special place in her heart just because that's where she spent the majority of her time when she was young, but it beat out Chicago and New Orleans by a long shot.
There were a decent amount of shops, restaurants, and saloons, but it wasn't overly large or crowded. She was sure it would become a booming city in the next decade or so, but for now, it was a quiet place that Rosalie liked very much.
Before she met Isabella and Louis at the local saloon, she went to the post office to drop off a letter. One, she wrote for George Langley, and the other for Annie, the German orphan girl she taught English to all those years ago.
The envelope for Annie was full of cash, as she had stayed true to her word about sending money to the orphanage when she could. While there was no expectation for her to, it was due diligence to her mother's legacy, as her mother thought it was important to give her time to the kids, so the least Rosalie could do was send money when she had extra.
The letter for George was more of a friendly notion. Despite her turning down his proposal years ago, they remained good friends and sent letters often. Rosalie missed him probably most of all, even if she didn't think about him in the romantic sense, she still cared about him as a friend and enjoyed his company.
After sending off both those letters, she went over to the saloon.
The floorboards were stained with a dark, polished lacquer, and the walls painted a deep red. Round tables filled the room, each draped with a white tablecloth and a small menu set upright on it. Someone played the piano in the corner, filling the room with light music as she scanned the area for Louis or Isabella.
It was a nice place, despite the fact she mostly associated it with Uncle as he liked to waste time there instead of doing anything useful.
That old goon annoyed her to no end. She wished Dutch would just kick him out already since all he did was drag them down as drunk, dead weight.
In the corner of the room seated at a table, she spotted a thin man with rather feminine features, his blonde hair combed neatly and his brown eyes scanning the menu in his hands. He wore a crisp, white shirt, and a brown, tweed jacket without a speck of dirt overtop.
Across from him was a woman with thick, curly black hair, and a maroon hat clipped to her head with decorative ornaments. She wore a matching maroon jacket, and her dress was a shade of cream and lace. She sipped at what looked to be a steaming cup of tea.
Grinning, Rosalie walked over to them.
"Hello there, strangers," Rosalie greeted, placing her hand on Isabella's chair.
Louis looked up at her in surprise. "Cousin, it's good to see you. You look well." He said, a small smile creeping at the corners of his lips.
Isabella gasped at the sight of Rosalie and set her cup down. She scrambled to stand and threw her arms around Rosalie, encasing her in a tight bear hug. "I can't believe you're here! Oh, I'm so glad to see you!" She cried, squeezing Rosalie so hard she was close to popping.
Rosalie laughed and returned the hug, patting her friend's back. "Careful there, you're gonna break all my bones."
Isabella let her go and waved her off with a scoff. "Ah, please. I haven't seen you in three years! If I want to hug my friend, she'll let me." She insisted, her hand still on Rosalie's shoulder as she smiled widely.
Rosalie grinned. "I'm only teasing. But look at you! You look so gorgeous." She said, looking at the very expensive, pretty dress Isabella wore.
Isabella blushed, tucking a hair behind her ear. She sent Louis a sideways glance. "Before we left, Louis went on an extensive shopping spree and bought me a new wardrobe. Of course, I still have some of my favorite dresses, but it would be very cruel of me to refuse to wear anything my darling husband buys me. I told him it was too much, but he didn't listen." She said.
Louis smiled softly and buttoned his jacket. He stood beside Isabella, placing a gentle hand on her elbow. "Well, while I still had Grandfather's money, I thought the most logical thing to do was spend it on my darling wife." He glanced at Rosalie. "I won't have that wealth again, it seems, so I thought I'd make the most of it."
"Uh huh…" Rosalie said with a raised brow. "And what exactly did you take from dear old Grandfather? After my Momma robbed him, he didn't seem all that mad, but as for you…"
Louis scoffed and grabbed a chair from a nearby table. He set it down for Rosalie, before helping Isabella back into her seat, pushing her chair in.
"He wasn't pleased, I can tell you that much. He interrogated George, berating him about how he let me get away, but George did nothing but deny, deny, deny." He said, sitting back in his seat.
Rosalie snorted. "Well, we all know that's not the case. He was in on it, wasn't he?"
Louis shrugged and leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. He folded his hands on his thighs. "Of course. He was in on it the whole time, but if he told Grandfather that, he surely would never trust him again. George Langley is one of the most mischievous fellows I've ever met, along with the smartest." He nodded at Rosalie, reaching for his tea cup. "Besides my darling cousin, Rosalie, of course."
Rosalie laughed. "Don't sell yourself short, now. You seem to have joined the ranks along with myself and my Momma."
Louis chuckled. "I suppose that's true."
Rosalie glanced between Isabella and Louis. "So, what is it that you're here in Blackwater for? To see me, I know that, but where are you off to next? I know you're not planning to run with me… so I am curious."
Isabella looked at Louis, then at Rosalie, grinning in excitement. She leaned forward, her hands clasped together. "We're going to buy a ranch. A property out in the Big Valley just for the two of us. Louis got enough for the property and furnishings… after that, we're gonna get some chickens, sheep… oh the cute little lambs… adorables bebecitos." She could hardly contain herself as she thought about it.
Rosalie shot Louis a look of surprise. "You, a rancher?"
Louis was the grandson of a wealthy tobacco plantation owner. Montgomery cigars were premium and made lots of money. He had never done a day of hard work in his life, so to hear these plans were… interesting to say the least.
Louis cleared his throat and nodded, already knowing what Rosalie's bewildered look was for. "Yes, I plan to be a rancher. Though I might… uhm… try to hire some farm hands down the line, but along with the ranch work, I'd like to write. Publish some pieces about culture and new age philosophy."
Isabella grinned. "It'll be so much fun. I can't wait to have chickens. We had some when I was a little girl, but my sister let them out of the coop and they got eaten by the neighbors dogs." She glanced at Louis. "I won't let that happen this time."
Louis only smiled at her in amusement.
"I see…" Rosalie said, glancing between her cousin and Isabella. "So, not to be too forward, but was there another reason you wanted to see me? Blackwater is a few stops away from the Big Valley."
Isabella rubbed her hands together, giving Louis a nervous smile. "Ah, no, not really. We just… well… we wanted to make sure you knew where we were going, and when, just in case we ran into any trouble. It's not safe out here, and Louis and I are not the most skilled when it comes to being out in the open."
Rosalie nodded slowly. "So if something happens, you want me to come looking, is what you're saying?" She asked with a raised brow.
Louis nodded. "Yes. I would ask if you would come with us to the Big Valley, but I don't think that'll be necessary. It would be a waste of your time, and I don't know how long it'll be before we settle on a property and build our home. In case something happens, though, I want you to be aware of where we're going, and if Grandfather reaches out to you."
Rosalie snorted. "Grandfather won't reach out to me. He doesn't know where I am. Unless he were to bother George or Julie, he wouldn't have a way to contact me. I'm sure George wouldn't help him locate you, and Julie… we both know Julie wouldn't either," she said in amusement, thinking of her spirited female cousin.
Louis nodded. "Well then, now that we have that settled, I say we have some dinner together before we catch our train tonight. I'm going to our room to make sure our bags are together if you both want to pick out somewhere to eat?" He asked, standing from the table.
Isabella smiled warmly at Louis. "Of course. How do we feel about going somewhere that isn't in this saloon at least?" She leaned forward, making a face as she whispered. "I don't think I can eat another stew here. It's so plain… makes me sick."
Louis chuckled, unable to hold back his grin. "I think that would be fine."
He patted Rosalie on her shoulder as he walked past, exiting the saloon to their hotel.
Now that they were alone, Rosalie turned her attention to Isabella.
"How are you doing?" Rosalie asked.
Isabella smiled. "I'm doing very well. Why?" She tilted her head, appearing a bit confused at her question.
Rosalie frowned. "Louis told me in his letter that… your Momma…" She trailed off, realizing it was a touchy subject, and maybe she would have been better off not saying anything at all about it.
Isabella's smile faded, and she leaned back in her chair. She fiddled with the teacup, avoiding Rosalie's gaze. "Oh… I don't know. My Mama… she found out about Louis. I don't know if one of my sisters saw him coming to the store, or if they saw us together somewhere else… but she found out. She told me I had to leave him, that he would lead to my death, or that someone would see me with a white man and accuse me of doing something to trick him." She said quietly, her voice sad, before she quickly turned agitated again and scoffed.
"I told her I would not leave him, and that I loved him. So, she threw me out. Said no daughter of hers would be as stupid as I… Oh… I don't know what to think. My Mama loves me, I know she does, but she's a harsh woman who lived a harsh life. She has a strong hand, but she means well," Isabella shrugged, attempting to play off how much her mother's actions affected her. "But there's nothing for me to do now. We married—Father Peter married us—he was one of the few who would, as no one else thought we were serious, or they said it was a despicable act for us to marry."
Rosalie remembered Father Peter as the kind priest who offered her kindness and words of wisdom all those years ago after she killed Cormac O'Driscoll. He was a good man and had married Rosalie's parents too at one point. She wasn't surprised he did the same for Louis and Isabella.
Isabella gave Rosalie a sad smile. "Maybe in a few years, I'll return home and see my Mama and hope things have changed. I doubt they will, but I miss her so much. I miss my Papa, I miss my sisters most of all. They… well…" She laughed softly and threw her hand up, "Ellas me volvieron loco… but I loved them all the same."
Rosalie put her hand on Isabella's gloved one, giving her a small, sad smile. "I'm sorry. I can't say I know what you're going through… but I hope your Momma will see with time. You and Louis deserve a shot to live the life you want, you know? Even when everyone else says it's not a great idea, sometimes you can only see reason if you're the one living it." She said gently, hoping her words offered some kind of comfort.
Isabella nodded slowly, taking in her words. Rosalie pulled a cigarette from her pocket and placed it between her lips, fumbling for her matches in the other pocket.
Isabella then flashed Rosalie a smile, a mischievous glint in her eye. "You're too wise to be an outlaw, you know? You have much more of a brain than just for stealing and taking. You could be doing much more."
Rosalie chuckled, a mischievous smile pulling at her lips as she struck the match and held it to the cigarette, before shaking it out.
"Well… that's why I do more than stealing and taking." She took a drag from the cigarette, before tapping it out onto the tray next to the menu, meeting Isabella's gaze under the brim of her hat. "I trick and swindle."
After their dinner, Rosalie walked them to the train station. It was night, the train sitting idly as the driver waited for all the passengers to board for the long, night journey to the Big Valley. Smoke came from the coal engine at the front as the conductor pulled on the whistle, signaling they were leaving soon.
While Isabella was trying to keep herself together, she could tell that leaving Rosalie was bringing tears to the sweet girl's eyes.
"When we get our ranch, I'm going to send you a letter. You come visit us, okay?" Isabella said, pulling Rosalie into another hug, though it was much gentler than the one she greeted the girl with earlier that day.
Rosalie smiled and hugged her back. "Of course. Make sure to keep in touch. If any problems come up, you know how to reach me."
Louis nodded, patting Rosalie's shoulder. "I appreciate your help, cousin. Truly. I'm thankful that you met with us and for… well…" He glanced at Isabella, love in his eyes as he looked at her. "For supporting us. While it may seem silly, many in our lives think our being together is the worst of crimes. Knowing you're in our corner means a lot."
Rosalie shrugged. "Of course. I wouldn't think to do anything else."
The conductor pulled on the whistle again.
Isabella tried to hold back her sniffles. Louis placed a gentle hand on her elbow and ushered her toward the train car.
"We should get going before they leave without us," Louis said with a sweet, but sad smile as he looked at Isabella, knowing that she was having a hard time parting with her friend.
"Oh, I know," Sniffed Isabella, glancing at Rosalie again.
Isabella quickly pulled Rosalie into another hug. Rosalie made a noise of surprise at the suddenness of it, but before she could say anything more, Isabella turned and scrambled up into the train car, refusing to look back at her for fear she would start crying.
Louis chuckled softly, and gave Rosalie another pat on the shoulder, before following after Isabella.
Only a few seconds after they boarded the train, the driver pulled the whistle again, and the train started moving, the chugging noises filling the air as it began to pull out of the station. Others around her waved goodbye to their friends and family who also boarded the train, but soon enough, those people trickled away too, leaving Rosalie on the train platform alone.
She let out a deep sigh, staring out over the hills of the Blackwater train station, a heaviness in her heart.
Rosalie was glad to see Louis and Isabella, she really was. Their love was pure, something hard to come by, as it often seemed that most people would have their significant others painfully ripped from their grasp too soon, whether by sickness, something more nefarious, or familial circumstances that kept them apart. Unrequited feelings were something she was rather familiar with as well.
She sighed, walking over to sit on one of the wooden benches outside the train station, leaning back in the seat as she looked into the distance.
Despite her best efforts, Rosalie had strong feelings for Arthur. She loved that man and kept him close to her heart. It was hard sometimes to know where the lines were between a close, affectionate love and a romantic one, as she still hadn't been around many men throughout her life. Love was strange, but she knew she cared about Arthur, and longed to be near him.
Rosalie knew he still wouldn't hold any feelings for her, though. Arthur still loved that Mary Gillis… even if he spent time in whorehouses, sleeping with other women for a pretty dime, or any waitress that would give him attention, he still loved Mary.
There wasn't a sliver of thought in his head to love Rosalie. She knew that, but it still stung to see him bedding other women when he would barely spare her a second glance.
Rosalie couldn't help but think there was something wrong with her sometimes. She knew she wasn't a traditional woman and felt strange in most feminine aspects, having hardly been around women throughout her life to provide as a role model.
Raised only by her father and uncle, she often felt out of place. She knew she was a homely, unfeminine, harsh woman, who could skin an animal and fire a rifle with terrifying precision… but that was something most men did not care about. They didn't find that attractive.
She wished she could be different. Or maybe even know more specifically what kept men at arm's length from her.
Men at saloons would take her to bed with no problem, roughly have their way with her, and then leave right after. She would be lucky if they left in the morning, staying more than a few hours to keep her company.
All Rosalie really wanted was for someone to love her, though maybe that was something of a childlike dream.
That thought is what landed her back at the saloon that night, drinking beer after beer. The alcohol filling her senses was enough for her to dull the pain and ache in her heart, wanting every thought of Arthur or her lack of love to be gone from her mind.
God, she hated that man. He drove her mad, and even years later she still cared about him to her detriment. She didn't know why she had these feelings so deeply for him. Maybe it was a way to torment herself, to deliver punishment in the worst way, as to her, having so much love with nowhere to put it was the worst torture.
Did she only latch onto Arthur because he was there and was the first man to show her kindness, to show her companionship?
She didn't know.
"Ma'am, you enjoying a drink here to yourself?" came a familiar voice.
Rosalie looked over, blinking at the sight of Mac. He wore his bowler hat, white button-up, and brown canvas vest, his shirt rolled to his elbows.
Rosalie squinted at him as he took a seat.
"Am I really that damn drunk?" she slurred, beer in her hand and inches away from her lips as she tried to use the sober part of her brain to decide if he was real.
Mac laughed, waving over to the bartender to give him a drink too. "You ain't delusional, Ma'am. I rode out here for a drink too. Forgot you were vistin' that friend of yours. Saw ya' inside and thought I'd join your pity party." He said, nodding at the bartender as he passed the beer to him.
"Well, aren't you a gentleman," Rosalie slurred, taking another drink. "I'm not havin' a pity party."
"Bullshit." Mac looked at her with a raised brow. "What's got you so down?"
"Nothin'," She mumbled into the drink.
"Well, I'll be, Miss Klein has nothin' to say for once," Mac teased, pushing her shoulder. "No, really though, what's got ya' so upset?" He asked.
"Leave me alone," Rosalie grumbled, her eyes pointed ahead.
Mac exhaled sharply through his teeth, tilting his head, "Well, 'M sorry, Ma'am, but I won't be doin' that."
Rosalie slowly turned her head, giving him a death stare. She didn't say anything, hoping she was conveying her irritation with her eyes alone. It seemed to convey enough, though maybe not in the way she was intending, as Mac laughed boisterously, slapping a hand to his face. Her expression fell at this, his reaction being the exact opposite of what she expected.
"Jesus, woman, you look at someone like that n' they're sure to piss themselves." Mac shook his head, his laughter dying down as he took a drink, then flashed her a grin. "I ain't easy to scare, though." He added, leaning over and bumping his shoulder against hers.
"'Kay…" Rosalie grumbled. She let out a deep, long-winded sigh, her lids heavy. "If you r-really must know, 'M feelin' sorry for myself… as 'M gonna die a lonesome… lonesome woman." She slurred, taking another drink of her beer.
Mac snorted. "What?"
"Y-You heard me!" Rosalie cried, slapping his shoulder. "Dontchu' make f-fun of me!"
Mac grimaced at her slap but didn't say anything about it. He gave her a bewildered look. "You ain't gonna end up as a lonesome widow, crazy woman." He breathed out, wondering where the hell she got that thought from.
Rosalie hiccuped, taking another swig of her beer before slamming it against the bartop. The people at the end of the counter paused their conversation and glanced over, blinking at her reddened face and the growing number of empty beer bottles around her.
"Y-You don't know that," Rosalie said, beckoning the bartender over to give her another drink.
Mac made a face, shaking his head so the bartender didn't come back. The bartender glanced from Rosalie, to Mac, then back to Rosalie, unsure how he was to proceed.
"Gimmie m-my damn drink." Rosalie slurred, motioning her hand in a 'come hither' for the bartender to slide it her way.
Slowly, the bartender lifted the beer, his gaze locked on Mac's as he set the bottle on the counter and slid it down to her.
"Tha... thank you," she slurred sweetly, giving Mac a look as though she was telling him to shove it. She took a long swig from the beer and slammed it back to the counter.
"Ya' really shouldn't drink anymore," Mac said in concern.
"You're not my Daddy," Rosalie said flatly.
Mac shook his head and let out a sigh. "Alright, well, I can't argue with that, but goin' back to what I was sayin' before—"
"What, about me bein' a poor old spinster?" Rosalie asked. "Everythin' I said wa… was true. I'm homely, annoying, and… and the furthest thing from a pretty, poised—hiccup—little lady."
Mac looked ahead with a breathy laugh, tilting his head so it was hidden by his hair. "Nah, that ain't true. You're… ah, I ain't know, you're crazy, woman, but you got a great spirit about ya'. Smart, n' you got a wickedly beautiful smile. I ain't ever seen hair as curly or blonde as yours—"
His speech was abruptly interrupted by a loud thump. He turned sharply to see Rosalie seated on the ground, rubbing her head where a red mark was starting to appear in the center of her forehead from smacking it against the counter. Her hat lay discarded on the floor beside her from the tumble.
"Okay, we're done here," Mac said, fishing some bills from his pocket to cover his drinks and Rosalie's extensive tab for the night.
The bartender wiped out the inside of his glass, brow inching into his hairline as he watched the pair. "Make sure she gets home safe, hm?" He said.
Mac scoffed and shot the bartender a sideways look. "Yeah, I got it, friend."
He helped Rosalie to her feet and draped her arm around his shoulders, grabbing her hat with his free hand. She was completely out of it, utterly drunk, her head lolling forward like a rag doll's as he walked then to the door.
Mac guided them outside the saloon into the dry, warm nighttime air, leading them down the steps to where Blitz and Annie were hitched. He was preparing to help Rosalie onto Annie to take her back to camp, but she made a strangled noise that resembled a cough or a burp. Suddenly, she hunched over, clutching the saddle for support as she threw up at his feet.
Mac grimaced and grabbed her hair, holding it out of her face as she expended the contents of her stomach. He stared up at the sky, doing his best not to look as he patted her back.
"Yeah… jus' let it all out." He said, more so to himself as she continued to throw up.
Rosalie coughed, spitting into the dirt. She remained hunched over, still very drunk, and sniffed quietly. "'M sorry, Macky," she slurred, her words barely coherent in her state. She likely felt very uncomfortable, her mouth tasting gross.
Mac sighed and shook his head. "It's alright. C'mon…" He groaned as he picked her up and set her on the saddle. "Let's jus' get you home now, okay?"
Rosalie nodded weakly, barely managing to sit upright as she clung to the saddle horn to stay on top of Annie.
Mac unhitched Blitz and tied him to Annie, before he pulled himself into the saddle behind Rosalie, securing her in his arms so she didn't slide off while they rode back to camp. It wasn't a long trip, but the camp wasn't close by either.
As soon as Mac was behind her in the saddle supporting her weight, she passed out. He looked down at her with a deep sigh, before he gently rubbed her arm, his chest tightening at the sight of her sleeping against him.
Mac then turned them away from the Blackwater saloon, heading back home.