Jim Almstead tugs the collar of his worn duster higher, shading his face from the prying eyes of others. He was far from home, no one here would recognize him as a wanted man, but still, old habits die hard.

The docks are bustling, smelly, and riddled with fish-mongering merchants. Foreigners stream from the newly arrived ships, all shapes, sizes, and colors; speaking every odd-sounding language in one place, causing the din to become almost unbearable. Jim shifts from one booted foot to another. He never did like the water much, or those who chose to make a living on the seas. Being exposed, out in the open on the docks made him feel more squirmy than a night crawler on a hook. His brother, on the other hand, stood in awe of the place, mouth gaping open, eyes nearly bugging out of his head.

"Stop staring so much, you're going to draw attention to us," Jim hisses to his little brother.

"Aw hell, Jimbo, why you got your underoos in a knot? No one here knows us," Bart laughs, not a single care in the world.

"I'd like to keep it that way, so hush your fucking mouth." Jim scowls, but his brother ignores it.

They had made the long journey to the east coast to meet their employer, only his ship hadn't docked the last few days like it should have, causing them to sit around and wait. Jim had never been good at sitting around.

"Where the hell is this English dandy, he should have been here days ago," Jim growls under his breath.

"I reckon it's the ocean, bad weather will slow down any ship. Don't be so jumpy Jimbo. Relax a little."

"I'll relax once we find his bitch and put them both back on the boat, then start spending the reward down in Mexico; on the beach with a drink."

"That'll be the life," Bart agrees with a grin, "I wonder why-"

"Hell, I think that's him!" Jim cuts in, his eyes roving the new faces off the latest boat.

Bart squints his eyes, trying to see for himself. Jim moves forward to meet the man freshly alighting from the ship.

"That's got to be him. He's the most English dandy I've ever seen," Bart chuckles meanly.

"Hush now, that's our employer, don't let your mouth muck this up for us," Jim quietly scolds.

His brother is not wrong though, the man is imposing. He towers over the crowd, his shoulders wide, his jaw and nose sharp. He looks more beast than man. He's dressed all in black, down to his gloves, cape, and the walking stick he carries.

The Lord had employed them for several jobs over the years via correspondence, and Jim had always had an idea in his mind's eyes what the man was made of. This being their first meeting face to face, he was not disappointed. The man was intelligent and cold, you could tell by the glint in his onyx eyes. Jim had a good sense for these things.

"Lord Ragnarok." Jim says, extending his arm to shake his hand. The Lord frowns and ignores the handshake like it's something unsavory.

"The Olmsteads I presume?" His voice is a deep British tenor.

Jim hears Bart snicker next to him at the foreign accent and he discreetly elbows his little brother in the ribs.

"Have you made any progress on locating my bride?" He demands, his big fingers drumming against his walking stick.

Right to business, no pleasantries. That's something Jim could appreciate about a person.

"I sent a few of my men ahead of us to scout out that ranch in Texas. I figured since that's her only known kin here it'd be a good place to start."

"And your men, they know not to touch her until I arrive? Are they intelligent enough to not give away the element of surprise? I don't need her catching wind and running away."

Jim clears his throat uncomfortably. The men he had sent were excellent trackers, and even better ain the art of violence. He was fairly certain they would obey his words and only observe the ranch.

"They're professionals." He finally vouches.

"Hmph, professional miscreants." Lord Ragnarok mutters as he signals to the men unloading his things from the ship. "How far until we come to this ranch?"

"Several weeks, a month, maybe more. Traveling to the west can be slow and dangerous."

"That is precisely why I have hired you." Lord Ragnarok says, eyeing the two pistols Jim and his brother wear.

"Do not let sentiment get in the way of our goal."

Jim laughs for the first time, his employer glaring at the unsightly sound. "Hell boss, you don't have to worry about sentiment. I shot my own pa back when I was still cutting my teeth. Never batted an eye. If things get rough you can rely on us and our guns."

Lord Ragnarok nods in approval. "Shall we begin our journey then? I'd like to be married and back on the ship to London as soon as possible."

"We'll have her back on the boat in no time sir," Bart promises with a wicked grin.

"I said married, I never said anything about taking her back with me. Once we are wed you may do with her as you please." He says, his voice cold and devoid of feelings.

"Anything I want?" Bart asks, nearly salivating.

Jim wants to grimace, but he keeps his face blank because he's a fucking professional. For the first time though since the job started, Jim feels a knot of unease in his stomach.

What the hell was waiting for them in Texas?

"So you're telling me, you ran away from home because you didn't want to get married?"

Soul runs a hand through his hair, trying his hardest not to show how dismal he feels with this woman. She nods, her posture is limp, as if all her bones have dissolved away, leaving only her skin to make do with standing. Her story has obviously taken it out of her too.

"You traveled, by yourself, in boy's clothing, halfway across the world, to meet an uncle who might as well be a stranger to you, all because you got cold feet?"

She shoots him an annoyed look. "It was more than that. It would have been the end of my life."

"Marrying a rich, successful, pedigreed English gentleman.. sounds like you really dodged a bullet there." He says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Lord Ragnarok was positively dreadful. You'd understand completely if you met him." She says, giving a little shiver at the mention of his name.

Something defensive ignites within him, and he doesn't know if he should feel relief or anger at her.

"It was stupid. You coming here." He says matter of factly.

She gives him a stricken look like he's walloped her right in the heart. He stiffens, knowing he shouldn't have said it, but he never was any good at watching his mouth.

"You shouldn't have lied to us, to me."

Her mood shifts swiftly from defeated to the offensive.

"I told you what my uncle said, about women not being allowed. I had no choice. I lied because had to, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat if it meant staying here." She huffs, her face turning pink with anger.

Soul pauses, letting her words sink in. Would Stein have refused her if he knew? He frowns at her and she frowns back. It really wasn't his business to make those kinds of assumptions, that was between her and Stein when he got back.

"You don't sound even a little bit remorseful about the lies." He grits, watching her face closely.

"I'm not." She challenges, but then oddly her face softens on her next words. "I have no regrets, only one. That I lost your trust in the process."

That strange weight once more settles onto his chest, making breathing difficult.

"You're right, that trust is gone now," Soul shrugs helplessly, his eyes burning down at her, theblittle slip of a woman sitting far to closely to him. How did someone so small always seem to be in his space?

She looks up at him, and that weight in his chest only intensifies.

"I trusted you so damn much too, but I should have known better.. people always say they care, but they don't. Not really." He says, his voice laced with bitterness and hurt.

"That's not completely true. You have so many people who love you." She says firmly, her eyes catching his and holding.

"You just refuse to let people care about you."

He jolts back as if she'd slapped him in the face, a snarl in the back of his throat.

"Or just… refuse to let yourself think that people care about you," she corrects.

He takes a ragged breath, his heart aching, always aching.

Why did she bring this ugly side of him out?

"Evans," she breathes, placing her hand onto his, causing him to freeze in place and turn his head just enough for their eyes to meet. He steals his hand back from her, quickly detaching any contact, his hand burning where she has touched him. He stands abruptly, like a caged animal, and paces in front of her. He can feel her eyes on him and knows they are probably hurt. He settles for turning his back on her, his eyes instead fixing on the horizon.

"Evans?" She whispers. He can hear the quiver there, and it infuriates him. He says nothing in return, blatantly ignoring her plea. He hates himself, that he can't even look at her. How has one person so thoroughly screwed up his senses?

He hears her shift from where they had been sitting and he desperately hopes she doesn't try touching him again.

Instead, her voice finds him, hushed but steady.

"I can handle you being angry with me, I understand why. But you ignoring me... like I don't even exist, I can't..."

"Because you don't exist." He interrupts. "I don't even know who you are!" He nearly shouts, his eyes feeling oddly wet.

It almost makes him sick all over again, thinking about how blind he had been. He was a fool, and she had played him as one. So easily. His blood boils at the thought and his head aches as a flood of memories rush in. Tears run down his face and he growls his contempt, at himself and at the woman standing behind him. It was easier to feel anger than hurt, drawing it around him like a blanket. A shield for his heart.

"I lost my best friend! You died. You were a lie. The kid I knew doesn't even exist." He grates out, his throat gritty.

He exhales slowly through his nose, glad that his back is turned. What would she see written all over his face?

She doesn't answer, not a sound passes her lips, and Soul's spirit twists at her silence.

Did she have nothing to say? Did she truly not care a lick for him?

He finally turns to appraise her silence, and he is struck by the vast liquid erinite of her gaze. She has tears in her eyes, those misty pools, so terribly green and sad.

He freezes, caught in her turbulent regard.

Without thought to decorum, without hesitation, fear, or self-doubt, she embraces him. She wraps her arms around him so tightly he couldn't escape, even if he wanted to...and God, he didn't want to.

She was like the North Star, the center of gravity, a solid presence. She was the only thing keeping him rooted, from flying away with the wind, lost to the endless prairie.

The infinite sea of rippling grass, the bottomless azure sky, all of it seemed to dull in comparison. It was her and him.

"I'm still the same person. That hasn't changed. I'm still your friend." She mumbles softly into his chest. There's so much conviction in her words.

"Are you though?" He asks, the edges of his voice ragged, like the edges of his bloodied heart.

He couldn't take it, not a moment longer, he had to ask her or go mad not knowing.

"Was it all a lie? Did you fake our friendship for the sake of fitting in and keeping your secret?" He whispers.

"How could I fake that? We've been through so much together." She scolds softly while holding him closer.

"I guess I don't know what's real anymore." He admits.

"You are real, I am real, and our friendship has always been real. Me being a woman has nothing to do with that." She says softly.

Maka leans back and looks up into his face her eyes scorching him, causing his body to ignite in her embrace. Soul clears his throat and slowly untangles himself from her arms. Being a woman might not have anything to do with their friendship, but it has everything to do with propriety. He needs to put some space between them, and swiftly.

She looks slightly hurt as he puts her at arm's length, but at this point, he can't give in. He's no expert on chivalry, but he's pretty sure hugging a man, alone, and unchaperoned out on the prairie wasn't the least bit decent.

"Does this mean you forgive me?" She asks shyly, staring down at her dainty booted feet. Soul shakes his head, the whispers of his hair ticking his ears at the motion.

"Forgiveness has nothing to do with this. It's about trust."

She nods slowly as if soaking in his words. "I understand."

"Trust is something that is not freely given."

"Maybe we can start over then?" She asks hopefully, her face upturned, eyes bright.

He wants to tell her no, that they could never know each other as they once had. Not now that she's a woman. Not now that he is responsible for more than just her education and protection.

"Yeah, I guess we have no choice," he sighs feeling defeated by her smile.

"We should head back." He rasps, his throat unbelievably dry.

She breaks eye contact and draws in a frustrated breath, but doesn't fight it. He doesn't blame her, for feeling frustrated, hell he feels the same. They've started the mending process, but there is still a lot left to work out between the two of them. The first step has been taken though.

They walk along the river's edge, bird songs floating in the breeze. A mockingbird calls out, somewhere along the path. The young miss stops abruptly, turning her face to the trees above. A warbling song and a smile fall from her lips. Soul stops as well, dumbfounded to hear bird songs coming from her mouth. He had only showed her once how to do that. The mockingbird joins in her song, and they sing back and forth, both calling to the other. It's beautiful to hear and even more so to watch. For the first time in a while, he lets a small smile tug at his face, careful to not let her see it.

Her mockingbird soon takes flight and she turns back, face radiant. "I've been practicing."

He cannot speak past the lump in his throat so he nods his approval.

They are quiet, as they resume walking back to the house, but it isn't a bad silence. It almost feels normal walking beside her again. Almost. Other than he is hyper-aware of how her elbow or arm brushes against his. They had always walked like this, so closely, like two friends often did. Now though, it was different. Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, he watches as she walks, her eyes immersive and intent, her hair softly curling around her face. So feminine it hurts. Soul sighs inwardly, he imagines a lot of things would be different from here on out.

They jump the snake fence going back, this time though, he doesn't help her over. He dares not touch her again, fearful of the taste of holding lightening.

The little orphaned calf has somehow managed to break out of his stall and unbelievably finds them as they walk home. Both the calf and the patchwork pup follow at their heels, happy as two love lorn loons. In all his years Soul has never seen a more odd pair than that damn dog and calf, they got along like lifelong friends. Their only common ground is their love and adoration for the kid. She laughs now as they prance around, wanting her attention.

The calf lightly head butts into the side of his leg, snuffling loudly, obviously wanting to be fed and loved. Soul looks down at the spindle-legged calf and feigns annoyance. The stupid critter probably thought he was his momma.

"Don't look so serious Evans," She chuckles. She throws him a smirk and it nearly makes him stop dead in his boots. She acts as if nothing has changed between them, and for a moment he almost believes it. He laughs along with her, his chest feeling lighter.

They pass two cowhands that are mending a hole in the fence and his mood shifts instantly.

One cowboy elbows the other and they blatantly stop working as they pass. They give the kid a once over, their eyes lazily stopping on her wrangler-clad thighs and hips.

Soul for the first time notices how ridiculously long and shapely her legs are in her men's pants. Soul glares and bares his canines at the men, a low rumble in his throat. The cowhands turn ash white and quickly return to their task avoiding his enraged gaze.

Maka looks back at him and raises an eyebrow, assuming the growl was directed at her. "What is it?"

He shrugs his shoulders but doesn't offer an explanation.

He's spitting mad, but he can't figure out why, only that he has the sudden urge to shield her with a trench coat.

Maybe it's because of the disrespect they showed, or something else entirely, but one thing was clear as day; she was his... responsibility.

The thought made his stomach twist. She was completely his responsibility until her uncle's return.

"Go to the barn and grab your horse. We're going to town right this minute." He grunts.

"Why?" She asks, looking rather suspicious.

"Because we have to get you back into women's clothin," He growls. "The sooner the better."

She stops abruptly, both the dog and calf nearly taking out her legs in the process.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. We can't have you prancing around in men's clothing anymore."

She gives him a dumbfounded look like he's speaking gibberish and it makes his annoyance only rise higher.

"I most certainly don't prance, and I most definitely will not be going back into petticoats." She grits, doubling her fists.

Soul rakes his fingers through his hair aggressively, wishing for once she would do as he asks, and not question him at every turn.

"It wasn't up for discussion, you can't wear men's clothing anymore. It isn't decent."

"Decent? What the hell do you know about being decent?" She hisses, then her face crumples. "I'm sorry, I-.."

"What? Sorry, that you basically called me an indecent, uncivilized heathen?" He barks without mirth.

"That's not what I meant." She stutters.

"You aren't wrong Miss Albarn. I am nowhere near civilized, but even this cowboy knows when to keep his mouth shut."

She reels back from his words like he's physically slapped her. "Miss Albarn?" It's the first time he's ever addressed her as anything other than Kid. It feels weird on his tongue, and her face looks wounded by the absence of the longtime nickname. He grabs hold of it though, using it to his advantage, driving home the fact that they are still somewhat at odds.

"Not everything can go back as it was, not between you and me, and not with your clothes. Changes are being made because of your actions."

She looks away and delicately pinches the bridge of her nose as she closes her eyes. "How am I to do my chores in a dress though?"

Soul crosses his arms and pins her with a stern look.

"You ain't, as of today you are relieved of your work."

"You're talking nonsense, I thought everyone has to pull their weight around here?" She says, getting prickly as a porcupine.

"Oh, there's still plenty for you to do, you'll be doing household chores with Tsubaki from now on."

She goes completely still at his words and he can see plain as day the storm brewing in her eyes. It's beautiful and terrifying, just like a real lightning storm on the prairie.

"Have I not worked hard for you? Have I not proven myself?" She asks, her desperate voice clipping the silence.

"That's not the point here." Soul murmurs, suddenly very uncomfortable with the conversation.

"Then what is the bloody point? I've done nothing but work hard, and I was good at my work too, I've got the calluses to prove it." She nearly shouts, flinging her hands up for him to see the white marks marring her flesh.

He cringes, seeing the callus on her hands. He had caused those, working her to the bone. He feels guilty, but he also feels anger surging forward, curdling at her words.

How dare she try to guilt him into giving in. He wouldn't stand for it.

"It's your own damn fault!" He reels, his heart thundering in his chest. "If you hadn't lied, you would have never been worked like that!"

"I want to work! I want to be a cowhand, to work alongside everyone else... Please, Evans, don't take that from me!" She practically begs, her voice whipping back at him.

Part of him almost gives, the part of him that recognizes her fire, her love of the ranch, and her passion for the work. But he can't, what would Stein say finding his niece working cattle in cowboy's duds. What would the other men say? How would they look at her? What if she got hurt? He'd already almost killed her a dozen times. Being shot at by bandits, sending her down that collapsed well.

"I'm sorry miss Albarn, my decision is final."

"Well, it's too bad for you, Mr. Evans. Because you won't be getting what you want." She stands before him, straight and delicate as the willows. Their eyes hold as if locked. A minute passes when nothing is said and everything is understood. Neither of them was going to budge.

Her fierce gaze leaves him feeling exposed and lacking.

"You're not a cowhand, you're a lady. If you don't like your lot here, you can go back to England and marry that rich dandy, or you can take it up with Stein when he returns. Until then, it's my job to keep you respectable and safe, whether you like it or not. Now go get your damn horse." Hisbwords are laced with venom, but her pained face catches at his gut and stops his heart.

Her jaw clenches so hard that her chin trembles. She turns and flees to the barn.

He watches her go, wanting to go after her, but knowing he shouldn't. "God help me." He groans into his hands.

She's been sulking since they left the house. She's riding on the other side of Justin, who also needed to go into town. At first, Soul was glad his steadfast friend had joined them, hoping he would somehow buffer the icy friction between them, but so far he was regretting the extra company.

She and Justin talk quietly, God only knows about what since he's too far to their right to hear any of the conversation.

She laughs, causing her nose to wrinkle and her eyes to light up. It's a sound that always makes his ears perk up. She catches Soul staring, their eyes meeting.

She glares and sticks her nose in the air like she's some high and mighty genteel woman. He shakes his head reminding himself that she is in fact, a woman, and one born of good blood and standing.

She doesn't have to stick her nose up at him though, damn it, and she didn't have to ignore him so fucking completely either. She hadn't said a word to him since their argument earlier. But she has no problem talking with Justin nonstop, and the usually quiet man is talking back just as avidly. He even has her laughing about something, the bastard.

Soul almost wishes he could whoop her ass again, just one good wallop to that dainty aristocratic nose. It wouldn't mend this rift, but it'd sure as hell make him feel better.

Why was it always two steps forward three steps back with her? Earlier they had been walking by the river and across the fields of the land they both loved. They had laughed, almost as they had when they were good friends. Now his guts are twisted with anger and a terrible longing, and he doesn't know where these feelings are coming from or what they mean.

Maka and Justin ride together, heads bent in conversation, so close their boots touch in the stirrups.

Soul notices as she shifts on her horse how her thighs hug her saddle, and it doesn't sit well with him at all. He should have hitched the wagon up and made her ride with him, no matter how uncomfortable the ride would have been. Even here in the west women didn't often ride astride unless they were married or didn't care about their reputation.

What would the other women in town think of her, riding in wearing men's clothing? Would they shun her?

As someone who didn't belong in good society, Soul desperately hoped they wouldn't loath her. She might now think it important now, but he knew how it felt, the terrible stares and rude whispers.

As they ride into town, two figures fly out of the general store, one tall, one short. The Thompson sisters in all their clucking, petticoat twirling glory, rush the horses causing them to sidestep from fright.

"It is true!" The eldest sister screeches, "You truly are a girl!"

Word sure did travel fast, of the girl who pretended to be a man.

"I don't know how we didn't see it before. Your skin is too perfect and your manners too refined to be a man!" Patty says, grabbing at Maka's hand like they are lifelong bosom sisters.

Soul resists the urge to swat the younger girl's hand away and bites his tongue at how their own manners could use some work.

The Thompson sisters, though man crazy, came from a hard-working and respectable family. Though it pained him to be around the noisy biddies, Miss Albarn's reputation might benefit from spending time with the other women.

As if on cue, both girls' eyes turn to Justin who is dismounting his horse. His face remains passive, but he tips his hat politely to them. They stare at Justin like he's a glass of lemonade on a hot summer day.

Justin mumbles an excuse under his breath, saying something about buying tack and nails before he quickly books it to the general store, away from their prying eyes.

Miss Albarn looks slightly disappointed to see him go. Soul's heart kicks a ruckus in his chest, mingling annoyance and something unfamiliar within his blood, making his skin feel uncomfortably warm.

"It is so good to see you, Lady Maka, we've been dying to talk to you! I can call you Lady Maka can't I?" Liz implores.

"Please, call me Maka, we are friends are we not?"

Both girls squeal in unison, once more making the horses and every man within a one-block vicinity flinch.

"Whatever are you doing in town today, Maka?" Liz asks, side-eyeing Soul, blatantly curious.

"I suppose I'm here to buy dresses." She says begrudgingly, shooting Soul a sour look.

Both sisters turn to Maka, barely contained giddiness shining on their faces. They look at her like she is a doll, ripe and ready to be dressed and fussed over.

They practically drag Maka from her horse, hauling her by her bootstraps.

They whisk her away in a flurry of female laughter and rustling cotton skirts towards the local dress shop down on Main Street.

"Now wait a gosh darn minute." Soul chokes, reeling from the sudden kidnapping.

"Just leave it to us!" Liz tosses over her shoulder.

"We'll have her prettier than a sow's ear in under an hour!" Patty agrees, both girls dragging away a very unwilling Miss Albarn.

They round the corner out of sight, and Soul, for all of his razor-sharp gut feelings and honed instincts, can't figure out if this was going to be a disaster or maybe the answer to his prayers.

One never really knew when it came to the Thompson sisters.