In the next few months, Charles ended up back with the Wapiti tribe. He tracked them only a few miles north from where he'd left them in the fall. The convoy was slow-moving, but their goal was to reach the Canadian border by the first snowfall.

When they came across a valley with abundant resources, they decided to stop their traveling for the winter as it proved a viable settlement. Charles stayed with them through the winter. He helped build a village for Rains Fall's people, bringing a sliver of normalcy back into their lives. He spent his days chopping wood, hunting, and providing supplies.

But as much as he contributed to the tribe itself, he made himself scarce to the people. While the Wapiti tribe seemed grateful for his presence, there was some invisible barrier between him and the other men. Perhaps they blamed him partially for the death of the chief's son. There was never anything said directly, but conversations were succinct and the look in their eyes never lost their wariness as the weeks passed.

Since they didn't seem interested in talking, he never bothered to try to explain himself. After all, he had done his best to abide by Rains Fall's wishes at the time, to keep from interfering between them and the army. Yet, he would never be able to deny the company he'd once kept, Dutch's obstructive involvement, and ultimately the role he'd played in the battle of Cornwall's factory. It didn't matter that Eagle Flies' anger had him on his own path of destruction.

By spring, Charles knew this wasn't the place for him. Despite Rains Fall's invitation to stay, Charles saw no future for himself here. The Wapiti people were willing to accept the assistance and supplies he provided, but they would never accept him.

"I know what weighs on your mind, Charles Smith," Rains Fall said one morning, approaching Charles as he was wrapping a feather to an arrow shaft. Rains Fall lowered himself onto a tree stump nearby. He folded his hands over his walking stick and said, "You wish to leave."

Charles kept silent, but out of respect, he stopped his work and faced Rains Fall. Now that they were far from town and winter was upon them, Rains Fall had shed his suit in favor of a fur cloak.

"You should return to your people."

Charles didn't have people anymore. "There's work to be done here."

Rains Fall nodded sagely. "And it will get done. But not by you. Your wish to leave is not a selfish one. My people will persevere, as we always have. Now you must do the same."

Charles had stared, wanting to counter a denial, but knowing in his heart that he couldn't.

"We will welcome you back if you wish to return," Rains Fall offered. His gaze lifted to the skies, watching the clouds as his weathered face saddened. "It's difficult to see the correct paths that may lead us to an abundant life. I tried to teach my son to look for the right opportunities. I wish I had tried harder to teach him the subtleties of peace. I don't speak lightly, Charles, when I tell you it is time for you to make a new path."

Charles knew Rains Fall was right. Much as he desired to find a place among the Wapiti, it was not to be. He chose to leave when the days started to be filled with more sun rather than clouds. The snow melted, beginning a course for spring. At his departure, as he saddled Taima, Rains Fall surprised him with a care package, including a separate satchel with four short glass jars filled with liquid.

"When you see Mr. Morgan again, give him this. It's a tonic of my own creation and should ease his cough."

Charles accepted the satchel, but looked up and told him, "I don't know if I'll be returning to New Hanover. I might head further north instead."

A knowing gleam flickered in Rains Fall's eye. "Take the tonics anyway."

Charles fully intended to go north, but as he rode through the forest and found himself at a fork in the road, he guided Taima southward after all. For the rest of his trip, he took his time in traveling. He stopped in towns and settlements, sometimes for a few days, sometimes for a week. Other times, it only took one night to realize a place wasn't a fit.

In the summer of 1900, Charles grew closer to West Elizabeth and revisited their old haunts. Colter remained in disrepair. No one had claimed the old mining camp since the gang had huddled together in the buildings a year ago. He continued on until he reached Horseshoe Overlook. He camped in the trees and picked up a few odd jobs in town to earn a little cash.

It was here he first started hearing the rumors about the gang. Nothing was ever concrete as far as sightings of other gang members. In fact, most of them sounded like myths in of themselves. However, he'd thought rumors of the Van der Linde gang's exploits would be old news by now. But something was keeping them alive. Even though the newspapers at the time had reported Arthur's death by the Pinkertons, doubt had spread of its truth. If the wrong person started to believe this possibility, Arthur would be in trouble.

Charles continued on, to investigate where these rumors could have originated. The search took him in the direction of Clemens Point, the last place that had felt normal before the Pinkertons had caught up to them again. Before Dutch's schemes had grown too erratic in their execution.

In Rhodes, he decided to stop in at one of the shops. He wanted information, but didn't want to call attention to himself. Just his presence in a bar this far south could be dangerous for him.

As Charles walked into the general store, someone greeted him, "Charles!"

Mr. Pearson came around the counter to shake his hand with enthusiasm. "I thought that was you I spotted out there. How the hell are you?"

Normally, Charles wouldn't care for Pearson's familiarity, but it'd been so long since he'd seen a friend, he welcomed the greeting.

"Doing well." Charles looked around. "You work here?"

Pearson beamed proudly. "I run it. It's my wife's."

"Your wife?" he asked, even more surprised.

"Ethel hired me near on six months ago now. She started off as my boss, and then, well, things evolved." He held up his hand, proudly showing off the gold band on his finger. "I'm a married man and store owner."

"Very nice," Charles murmured, impressed at his success despite himself.

"Just recently heard what happened to Strauss and now I run into you."

"What happened to Strauss?"

"Seems the Pinkertons caught him while he was trying to seek passage on a ship." Pearson grimaced. "It didn't end well for him, but he didn't spill nothing about the gang."

It was another lost gang member after Miss Grimshaw. Yet, it staggered Charles that Herr Strauss had kept so much loyalty right up to the end.

"Anyone else still on the run?"

Pearson smoothed his mustache down with two fingers as he thought. "Let's see here. Karen came by a couple of months ago. She was on her way to Chicago for some job opportunity. I reckon she stopped here to visit Sean's grave before she left this area for good. I also heard Tilly and Mary-Beth were striking out on their own in Saint Denis. Couldn't tell you about anyone else. Well...except..." Pearson looked around the store, checking that they were alone. He leaned in and asked, "You run into Arthur?"

"Yes." It had been nearly a year so the question startled him somewhat. "How did you know?"

"I seen him too. He caused some uproar here in Rhodes, before I arrived. Then I heard there was a posse going after him in Annesburg. Must not have caught him 'cause them boys that went up there never did come back."

"Hmm." Charles had thought Arthur intended to leave behind trouble. Seems he'd been right about it following him. On top of that, there were those rumors spreading of the Pinkertons' failure. What could be done?

He could start the quashing of rumors here, to start. "If you hear anything about Arthur being alive, don't let those rumors spread."

Pearson's brow wrinkled. "Wha..."

Charles rested an arm on the counter and reiterated, "Next time you hear someone talking about Arthur, tell them you have it on good authority that he's dead."

"But I don't—"

"Just do it, Pearson."

"Okay, okay." Pearson eyed him. "I'll do my best, much as anyone ever listens to me."

"It's for Arthur's best interest that no one thinks there's a chance he survived. You don't want him getting taken in, do you?"

"No, no," Pearson said quickly. "But how will I convince anyone?"

Pearson was right. There needed to be some kind of evidence that Arthur was dead, or any denials would fall on deaf ears, especially the more persistent seekers. "I'll write you when I come up with something."

If there was evidence of Arthur's death, it would eliminate all speculation or at least lessen it. As Charles left Pearson's general store, an idea started turning over in his head. There needed to be proof that Arthur was dead.

Arthur needed a grave.

XXXXXXXXXX

It took some time. More time than Charles had expected, but by the changing of the season, Charles had completed his project. All that was needed was to show Arthur.

As he journeyed back north at the end of November, part of him feared Arthur had disregarded his suggestions and had moved on from the little cabin to seek vengeance on his own. Or, that he wouldn't find Arthur in as good of health. But the real fear was that Arthur hadn't lived long after Charles last saw him. Even with Pearson's account, it had been nearly a year since Arthur had been seen alive.

Therefore, Charles couldn't help the sweeping relief that flooded him when he reached Willard's Rest and saw Arthur working on as mundane a task as removing the wheel of a horse cart. He yet lived and was nowhere near his deathbed.

Once Taima's hoofs stamping the dirt became audible to Arthur, he stood suddenly, his hand moving to his side. Arthur looked up and recognition changed his threatened expression to relaxed as he raised a hand. "Charles."

Charles returned a wave and dismounted near Arthur. "I was hoping you'd still be up here. It's been awhile, my friend."

"Too long," Arthur agreed, shaking his hand. "What you doin' in these parts?"

"I've been..." Charles said carefully. "...traveling."

"Okay," Arthur accepted easily and invited, "Let's set Taima up in back. Then you can come in and tell us about it."

There had been some improvements done on the property since his last visit. A new stable stood behind the house, currently holding two horses, including Jane the mare, and a gray workhorse. The garden in front bloomed with liveliness even against the cooling November air.

"What brings you up here?" Arthur asked again as they headed for the house.

Charles said honestly, "For one thing, I wanted to see how everything turned out for you."

"Well, I'm still standin' so it ain't all bad."

As they reached the porch, the door swung open and Charlotte stepped out with a rifle in her hands, mirroring the manner in which Charles had first met her.

When she realized it was friend rather than foe, she smiled and lowered the gun. "Oh. Hello, Charles. What a welcome surprise."

Observing the edginess in both their demeanors, Charles glanced at the rifle and then to Arthur. "Were you two expecting someone else?"

"Let's just say..." Arthur said evasively, "we ain't takin' chances around here."

"Hmm," Perhaps his project was equally as timely for them. "I see."

"I'm just about to set up lunch. Won't you come in?" Charlotte invited.

Charles nodded. "I'd be honored. Thank you."

The home had grown more lived-in since he'd last been here. The cabinets around the room were filled, some shelves with books and others with small personal knick-knacks and photographs. On one of the walls, there was a framed painting of the waterfall and river he recognized to be at the base of Willard's Rest. A vase with small violet flowers had been placed on the center of the table, allowing a gentle lavender scent wafting the room.

Arthur gestured at a chair and asked, "So, what can I do you for?"

Charles removed the small satchel from his shoulder and held it out for Arthur. "First, a gift. From Rains Fall. A few tonics, a salve and the recipe to make some more. He said it should help suppress your coughs."

Arthur took the satchel, a look of appreciation turning up his mouth. "You'll have to thank him for me."

"If I'm up north again, I shall. But I'm thinking of staying down here for now."

"That so?"

Charles intended to explain a little of his restlessness and increasing loneliness to Arthur when he thought he heard crying from one of the bedrooms. Charlotte moved out of the main room to the bedroom in response as Arthur continued the conversation.

Distracted and not believing his ears, Charles didn't hear Arthur's question. He asked doubtfully, "Is that an infant I hear?"

Arthur glanced in the direction of the room and confirmed with a crooked grin, "Yeah."

Charles stared at him. Arthur had a child now? It was quite the idea to wrap his head around.

"What?" Arthur asked quizzically.

"Nothing." Charles lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Just...that's quite the commitment. Last we spoke, you weren't even completely sure you were going to stay here."

Arthur sighed. "Yeah, well. You were right about a lot of things, Charles, and a lot's changed since then besides."

"So I've heard." Charles couldn't resist the urge to goad him a little. "You run into some trouble down in Rhodes?"

Arthur glanced at him sharply. "Where'd you hear that?"

"From Pearson. He's working the general store down there. Found himself a wife even."

"That so?" Arthur reacted with just as much as surprise as Charles had felt. "Good for him."

Arthur wearily explained about the trouble that he'd gotten in, running into the wrong crowd in Rhodes, getting shot up, and then months later getting tracked to Annesburg and ending up in another gunfight. So much for being retired.

As Arthur was finishing, Charlotte re-entered the room with the baby bundled in her arms. Charles straightened in his chair, tilted his head and stared in open curiosity.

Catching his interest, Charlotte offered, "Would you like to hold her, Charles?"

Charles' eyes widened, not expecting the question. "Hold her?"

Charlotte smiled. "She's quite harmless, I promise. Her name's Nora."

Charles hesitated in answering. He had very little experience with children, especially ones that small. "I'm not sure it's a good idea."

"She don't bite," Arthur added with a half grin. "Least not yet. She ain't got the teeth for it."

"No. I think I'm fine."

Charlotte took his refusal without offense, cradling the baby closer.

Charles turned his attention back to the discussion. "Have you seen any other old friends?"

"We had Karen here for nearly a year," Arthur told him. "She got herself sober, if you can believe it. Helped us get through the pregnancy."

Charles informed him on how Strauss had been taken in shortly after the raid on Beaver Hollow. Besides Pearson, he mentioned Tilly and Mary-Beth making their way in Saint Denis.

It seemed inevitable Arthur would turn to asking about another comrade of theirs. "You, er, hear anything on Marston?"

"No." John was someone Charles been trying his best to find out more on by asking subtle questions that wouldn't raise suspicion. So far, he'd been unsuccessful. "It's easier for me to assume the worst than hold onto a false hope that he's still out there."

"Maybe," Arthur replied, not as willing to believe it. "I reckon you came here for a purpose, Charles. You ain't never been one for seekin' small talk and reminiscing."

"I did have something to show you, but now I'm thinking..." He glanced at Charlotte and the baby, recognizing the life Arthur had now built. "...it's not such a good idea."

"What is it?"

Charles debated with himself a moment. He wanted to put their lives at ease, but he felt the grave site was better shown than explained. And maybe, a small part of him wanted to spend time with a friend again. "Arthur, do you think you could spare the rest of the day for a quick ride?"

Arthur's gaze went to Charlotte. Anxious looks passed between them. It was clear Arthur didn't want to leave them alone, a sentiment he had gained since last time.

"Arthur, we'll be fine for a couple of days," Charlotte reassured him. "I'll keep the rifle close and I won't leave the house until you're back."

Since Charlotte was on board, Charles also assured Arthur, "If we ride straight there, you'll be back home by tonight."

Arthur met Charlotte's gaze and there was a momentary silent battle of wills. The gunfights of recent times had clearly taken their toll on the two of them.

"Don't see a reason why not, I guess," Arthur answered gruffly and glanced out the window.

"First," Charlotte handed the baby off to him as she moved to serve up biscuits and gravy on the table. "you two will have a meal."

Charlotte and Arthur took turns holding baby Nora so the other one could eat their dinner. Their mutual partnership and respect impressed Charles, as he'd never witnessed a couple to work so well together, especially involving the care of a child. Although, to that end, he had few to compare them, only the couples in the gang.

He'd only seen the downward spiral that was Molly and Dutch's relationship and it hadn't been pretty. Karen and Sean only seemed to love each other during a party and after a few drinks. John and Abigail...they confused him. Neither one seemed to be able to stand the other, yet Arthur had told him John had made a strong effort to try and extract him and his family from the gang right at the end.

After the meal, Arthur left the room to pack a satchel with ammo and supplies for the trip. While Charles waited, he helped Charlotte clear the dinner plates as she swayed with the baby in her arms.

As Charles set a plate in the sink, a twinge throbbed briefly in his hand. He opened and clenched his hand, feeling a familiar pang at the base of his palm. A year later and the nerves still sometimes gave him a little hell. They had been damaged from the burns he'd sustained in the Blackwater robbery. But it wasn't enough to disrupt his hunting, only a minor reminder of his time in a terrible situation.

"How are you, Charles?" asked Charlotte, breaking the silence of the room.

He shifted to face her. There were many things he could open up about. But it wasn't his way. He didn't know how to talk to people on a personal level. "Fine."

"Are you living anywhere?"

"No. I'm traveling for now."

She frowned, her fingers drifting over the baby's soft hair. "Don't you have family of some kind you can visit?"

"Not in the traditional sense. Not for a long time."

"Do you have someplace to stay at least?"

"Nothing permanent."

"Do you like it that way?"

For awhile he had. But the road of those times was long behind him and no longer able to be tread upon.

"While we don't have much room here, you are free to stay in the second bedroom. We haven't yet transferred Nora's crib. You're welcome to use it for as long as you'd like."

It was a tempting offer. But with the baby in the household, Charles would feel as if he were intruding. As much as he wanted to accept, he shook his head.

"Well, our home is open, should you ever need a place to stay."

"Thank you," he managed, touched by her thoughtfulness, but not knowing how else to respond. He cleared his throat and broached, "You two seem nervous."

Charlotte blew out a breath. "It's been a trying year." She rested her head lightly on her daughter, who had nodded off in her arms. "But a rewarding one as well. Arthur's had to be strong for the both of us more often than not."

Charles nodded. "It's easy to get beaten down in this world. But not as easy to get back up and carry on."

"Indeed. It is difficult, especially on one's own."

"What I'm showing Arthur tonight should discourage anyone who might try to come after him."

Visible relief fluttered over her expression. "Really? It would be a comfort. Arthur worries overmuch, more than he shows. He tries to hide his fear rather than share it." She lifted her eyes to meet his and stated, "Much like you, Charles."

Her observation unsettled him, but he was saved from having to respond when Arthur re-entered the room.

Arthur pressed a kiss to Charlotte's lips, dropped another on the baby's head and hugged the both of them. "We won't be long."

To Charles, Charlotte said, "Make sure he comes back to us in one piece."

"I will, ma'am," Charles promised.

For the next couple of hours, the two men simply rode instead of talked. Arthur had sunk into a somber silence and Charles didn't feel the need to interrupt. He was simply satisfied to be riding next to a friend again, at least for a little while.

Charles could live where he wanted and nowadays only had to worry for himself. But his time in the Van der Linde gang had filled a crevice in his heart he hadn't known was empty. The gang had provided him with friends he could trust for the first time in his life.

During his time in the gang, Charles frequently chose to go off on his own, but there were nights that he didn't have to. He'd had a camp he could rest in, sit around the fire and listen to the others tell stories of their past—or tall tales if it was Uncle doing the talking. Occasionally, he'd even join in the conversations.

Charles had no one anymore to share these moments, and the feeling of freedom as he traveled, even the illusion of it, wasn't there. That way of life was lost to him and the way forward wasn't clear. The one person Charles knew who was alive and would consider a place to start his journey of self-discovery had his hands full with a new family.

"Alright, Charles. You gotta tell me where we're headed," Arthur interrupted his thoughts.

They were north of any town and had passed the trail that led to the long abandoned Wapiti Reservation. They would soon reach the valleys of the Grizzlies mountains, but before that, their destination.

"Not much further."

When they eventually began their descent down the other side of the mountain, Charles veered left, up a different trail. Before he started around the curve of the mountain, he broke from the path and dismounted from Taima near a lone tree. He surveyed the ground below as he waited for Arthur to follow suit.

He breathed in the fresh air that was free from any man-made chemicals or smothering smoke. There was a little abandoned house below, but as many times as Charles had made this trek, he'd never noticed any occupants. This was where Charles came to think and contemplate the complicated aspects of life.

An eagle took off from its perch at the edge of the rocks, drawing his attention beyond the mountain, where all of West Elizabeth lay in view. The mountains further west were powdered with snow. Dusk cast a violet light across the land below, shimmering the river.

As they picked their way down the grassy hillside, Arthur commented to Charles, "I'll admit, there ain't no beatin' the view, but what are we doin' here?"

"The law thinks you dead," Charles explained quietly. "They wouldn't give up on finding you if they thought otherwise. But there is no body, and rumors of your survival haven't faded."

"I don't get what you're sayin', Charles, unless you mean to murder me right here, right now."

Charles quirked a smile. "Nothing so dramatic, Arthur."

The grassy area leveled out and Charles strode toward the edge of the cliff, stopping near the boulder and gesturing for Arthur to look at the site he'd constructed. The wooden cross contained Arthur's name as well as a inscription that read: Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. He chose this scripture because of Arthur's change of heart for his former actions.

Those words weren't the only thing he'd done with purpose. Charles had also collected and planted orange poppies. His mother had once told him that poppies represented rebirth, and Charles picked them to indicate Arthur's choice of a new life.

"What the hell is this?" asked Arthur, bewildered.

Charles explained his reasoning to Arthur, how he'd originally intended to honor him with a grave, but abandoned the idea when he'd found Arthur alive. Then how he decided to go through with it when he'd discovered the problems Arthur had been running into.

Arthur removed his hat and knelt in front of his own grave, silent, as Charles studied him for a reaction. Arthur's breath clouded the air as he stared, looking like a man in grieving. Perhaps, it was only in this moment that Arthur realized exactly all that he had left behind when he'd chosen to stay with Charlotte.

"This was a great idea, Charles," Arthur said finally. He returned his hat to his head and stood. "You've always had my back, Charles, and I ain't yet figured out how to thank you for it."

Charles said simply, "It's what friends do."

They watched the sun finish its descent behind Mount Shann and then they headed back to their horses. Charles followed Arthur home as night crawled across the sky, keeping true to his solemn promise to Charlotte. The moonlight shone bright as a helpful guide on their return to Willard's Rest. Wolves howled in the woods on either side of them, but never did they confront him and Arthur on the road.

Arthur perked up in his saddle once the low roar of a waterfall reached their ears. "Night's gettin' on. We got room at the house if you want to stay."

Charles was half-tempted to take him up on the offer, but out loud he answered, "Go to your family. I can manage."

Perhaps if Arthur had been less weary and insisted a second time, Charles may have caved and stayed until morning. But instead, he waved his goodbye and continued down the lane and up the hill to the house. Charles watched Arthur go, hoping the grave site he'd created would prove an effective deterrent for anyone still in search of a retired outlaw.

Good luck, brother.

Charles returned to the road. The night was quiet, with no other travelers for him to run into. It wasn't entirely safe to travel alone with the many predators that lurked in the darkness of this area, humans and animals alike. But on this night, Charles felt no fear. He'd always preferred riding at night, finding it relaxing and giving him space to think, and tonight was no different. The moon shone the path clear, as if guiding him in a particular direction. The soft clopping of Taima's even pace calmed him and had him drifting into idle thoughts.

He'd never understood what to make of life. Everyone around him seemed to know what they wanted, or how they wanted to live. Rains Fall led his people with grace, even after his son's death. Arthur had left the outlaw life behind in favor of a domestic one. Even Pearson had found himself a wife.

But as for Charles, he just felt stuck. He'd always been on the run. He'd always traveled. It was nothing new to him. He'd been drifting from towns to towns since he was thirteen. He'd come to realize it was no way to live for an extended time, but it was the only way he knew and he didn't know how to change.

Charles lost track of the days as he wandered the countryside. Most of the time he kept to the forest, lighting a campfire for himself each night, hunting during the day when the winter winds weren't too harsh.

As he journeyed, each morning he was greeted with more frost dusting the grass. Snow eventually powdered the air lightly, eager for winter's tidings. When the evening's temperatures dropped significantly, Charles decided he needed to find a place more substantial to survive the oncoming blizzards.

His aimless wandering ended with him on the outskirts of Saint Denis. The city could be unkind to its visitors, but a hot stew would go a long way in staving off the cold in his veins. He was just weary enough that he convinced himself to enter the city.

On this particular night, it was late enough that most restaurants he came across seemed to have closed for the evening, but he wasn't up for a boisterous tavern. The sharp wind had taken on life as dusk darkened the city, leaving the streets empty of walking pedestrians. Even the roads were near clear of but a few coaches driving through the couple inches of snow blowing around. Only the trolley had the fortitude to forge on on a brisk night like this.

Charles almost gave up on finding a quiet restaurant when he saw the warm glow of a light from the building he was passing. It was a restaurant called the Café Belle Helene, a red building with flaking paint attached to a boarding house. But it was inviting enough for one road weary traveler.

Inside, the restaurant itself was tidy, warm and quiet, just the sort of setting Charles was looking for. There were only two other men, and they were drinking at the bar with their backs turned towards him, not speaking with each other. On the other side of the room were a few empty tables close to a roaring fireplace.

Charles stomped his feet at the entrance, removing some of the caked-on snow. He pulled off his hat and shook the remaining snow off.

"Welcome, sweetie," greeted a blonde waitress with an infectious smile while he stood just inside the door. "Come on in."

Outwardly, Charles tried to exude a pleasant manner, even though he didn't feel to be in a friendly mood. However, it wasn't necessary to take his melancholy out on the workers of this establishment.

After he ordered a soup and whiskey, he sunk into deep thought. While he was in Saint Denis, he had a choice to make: to find work or move on.

He rubbed a hand across his face, feeling more lost than he ever had. Maybe he should have taken Arthur and Charlotte up on their offers to stay all those weeks ago, as uncomfortable as it had seemed to accept at the time. He felt so stuck, with no concept of how to continue. What was the point?

After his meal, the waitress returned to clear his bowl and mug. Yet she didn't leave immediately after. Instead, she placed in front of him a smaller plate and on it, sat a slice of fruitcake. The breaded treat contained candied fruits mixed inside of it, with the smell of nutmeg and cinnamon filling the air as the almonds on top glistened from a sugared glaze.

Charles stared at the treat. "I didn't order this."

The waitress told him cheerfully, "I know. It's on the house tonight."

"Why?" He looked around suspiciously, but saw the two men at the bar already diving into their own slices.

She paused in her turn to leave. "Don't you know what day it is?"

Charles frowned, glancing around again as if he could find the answer.

She saved him from floundering out a response as she said, "It's Christmas Eve, sweetie."

Honestly, he'd lost track of the days, but there might have been some connections he could have made while he walked through the city if he'd paid closer attention. He'd noticed the lack of people on the street and the few establishments that had been open, though he had attributed it to the rough weather. While he'd made note of wreaths on doorways and tinsel-wrapped poles, he'd not connected it to the date.

"I had no idea."

A hint of sympathy dropped her smile. She stepped closer to him, leaned down and unexpectedly pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. She smiled again, blue eyes capturing his, her breath brushing over his skin as she whispered, "Merry Christmas."

She walked away, leaving him befuddled. He watched her a moment as she returned to the bartender, who served her a drink. She set aside her own slice of cake as the two clanked glasses in celebration.

Charles lifted his hand to his cheek and then glanced at the appetizing cake the waitress had placed in front of him. Maybe he would stay in Saint Denis for awhile.