"You may now kiss the bride."

Standing before a preacher in the front yard at Beecher's Hope, surrounded by friends, John kissed his bride with exulted gusto. Charles and Irene clapped, sharing a smile with each other. Next to them, Jack let out a whoop and Uncle loosed an energetic whistle. Sadie had one hand clutching her side, but the other she patted her thigh to attempt a celebratory clap.

Even though the wedding was only attended by just the seven of them—and the officiate—the wedding had been a pleasant affair. The smoothness of today was surprising to Charles because he was aware of the haste that had been made to throw everything together.

They had all pitched in to make this day special for the Marstons, from Irene baking the wedding cake, to Abigail preparing a special meal, and Charles and John finishing setting up the furniture that had been gifted by John's former employer, Mr. Geddes. Even Jack and Uncle had pitched in by collecting wood for a bonfire they planned for later in the night.

For the most part, Charles believed the Marston wedding had been successful, even if he didn't have another in which to compare it. There had been only one brief interruption in the beginning of the ceremony when Rufus had decided to bound around John and Abigail seeking some attention. He eventually lost interest and left the group to chase rabbits. The rest of the wedding had gone off without a hitch once the preacher began the speech that would bind John and Abigail together in matrimony.

"C'mon y'all," Abigail called to the company after the preacher took his leave. "Let's head inside and have a drink to celebrate."

"And some cake," Uncle added.

Abigail snarked, "Like you ain't snuck three pieces already, old man."

"It's nothing but a compliment to Miss Dawson," Uncle said, turning to Irene. "She ain't gonna fault a man for appreciating her work, is she?"

Irene smiled his way. "I was happy to make it, and certainly there's plenty to go around."

"You underestimate the capacity of Uncle's stomach," joked John. "He's a bottomless pit."

The company headed inside, but Charles noticed Sadie hang back to linger on the porch. She grimaced and pulled out a cigarette. She was attempting to light a match one-handed, reserving a hand for her wounded side. She wasn't having much success.

Charles decided to wait for her, motioning to Irene to continue on inside without him. Sadie hadn't said much since they'd come back from the mountain, from killing Micah. She'd looked unusually domestic the past couple of weeks as she'd been donning a skirt and clean blouse of late. Her guns had also been holstered today, per Abigail's request.

"Want some help?" he offered.

"Sure." She handed over her matchbook.

He struck the match and lit the cigarette she held between two fingers. Once it began to burn she took a drag and closed her eyes. Her face relaxed some as if she'd been given some relief from her pain.

"You doing alright?" Charles asked.

She snorted and opened her eyes. "Fine. Why?"

He raised a brow, looking pointedly at the arm she held against the spot where she'd been stabbed.

"It'll heal. It's just been slow as hell. Say," Sadie changed the subject before he could question her further, "I saw in the Blackwater Ledger the famous missing princess was found."

Charles crossed his arms and leaned against the sturdy porch railing. "We put the problem to bed."

"By planting a story about finding evidence of her being dead?"

"Her and her brother thought it was the best decision to keep bounty hunters off the trail."

"If you say so."

Charles asked, "You don't think it was a good idea?"

"I didn't say that. Not sure what a good solution for her is really. I just ain't sure her story will stay long buried."

"It's working for Arthur."

She took another drag of her cigarette and blew out smoke. "That's true, but it ain't much the same set of circumstances. Arthur is an outlaw no one gives a damn about long as he ain't stirring up trouble. Your princess is like a treasure hunt for some. They ain't all gonna believe the papers, especially the ones who think they've sniffed out a real lead. Some of those people have been trying to collect that reward money for most of their lives."

Charles felt disconcerted at what she was saying. He had backed Irene and Wilhelm's plan fully, to publicly claim she'd been found, but was long deceased. However, that didn't mean he wasn't without his own misgivings, especially what Wilhelm said about Hahn working as a free agent. He didn't like that the man hadn't been caught yet.

"We'll deal with it," Charles told Sadie, saying it aloud to reassure her as much as himself.

"I didn't mean to offend you, Charles. I just wanted you to be aware that the sort of men in my profession don't give up on a lead easily." He must have been scowling because she raised a hand and said, "I'm still on your side, Smith. If you two need anything, you let me know. I got connections."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Charles calmed himself down. Sadie was a good friend and didn't mean any harm with her warnings. As angry and indifferent as she sometimes seemed, she cared and he could be grateful she had his back.

Sadie glanced backwards towards the house as they both heard the group getting rowdy from inside. She faced him and asked, "We going to be celebrating your nuptials next?"

Charles remembered yesterday when he'd walked in the house and spotted Irene laughing with Abigail in the kitchen, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows with sugar and flour covering her arms. No one would guess only days before she'd turned down a life to live as royalty. The sight of her had struck him so viscerally, this woman who had chosen to be with him, to accept him and his friends.

"We haven't discussed it."

Sadie rolled her eyes. "You men are impossible."

It wasn't as if Charles were against the idea of proposing marriage since Irene had come back into his life. They had just been busy. They'd reconnected so easily, but then Uncle got taken and Charles had been preoccupied with his recovery. Then Sadie had come by with news of Micah. Then when Irene's brother had contacted her, he hadn't wanted to influence her decision to stay. Once they got back to Beecher's Hope, they'd started preparing for Abigail and John's wedding.

Sadie said, "It's clear to me all she wants is to settle down with you."

His hesitancy was only because of the timing of everything. The truth was Charles wanted to find Irene a home she'd be happy to live and grow in. Charles couldn't see himself building a farm like John, not that he had the funds to do so anyway. The shack Irene rented right now in Blackwater was fine for a short residency, but it was no place to grow a family. Charles swallowed at the idea, as it had seemed like an impossible goal a few years ago.

Sadie continued, "I might have to stick around a little longer to make sure you follow through."

"Stick around?" Distracted, Charles asked, "You headed somewhere?"

She blew out a breath, smoke curling in the air. "I ain't making money sitting on my ass out here. I gotta get back to work."

Charles could understand if she felt uncomfortable intruding on Abigail and John's hospitality. She wasn't the only one feeling like it was time to move on. But for Charles, he wasn't sure what that entailed yet.

The door to the house opened and Uncle came out, brandishing his banjo. "Now that the preacher-man's gone, we can cut loose around here."

The others followed him outside, Abigail suggesting, "John, why don't you and Jack get that bonfire started?"

"Will do, Mrs. Marston." John tugged her hand to pull her close and kiss her cheek.

"Oh, stop that," she said, but blushed and smiled happily as her new husband and her son walked to the campfire.

Uncle came up to him and Sadie, his fingers plucking carelessly at the strings of his banjo. "C'mon, Mrs. Adler. I bet you know how to dance."

"It ain't gonna happen, old man."

"How about you, Charles?"

Irene paused on the steps and looked to him, amused. "Would you dance?"

"He definitely can," Uncle said with a wink before Charles could respond. "Put a few drinks in him and he'll show you a few steps. I've seen it with my own two eyes."

Abigail joined them. "Come dance with me, Sadie. It's my wedding. I won't have you glowering through it."

"I ain't—"

"Come on. It ain't everyday a girl gets married." Abigail grabbed one of Sadie's hands and dragged her away from her spot leaning against the porch. Sadie winced at being pulled, but Abigail was too elated to notice her discomfort. Uncle chuckled, following them as they moved towards the bonfire.

"Well, Mr. Smith? Shall we join them?"

Uncle was right. Usually Charles needed a full bottle in him to loosen up, but the mood tonight was jovial and he didn't feel as self-conscious as he usually might. Besides that, when Irene looked at him with encouragement and a sparkle in her eyes, there wasn't a request from her he could refuse.

He straightened and held out one of his hands to her. "As you wish, Your Highness."

"Careful that you don't spoil me, Charles," Irene said playfully as she led him to where the others were dancing near the fire. "I may start making royal commands."

She stopped in front of him, looking up as she waited for him to lead in a dance. He rested his hands on her waist and murmured the truth of everything in her ear, "I am yours to command."

XXXXXXXXX

Four days later, Irene had returned to the bakery while Charles had joined John back on the farm. Since John had gained confidence in his role as a rancher, Charles was not needed as much these days. His friend had also gained more help, with Jack pitching in and, surprisingly, Uncle too, when he wasn't making excuses.

Because of the extra hands, Charles was finding himself without as much to do in the late afternoons. He'd turned to hunting in order to fill his days. Now that the Skinners' numbers had been decimated from Tall Trees, it was safe to go out alone again. He'd bring home meat for the Marstons, and keep what was left for him and Irene.

However, there was only so much meat that could be stored and Charles had never been one to hunt for sport. Therefore, it didn't take long for the day to come when Charles didn't have a need to hunt, and the farm chores had been complete.

Charles decided to leave the ranch early and spend the rest of the evening with Irene. There were still a few hours until she closed up the bakery, but he didn't mind waiting with her.

His mood lightened at the prospect of an easy, pleasant evening with Irene, Charles mounted his horse to take off for the day. He was just about to spur Falmouth forward when he heard John call his name.

"Charles! Hold up!" John was leaving the barn. He jogged to catch Charles. "You headed into town?"

Charles turned Falmouth around and answered, "I intended on it since we finished up early. Unless I forgot something?"

"No. I think everything's caught up, but do you mind if I join you? I, uh, wanna pick up some things at the general store."

Charles heard the clear hesitation in John's tone and immediately understood his friend had something on his mind. "I welcome the company."

Whatever John was thinking about, he didn't seem keen on talking about it right away. They rode down the driveway without speaking, side by side at a trotting pace. The sun was high, but the days had started to cool, hints of fall in the air. The country down here never saw snow, but there was still change of season.

Charles didn't mind the silence, but once they'd been on the main road for a few minutes, he decided to get the conversation started. "It sounds like Sadie won't be staying much longer."

John rubbed the back of his neck, one hand on Rachel's reins. "Yeah, she said something of the sort to me this morning." He laughed a little. "Guess I should be grateful she hung around this long, for the wedding and all."

"True enough." Charles suspected she would have been long gone by now if she could have managed it.

As he and John reached the church at the edge of town, their eyes were drawn to a gravedigger shoveling dirt into a hole. Charles noticed John's attention following the rows of headstones in particular.

John said abruptly, "You, uh, you remember I told you that I had Arthur's journal?"

Charles frowned, wondering where this was going. "I remember."

"He wrote about all sorts of things. Himself, us, everyone else in the gang, how everything went down…but there are other people in there too. Friends of his, I guess, that he liked to visit. He had a lot of unfinished business."

Charles nodded, wordless.

"Now that Abigail and I are finally married, I've been thinking about taking a...a sort of pilgrimage. I mean to go around and talk to some of those friends."

Charles shifted in the saddle uncomfortably. He murmured, "That sounds like a good way to honor him."

"Figure I'll visit his grave too. Sadie says you know where it is."

They were riding into Blackwater and Charles was staring straight ahead, completely torn on how to answer him. John deserved to know the truth. "Yes, but, John, about Arthur—"

"Don't try to talk me out of it. This is something I want to do, that I have to do. For some peace of mind, you know?"

"I understand, but—"

"I know Abigail ain't gonna understand," John interrupted. "She wants me to stick to the farm. And I want to. I'm proud of it. But this trip ain't about me. It'll be a fight, I know it."

They'd reached the bakery and the two of them pulled their horses close to a couple of posts to hitch them up.

"John…" Charles had been fully prepared to explain everything, of how Arthur had survived the Pinkertons, Dutch and Micah, how he was living with a woman who loved him, and now had a family and home to take care of. But then Charles glimpsed the inside of the bakery and everything he meant so say fled from his mind.

He didn't see Irene behind the counter, which wouldn't normally alarm him as he'd been stopping in nearly every day for weeks now. Sometimes Irene would be at the counter and sometimes she would be busy in the back pantry. However, today his senses were ringing in alarm. He didn't know what it was, but something was wrong.

He stepped past John on the sidewalk and over the threshold of the bake shop. The front door was propped open, which wasn't unusual. Irene liked having a breeze flowing through. Not only did it cool down the shop when the ovens were on, but it released the smells to entice customers inside.

He didn't know why Irene's absence was sending him towards a panic. It was entirely possible she was in the storage room, but that didn't explain why the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. It was a reaction he normally experienced while out in the deep woods and in close proximity to a predator. Yet, there was a stillness to the room that he couldn't explain.

Charles cast a look around, taking in everything he saw to determine why his uneasiness felt heightened. One of the ovens was open, pouring heat into the shop. An unattended pie sat on the counter near the register. An apron lay crumpled on the floor. Behind the counter, the spices once organized neatly on the shelf had toppled over. Lastly, there was a package of flour on the floor, its contents spilled in a powdery pile to the side of the counter.

"What is it, Charles?" John asked, now standing behind him.

"Trouble," Charles determined grimly, but with certainty. It was what the disarray of the shop pointed to; something had happened to Irene.

Without being told, John removed a gun from his holster and checked around the room himself. Despite striving for a life of peace, John seemed ready to jump into action if it was needed. John's presence and his earnestness in the situation centered Charles.

He walked behind the counter to inspect the items on the shelf that had been disrupted. He swallowed hard as he processed its meaning. She'd fought back, yet the register wasn't open. This was unlikely to be a robbery then. The intruder had been here for another purpose. He had been here for Irene. And there was only one man Charles knew who meant to do Irene harm: Hahn.

The sight of the apron puddled on the ground disturbed him, so he shifted his attention temporarily to the counter, where the pie sat. The pie gave him more hope than anything else. Steam rolled off its dome top as if it had just been taken out of the oven and placed there. That meant he wasn't too late. Pulling it out of the oven must have been the last thing she'd down before…

Charles shook off the panic trying to take hold of his reason. There was still time.

He scanned the room again. All of it together—the apron abandoned on the floor, the spilled flour in a pile and spread like it had fallen from her person as she'd been fleeing—it told a story. Whatever had occurred here happened only minutes ago.

He couldn't waste time, but he could hardly think. His heart was pounding in his ears as he moved on to the flour on the floor. He crouched and noticed right away the boot print on the edge of the spill. It led in the direction of the back door.

Charles walked briskly towards the backroom. He'd never been through this door, but after he opened it, he found a short hallway in front of him. At the end of the hall, the back door to the alley was thrown wide open.

Following his instincts, he crossed through the hallway, passing by the storage room. John was on his heels as Charles burst out the back door. Instead of a narrow alley, he had stepped out onto a small lot sitting on Blackwater's Main Street. It was a small lot containing abandoned wagons and carts, casted out wheels, and a grove of broken lumber. It was the west side of Blackwater, facing the road where the local stage coach parked and the union freight depot posted letters.

More important than the vision of clutter was that he found Irene. He had a brief moment of relief at her liveliness before he took into account what he was witnessing. Her hands were bound and her mouth was covered by a cloth gag. She was standing only a few strides away and then their eyes met. Fear had them widening and she took a step towards him before she was suddenly tossed onto an awaiting horse by her captor.

It was Hahn. But of course it was. Charles had figured that out, but he should have been on the look out for Hahn until they'd heard from Wilhelm he had been dealt with. Now it was too late.

Hahn moved to the side of his horse, preparing to mount.

"Stop!" Charles blurted when he should have been stealthy. But he wasn't thinking straight.

Hahn swung around, a gun appearing in his hand before he aimed it at Charles. Sitting atop the horse, Irene let out a muffled cry of protest.

Hahn narrowed his eyes, recognizing him. "You! The bodyguard."

"Let her go," Charles demanded

Hahn slid a glance to Irene, as if he were considering it, but he said, "I don't think I will."

"Don't be a fool," retorted John, his own gun out. "There are two of us and one of you."

Hahn didn't seem concerned and a second later Charles understood why. Hahn shifted the aim of his barrel from them to Irene. "Don't follow us or I'll kill her."

Charles froze, unable to come up with an idea to save her. He watched helplessly as Hahn mounted his horse. Hahn flicked the reins and the horse took off, forcing Irene to scramble to find a hold on the saddle or risk falling off.

As soon as Hahn turned his back, Charles' whistle cut through the air, a desperate call to Falmouth. Thankfully, she came galloping around the corner of the buildings obediently. John's Rachel was right behind her.

John stopped him by grabbing his arm before he could take up the chase. "Charles, hold on. What's the plan?"

He wrenched his arm away and got on the saddle, snarling, "There's no time."

He pressed his heels into Falmouth and pushed her to her limits in order to pursue the one who had stolen his heart from him. He thought he heard John following him, but he didn't look back. He kept his eyes narrowed on where he needed to go.

As Charles made his pursuit, he wished more than ever he was instead riding Taima in her prime. Falmouth just wasn't as fast, and Charles worried all his efforts would be in vain as Hahn got Irene further from his sights.

He and John followed the dust that had been kicked up, heading west out of Blackwater, passing a few houses and the church on the right. The gravedigger was leaning on his shovel, scratching under his hat and looking in the direction of Hahn and Irene.

The two were within a reachable distance and Charles silently thanked Falmouth for her unexpected speed. But he knew the real saving grace was he and John had the advantage of being lone riders while Hahn's thoroughbred was having to race away with two passengers on her back.

At a curve in the road, instead of following the path, Hahn suddenly veered to the right and into the tall grass.

"Hyah!" Charles spurred Falmouth on, having no intention of losing them now that they were gaining ground.

Their three horses galloping through the fields startled loitering quails into running into deeper thicket, thicker vegetation.

"I can't get a clear shot," John, now beside him, yelled. He was aiming for Hahn, but didn't have his finger on the trigger.

"Don't try it," Charles called back. Irene was seated behind Hahn on the horse. It could be a fatal risk for her to even attempt a shot.

The land below them changed to rocky terrain as they neared the basin of the Upper Montana River. Charles thought Hahn's intention was to follow the edge of the basin, but, alarmingly, they weren't slowing down. Hahn's horse reached the edge and halted abruptly, bucking in defiance just before the descending embankment. As a result, Irene and Hahn were thrown from the saddle.

Charles closed in on them. Being on the back of the horse, Irene hadn't dropped as far a distance to the ground, but her bound hands had also prevented her from breaking her fall. Luckily, she was sitting up by the time Charles leapt from Falmouth and knelt in front of her.

He pulled the gag from her mouth, cupping her cheeks and asking fretfully, "Are you alright?"

She nodded, somewhat dazed as tears streamed down her dust-covered face. Her hair was windswept and tangled. "He-he wants to kill me."

Those words and her palpable fear struck him to the core of his person. When John reached the two of them, Charles stood and looked to Hahn, who had fallen a short distance away from them. His horse had run off. While conscious, he appeared more stunned from the fall than Irene.

Charles was often the one in a crew who kept a level head in these kinds of situations. If he was thinking clearly, he would have rushed to hogtie him in order to turn him in to the police. Hahn would be detained until he was extradited back to Luxembourg where Wilhelm could deal with him in the proper channels. Charles knew how to show mercy.

But not to this man. And not on this day.

"Charles!" John called out to him, but Charles hardly heard him. His mind was on only one thing: deal with Hahn once and for all.

The fury Charles held for this man was more intense than anything he'd ever felt for any enemy. When poachers desecrated the bison of the area, he'd wanted them to pay a price. When the Murfrees had ambushed him and Irene, he'd coldly taken them down. But, here, now, an engulfing rage consumed him.

Hahn blinked, narrowing his eyes on Charles. "Leave now and I'll spare the g—"

Charles didn't give Hahn the chance to speak another threat. He swiftly slipped a small knife into his palm and flung it with precision. In an instant, the handle could be seen protruding from Hahn's heart. Charles stalked towards Hahn as the man clutched his chest and dropped to his knees.

He grabbed hold of the dagger and pulled it from him, his blood flowing fast from the wound. He clutched Hahn's lapel, noticing his eyes widening in fear as Charles held him.

Charles leaned in close to his ear and told him plainly, "You will never hurt her again."

Charles tossed Hahn to the ground as if he were nothing and turned away. He'd killed many men in his time, but never with satisfaction. Until today. Behind him, Hahn coughed, gasping in one last breath before falling silent.

He returned to Irene who lifted her eyes to meet his, but not looking beyond his shoulder. She asked quietly, "Is he dead?"

"Yes," he told her with no emotion.

She buried her face in his chest, and he held her. Hardly above a whisper, he heard her say, "Thank you."

XXXXXXXXX

While the more feral side of him wanted to leave Hahn's body to the coyotes, Charles knew it was better to bring him to the sheriff and explain what happened, especially since there had been so many witnesses to their pursuit.

John slung the body over the rump of his horse while Charles had Irene ride sidesaddle in front of him, holding her close as she hugged him tightly. She was quiet for the ride into town, understandably shaken from what Hahn had put her through.

The three of them entered the small sheriff's office facing the river. It was too small for the growing city, but that was why there was a new property under construction in the center of town. There were also city funds promised to increase the police force once the new station was finished.

As they entered the small building, Chief Dunbar stood from his desk, eyeing the dead man John had carried in over his shoulder. His face was clean-shaven but pitted with scars after nearly ten years of serving in Blackwater. He stared at the man John dropped at his feet, frowning. "I thought we were done with Skinner victims in this area."

"It weren't Skinners," John informed him.

They had agreed on the way over that they wouldn't admit to knowing Hahn's identity. They had even gone through the trouble of rifling through Hahn's pockets, removing anything that could possibly connect him to Irene.

Charles explained, "This man tried to rob the bakery and accost Miss Dawson. We chased him down and recovered her, but during the scuffle, this bastard was killed."

"That so?" Chief Dunbar crossed his arms, his gaze going between the three of them as if gauging the truth for himself. He stopped at Irene. "Miss?"

She nodded, tears springing to her eyes. "If Mr. Smith and Mr. Marston hadn't come when they did, I don't know what would have happened."

Chief Dunbar's suspicious look dropped as he nodded in agreement. "These two have been a great help to this city as of late. I haven't seen a Skinner attack in weeks and Mr. Marston has cleared all the known bounties in our area."

"It's been my pleasure, sir."

"Well, I'll take care of this feller from here. I'll see if he's carrying anything that'll identify him." The chief crouched near him, taking a closer look. "I don't think he's from around here, if I had to guess. He's probably a traveler just off the ferry who thought he could take advantage of one our own."

They left the building and before John took off, he said to Charles, "Do me a favor and don't tell Abigail my involvement in all of this."

Charles didn't understand how John and Abigail got along when they withheld so much from each other, but he was grateful John had been with him today, to keep him centered on finding Irene so quickly. He promised his silence on the matter and they went their separate ways.

Charles took Irene home instead of back to the bakery. She shuffled inside, subdued and clearly in a state of shock. He led her to a chair and had her sit. He found a sponge and filled a small basin with water.

He returned to Irene and meticulously cleaned her face of the dirt built up. He moved on to her hands and cleaned those too, trying not to react to the bruises and scrapes around her wrists from being bound. Once he'd wiped away the dirt, he used a towel to gently pat her dry. Lastly, he collected her comb from her dresser and set to work brushing through the tangles in her hair.

Once the teeth of the comb went through the strands without any snags, he set the comb down on the table. Her hand covered his and he met her crystal eyes. He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, one of reassurance and care.

When he leaned back from her, she murmured, "Thank you, Charles."

A sharp rap at the door interrupted their tranquility. Irene startled in her spot at the sound, eyes widening. Charles strode to the door, catching a glimpse of the visitor before he opened the door.

"Mrs. Wilson," he greeted the older woman. It was Irene's employer and judging by the way she looked at him, she wasn't expecting him to be here.

"Ah. Mr. Smith, is it?"

Charles nodded. "Can I help you?"

"I'm here to check on Irene. May I come in?"

Charles glanced at Irene. She could hear the conversation so he merely raised an eyebrow to ask her if she wanted a visitor. Irene nodded her agreement.

Charles stepped aside and Mrs. Wilson swept in, going straight for a hug for Irene. "Chief Dunbar stopped by my place to let me know what happened today at the bakery. You poor thing!"

"I appreciate your visit, Mrs. Wilson."

"In light of what happened today, I do have something important I wish to discuss with you." She slid a pointed look towards Charles. "Alone, if you don't mind, Mr. Smith."

Again, he turned to Irene for her decision. She said, "I shall be alright."

"I won't be far."

He gave them the privacy of their conversation, but he stayed close to the house. He used the time to feed Falmouth and brush her down. He removed his satchel from her saddle, forming an idea for dinner when the front door of the house opened.

Mrs. Wilson stepped outside and stopped by Charles to speak with him next. "Mr. Smith, thank heavens you came around when you did. I would have been devastated if something had happened to dear Irene."

"Me too," he murmured.

"She's suffered quite a shock, hasn't she?"

"Yes."

"Why, I haven't heard of anything so vicious happening in this town since that gang came blazing through several years ago." She shook her head sadly. "We weren't so lucky to have you here then, Mr. Smith, or perhaps you may have saved another innocent girl."

All Charles could do was nod. He knew exactly who she was referring to: Heidi, the girl Dutch had killed during the robbery on the ferry. Charles had been witness to it in fact. At the time, Charles believed Dutch had killed her because he had to. In hindsight, Charles now believed Dutch had killed her when the Pinkertons had arrived in a show of temperament, nothing more.

Mrs. Wilson told him sternly, "You take care of that girl in there."

I intend to, he promised silently as the older woman took her leave.

Charles entered the house again. Irene was still sitting at the table, but now she had a mug of coffee in her hands. She was staring in the distance, in a deep concentrated state.

He approached her and dropped a kiss on her head. "How was your visit?"

She sighed and slid her coffee cup away. "I fear Abigail and John's cake may be the last one I'll be baking for awhile."

He frowned at her, not expecting that statement. "Why?"

"Mrs. Wilson told me she means to retire and move out west. She already has a buyer for the shop."

"What?"

Irene sighed. "She's been hinting at it for awhile, but I didn't think she was so serious or that she would be ready so soon. She leaves in two weeks for California."

Charles regretted allowing Mrs. Wilson to visit. Of all days, why had she thought this was the time to dump this on Irene? Surely waiting another day or two at least for Irene to recover from one shock would have been the responsible decision.

Irene was clearly upset about it and Charles didn't like the look in her eyes. It was an expression he was more than familiar with, as he'd seen it reflected in his own eyes before. Charles had sunk into his own near desolate pit of despair until he'd stepped into the Café Belle Helene for the first time. She was lost, a feeling he'd lived with nearly his entire life, until she'd enchanted him with a simple kiss on his cheek. It had been the first time he'd felt seen in a long time.

He didn't know what would work to pull her out, but he wanted to try before she grew enveloped in a melancholy that would be hard to shake. Hahn had threatened her life today and nearly gotten away with her. Now, the bakery she'd poured her heart into was to close shop. She had lost her place here. She needed change.

He knelt next to her chair and grasped her hands. "How about we take a trip?"

"A...trip?" She looked at him. "Where?"

He thought quickly and surprisingly came up with something that made sense. "You've spoken of wanting to visit Josie again. With Hahn out of the picture, it's surely safe to go back to Van Horn."

She frowned, seeming unsure. "Won't they miss you on the farm?"

"John's got a handle on things these days," Charles reassured her.

Hearing himself saying it out loud made Charles realize how true it was. John didn't need his help anymore. He had his farm set up, the loan from the bank paid for, and his family back in his life. Charles didn't have a place here anymore either. While Uncle seemed to have a specialty in overstaying his welcome, Charles didn't hold the same convictions.

Irene stared into her mug of coffee, quiet. He let her think without interruption. After mulling it over for several minutes, she didn't perk up at the idea, but she agreed with a slow nod. "Alright, Charles. Let's make that trip."

XXXXXXXXX

A few days before their journey, Charles collected the horse Hahn had once owned. She had been easy to spot as the only saddled thoroughbred roaming the prairie. She was a beauty with a shiny chestnut coat, but skittish as it took patience for him to get near her. He caught her and while she was compliant to his commands, she also carried a streak of defiance.

The weather stayed fair as he and Irene began their journey. It remained only slightly cloudy for most of their travel days. The air was cool, but not unfavorable. They set a comfortable pace in order to enjoy the beauty of nature.

They camped on the banks of the Dakota River, under the train bridge of Bard's Crossing. They crossed over the Heartlands, sleeping beneath the stars under fur-lined blankets. Soon the trees surrounding the path thickened on either side of the road.

Eventually, their journey ended as they entered Van Horn one afternoon. At Irene's request, they hitched outside the Old Light Saloon

The men hanging around outside the bar leered at them as they entered, but said nothing. Inside, the saloon was calm, as it was early yet in the evening. Only a few men were sitting at the back poker table. Not even the ladies of the night had made their appearance.

As soon as they stepped in a woman from the counter hollered, "Holy shit! Irene?"

A woman came around the bar and threw her arms around Irene for a big hug. She was dressed in a man's long sleeve maroon shirt and a pair of slacks. Her short brown hair was tucked under a black ridge top hat that had seen better days.

The woman pulled back, capturing Irene's face as if wanted to get a good look at her. "You idiot, what took you so long to come back?"

Irene looked taken aback as she answered, "Josie, you're one who told me to leave because of everything that happened with the sheriff."

"Well, yeah. Leave, lay low and come back eventually. I didn't want you to stay away forever."

"I thought it wasn't safe. With the sheriff's death—"

Josie said, "That sheriff was a lazy, corrupted bastard that didn't give a shit about this town. Hell, by now if you fessed up everyone around here would throw you a banquet as a thanks for ridding us of him."

"Oh…" Irene looked around the bar as if she could bear witness to this sentiment herself.

"I heard from Marshall Tom you was dead." Josie shook her head. "Honestly, I didn't believe it, but I also wasn't sure what to think since it was in the papers and seemed official."

Irene told her, "To keep a long story short, my brother and I made up."

Josie's eyebrows shot up into her hat. "Your brother?"

"Yes." Irene smiled at her reaction. "It turns out he's actually surprisingly reasonable."

"Shit. Well, I'm glad to hear it." She glanced at Charles. "And who the hell is this tall, striking feller you got following you around?"

"Josie, this is Charles."

"Welcome, Charles," Josie offered her hand and shook his vigorously. "Anyone around here give you hell, you come to me, alright?"

Charles told her agreeably, "Will do."

Josie eyed him further. "You ain't lookin' for work, are you?"

"Me?"

"Sure, you look strong and we need the muscle."

Irene eyed her quizzically. "Here at the saloon?"

Josie shook her head. "Local posse. Since the law ain't run the town in years, a few men get together if any jackasses try to stir up trouble."

Irene protested, "We're only here for a few days at most, Josie. We're living in Blackwater now."

"Yeah? There much even down there?"

"Oh, yes. It's thriving. I'm renting a little house and working…" Her face pinched. "Well. I was working at a bakery."

"A bakery? That's great, Irene. Mozelle would be proud of you and it doesn't surprise me that's where you ended up. You two were always baking something at the house. I'm glad you found your calling."

Irene nodded absently and Charles saw the pain creasing her brow. He knew she was thinking about how she didn't have the bakery anymore.

Josie grabbed her hand and pulled her to one of the tables. "Come on. Sit down, you two. Tell me what else ya'll have been up to."

They settled at the bar and Irene started slowly, explaining how she'd waitressed in Saint Denis for a few years. She blushed when she mentioned how she met Charles and then how Hahn had found her again.

In return, Josie spoke of the changes in Van Horn. She proudly explained how she'd enlisted the help of the town to keep any bounty hunters off Irene's scent until it became rare for anyone to come around asking questions of a missing princess anymore.

As the evening went on, Josie was pulled from the conversation to attend to her patrons, directing a couple of waitresses and a bartender when they came in. At one point, a few townspeople approached Irene, greeting her with familiarity and welcoming her back into town. Charles found it interesting how these people recognized her, not as the princess, but as the young waitress who used to live and work here in Van Horn.

As the night wore on and Josie grew more preoccupied with her saloon, she came back to the table one last time and asked, "You two kids need to a room for tonight?"

Irene answered her, "We intend to stay at Mozelle's."

Josie sent her a funny look. "When are you going to stop calling it 'Mozelle's'? It's been yours for over ten years."

"I don't know. I suppose I've never thought of it in that way."

Josie warned, "Be careful in the woods. Silas says the hunters that have passed through town have been talking about a cougar."

"We'll be careful," Irene promised.

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The path they followed up to the house was familiar to Charles. Since they started this journey, he thought he might still carry some misgivings after what happened last time, when Irene left him. But traveling through the woods with the moonlight casting a glow on their path left him calm rather than anxious.

They dismounted close to the house. It appeared the same as when they had left it, with no sign of disturbance or break-in. Irene closed her eyes and spun in a slow circle. She took in a breath and then exhaled.

When she opened her eyes again, she said, "You were right, Charles. This was a great idea. Traveling the countryside, seeing Josie…" She gestured to the little cabin. "...coming back home. I needed to get out here again. Do you think…" She trailed off.

Charles finished hitching Falmouth and the horse they'd adopted who had jokingly started calling 'Your Highness' because of her prissy nature. He turned towards Irene, watching how the moonlight shone on her, and how her birthmark was exposed. She hadn't bothered to cover it up in the days they'd been traveling. He prompted her, "Yes?"

She continued, voicing her idea cautiously, "Well, I noticed there were a few empty shops in town...and, well, I hadn't intended on touching the money my brother set aside for me except in an emergency, but it would only be an initial investment." She took a breath. "What do you think of me possibly opening my own bakery here, in Van Horn?"

For the first time in days, she sounded optimistic again. In return, it had him hopeful. "I think that's a great idea."

She bit her lip. "Would it be too much to ask if you would help me in this endeavor?"

It surprised him that she had to ask. Perhaps Arthur was right when he suggested Charles wasn't as open with his intentions as he should be. He wanted Irene to hold no doubt as to what he wanted.

He had been happy to stick close to John and Uncle for awhile, but it was time he forged his own path. He took her hands in his. "On one condition."

She tilted her head. "Oh?"

"I want you to be my wife."

Her eyes widened, and he heard her breath catch audibly. Her cheeks flushed red as she stared at him and swayed towards him. "Charles…"

He held her, stroking her hair. He murmured in her ear, "I love you, Irene."

She clung to him and whispered in the night, "I love you too." She pulled back to wipe her eyes. She gave him a watery smile. "And I would love to marry you, Charles Smith."

"You'll find someone yourself one day, Charles," Arthur had told him. And he had been right. Those words spoken while at one of his lowest points had turned out to be wiser in their prediction than he could have ever known.

He'd spent decades worried he would never find the right place to fit in or the right people to give his trust. But he'd learned that the right people were the ones who stuck by when life was rough, the ones who came back when they could have left him behind, and the ones he could forgive despite any hurt between them.

And the right place was with the woman standing in front of him, holding his heart and gifting him her own. Charles could make a home here, anywhere, because it was with Irene, and a home was all he'd ever wanted.

Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, for reading this story, and the others I've written, if you've read those too. I have greatly appreciated the feedback and the comments. I love writing RDR2 stories. I do in fact have one more idea for a RDR2/RDR1 story to tie everything up, but it will be awhile before I can get to it as I have some life obligations interfering. In the meantime, I intend to release a one-shot I've had on the back burner for some time, and after that I will be taking a break.

Again, thank you all for being so supportive and I hope you've enjoyed your time here!