AN: I don't own any of the dialogue from the episodes 'The Campaign' or 'Man In The Moon'.

Colorado Springs

30 June 1869

He'd always considered himself pretty unshockable. Fact was, if anyone was ever shocked about anything it was usually at his own behaviour. He liked that about himself, having the ability to keep people guessing and to create drama in an often sedate world. For all the goings on in town, sometimes a little shake-up was needed.

But now, there was no other word to describe how he felt. He had never for one moment considered that she would do it, never thought that she would have been brave enough to go against him. But she had done it and done it right in front of his very eyes. In the wake of Jake's recent victory as mayor, Myra had torn up her contract and declared herself to be free.

Initially, he'd believed that she would never follow through. The contract was still mostly intact, the purpose and terms could still be clearly understood, namely that she belonged to him for another year and though she had threatened to leave before, she had never done so. He liked to tell himself that it was because, deep down, she cared for him the way he cared for her, even if she couldn't admit it to herself. But her actions that morning in the saloon seemed to suggest that this time, she would be true to her word, especially when he had come across her packing her things in her bedroom.

He had tried to tell her that she couldn't go and that if she was going to go then she should at least keep the gifts he had bought for her during their time together, including perfume he'd ordered from France. She had told him in return that she didn't want it and would never wear it and, faced with that determined look in her eyes, he had resolved that if she didn't need it, then she didn't need anything.

"How bout you just leave it all," he had said finally when she showed no sign of changing her mind. "It all belongs to me anyway. Everything under this roof does."

She had walked to the door then, turned back and looked at him, raised her chin and said, "Except me."

In that moment, he knew he had lost her. She had finally found the gumption she thought she needed and had walked away out of the saloon and into Horace's waiting arms. It had been like the final knell in the coffin when Michaela, sticking her nose in as usual, had told him he was being immature by not allowing Myra to take her things, telling him to be a man about it.

Well, he could be a man if that's what everyone wanted, and a man would show everyone exactly how he felt by his woman's betrayal. If that meant throwing all her belongings out into the thoroughfare, then that's what he would do. It didn't really give him any pleasure, but at the end of the day, what did he really care anymore anyway.

Later, he would find them still lying there where she had left them, which almost seemed worse than it she had at least taken some of them. The perfume bottle had still been there, a fact he was surprised at given how light-fingered folks could be. He'd wanted to leave it, but ten bucks was ten bucks after all.

So, he'd lifted it and taken it back to his own room, hiding it in a drawer where no-one could find it and accuse him of being a sentimental cissy. Many times that first night, he opened the drawer and looked at it as though it could give him words of wisdom in what felt like such a dark time.

Finally, he slammed the drawer shut for the final time and made his way back into the saloon where the raucous sounds and familiar smells drew him back in. That was it for him. Clarice…Myra…they had both betrayed him in different ways and he knew that, as long as he lived, he would never let another woman close enough to do the same.

San Francisco

"I think that sounds like the perfect date. A summer wedding at the height of the season. Don't you think so Lou?"

Eloise looked over at her mother's beaming face and nodded. "Yes, that sounds ideal."

"Splendid!" her mother made an entry in the notebook on her lap that she appeared to have commandeered for wedding planning purposes. "Now, we shall need to think about food and flowers and, of course, your dress."

Eloise felt herself tune out of the conversation as her mother's voice wafted around her. Things certainly appeared to be moving apace, far quicker than she could ever have anticipated. After the somewhat frank conversation with her parents, and her resolve that she would agree to marry Thomas, he had called on her the very next morning and requested that she join him for a morning walk. Despite her decision, she had found herself reluctant to be alone with him, citing the fact that she really should be working at the store, but her mother had pooh-poohed such a notion and practically forced her out of the door and into his company. They had taken a very amiable stroll along the flower-lined streets and stopped for tea in a local café, before venturing down closer to the waterfront. Part of her had hoped that he wouldn't ask her at all, but that hope had been dashed when he had turned to her, taken her hands in his and asked her to be his wife.

When she had thought about that moment, she had wondered whether there might have been some thunderclap of feeling, some frisson of excitement that would rush through her at the very notion of having been chosen, selected, wanted as a wife, as his wife. But when she had looked into his eyes, although she had seen the familiar kindness and compassion there, she had felt no such sensation. She had felt almost nothing, except trepidation, and yet found herself telling him that yes, she would be his wife. He had seemed delighted and had gently kissed her at that point. Though her stomach had flipped slightly as his lips had pressed against hers, she could not say with any confidence that it had been because she felt any passion for him.

Both sets of parents had been delighted, as predicted, and wedding planning had begun in earnest. Her mother had taken charge of it and Eloise had found herself simply swept along, offering a nod or murmur of agreement here and there when it had been required. Her parents' wedding had been a small affair, yet it seemed that despite the rumoured financial issues, they wished a grander setting for their daughter.

"Lou, are you listening to me?"

"What? Oh, I'm sorry," she said, suddenly realising that her mother was looking curiously at her. "What was the question?"

"I was suggesting roses for the bouquet. Perhaps pink and white."

"Yes, that sounds lovely."

Her mother frowned and laid her notebook to one side. "Are you feeling quite well? You're pale, and I'm not convinced listening to a word I've been saying. I know that planning for a wedding can be overwhelming, but that's why I'm trying to do most of the work, so that you can simply concentrate on your excitement."

"Yes, of course," she replied. "I appreciate everything you're doing."

"Is something bothering you?"

"No, nothing."

"Come now, I know you too well." Her mother moved from her seat in the armchair over to the chaise-longue and said down beside her. "I can see that you're battling with some inner turmoil."

She paused, unsure as to how much she felt she could or should say. "Well…"

"And I think I know what it is."

"You do?"

Her mother nodded. "I can well understand how you feel. I felt the same way before I married your father, and your grandmother was singularly useless. But I'd like to think that we have an open and frank relationship, Lou, and that you feel comfortable asking me the necessary questions."

"Questions?"

"Yes. Oh, I know you're older than most brides often are, older indeed than I was, but that doesn't mean that you're any more worldly wise, particularly not when it comes to matters such as these."

"Mother, I'm not sure I understand what you're getting at."

"I'm talking about the physical side of marriage." Eloise felt her face suddenly flame, despite the fact that it had been the furthest thing indeed from her mind. "And there is no need to feel embarrassed or concerned about it. I'm here to answer any questions you might have or, if you would prefer, I can explain a little bit about what will happen."

"I…" she found herself incapable of forming words. Of course, she had realised that married life would require certain tasks to be performed, but she certainly hadn't been prepared for her mother to want to discuss them so freely and matter-of-factly. "I suppose I…well…"

"Firstly, I imagine that Thomas will want to claim you on your wedding night, but after what will have surely been such a busy and tiring day, you may not feel entirely willing. However, do try Lou. There's nothing that cements that feeling of togetherness more than the coming together of a new husband and wife. Now the act itself will likely feel painful on the first occasion. That's simply because you're a virgin. Once that barrier has been breached, as they say, you'll find it much more pleasurable from then on. What will happen is…"

"Mother, I…" Eloise rose to her feet and stepped over to the fireplace, discomfited beyond belief at her words. "I'm not sure that…well…I just assumed that this would be something that Thomas and I would explore together."

"And it will be, Lou, but it's perhaps prudent to be aware of a man's needs and desires. I doubt Thomas falls into this category, but you may not be the first woman with whom he has made love."

"I…oh…" It was something that she hadn't considered before, namely that Thomas may have sought and found pleasure with others before her. She wasn't completely naïve to the ways of the world but had somehow always assumed that her husband, whomever he may have turned out to be, would have been as new to the act as she was.

"Men can have certain expectations," her mother continued, "and a wife cannot refuse to meet them."

"You mean, if Thomas…"

"If Thomas wants to make love to you then you have to allow him to do so. There is no right of refusal and, well I can only imagine that resistance would be worse than acquiescence."

She stared at her mother, "Father has never…"

"Oh no, of course not!" her mother exclaimed. "No, not in all our years together. But not every man is like your father, Lou. I just want you to understand that."

"I see…" Thomas's image swam into her mind again as she thought about those intimate moments that would become her reality once they were wed. She could not see him as the type of man who would force a woman, any woman, into doing something she didn't want to do and yet they had known each other such a short amount of time and spent so little time alone together. Who knew the man he could become once she was legally his.

"I'm sorry my darling, I have no wish to concern you," her mother rose and came to stand beside her. "But I would be no mother at all if I didn't explain this to you. One day, when you have a daughter of your own, you'll understand."

"Yes, yes I suppose so."

"Now, come and sit back down and let me tell you about what will happen."

Colorado Springs

2 July

It felt like he had been drunk since she had left.

Nothing seemed to make much sense to him anymore. He had known Myra for so long, more than fifteen years since he had first picked her up in Denver and then brought her out with him to make a new life in a small, yet rapidly growing town. When she had demonstrated a less than willing response to his deeper affections, he had turned to Clarice, but Myra had remained loyal, steadfast and, for the most part, done what he had asked of her without question.

Until she had met Horace. Until he had turned her head with his talk of respectability and a life away from entertaining. What did he know about it? What did he know about Myra? All they had done together was talk, perhaps kiss a few times. Horace didn't know her the way he knew her.

It had been three days since she had left and already, she and Horace were publicly planning their new life together, holding an engagement party at Grace's Café that very morning and being feted over by the same people he had thought were his friends. None of them seemed to care about what he had lost when she had walked away.

The shock had given way to anger now. Anger that she had defied him, anger that she had chosen Horace, anger that everybody else seemed to think there was no issue with her leaving him, anger that she couldn't see how he loved her, despite the many times he had tried to tell her.

Though the invitation hadn't been extended to him, the confidence of the whisky bottle led him to venture to where he knew they were gathered, in time to hear Myra proclaim happily that she and Horace intended to get married on the last Sunday of the month.

"I'll be sure to put it on my calendar," he heard himself say, "assumin' I'm invited."

Everyone turned to look at him, Horace's expression grim. "Matter of fact…you ain't. Hank."

""What kind of gratitude's that, Horace? It's the least you could do after stealin' what was mine."

"She never was yours, Hank."

He felt himself smirk at the memory. What would he ever know? There was no way in hell that Horace, of all people, could ever satisfy Myra the way he could. "She was mine plenty of times."

"That's uncalled for!" Michaela exclaimed.

"It's the liquor talkin'" Jake opined.

He couldn't help but laugh at the irony. "You oughta know Jake."

"Go home. You're makin' a fool of yourself friend."

"You ain't no friend of mine, you're just a worthless drunk."

"We've had just about enough of you, Hank," Loren said.

"You ain't had any old man, that's yer problem!"

"I won't have that kind of talk in here Hank!" Grace yelled, "Now get out!"

"Not, til I give the bride her weddin' present." Later, he would wonder what he had really been thinking, but, right at that moment, it seemed the only logical thing for him to do and so, pulling out his gun, he fired a number of shots in the air, sending the assembled party running for cover. Only Myra, dressed almost to the point of unrecognition in a high-necked dress and bonnet, moved towards him. "Did you honestly think I'd let you go through with that?"

"Put the gun away, Hank," she said beseechingly.

"Get on yer knees." She hesitated. "Now!"

"Are you crazy?" Jake asked.

"Think about what you're doing, Hank," the Reverend echoed.

"Somebody could get hurt!" Loren chimed in.

He ignored them all. None of them mattered except the woman knelt in front of him. If he couldn't have her, nobody else could either. "Something you need before you get married, Myra," he told her softly, hearing his own voice break on the words. "You need someone to give you away. That ain't ever gonna happen." He raised his gun to her head. "I'll kill you first."

The blow came quickly, sending him crashing backwards into a table, searing pain shooting through his head as the whole world went dark around him.