Jack Marston is at a low point in his life. His family is dead, Beecher's Hope is in ruins, and he has nothing left to live for. Most days he spends so drunk he can barely remember anything, he kills and robs people at will, and there isn't an ounce...
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Jack had intended to die alone in Mexico, but somehow he had found himself in Great Plains again in the company of two women, a mule, a crazy mare, and an elderly stallion as his mount. A stallion, it seemed, that had fallen in love with Vivian's horse.
She rode a little filly, barely five years old, with a thin, blue roan coat and a mane and tail as black as a raven's wing. She was a rather fine-boned horse, not good for ranch work or any sort of draft, but she suited Vivian perfectly. Like Vivian, she had spunk and a fire in her eyes that could not be quenched. Each time she drew near to Buell, the old stallion would nicker at her and stretch out his neck in greeting.
"She's too young for you," Jack chuckled to Buell as Vivian rode up next to him to talk. He was grateful for the conversation. Up until now, the creak of saddles and the soft swishes of grass against the horse's legs had been the only sound.
"She's pretty," Jack admitted, smiling slightly. "Pretty like the woman riding her."
"Oh, Jackie," Vivian laughed. "You flatter me. You and I both know I'm not my usual, painted self right now. Just look at these clothes!"
"Paint or not, I don't even think being tarred and feathered would make you any less attractive," he complimented her. "I can see why Fordham's sweet on you. But I gotta ask you. Why him?"
Vivian smiled. "I don't know, really. He was always sweet to me, you know? Kind too, in a way that's hard to find in men these days. Most men only wanted what my body could give them without giving a damn about the woman inside me. But Archer? He took an interest in me and what I liked. As tortured as he is, I know he cares for me, and would never do anything to hurt me. I'll miss him terribly. He was the best thing to happen to me in all my time in Armadillo."
They were quiet for a moment, but there were still a few burning questions for Vivian Jack needed to ask. "So how'd a pretty girl like you wind up in a place like Armadillo?" he asked. "You speak well, like someone who's read a lot or was raised in the city by governesses. Not the kind of woman I'd expect to find working as a whore in a dusty, little dump like Armadillo."
"You're correct," she replied, grinning slightly and tucking a loose strand of her blond hair behind her ear. "I was born and raised as a society lady in Saint Denis. In the year 1899, my parents decided to move us to Blackwater. My father was a banker, you see, and he'd just purchased a share in the new bank in town. We chose to sail across the lake by river boat in May of that year, and you can probably guess the rest. I'm not sure who shot my father, but Dutch Van Der Linde shot my mother. I watched him blow her brains out right in front of me."
Jack's head snapped up. "That's... I..."
"Don't worry," she said quietly, biting her lip sadly. "It was all a long time ago, and I don't blame you for any of it, even if your father was mixed up with Dutch at the time. I believe that men can change for the better if they choose to, and clearly John Marston was one of those people. Makes it even more of a crime what the government did to him. Besides, I don't remember him killing anyone that day on the ferry. He just stood there, looking like a dumbstruck idiot while Javier Escuella, Dutch, and Micah Bell did all the killing. He was real young, not much older than you are now, and he looked... scared, I guess. Scared and... and very small."
