Violet Skies (Book III)

DANGER Do Not Touch

     Arthur had already started to pace before Dutch had peeked through the tent's entrance and moved past his brooding form. "Calm down Arthur." Dutch's dark eyes moved over his senior gun as he snatched up a cigar from his coat pocket and packed it tightly against his hand. The look Arthur returned to him was a mixture of concern and disgust. For a long moment Dutch just stood there, idly lighting the smoke and crossing one arm over his chest following Arthur with his eyes. He waited, knowing the outlaw was a man of few words. He could see him collectively trying to put together a tangible sentence, swiping a hand across his mouth as he stomped.

     Finally, Arthur stopped, turned and eyed Dutch helplessly. "She's a train wreck Dutch. She won't talk. She's all over the place. One minute she's under my arm shivering and the next she's defying my every word. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?" He stitched his hands together through his lengthening hair behind his head and shot his palms skyward in frustrated defeat. Dutch continued to eye him as he took up a charging trot. "We can't just take her back. If them boys show up again..." Arthur shut his eyes to the terrible images of Kallie's slender neck between the gloved hands of a Laramie outlaw. He shook his head, swishing the thoughts away from his anxious mind.

     Dutch mused for a moment, the familiar wind of gears in his head turning slowly, displayed only by the soft chewing of his lips to the cigar. "She feels trapped." he whispered over the tip of the tobacco. He met Arthur's gaze focusing the understanding seemingly through the air to the now motionless outlaw.

     He approached him, curling knowing fingers around Arthur's shoulder seemingly holding him up with his deep dream like words. "Her whole life Arthur has been one four walled box after another. Ripped from one set of walls and tossed inside them again. And here, now, here she stands in another set of walls held against her will as she always has, or least, she thinks she is. She has to figure out that she can trust you, son."

     Arthur watched as the leader's eyes glazed over, the advice morphing from guidance to memory. He followed his dark stare to the silver frame that now sat by the table near Dutch's bed. Emma's sweet angelic face, frozen, smiling back at him. Van der linde blinked looking up again, straightening against the memory. "Take her out of here. Get her away from the walls Arthur, or at least show her that the walls around her don't always mean she doesn't have freedom. She may be a broken spoiled girl, but she's not beyond your reach. Not if you are willing to hold on loosely." Ringed hands fished around the pocket of his black vest gathering the bills there and pressing them into Arthur's hand. "Buy her something that SHE gets to choose. Keep her away from the camp for a night or so and make her believe that with Trust, she can come and go as she pleases here. Somewhere in that head of hers she chose you, but I think you already know that." John's words echo through Arthur's thoughts. "Don't start giving her a reason not to." He squeezed his fingers around his arm and let go. Arthur thinned his lips and nodded. "I'll do my best." he mumbled quietly then turned leaving the tent, closing the flap slowly behind him.

***

     Kallie had tried to keep her weeping muffled, but even she could not restrain the escaping hitch that ripped sharply through her swallowing throat. The pitiful sound whimpered outside the tent striking soft against the passing Sean Maguire as he made his way to the crackling campfire.

     He paused, the swishing beer now still in his fist, and put his ear to the wind. Angry orange brows furrowed under the fiery thatch of thick curling hair. He turned his pale face towards the side of Marston's old tent, the rough canvas scratchy against his skin as he listened. It came again, the palmed snivel of a female's soft voice shuddering back the sniffling tears of a stifled cry.