Traveler trilogy Book 2.
Five years after killing Levi Cornwall, Arthur Morgan is happy. He has a wife who loves him, an honest job he enjoys, and two beautiful children named Sadie and Hiram. All of it is turned on its head, however, when Francis S...
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"Blackberry?"
Jenny raised an eyebrow. "Fuck you."
Arthur laughed and popped it in his mouth instead, making a point to chew vigorously and grin as he swallowed. He enjoyed messing with her, and he knew she hated blackberries. Unfortunately for her, they were his second favorite berry after wintergreen, and they grew wild in the occasional thicket in both the Heartlands and Big Valley. "You don't know what you're missin'."
"Trust me, I do. C'mon, Stupid." She spurred her horse into a trot and left Arthur behind her with an indignant look shot over her shoulder.
"She's pissy today, Dakota," Arthur grunted to his horse, patting the buckskin gelding on the neck.
She had a right to be, after all. It was about a week after the mess in Strawberry when her horse had been killed. Losing a horse was always hard, and she hadn't been the same since. She did have a new horse to ride, and they seemed to get along well enough; it would just take time.
Jenny's new horse wasn't as flashy as Willow had been with her shiny, blood bay coat, but he was still quite pretty all the same. He was simply a common sorrel, with two white socks and a thick blaze down his face. He was also larger than Willow, being that he was a quarter horse crossed with what looked like some sort of draft breed. Jenny had forgone a real name for this new horse, and instead referred to him only as "Stupid." Stupid didn't seem to care, and was happy to go wherever she pointed him.
She might have also been loath to admit it, but she couldn't stay angry at Arthur. And besides, he didn't take her harsh speech to heart. She didn't mean it, and even if she thought she did, she only spoke to him that way because she was still hurting inside.
He watched her ride ahead of him for a minute, deep in thought. She'd been through so much lately it was a miracle she could function at all. Having lost his own share of loved ones, he empathized with her completely, and he knew he'd have been in a murderous, drunken rage right now if he were in her shoes. While she was indeed rage-filled, at least she was sober.
Arthur clicked his heels to Dakota's sides and caught up with Jenny on the trail. She pretended not to notice him and sighed deeply as though his existence was some big inconvenience to her.
"Look, kid," said Arthur, "I ain't gonna tell you to smile. Ain't no use when you're as broken inside as we are. All I'm askin' is that you don't take your grief out on me. Save that for folk like Micah and Bill."
"Bill's not so bad," she replied. "He's dumb as a brick, sure, but so is Marston, and people seem to like him fine." Her brow furrowed as she thought a minute longer. "In fact, Bill might be the only one who misses Mac as much as I do. They was close because they both spent time fighting in the Indian Wars."
"But Bill hates Indians." After stating the obvious, Arthur's eyes slid over the eagle feather tied in Jenny's jet-black hair, and noted how its white color contrasted sharply with her olive-toned skin and the shiny, blue gemstones in the earrings she wore. She'd never told Arthur directly about her heritage, but it wasn't hard to guess.
