When Hearts collide (An Arthur Morgan Rdr2 fanfiction)

Chapter 4: A good man

I hated to admit it. But, the lamb fry filled the stomach, more than Pearson's stew. Of course, the beer had helped, too. But, for the first time in my life, I actually felt full.
   "Man, that was good," I say.
   "It was delightful. Thank you, again," Peyton says, as we walk over to my horse.
    "No need to thank me," I say.
    "Sure, there is. You saved my life, had my wounds tended to, took me to dinner. You deserve to be thanked. All good men do," she says.
    "Let's get one thing straight. I ain't a good man, Ms. Sparks. I've robbed people, beaten em' half to death, I've even killed people. I'm a no good, deadbeat outlaw. In my eyes, I'm a bad man. Not a good one," I say, mounting my horse and reaching my hand out to her, to help her into the saddle.
    "Well, have you ever thought about seeing yourself, through someone else's eyes?" She asks, taking my hand and working alongside me, to get into the saddle.
    "Maybe at one point. But, now, I've no reason to. I've done many a bad thing. There ain't nothin' can be done, to change it," I say.
     "Perhaps not. The past is past. But, you can change the path you walk now, to become better for the future," she says.

I consider her words. Was it possible, to change so easily? Even still, would it even matter? I decided it wasn't worth talking about anymore, and changed the subject.
   "So, you like your new outfit?" I ask.
   "You kidding? I love it!" She says.
   "Good. Didn't know what you liked. Didn't get a chance to ask, seein' you was out cold, when I brought you into the doctor," I say.
    "Well, you chose well. Again, proof that you're a good man," she says.
    "Keep tellin' yourself that. But, I know the truth," I say.
     "Not as well as you think," she says.
     "Anyways, tell me bout yourself. Who is Peyton, outside of a Seer of sorts?" I ask.
     "Well, I'm a small town girl, who loves horses. I was an excellent rider, too. But, it's been forever, since I last owned a horse," she says.
      "Really? How long ago, is forever?" I ask.
      "I was twelve, when I had my last horse. A Tennessee Walker, kinda like your boy, here. Only, mine was pure black," she says.

Oddly enough, I find myself imagining a twelve year old Peyton, astride the black horse she described. And it made me smile.
    "I bet he was a sight, to behold," I say.
    "He was. I miss him. He was a damn fine horse. My best friend," she says.
     "Had a horse like that, myself," I say.
     "What kinda horse did you have?" She asks.
     "She was a Gypsy Cob. Pure white. Her name, was Boadicea," I say.
     "What happened to her?" She asks.
     "Got shot down, durin' a robbery gone wrong, in BlackWater. That horse meant everythin' to me. And it damn near killed me, losin' her," I say.
      "I'm so sorry. The loss of a horse, is never easy," she says.

Slowing my horse, I turn in the saddle to look at her. I admired her words. They were words, I myself, had said.
    "What happened to yours?" I ask.
    "Got bitten by a snake. Didn't even know, till it was too late," she says.
    "I'm sorry to hear that. I guess we both had strong connections to our horses, huh?" I say.
     "Indeed, we did. Listen, I know this horse can't replace the one you lost. But, if given the chance, you'll find a new friend, one who's loyal and able to be counted on, when you need him," she says.
      "I reckon, you're right. Boadicea can't be replaced. But, that don' mean I can't form a new bond. Speakin' of which, I have yet to give this feller, a name," I say.
      "You open to suggestions?" She asks.
      "Sure, I don' see why not," I say.
      "He looks like a Legend, to me," she says.

No sooner had she uttered the name, than my horse whinnied, tossing his head up and down. It was almost as if he agreed and liked the name, she'd chosen.
    "Would you look at that. He likes it, I think," I say.
    "They say horses are smarter, than we believe. So, I believe it," she says.
     "Well, Legend it is, then," I say, gently nudging him back in motion.
We ride in silence for a small bit, before I boast my next question.
    "Forgive me, if this sounds rude. But, how old are you, Peyton?" I ask.
     "I don't take offense, like most women. And, I am twenty-nine," she says.
     "Damn, that makes me feel old," I say.
     "Why?" She asks.
     "I'm thirty-five," I say.
     "Oh come on, that ain't old," she says.
     "It is, though," I say.
     "Sure, whatever you say, cowboy," she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice.
    
Almost to camp now, I slow my horse, one last time.
   "Jus' so you know now, we're bout to head into camp. So, fair warnin' now. You may feel a sense of unwelcome, from some of the folk here. That, and some of the other men, may gawk at you. If at any time it becomes unbearable, lemme know. I'll take care of it, okay?" I say, preparing her now, for what was to come.
    "I appreciate the warning. Thank you. I only got one question," she asks.
    "Fire away," I say.
    "Where am I gonna sleep?" She asks.
    "Is now a good time to mention, I had a spot made for you, in my tent?" I ask.
    "Not at all. Better you, than someone who'll show me how unwelcome I am," she says.
     "So, you're fine with that?" I ask.
     "Of course. More than fine, actually. Like I said, I know and trust you," she says.
    "A topic we will discuss more in depth, later. For now, keep it between us," I say.
    "Okay. One more thing," she says.
    "Make it quick. Dutch's prolly startin' to worry," I say.
    "I've said it once, and I'll say it again. You're a good man, regardless of what you believe," she says.
    "I guess you're right, in some ways. Now, lets get into camp, and get you settled down, for the night," I say, as my horse continues forward, walking through the trees that led to camp.