𝘊𝘖𝘕 𝘖𝘍 𝘙𝘌𝘝𝘌𝘕𝘎𝘌 | ᴘʀᴇ ʀᴅʀ2

Chapter Twenty-One

Rosalie gasped and shot out of her bedroll, looking around her dark tent wildly. Her heart pounded in her chest, sweat at her hairline and sticking her curls against her forehead. Mouth dry, Rosalie fought to catch her breath, gripping the top layer of the bedroll draped over her legs with white knuckles.

Another nightmare.

It was the second time she'd woken up that night. She was exhausted, but her anxieties were determined to keep her awake. The smell of smoke and her father's blood always felt so real, fear coursing through her as she clung to his jacket, begging him to stay with her in her dreams. She could still feel the sobs, tears streaming down her face as she pleaded for him not to leave her all alone. His warm, bloodied hand cradling her cheek as the fire loomed overhead from the burning saloon.

Sniffing, Rosalie pulled her father's oversized canvas work jacket from her bag and shrugged it on. The brown coat still smelled like him, remnants of cigars and pine sol.

Tears threatened to fall down her cheeks again at the familiar comfort, still shaken by her nightmares, but she blinked them away as she stepped out of the tent in her bare feet and knee-length nightgown.

While it was still humid, it was much cooler than the day, her father's jacket providing a sense of warmth as she walked across camp to the firepit that was nothing more than coals now.

Rosalie sat on the ground and ruffled through her pocket, fishing out her pack of cigarettes. With shaky hands, she placed one between her lips and then dug through her pocket again for her matches. She didn't find any. Just her cigarette pack, some stray bullets, and a piece of fishing line.

Rosalie huffed, staring out into the distance at the realization that they were still in her tent.

All she wanted was a damn cigarette. She couldn't get proper sleep, and now after she had made herself comfortable outside, she realized that she didn't even have any matches on her.

There was a shuffling of footsteps, and then the hiss of a match lighting.

Rosalie looked up, blinking in surprise at the sight of Arthur standing over her, his hand extended with a lit match. He didn't ask to come closer, only offering it before he lit her cigarette. He was aware of her feelings toward him lately and didn't wanna push his luck.

Rosalie's heart faltered in her chest as she looked up at him. Arthur was also in his nightclothes, wearing his union suit and a pair of trousers. He was quite handsome this way, looking down at her with his disheveled brown hair and sleepy eyes.

Ignoring the way her heart pounded in her chest, she leaned forward, meeting the bud of her cigarette against the flame that he offered her. With a puff of smoke, Rosalie leaned back against the log and let out a deep sigh, pulling the cigarette from her lips as she stared off into the distance.

Arthur sighed and lowered himself to sit beside Rosalie. He didn't sit as close as he usually would, leaving a decent amount of space between them. He lit his own cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his face, and then tossed the match into the burnt-out fire.

Rosalie hugged her legs to her chest and took a drag of her cigarette, a silence settling between them. She could feel his body heat despite the space between them. His presence was somewhat comforting after her stressful night, but she couldn't help feeling awkward given their tumultuous relationship lately.

She didn't know what to say to him. They had barely spoken, and the last time they exchanged more than a few words was when he was screaming at her to say 'hello' to Mary.

The thought of the pretty, brown-haired woman brought a sour taste to her mouth. She grimaced at the frustration bubbling in her chest and took another drag of the cigarette to calm her nerves.