To the Ends of the West

3. The River Ride

Lottie again woke before dawn, the pale light of morning filtering through her window. She lay in bed, her heart racing with anticipation. Today, she would finally have the chance to ride Patch, the wild American Paint she had just tamed with Morgan's help.

As the rooster crowed, Lottie felt a thrill of excitement course through her. She quickly dressed in her frilliest dress, a concoction of lace and pastel fabric that her mother insisted on. It made her feel constricted and out of place, but she knew she had to keep up appearances, at least for a little while longer.

"Lottie, hurry up!" her mother called from the kitchen, her voice sharp as she finished her own breakfast. "I have company coming, I need you out of this house."

"Yes, Ma," Lottie replied, forcing a smile as she adjusted her dress in front of the mirror. The fabric felt heavy, weighing her down as if it were mocking her desire for freedom. She slipped on her shoes, taking a deep breath before stepping out into the cool morning air.

Outside, she made her way to the stables, where Patch awaited. As she approached, she began brushing his coat, feeling a connection to the horse that was far more real than the world of frills and propriety that surrounded her. Just then, she heard footsteps behind her.

"Morning, Lottie," a familiar voice greeted her, warm and inviting. She turned to see Morgan leaning against the stable, his easy smile lighting up the early hour.

"Morgan! What are you doing here?" she exclaimed, surprise bubbling within her.

"I came to take you for a ride," he said, nodding toward Patch. "Not too far of course."

Lottie's heart raced. "A ride?"

"Just us," he confirmed, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Let me just grab my things," she said, her voice barely hiding her excitement. The prospect of escaping the confines of her life, if only for a little while, filled her with joy.

As she quickly tied her hair back, Morgan watched her with relaxed confidence, leaning casually against the stable. She felt the heat of his gaze, but she also sensed something deeper—a connection that both thrilled and terrified her.

Once ready, she mounted Patch, adjusting her skirt as she did. Morgan climbed onto his own sturdy brown mare, and they set off, leaving the familiar sight of the town behind them.

"You named him yet?" Morgan asked, glancing over at her as they rode through the open land.

"Patch," Lottie replied, a smile spreading across her face. "I figured it fits him, don't you think?"

"Oh I think it suits him just fine," he agreed, his tone playful. "You're getting pretty good at this horse thing."

As they rode, Lottie couldn't hold back her curiosity. "So, Morgan, what's your story? Where did you come from?"

He paused for a moment as if weighing how much to share. "Just a guy trying to make his way, you know? I travel a lot, meet people, see the world."

"Do you have a family?" she pressed, intrigued by the enigma before her.

"Not really," he replied, his voice turning vague. "Just some folks I look after." Lottie grew a little uneasy as he seemed to be hiding something, Morgan didn't speak back up until she glanced at his gun belt, catching a glance at the revolver in his holster. "I ain't no cold-blooded killer if that's what you're getting at."

Lottie raised an eyebrow, half-amused and half-alarmed. "Well, I'm glad to know you're not an all out gunslinger."

Morgan chuckled, his laughter easy and infectious. "And what about you, Lottie? You seem pretty well-off, all dressed up in those frilly gowns."