Old Soul Syndrome |ONC 2020|

June 26-27, 1870

Dan and I ate another quiet supper before returning to the rocking chairs on the porch to watch as night fell. When the mountains were just a dark line edged in rosy orange, Dan sighed softly. The rich smell of tobacco drifted toward me as he rolled another cigarette. A flare of yellow burst into life as he struck a match on the sole of his boot.

He let his head fall back against the chair, smoke streaming from his nose and parted lips.

"I shoulda kept out of it," he finally murmured, and I went stock-still, the needle in my hands frozen halfway through the shirt I was mending. I was sure if I moved, he'd stop speaking. He took another drag on the cigarette, the tobacco scent growing stronger. "Clay's got a big mouth. I shoulda left before it could happen. I shoulda known it would happen."

Silence fell between us, only punctuated by the chirping crickets.

"Known what would happen?" I finally asked once I'd worked up the nerve.

Dan looked down, studying the dull glow of the end of his cigarette. "We stopped for a drink, just something to cut the dust. There was this kid in the saloon, and anyone could see he was on the prod—lookin' for a fight." He lifted the cigarette to his mouth, exhaling another puff of smoke. "Well, after three or four drinks, Clay was feelin' his oats. I told him to lay off the kid, but he wasn't havin' it. He said if the kid was man enough to wear a gun he was man enough to use it."

I stayed quiet. It was a true enough statement, but not a particularly decent sentiment. The look on Dan's face said he thought along the same lines.

"Well," Dan sighed and stretched, wincing slightly, "Clay got what he wanted. The kid drew and Clay gunned him down. It was legal, but it turned out the boy's pa was mighty important around those parts."

I rocked back and forth for a moment, fiddling with the needle in my hand.

Dan nudged his hat back, staring ruefully at the dark mountains. "They followed us out of town, figurin' to make us the guests of honor at a necktie party."

"They were going to lynch you?" I said, horrified. "But...but you didn't kill that boy!"

He shrugged. "Don't much matter. I was with Clay. I was a stranger. That's enough to make a man guilty."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I kept my mouth shut.

"I killed two of them before I felt the bullet that got me. We hightailed it outta there. Ran until we came across this place." He tilted his head toward me, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Makes me right lucky."

I scoffed, a blush heating my cheeks. I opened my mouth, then closed it abruptly as the sound of hooves and the creak of saddle leather carried through the thin Colorado air.

Dan was in motion before I could realize what was happening. He lunged toward me, bundling me against his chest and diving through the open front door. He kicked it shut just as the roar of gunfire shattered the peace.

I buried my face against his chest, clutching him as bullets punched through the thinner wood of the door and broke the glass in the window. Dan swore once under his breath, holding me just as tightly when an unfamiliar voice rang out. "We know you're in there, Blaine! Why don't ya come on outta there?"

"Don't," I whispered compulsively, fingers digging into his back.

I couldn't see his eyes in the dark, but I knew the sort of look that was settling on his face. This was his fight, and he needed to see it through come hell or high water. Slowly, he rolled to the side and rose to his feet, helping me up off the floor. My fingers latched onto the front of his shirt as tears began to build in my throat.

"Come'n, Blaine!" one of the posse shouted again. "Taggart told us where you was. You can't hide." There was a moment of silence, then: "We'll burn ya out if we gotta."

Dan stiffened, a hiss of disgust slipping from between his teeth.

"They'll kill you," I managed.

It surprised me into absolute stillness when he took me by the arms and kissed me squarely on the mouth. He kissed both of my cheeks, then my mouth again before he said, "Maybe so. But I found what I was lookin' for, Abigail. I'm not afraid of dyin'."

I stared up at him in confusion and he took the opportunity to push himself away from my grasp. "All right!" he yelled, nudging the door open with his boot, keeping his hands wide. "I'm comin' out."

His voice snapped me out of my paralysis and I leapt to the fireplace, grabbing for the rifle resting on the mantle. I could hear voices drifting in through the door as I scrambled to double-check that the weapon was loaded, but I couldn't make out what was being said. The blood rushing in my ears blotted out any softer sounds.

Clutching the gun, I bolted over to the window, standing a little off to the side to watch through the broken glass. Three men sat on horses in the yard, all of them completely focused on Dan. He stood just outside the ring of light cast by the lamp still burning brightly between the rocking chairs.

"Where's Taggart?" he asked, his voice low and rough, his hands still held carefully out at his sides.

The man at the front of the pack chuckled and shifted, making the light flash off the barrel of a gun aimed right at Dan's middle. I took a deep breath and nestled the rifle against my shoulder. Fear made me tremble slightly, but the man was close enough that it wouldn't make much difference.

Dan only needed a chance.

The man gestured behind him, and I realized there was a fourth horse in their midst. Slumped over the saddle like a sack of potatoes was a body. It didn't take much to realize whose body it was.

Dan didn't say anything. His hands drifted a little closer to his sides.

"Yer comin' with us, Blaine," the man at the front said. "One way or the other."

Quietly, Dan replied, "I ain't lettin' you hang me. Those men came chasin' blood and I obliged 'em. Any judge would say I was in my right to defend myself." He paused and my eyes shot back to the posse. "But you ain't got any intentions to let me see the inside of a cell, much less a judge."

None of the men replied. Dan let out a long, slow breath.

"So I reckon here's as good a place as any to die."

Those were the words they were hoping for—a good story about how this villain of theirs had resisted arrest and they, the good citizens, had gunned him down in retribution for that poor boy's death.

That gun lifted and I was pulling the trigger before I had made the decision to. The man in front was knocked sideways and slid from the saddle without a sound. Their horses went skittish, heads jerking as the men looked wildly toward Dan, their hands reaching for the pistols at their sides.

Three shots sounded in quick succession, fire blooming from Dan's gun.

The other two men slumped, then toppled from the saddle in slow motion.

My lungs ached and I realized I'd been holding my breath. The rifle clattered to the ground as I ran for the door, flinging myself into Dan's waiting arms. His gun was still in his hand, the barrel warm where it rested against my back. Tears blurred my eyes and a sob hitched my chest.

I didn't know if Abigail was crying because of how close she had come to losing another man, or if Abby was crying because she'd just killed one.

I suppose it doesn't really matter.

Dan slowly returned his gun to its holster and held me in the deafening silence that surrounded us.

Neither of us slept that night. We just sat in the parlor, watching the low fire.

It wasn't until the sun was rising that I could bring myself to write down what had happened. Dan's outside now, finding a place to bury them.

Tomorrow, we'll go into town to get married.