'Honey, don't ignore me;
I just wanted things to be the same.
You said you'd love me like no tomorrow,
I guess tomorrow never came.'

-

The passing weeks had only succeeded in making you stronger, both in body and in mind. Your injured leg was soon no set back, and as usual you were back to helping the other girls tend to the management and maintenance of the camp. Besides, the constant flow of chores also helped take your mind off of a certain Mr Morgan who still, was being as evasive as ever.

It was something you still couldn't quite figure, you knew he was watching you at times because you would catch him making fleeting glances; as if he was checking up on you. But as quick as his grey-blue eyes had been upon you, he would look away. Arthur did not once make an attempt to approach you for a full conversation. In fact the most you had got out of him over the 3 weeks was a passing 'Good mornin'' and that was all.

He had all but wholly convinced you that you had sank back down into just another member of the camp, you were no speciality – no girl with real attributes or feelings that needed any concern with him. So, as best as you could, you tried to set yourself the same outlook. If he didn't care, then why should you feel obliged to wonder about him all the god-damn time.

It was mid-may at Horseshoe Overlook, the camp was surrounded by dense and untamed greenery, long green grass and winsome wild flowers that scantly decorated the uncultivated foliage. The sun above was bright and torrid, hot white in the vivid blue sky. It was unforgiving as the temperature mounted towards the approaching summer, both nurturing the land and culling it with the wavering periods between heat and rainfall. A fragrant breeze perfumed the air around you, the scent of the beautiful fresh countryside and the mixing heat of the day was something that never ceased to lift your mood and heighten your senses.

Particularly perky now summer was well settled in, you were rather enjoying the more laborious tasks around the camp. There was nothing you liked better than when Mr Pearson handed you a long list of supplies to get from Valentine, or taking a big basket of washing down to the river to get clean. You put this slight obsession with being occupied constantly down to the fact, beneath your smiling exterior and focused attitude – if you stopped for one second your mind would could tripping back to all the events of the past year. All the toiling changes you went through, the despondency you felt – if you paused for merely a heartbeat, it would consume you. Your conscience knew that this was the best way, to just keep moving forward.

----

On a tepid morning, grateful for the relief from the blazing heat of the past few days – you had been set upon preparing some of the vegetables for the night's stew.

Your (hair colour) hair pulled back into a loose bun, twists of fine locks fell into your face, tickling against your skin as you looked down at your victim vegetables facing the knife on the chopping board.

Deep laughter and chatter forced you to look up – there they were, the dream team. Crossing the camp, dressed up to their eyes in all the relevant weaponry. Morgan, Van Der Linde and Marston. All bantering away like best friends, clearly off on a mission of some kind. You glared over with a level of turbulent malice in your eyes, reflective of the unsettled frustration you felt about Arthur and his determined ignorance.

"Pa!" young Jack Marston's tones chirped, and you had to smile at the sight of the lad running towards his father. John however, stopped in his tracks and looked down at his son like the boy was a strange animal bounding about by his feet, yapping and making unclear sounds.

"Uhhh... what is it Jack?" Marston answered with a broad awkwardness to his tone, probably conscious Dutch and Arthur were watching on as a bit of an audience. It was a well known fact that John didn't like to really think jack was his boy, much to Abigail's dismay, he didn't make much time for the boy at all. Resilient as ever, the poor thing, Jack simply didn't see it that way at all. He saw his father every time he looked at John.

"Could you take me down to the river, papa? I wanna make something nice for momma." Jack cheeped earnestly, tugging at John's shirt sleeve.

Your heart physically ached at the image of John, proceeding to walk off, Jack forcefully having to unlatch his grip.

"I'm a little busy right now Jack, perhaps uncle Arthur might take ya' later?" John called back over his shoulder, as the three men mounted their horses to head off to their usual follies.

Horses still chewing the last few mouthfuls of grass, they were turned quickly and encouraged into a gentle trot – the shrinking figures of the three outlaws disappearing down the beaten track through the thick of the forest perimeter.

Knife sliding through a carrot and hitting the chopping board with a wooden thunk, you watched Jack stood in the middle of the camp, head hung as he kicked a stone about absently. That poor boy... how could Marston look the little lad in the eye and not feel an ounce of responsibility? If Jack didn't start getting the attention he needed from his father, he could seriously go the wrong way. You hoped that never happened.

"Damn..." you sighed, falling defeat to your thoughts as you set the thick knife down, and gathering handfuls of the pallid green skirts of your simple linen dress, you walked with purpose over to Abigail, who sat herself on a stool by the stew pot, sewing a piece of Jack's clothing that he'd somehow trashed.

"Abigail," you started, watching as the tired-eyed woman gazed up with a soft expectant look about her gaze.

"Yes, (name)?" she said slowly with a half smile, setting her work down, with a beaten sigh. "Sorry... I'm just tired. Tired of seeing John be like this with his son..." she tailed off, a frown becoming present on her brow. You saw fit to quickly step in, to save her brewing over the anger that was gathering.

"It was actually about that, Abigail." You started earnestly, a keen smile on your petal-pink lips. "I was going to ask if you wouldn't mind finishing chopping the vegetables? If it's alright with you... I was going to take Jack down to the river?"

The hardened look on Abigail's face immediately withdrew, and you had to secretly breathe a sigh of relief. She seemed genuinely elated by your suggestion.

"Oh (name)," she began with a level of wobbling glee on her tone, getting up and taking your hands within her own, "Jack would so love that. He's thought the world of you ever since you came to us."

Abigail's words warmed you, Jack was a sweet kid – and you were sure he'd take to just about anyone, but to hear it still was incredibly wholesome.

"He's such a sweet boy. He deserves the quality one-to-one time he needs." You said, patting Abigail's worn and worked hands. "I'll go right now, and have him back before lunch."

Floating on a cloud of purpose, you strode over to Jack's bent over and languished frame, laying your hand on his narrow little shoulder. The boy's eyes immediately sparkled when he set eyes on you.

"Hey (name)!" he piped up, and you were glad to see his father's dismissal hadn't totally disconcerted him. "Can you take me down to the river?" he asked hopefully, but there was a hesitant look on his face like he was partially expecting another knock-back.

"Course I can, little man." You responded, ruffling his dark brown hair, his excited smile was a real gem to behold. "Me and you will head down there now."

Taking his tiny hand in your own, the pair of you wandered across the grassy covered ground of the camp.

Since your ride out with Arthur, everyone had rather subconsciously just agree Boxer was your assigned horse. Your leg still not at it's best, you knew you'd have to keep it to a gentle plod and not a pace faster.

"Hey there boy!" Jack cooed loudly and in an elated voice, patting the strawberry roan fur on Boxer's upper leg, his hand only just about reaching for the sheer height of the heavy weight horse.

"Are we ready to go up?" you exclaimed, your hands under Jack's arms as you lifted the young boy up onto Boxer's saddled back. "Make sure you hold that bit there real tight." You smiled in an engaging tone of voice, pointing to the horn of the tan leather saddle.

Taking your time, you gingerly edged yourself up into the saddle, glad when you got sat side-saddle, tucked in nicely behind Jack. Clicking your tongue softly, Boxer snorted in a lazy fashion and began to make the first few groggy plods forward.

"He's so slow! Papa's horse is really fast!" Jack giggled, voice lost when a breeze rattled it's way through the leaves as the pair of you cut through the thicket of forest around the camp to meet the trail leading down to the river.

"He's a big boy Jack! He's got a lot of himself to move around, so he isn't going to be fast now, is he?" you remarked in a playful tone, grinning at the sight of Jack gazing around in awe as the pair of you hacked down towards the rushing river.

"I ain't never been down to the river before...everyone is so busy, no one has time to play." A sulky tone came from Jack after that statement. "In Blackwater, Uncle Arthur used to take me fishing." He continued, and you could've kicked yourself for feeling a warming sensation in your stomach at the mention of Arthur.

"Did you enjoy it?" you asked the boy, keeping conversation going so he wouldn't get bored on the peaceful ride.

In front of you, Jack shrugged, one of the straps of his dungarees sliding off his shoulder.

"I guess so," Jack started in an unsure tone, "I didn't so much like fishing... it's really boring!" he giggled, chattering away whilst you carefully fixed the strap of the dark blue dungarees onto his shoulder.

"But I really like spending time with Uncle Arthur." He then added, smiling away. The happiness on his face warmed you, and your own smile blossomed like a flower in the spring. The admiration jack carried for Arthur was very sweet, and you were keen to find out more about this 'sweet' side of Arthur... perhaps it would pay as a good distraction considering the complete arse he was appearing to be at the moment.

Hooves crunching on the gritty track, Boxer's walk bobbed slowly with each step you made closer towards the river.

"What's so fun about grumpy old Arthur?" you remarked in a teasing tone, and Jack looked back at you with an adult level of question on his face which made you burst out laughing.

"Uncle Arthur isn't grumpy!" he corrected you fiercely, before breaking into a smile at the ring of your laughter. "He's really funny! He tells good stories!"

You imagined it, Arthur being all enigmatic and animated telling these gigantic tales of heroes slaying a beast while Jack sat there all wide eyed, the thought caused an sweet ache to grip your heart like a vice.

You half halted Boxer's reigns and bought the horse to a stop, sliding gently to the ground and carefully helping Jack from his towering seat on Boxer's back, to once again greet the ground below.

Checking the girth and rolling up the stirrups', Jack had taken to kicking a grey stone about near the pebble covered river bank.

"Besides," he started out of the blue, as you had been tucking the stirrup leathers through the stirrup iron, otherwise occupied, "You shouldn't be so mean to Uncle Arthur. I heard him talking to papa, and he likes you."

What? You rushed the rest of the leather through the stirrup iron and walked over slowly to Jack, carefully masking you inner reaction of pure chaos.

"When did you hear this then Jack?" you asked the boy, who had now sat in the green grass among some pretty lurid pink wild flowers, linking the stems together. You took a seat in the grass opposite the young boy.

"The other night..." Jack started, looking down at the flowers in his hands. You were glad in a way this was coming from Jack, he didn't seem to make any drama of it. "Uncle Arthur was asking Pa about you, I think Uncle Arthur said he wants to talk to you."

You outwardly burst out a scoff, to which jack's head jerked up curiously. You had to then quickly settle your want to just laugh yourself to death... talk to you!? Arthur surely was making good work of that wasn't he!

"Well I'm sure Uncle Arthur is a big boy now," you scorned to yourself, sarcastically, whilst masquerading it sweetly enough for Jack. "He can come and talk to me if he wants to." You added. You felt slightly egotistical in this mix of laughable confusion... If Jack was telling the truth, which you saw no reason for him not to be (he wasn't a devious kid) – then that meant Arthur had been thinking about you also, in those silent glances (and ignorant mannerisms) – it had been because he was... shy?

This was something you found incredibly difficult to fathom.

As midday approached, the summer warmth cast a pleasant heat across the picturesque surroundings, whilst yourself and Jack made quiet conversation – hoping to make a wild flower necklace for the boy to take back to his mother.

You watched on as he carefully made the necklace, smiling down in his lap. You could clearly tell jack was imagining the look on his mother's face when she received the gift – you hoped one day, if you had a son, he could be endearing as little Jack Marston.

---

Another hour pleasantly drawled on, Boxer was grazing quietly – unbothered by anything.

"I might make a matching bracelet-!" Jack chimed happily, having finished the long pink flower necklace he had carefully crafted for Abigail.

"That would be lovely Jack, but mind the time – I have to get you back to camp just before lunch." You reminded, a cautionary tone to your voice. Jack bore a cheeky smile as you ruffled his chair.

"Your voice is so funny sometimes!" he remarked – his little way of reminding you that he liked your English accent.

Uninterrupted for a good few hours by anything, you had a nervous feeling in your gut when you could hear the rolling thundering of hooves gathering from in the distance, getting closer. The gait slowed down to a perky trot by the time you looked over your shoulder. And who were you to set eyes on? None other than the three musketeers themselves!

"Alright there, boy?" Dutch shouted from the back of The Count, a small lightweight horse – temperamental little thing, pawing at the ground and shaking it's head in an impatient fashion as the horses and their men stood on the track just by the grass where you were sat.

"Yes thanks, Uncle Dutch!" Jack replied, flinging his arms up to show Dutch the flower chain that he had made for his mother. Dutch cooed in a playful manner to entertain Jack's pride at his work.

"That's a mighty fine piece of jewellery right there son," Dutch started in an animated fashion, dark eyes gleaming, before pointing to you and winking, "When you gonna make a nice one for sweet Miss (Name)?"

Dutch's tone forced you to chuckle a little, sweeping some of the strands of your (hair colour) hair out of your face with the back of your hand.

"I can! I will!" Jack leapt at the chance, bouncing on the spot. His little gaze flickered to Arthur, who was to the left of Dutch – Phantom stood shifting, head lowered into a soft carriage – a classic example of a horse that knew how to hold itself.

"Maybe Uncle Arthur can help me!" Jack suggested quickly, and of course Arthur was quick to dismiss it. You watched him from on his horse, rubbing the back of his neck and scoffing, a wry smile on his face... he looked nervous.

"I ain't so sure about that, Jack-" Morgan began, taking his worn hat off for a second to wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead. "I'd muck that up with these stupid big hands." He excused himself.

"I'd help you!" Jack insisted, a honeyed, innocent smile on his face. "You could give it to (name) as a present, since you like her."

Oh word. The silence that fell then was absolutely crushing, like a mouse that had been stepped on by a Clydesdale. Dutch's glance whipped around to look at Arthur, chuckling softly under his breath. Marston was looking down, biting his lip in a guilty fashion – and well, Arthur. You only managed to look at him for a second before you felt too mortified on his behalf to continue staring anymore... Still, it was funny to watch this usually withheld man crumbling to pieces under the remark of a small boy. You sniggered to yourself behind your hand, turning your face away to make it look as if you were wiping something from your cheek.

"I'll see you boys back at camp." Arthur then blurted, gathering up his reins hastily. You managed to catch a look, and underneath his greyed stubble his cheeks were as red as a summer rose. You felt an achievement... serves him right for being so haughty with you.

Dutch and John waited for clearance until they saw Arthur disappear up the hill, and the pair of them shared such a cheeky smirk and began spluttering like two school boys.

"Jesus, (name), did you see his face?" John grinned down at you from the back of his horse, eyes shadowed under the brim of his hat "That... that was the look of a guilty man."

You shrugged, deciding to be apathetic about it – shrugging your shoulders as you got up from the soft green clover you had been seated in and smoothed your hands over your skirt.

"Jack just embarrassed him." You replied, and Dutch looked at you in humoured disbelief.

"Don't act so cool, Miss (Name)." Dutch smirked, wagging his finger at you with a look like he had sussed you out, "I ain't stupid, and goddamn – don't take me for a fool." He started with a small chuckle, "... I won't say no more." Was the final thing the gang leader said to you, before turning to Count back around to lead the way up to Horseshoe Overlook.

"Ah, well – so he can't make you a necklace with those big hands, (name)." John shrugged with a playful gleam in his russet brown eyes, a snide smirk playing on his lips. "But I'm sure there's a lot else he'll be willing to do for you with 'em."

The dirty remark left you stood there like a lemon, shocked he had said such a rude thing in front of his son. You glanced down quickly to see if poor Jack had calculated the comment. He stood there, a quizzical look on his face, small hands clutching onto the necklace he had made.

"What did that mean? What pa said?" Jack asked, and a burdensome sigh exalted from your chest. You hurried the little boy back in the direction of Boxer.

"Nothing you need to worry about Jack, he was just making a special joke..." you covered, hoping that would be the end of it as you popped Jack back in the saddle with the aim to get him back to his mother.

As much as you didn't wish to go back to camp and face the awkward embarrassment... you had to.

Besides, you clutched a great comfort now knowing that Arthur had some feelings for you too. He thought he was slick and clever, by being so coy and withdrawn and mysterious.

But very quickly, he'd rained on his own parade, and untangled the façade he had so neatly weaved for himself.

This... this thought empowered you. The days you felt so ignored, hoping tomorrow would come and he would change – it seemed they would finally be over now you'd worked out his 'cleverly' crafted game.

All the way back to camp, you bore a smug smile indeed.