A/N: This is me including a small number of chapters that are kinda Dutch X Lana until I get to spill the piping hot tea (plus it's a bonus because I lowkey want Dutch to choke me)

-

2 weeks later ~

Summer was wild now, in it's most untamed level of heat. The merciless intrusive rays of scorching light plummeted through the canopy of the trees that lined the cracked-earth track leading into Shady Belle.

In this throng of midday intense heat, Arthur had happily placed himself. It meant he got away from Dutch and whatever was going on.

His back leaned against the ivy-enveloped old grey wall, Arthur could feel the cool relief of the stone through the thin material of his blue button down shirt. The sound of a chirpy 'Thanks for the ride, mister!' had the outlaw narrowing his sky blue eyes up the track.

As the figure approached, beauteously dressed in a fine carnation pink dress, carrying a large woven basket in the crease of her elbow – Arthur recalled around 2 hours ago he had seen Mary-Beth leave on the premise that she was 'going to collect some flowers'.

"Afternoon," Arthur greeted politely once the young woman was close enough, and the unmistakeably ghosted look of shock on Mary-Beth's face just further intrigued Mr Morgan.

"A-Arthur... I thought you might have had a changeover with one of the other boys." She laughed nervously, swaying on the spot and making all sorts of passive little gestures: like playing with her hair and drawing her shoe through the crumbly dry soil to avert Arthur's attention from the obvious items in the basket that weren't flowers.

"Nah... I quite fancy the peace n' quiet." Arthur replied curtly, and gestured his head to the basket, his eyes giving a suspicious glance from underneath the black brim of his weather beaten hat.

"Nice flowers. Don't think I've ever seen that type before." His dry tones rang with shrewd tones of sarcasm. The look Mary Beth earned from Arthur was rather discerning as she pulled the basket out of his eyeline.

The simple fact was, the items in the basket were neatly folded and clearly brand new summer dresses. They were exquisite too, bonny and fine enough for a proper young woman. They looked as if they had come from the Tailor in Saint Denis they were that refined.

Mary Beth's freckled nose crumpled in a huff, clearly quite irked that she had been found out.

"I was just runnin' an errand ..." she said timidly, and marched past Arthur in a manner that was very alien to her usual polite and sweet behaviour. "I can't say no more, I'm sorry, Arthur."

Like that she was gone, and Arthur watched over his shoulder for a few moments as Mary Beth seemed to be sheepishly checking her surroundings before disappearing behind the chipped wood door of the Shady Belle House.

What on earth is going on? Arthur found himself thinking, not just about this specific event – but the whole camp's situation in general. Mainly Dutch and his strange workings, his selfish behaviour and idiotic decisions.

The outlaw tried not to think about it too much for the plain fact that he knew how much it wound him up. Arthur had never been in real agreeance about kidnapping Lana in the first place, but now it seemed that Dutch's motives were more centred on finding himself a pretty young sweetheart than getting his own back on Harper – and Arthur found that worse. Dutch had effectively stolen the girl because he wanted her. It was entirely self-centred.

Cracking his neck and clenching his jaw, Arthur felt a low pit of frustration crawl into his gut. What was even more irritating now was the fact Dutch had been worming his way into her head by being the only one to make contact with her, making Lana feel as if he was the saviour in all of this. He used the fact she had hinted at the idea she wasn't really all that in love with Harper to his advantage, making himself seem like the more opulent option.

The man was so good at that, with his silver tongue and his gallant charm – he painted a picture so well – and implemented all the things into her mind that he wanted.

Things just seemed to be spiralling more and more out of Arthur's comprehension, the way Dutch was treating the singer and how this was all panning out felt like some real life fever dream.

For as long as possible Arthur had been trying to keep his mouth shut, but he was not sure how much longer he could abide with the side of himself that had been loyal to Dutch for over 20 years.

Things had changed, and Arthur was very much coming to terms with that – and it meant he couldn't sit quiet forever.

-

Scribbling quietly, the soft scrawl of the fountain pen against the pages of Lana's newly acquired notebook was the only sound heard. Writing away, she had been in another world – too far away to notice the sound of footsteps heading towards the door.

There was quiet negotiation that made the singer lift her eyes, and not a moment later the door knob twisted and like an excited burst of fresh air, Mary-Beth whisked into the room with a large basket resting in the crease of her elbow.

Miss Grant had only very recently met Mary-Beth, Dutch had quietly brought her along with him to one of his visit's the other night. She appeared very much like a fan, praising how she was immensely inspired by Lana's poetry book – Violets Bent Backwards Over The Grass. She had gone onto say she had leant her copy of book to Dutch upon his keen request to read it.

The infatuating smirk Lana earned from Dutch in response to this had her cheeks warming a little – and it could not of been blamed on the stagnant heat of the day.

Either way, she found she liked Mary-Beth, and it was evident enough Dutch must've had some idea the pair of them would get along.

"These are the dresses... I picked out the prettiest ones. Picked out the ones you would want, just like Dutch said." She called out earnestly, setting the basket onto the table to allow the glamorous singer to examine the garments.

With gentle hands, Lana picked out each dress one by one, doe eyes drawing in the beautiful colours, details and exquisite stitching. Her hazel eyes took a fleeting glance across one of the tags, these were from the Saint Denis tailor and no expense had been spared.

"They are all beautiful, just my style." She praised Mary-Beth, folding the dresses in a neat pile on the small table. "I shall have to thank Dutch soon."

There was a twinkle of excitement in Mary-Beth's eyes, it was as if she extremely enjoyed the idea that she was now in this secret little circle that Dutch had let her in on. He had already warned her not to tell any of the others about what he had instructed to do regarding the dresses.... Or the simple fact of letting anyone at all know he had allowed her to acquaint with the imprisoned performer.

"I seen him as I came through," Mary-Beth advised, stepping back with a proud smile that she had picked out the best dresses. "He said for you to try them on, then he'll come by and see you." The women was speaking as if she was Lana's maid, but clearly Mary-Beth would have no problem if this was the case – she idolised her writing that much.

"I'll see you later." She added with a quiet tone of voice, her motions meek and stature seemingly shrunken back – it was as if she was already getting herself to look inconspicuous and secretive so no one would assume anything at all was going on.

-

Figure twirling on the spot, Lana tried best to appreciate how the dress looked on her person without the assistance of a mirror. Feeling rather spoilt, she had already tried on the other two dresses – and at the moment she was finding it hard to have the will to take off the final dress.

It was a gorgeous peachy pink, short sleeves with button down detail on the front. It was a lovely summer dress, by no means extravagant or loud – it was eloquent, simplistic but stylish and flattered the singer both physically and mentally. She felt she belonged in that dress.

"My my."

With a head that had been too busy filling up with pleasant thoughts, Lana had missed the sound of his footsteps entering the room.

The appreciative ring in those sonorous tones elicited a quickening in the pace of her heart beat, glancing quickly over her shoulder at the dark, well dressed man striding towards her.

What a contradiction this had been to herself; the girl who was dragged here against her will hated the very bones of these gangs, their bloody wars, bitter words, hateful ways.

Lana was adamant she would never let herself fall to their advances, crumble to the demeanour they appeared.

Dutch at first seemed like one big façade – dead sure to drag her under just as Harper did.

But as the time had passed, Lana's trust had understandably built in him. He had done no wrong since he had changed his ways. In fact he treated Miss Grant so well, better than anyone ever had. He talked with her in ways Harper never did, made her feel special and relevant... needed.

The singer swore she would not – she wanted to hate the man.

She truly wanted to see a demon, but much to her past reluctant self's contempt; Lana was admitting the fact he appeared more of angel than anything.

A saviour... a chance at redemption.

It felt foolish to say, but she felt like her life was here now. In the safety of Dutch's company. He provided food, shelter, companionship and real inspiration for Lana's songs like she had never experienced before.

Gushing over him at this point seemed an understatement.

"My dear, you look incredible." His honeyed tones danced into her head, sending the girl into a dreamy eyed stare as he closed the space between them. "I knew Miss Mary-Beth would not fail to find you a perfect fit." He praised, holding Lana out at arm's length to examine the dainty piece of clothing.

Not dissimilar to a giddy lover, the man gave her a twirl – a secretive smug smirk on his face that only perched there for a matter of moments before his gentlemanly charm stepped back onto show.

"It's a beautiful evenin', Miss Grant." Dutch started, still holding her hand gently in his own. "I was wonderin' whether you might like to accompany me on a short ride?"

The first thing that immediately hit her senses was the very real idea now that she was going to set foot outside of this stuffy, darkened room and hit sunlight. Besides the pleasant thought of time spent with Dutch, the incentive of warm dusk sunlight seemed even more appealing.

"It would be my pleasure." Lana had replied, a girlishly smitten look on her face. The constant attention and appreciation from the man had the songstress feeling like she was the only girl on the earth, he gave his focus more than Harper had ever done. His affections up until now had been small, sweet and reserved. Little touches of the hand and a chaste embrace here and there, but not so much as a kiss. Lana did not mind this, in fact in a way it was making her fall more. He was the total opposite of Harper, and it seemed he was too idealistic to be real.

Holding his hand tightly, Lana followed behind obediently as she could hear sounds coming from the other side of the grounds by the house – lots of voices ringing loudly, but not a soul outside the backdoor where Dutch was pulling at her hand keenly towards the cluster of tethered horses munching happily on the grass in the summer heat.

Grasping the reins of a small grey Arabian, Dutch patted the horse with a few reassuring little murmurs.

"Does he need a pep talk?" Lana offered jokingly, noticing the grumpy look about the horse's face - with unimpressed eyes and flattened back ears. Dutch chuckled along to your statement, before he rested his hands around her waist – lifting the slight girl with ease onto the back of the mount.

"Not at all my dear, The Count is just a little selective with his passengers." His tones were filled with a factual context, but Dutch took a quick look at the horse's rather changed expression and then smiled back over at Lana. "Look....He seems happy to have you on board." The smile remained on his face as the gang leader swung himself up into the saddle in front.

With a quick click of the tongue, The Count began to make the first small steps up towards the small wooden bridge that joined to the track that led the way out, through the trees and into the wilderness beyond.

Arms looped tightly around Dutch's midsection, the singer breathed in the beautiful scent of the last summer's heat that sustained itself in the evening air. The skies above were luminous with bright hues of tangerine oranges and burnt reds, peachy pinks painted artfully on the periphery of the horizon where the colours seemed to meld with the world below – casting the wild and uncultivated surroundings in a chroma of gold. A picturesque and more than pleasant evening for a ride.

"Comfortable back there?" Dutch called out quietly, gazing over his shoulder slightly to see an overly infatuated smile on the singer's face. Which was everything he wanted to see.

"Just perfect." Lana replied simply, resting her head against his shoulder blade for a number of seconds.

The Count's hooves drummed quietly over the dry earth, snorting every now and again with the dusty particles that irritated about his nose. The otherwise ambient noise of the long summer was absolute bliss.

Lana and Dutch had just crossed the track riding past the shrubbery-consumed grey wall, when a figure suddenly stepped out and scared the girl half to death - so much so that it caused The Count to spook.

"Easy there," Dutch tried to calm the flighty horse, who's eyes were wild for a few moments before relaxing.

Lana too settled when she recognised the fact it was Mr Morgan. A man she had seen very little of. She recalled the last time she had actually seen him was the night she was brought here.

"Where are y' takin' her?" the man asked bluntly, gruff tones and a tired look on his face; a sheen of sweat glowed on his skin, neck and the small glimpse of his chest gleaming almost where the first couple of buttons were undone on his shirt.

"We're goin' out for a ride, son." The irritated dryness on Dutch's voice forced Lana to look down, suddenly uncomfortable. It felt as if the two men were in some kind of indirect confrontation.

"Oh? Seems like a good idea when there's probably a bounty twice the amounta' mine on the head of the idiot who kidnapped this girl." Arthur snapped, his mannerisms seemed as if he was trying to hold himself back from fully lashing out at his leader.

"We ain't goin' far, Arthur." Dutch's voice was pressed, concentrated – but anyone could detect the slight shakiness of a man who was about to lose his patience. By now, The Count had sensed this and was pawing at the ground impatiently.

"And I am more than capable of handlin' myself." Dutch added in a contempt fashion, "I don't need the likes of you to tell me what to do."

With a few sharp nudges to the side, The Count took off into trot and Lana was jarred out of her little sphere of thoughts.

Like a scene from a fairy tale- the saviour, his token princess and noble steed headed off into the soaking golden opulence of light on the horizon.

However, Lana curiously cast her eyes back over her shoulder. Wisps of her loose, wavy hair fell into her face whilst she took in the image of Arthur Morgan. His stature appeared languished whilst tense all the same, his expression was that of sheer irritation.

But the one unmissable fact was all the time Lana kept staring, he did not take his eyes off her once.