Between the Raindrops

Trust Me, Darlin'

So sweet a thing, to be in love.

Emelia's family would be cross. And she would have to write them again soon, she knew. They would ring a storm over her head for choosing her own path. She also knew, with all the reckless invincibility of a girl in love, that Arthur Morgan would be worth any price they imposed upon her.

What price could ever be placed on bringing a smile to that handsome, weathered face? To have the privilege of being at his side or holding those rough, hardened hands? Arthur warmed to her and gave of himself, speaking of everything and nothing and she recognized something in him transcendent and primal. Living under the open sky and drinking the wild air, Arthur possessed a charmed luck for encountering strange folk and getting enfolded in their tribulations.

And the kissing. Oh, what an ardent little indulgence that became. She had not known it could be a pleasure unto itself and with growing curiosity Emelia wondered what more Arthur could awaken in her. Enough to keep her up at night and fuel her fantasies and self-exploration.

A knock on her door at the hotel roused her from her sleep. The window still black with night. Emelia pulled on a dressing robe and cracked open the door to the dimly lit hallway. A lanky young man stood out in the hall.

"Hello?"

"Miss Doctor?"

"Yes...?"

"Sorry, miss," he croaked, and his face turned red. "Yer needed."

"Where?" Emelia asked simply, pulling her robe tighter around her.

"It's a homestead, a ranch," he said, Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "A ways off the main trail to the North, towards Strawberry."

"Can you tell me anything more?"

"Girl's pregnant," he said. "Messenger said somethin's wrong an' they afeared a losing both."

"Thank you," she said. Emelia almost had the door closed when he spoke up.

"Countryside's gotten real dangerous to travel, miss," the young man explained, his voice cracking. "What with outlaws roamin' 'bout as they are. You got ah... a feller to ride with you?"

Emelia thought of that first night ride. In that dead down pour. Of how lost she was. Now, here she was. On a dead dark night. Going further than she had ever gone. In territory that had only grown more dangerous since her arrival in town.

"Yes," she said, nodding. "One moment." She retrieved a nickel from her desk and handed it to him. "Go to the Inn and ask for Arthur Morgan. Tell him what you've told me, that I require an escort and ask him to meet me at the stables if he would be so kind."

"Um, sure, miss. Thank you."

As she dressed, Emelia tried not to remember. The way that large outlaw loomed over her and Clem, and how her heart seemed to beat in her throat. How he kept that pistol leveled, steely calm, holding her life in his hands. She never again wanted a gun in her face.

Emelia felt a twinge of embarrassment when she saw Arthur in the stable yard at so early an hour and wished she had not needed to disturb him. He came prepared, Boadicea already tacked and waiting, the gleaming barrels of a rifle and a shotgun strapped to the saddle. He wore a tan oiled-canvas coat.

"Arthur," she whispered.

"Emma," he said, closing the distance between them. His hand curled around the back of her neck and swiped a slow caress across her cheek with his thumb. An earnest, intimate greeting, and Emelia reached up and palmed the back of his hand.

"Oh, Arthur," she sighed. "I apologize. I know this is an ungodly hour and I feel so, so terrible asking this of you-"

"It's alright'," he said soothingly, kissing her forehead. The strangely heartening scent of tobacco and gun-oil clung to the black kerchief around his neck. "I'm here."