dust in the wind | arthur morgan

chapter eleven

STRAWBERRY, WEST ELIZABETH
10:46PM

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She saw the swinging doors crash against her body like the most ferocious of waves, but she did not feel them.

All it took was a blink, and before she knew it, she was clasping onto the powder-white balustrade in front of her – her fingers wrapping around it tightly as her waist smashed against it.

As she pushed through her hands to straighten herself, her first though went straight to Hosea; she was taken aback by his strength and grip over her.

He was never one to be so forceful, not unless it was absolutely necessary. He had more patience than a Siberian tiger, so to be dragged outside by him meant she was in serious trouble.

Her brain felt as if it were still in the saloon, lagging from her body. The one thought circulated around her head: she didn't want Hosea to think of her as loose.

It wasn't like she woke up that morning with the aim of sleeping with Freddie, but when he brushed his hand up her arm, when he planted that delicate kiss on her jaw, she melted into his touch. She wasn't desperate, but when alcohol lined her stomach, her desires became unforgiving.

Obviously, Hosea must not have favoured the image.

"The hell do you think you're doing?"

Her eyes narrowed, her eyebrows following suit. Her slow brain eventually realising that the low, rough voice was contrasting with the hoarse father-like tone that Hosea obtained.

The disembodied voice was cold and snappy, and the guttural tone was all too identifiable for the girl.

She lifted her head slowly, only to see the tall, lean figure of Arthur Morgan in front of her.

At first she wanted to snap. The vexation rumbled and grumbled beneath her skin threateningly and her mouth parted to emit obscene words into the chilly air between them.

But then her eyes caught hold on the sight before her, and a sharp breath shut her mouth tightly.

Underneath the black waistcoat, Arthur was wearing a red shirt; a little like the one Estella wore, but his was a deeper shade, resembling the finest of garnets. His sleeves were rolled up to just past his elbows, accenting the scars and cuts buried beneath the hair on his forearms.

She mentally scoffed at her momentarily short span of attention and how ridiculous her mind was acting, especially since it was practically bathing in bourbon. She broke out into a laugh and her hand clasped towards her forehead, incredulously.

She was stupid to believe Hosea would do a thing such as that. He was protective, sure, but he wasn't one to let his emotions get the better of him. Whilst Hosea was naturally very patient, Arthur upheld a level of callousness that disguised his easily triggered temper.

Arthur shifted in agitation from one foot to the other, rolling his eyes at her childish behaviour. He had never been so aggravated with the girl.

When he thought about it, it was probably the first time too. She always brought such life and energy to missions that he could have only smiled at her enthusiasm. But at that moment he was feeling... almost envious.

He clenched his jaw to stop him from saying anything he would regret.

"What, you bitter you're not getting any?" She chortled, looking at the frustrated cowboy whose cheeks began to subtly taint pink, seemingly from the alcohol he had been drinking all night.