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It was hot.
Unbearably hot.
Harsh waves of heat burn down across the camp, every little piece of shade seemingly already taken up by whoever is still around—them, and or the horses. They’re all bundled up beneath the trees, panting heavily as the Southern air suffocate the poor souls of its residents. Every fire has been stomped out—say for the one cooking the stew, though, Pearson is half tempted to throw it out; its probably spoiled by now. People splash water onto their reddened faces; a few already shredding whatever layers they wore into something still remotely modest. It was noticeable how the ones on guard duty, say, Javier, took extra time coming back—savoring whatever cool shade they were given before ultimately returning back into the incarnation of Hell’s own cousin.
Most of them were used to the heat, having either come from a place known for the hot climates, or simply living in the Southwest before they began their journey East. Though, with the drastic changes in temperature they’ve seen over the past few months, it’s safe to assume their bodies are still getting accustomed to the familiar-yet-devastatingly feverish weather. A few of them left for Rhodes, despite the fact it wouldn’t be much better there, maybe they thought they could hide from the sun inside the Saloon. Or, maybe they just wanted to drink to ignore it, who knows.
Mary-Beth was no different when it came to her hatred for the weather. She’d grown up in a place where it was either mildly cold or mildly hot, not tipping the scale one way or another. She hid away in the shade besides a wagon, sitting atop her bedroll as sweat dripped down her forehead. Her thighs were on fire, the long skirt she normally wore hiked up above her knees. Normally, she would keep them hidden, but currently she couldn’t find it in her to even bother. Ms. Grimshaw would find it improper, but currently the old woman was out with the rest of the girls and Jack, so her complaints were no where to be found. Mary-Beth had been offered to go with, however, her attention was fully on the paragraphs of words hidden by leather, and nothing could draw her away from that.
Except for maybe this weather; thinking back on it now, she should’ve joined them, but the idea of stepping out of her safe-space of shade made her gut scream. Unfortunately, without any breeze to help cool them off, even the comforts of a shadowy shelter couldn’t bring them any sort of relief. Across camp, she could see Sean waving a hand in front of his face, tongue out like a mutt as he heaved for anything but this dry air. Mary-Beth doesn’t know why they had to decided to set up camp here. Sure, it was open, but this state was far to dry for her liking. She wasn’t one to nitpick, she’s dealt with worse, but she still had the right to complain. With the heat comes annoyance, and with annoyance comes frustration.
Mary-Beth wasn’t one for outbursts. She kept her head leveled and eyes open for any other perspective. Though, her patience thinned, and she swears if the weather doesn’t let up within a week she’s taking a trip back to the mountains, no matter what anyone says. At least there, she can bundle up as much as she can for warmth—rather then strip to a certain point where maybe she can be released of whatever hellish grasp has taken over the state. Sweat continued to drip down her face, underarms, and especially between her thighs, it was sticky—uncomfortably so. Each time she tried to wipe herself dry with a nearby cloth or her hand, it’s merely worsen the effect.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a figure pass by, and then a splash rang out over the camp. Mary-Beth glanced towards the lake, water drifting up against the shore, licking at the rocks, and, apparently, people as well. Before she could even realize what exactly was happening, she ducked her head to her lap, an unsettled groan leaving her lips.
“Lenny, you genius!”
It was Javier, his tone loud and full of praise. Oh, how easy they had it. Mary-Beth wishes she had the option to just swim wherever she’d like, without the fear of perverts or people with ill-intention. Normally, she and the other girls would take trips—protected by numbers rather then arms—down to whatever river was nearby. It was safe with the girls. As much as she’s grown to love this somewhat makeshift family of theirs—the boys included—even she has boundaries. Mary-Beth’s face flushed, burying her face in her book as the rest of the men laughed.
Evidently, it was bound for one of them to come up with a plan to fix their issue, and that man was Mr. Summers. Taking the advantage of the fact they were settled next to Flat Iron Lake into his hands, the surprisingly obvious solution was created, and thus guided the rest of the overheated men to their ‘paradise.’ Mary-Beth frowned to herself. Unashamed and somewhat crude fellers they were. She kept her head low, because she certainly didn’t want to catch a glimpse of anything other then their sour faces. Maybe she was being a bit rude, but blame the weather for the that, and the fact she can’t enjoy the cold icy water as well!
Footsteps rang out in front of her, and Mary-Beth hesitantly glanced up, meeting Dutch’s eyes. He had stayed behind with the few who hadn’t left, probably worried that without him, Hosea, or Ms. Grimshaw around to keep them in check, it’d all go to shit. He had a crossed look on his face, gaze flickering back and forth between her and the lake.
“I apologize Ms. Gaskill, we normally ain’t a bunch of unrefined hooligans.” Dutch’s tone was slight amused, and slightly annoyed. Mary-Beth couldn’t help but appreciate his concern, despite the way he was with her a few weeks ago, she was grateful for it nonetheless. “If you’re bothered by it, I’ll go retrieve those idiots before they end up drowning one another.” He said, and she knew he would, once he spoke the words into reality it’d be done in a blink of an eye. She wasn’t all that bothered, maybe a little set-off, but it wasn’t anything she weren’t used to.
One of the men, she assumes Sean by the accent, screams were silenced by a splash. Javier’s laughter echoed, followed by a gargle as she could only assume the irishmen had taken his revenge.
“It’s alright! I don’t mind, it’s too hot to be out in the sun anyway..” She brushed aside. Dutch’s face remained unconvinced, but after a moment of staring he leaned back and sighed. “If you’re sure, you let me know if one of them tries to say something. We don’t take to unsavory types like that.”
Mary-Beth couldn’t imagine them doing such a thing, well, maybe Micah, Bill, or even Sean—but she was positive they wouldn’t. Two of them were out of camp anyway, and the other was currently being drowned, so she doubts she’ll have to call someone to her rescue. Not like she needs it, she can handle herself just fine, despite the fact everyone seems to forget that. With a final glance, Dutch turned on his heel back to his tent, pulling at his collar to let some airflow in. She returned back to her book, sadly loosing her place when interrupted. No issue there, she’d had reread this one more times then she could count.
The heat couldn’t last forever, the best she could do was pass the time.
When Mary-Beth had checked her pocket watch, or well, some random man’s watch she had taken—simply because the engraving was far to pretty not to—it had only been an hour since she dived back into her stories. The boys were still at it, only this time, noticeably quieter, taking to simply floating in the lake rather then fighting like wild coyotes over a piece of decaying meat. When she trailed her gaze over camp, trying to spot if anyone had returned from their trips, all she got were empty seats and empty tents. Even Dutch, their mature and thoughtful leader, had let his guard down to join the others. It was faint, but she swore she could hear him retelling a story to the group. Their laughter being followed by the sloshing of water.
The sun had hit high-noon, and despite her attempts to remain seated, Mary-Beth found herself squirming uncomfortably. Her face was hot, were hair stuck to her neck, curls falling back into the natural waves on her head, and her body drenched in sweat. The moisture was really starting to get on her nerves, regret filling her as she thought about Tilly and Karen—probably enjoying themselves inside and away from the heat. Mary-Beth frowned, running a damp hand over her freckled face with a disappointed huff. The pages of her book began to cling to her fingertips, the enjoyment she held over reading dwindling in the moment with each frustrated tug away. Bugs buzzed around her, and she swore if she heard one more cricket screech she’d go insane.
That, or if sitting still didn’t snap her already. It was boring, this whole thing was boring! She’s hardly ever let out on jobs anymore, not after Valentine’s disaster, and no one trusts her with these old-fashioned folks in town, no matter how obvious the pickings are. They probably wouldn’t even realize they were missing their guns if she simply waltzed up and took it. Drunken bastards, old men with backwards thinking, ashy lungs, Rhodes was the perfect place for her to do what she did best—yet she was stuck to the binds of camp. Ms. Grimshaw never let any of them out, say for Karen, but that was to be expected. After-all, the two bit at each other’s throats so often it was like watching two cougars in the wild—patiently waiting for one or the other to strike.
‘Creak..’ An insect loudly pronounced far to close to her for her liking, Mary-Beth let out a barely audible yelp as she swatted her book towards it. Her fingers gripped the leather out of frustration, before feverishly throwing it against her bedroll. That was it, she has had it! If she has to listen to those boys relax in the lake, away from all the heat and pesky insects, while she wallows in her own sweat and frustration, she was going to loose it!
Mary-Beth gathered her skirt up, holding it up by the sides to keep some air on her legs as she made her way across camp. The only other lady still here was Ms. O’Shea, and Mary-Beth would rather talk to Williamson before talking to her. Too strung-up with her nose tilted high, as if she was better then the rest of them. If she thinks she’s so great, she should go be with the other rich women down in St. Denis, rather then a gang full of scrappy outlaws with blood on their hands.
Ignoring the women as she passed, Mary-Beth’s eyes trailed over the area before finally landing on someone she was more then pleased to see. Hidden behind grazing horses, ducked beneath a tree for shade, was Kieran. His hat tilted forward on his head to block his eyes from the harsh sun, he was picking at one of the brushes. Flicking the grime out of the bristles into the dirt below. Mary-Beth hadn’t noticed he was still here, but then again, she never ever saw him leaving camp before. Her brows furrowed, a small pout on her lips as she began her way towards the man. He was nothing if not kind to her, why the others can’t see his selflessness is unbeknownst to her.
Kieran perked up at the sound of grass crunching. He peaked over one of the horse’s backs, eyes landing on Mary-Beth, and he nearly dropped the brush in his hand as he straightened his posture. She payed no mind, merely stepping into the shade he hid in without a second thought. Kieran had that look on him, one that brought her a wave of ease that no one else but Tilly gave her. He was nice, nicer then any of them here, it’s a shame he’s stuck with them and not with people who’d truly appreciate his help. Mary-Beth often thought about futures, fantasies for people, Kieran would be a good stable hand, that she was confident on.
“M-Ms. Gaskill?”
A smile quirked at her lips, she waved a hand towards him. Kieran shrunk a bit to her height, whether it was to see her better, or because of his nervous nature in general, she didn’t know. It was a fun game to guess, though. Mary-Beth, amused, huffed quietly to herself.
“You know my name, no need to be all formal.”
“Right,” Kieran mumbled, gaze flickering away if only for a moment before returning back to her. “Somethin’ you need, Mary-Beth?”
“I was uhm..”
Well, shoot. She hadn’t exactly realized how awkward the question would be, especially with Kieran, who..was a man himself. However, she was already here, and either she spits it out already or she goes back to sulking in the heat. Her knuckles paled as she gripped the fabric of her skirt. If only Ms. Grimshaw and the other girls could’ve hurried up, then she wouldn’t have to ask such an embarrassing request to Kieran of all people. He was a good man, no doubt. Unfortunately, Mary-Beth’s brain likes to frizz out every time they talk, for a reason she rather not think about right now.
“Well, I..” She swallowed thickly. “I was wonderin’ if you could escort me down the lakeside? Somewhere private where I can..” Voice trailing off, she felt her chest tighten and cheeks burn, only this time, the weather wasn’t the cause. She didn’t look Kieran in the eye, mainly because she was far too sheepish to meet his. He was quiet for a moment, she could see his fingers flexing awkwardly at his sides from where she lowered her head. Only after a minute did she finally look up, and immediately every bit of worry was washed away by the sight of him.
Kieran was known by everyone to be a skittish man, always on the tips of his toes as he walked around camp, his shoulders continuously hunched. Always trying to appear smaller then he truly was, Mary-Beth was sure he was taller then Arthur, if only he put his height into his confidence. He was a stuttering mess, someone easily picked on simply because they knew he wouldn’t fight back. This was obvious, especially now, with the way his face was red and eyes comedically wide. Mary-Beth huffed at that, amused. Kieran jolted out of whatever trance he was caught in, and immediately he was back to his semi-regular attitude.
“I-Uhm..don’t you normally go with the other girls?”
Mary-Beth doesn’t mention the fact he’s noticed her routine, because it doesn’t matter. Yup.
“They ain’t here right now..” She whined; a heavy sigh in her throat.
“W-what about Ms. O’Shea?”
“Not a chance.”
“B-But..I-“ Kieran hesitated, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he looked her up and down. Mary-Beth found herself nervously shifting on her feet, fingers still clutched around her skirt, as though it’s the only thing keeping her from stomping away. “You sure you comfortable with that, miss? I-I ain’t..too sure the other fellas would like me going with yo—“
“Kieran,”
Mary-Beth cut him off, and he snapped his mouth shut in an instant. While it wasn’t ideal, she would rather it be him then anyone else currently here. She doesn’t like to think of them that way, and while she trusts them with her life—some more then others—the risk was still there. She reached a hand up, gently grasping at the man’s wrists, a pleading look in her eye. If only things were different, were the worry of being ogled at wasn’t a constant fear, and the concern of being taken when in her most vulnerable position wasn’t an ordinary occurrence to other more unlucky women. Mary-Beth held his wrist gently, because she didn’t want to trap him more then he already was. The silent option of leaving was open and there if he so wished to take it.
“I trust you.”
Kieran sighed, then nodded firmly.
“If you’re sure then..” With a hand reached out, Mary-Beth watched as Kieran grasped the reins of Branwen—who was approaching them slowly, as if sensing he was needed. Mary-Beth was a bit nervous with the stallions they kept, mainly due to the fact a lot of them were rough with their owners and had an attitude. She kept her eyes locked onto the mount, only glancing away as Kieran gently patted the side of his neck. “I’d be glad to accompany you.”
That was another thing Mary-Beth found herself infatuated with, in fiction and reality, true earnest and honesty in one’s words. Every-time they’ve spoken, she’s sensed nothing but the truth behind his tone, slipping off his tongue so easily that there wasn’t even a hint of worry for malice. With how quick he speaks, she doubts even thinks about it—so often he backtracks on his words, a complete stuttering mess. It’s the polar-opposite of the men she reads about, charming, headstrong, and confidence practically radiating off of the pages. They weren’t real, no man could ever be like that, but she finds that she doesn’t mind that much.
Mary-Beth, for reasons she doesn’t want to think about for long, finds herself enjoying Kieran’s way. His stutters, his nervy actions, his kindness that no men seem to have nowadays, the way he always pushes himself into the background—because there will always be people more important ahead. She frowns at the last thought, but shakes the look off her face before Kieran could notice. He had turned back to the stallion, who leaned into each little pet like it was his last. Mary-Beth found her shoulders loosening, inching forward as the man did his work. A horse whisperer, what a strange story that’d be.
“You uh,” Kieran glanced to her, a small tilt in his head, barely bumping against the side of Branwen’s neck. “Need anything before we go?”
Mary-Beth shook her head. Normally, she’d bring a book, soaking in rivers and lakes get rather boring, and plus she’d use it as an excuse not to join the other girls with splashing each other. It wasn’t her thing, the rowdiness of it all, if there would be a fight—it should be an honest and good one.
“We’re all set, Mr.Duffy.” She smiled, and she swore she saw the way Kieran’s brain fry. An image of smoke trailing out of his ears making her grin widen. He lowered his head with a slight mumble, a soft ‘No need for that..’ in reference to the terminology. Mary-Beth plainly placed a hand on his shoulder, the other barely grazing the stallion’s side. “Okay then,” Kieran then shifted in his stance before hauling himself over and up onto the saddle, patting Branwen’s neck softly as he turned to look down at the woman next to them.
At this angle, Mary-Beth could reference nearly any romance novel she’s read. Where the knight in shining armor rides up the damsel in distress, looking down at her with a gentle breeze brushing his hair through the wind. He’d say something cheesy, something that she utterly adores no matter how stupid Karen says it is. ‘Are you alright, dear?’ To which the poor woman will nod, slightly baffled by a handsome face coming to their rescues, and still in shock over the whole ordeal. It’s fiction that’s based on reality, she supposes, it all draws back to some point.
Kieran’s hand finds her view, it’s rough and slightly dirty from all the work he does around camp, but she doesn’t care.
“Mary-Beth?”
She lays her palm atop his, he’s gentle with the way he lifts her onto the back of the horse, like she’s glass or a rare marble statue. Her legs dangle off one side, skirt pooled around Branwen’s flank. Hesitantly, her hands find their way around Kieran’s waist, and how he stiffens to her touch doesn’t go unnoticed. The reins don’t need a crack, Branwen’s legs start moving the second she’s situated. No whistle or click of the tongue here. Mary-Beth cheeks burn, like she’s personally shaking hands with the Devil himself, and the heat of the fire trailing off his body are licking at her skin uncaringly. She believes she’s damned, doomed even, because despite all that, she doesn’t think she’s made a bad decision. Kieran is sweet, he’s thoughtful, he’s quiet, he’s nothing like anything she’s known before.
Maybe, just maybe, that’s why she likes him so much. He’s different, and that’s exactly what she wants.
It takes her a moment to notice how’ve they’ve moved to the shoreline, with Branwen gently trotting along the muddy and dirt ground. The camp’s sounds grow quieter, and Mary-Beth is surprised to find how much she enjoyed it. It seems recently that quiet isn’t more then any other rich privilege out there, and it’s refreshing to have a taste of it once more. Kieran’s voice draws her back in as she peaks her head around his shoulder.
“Misses..?”
“Ah—yes? Kieran?”
“I was uhm.., asking for directions.”
Mary-Beth flushed; so lost in her own head yet again.
“Oh! Right!”
Ms.Grimshaw took them to the far Southern side of the lake last time, covered by dense shrubs and trees, rocks and boulders, the place perfect for privacy when one so desperately needs it.
“Just..keep following the shore South, I’ll tell you when we get close.”
Kieran shuffled in the saddle, his fingers slack on the reins, trusting Branwen to guide them.
“Alright then.”
Mary-Beth peaked out over the lake, the sun hitting it in just the way that it bounced off and nearly blinded her awing gaze. Her fingers looped around the rings of fabric holding his belt, like any looser and she’ll fall off and..whatever this moment was would be gone for good.
Much to her surprise, it had been a rather steady ride. Held back only by the unfortunate terrain, but when it was a calculated choice, Kieran was so gentle in the way he led his mount. It was a soft trot, one that never went to fast or to slow, it was calming in the sense that Mary-Beth could feel her shoulders loose that familiar tension. While the sun continued to beat over them, Kieran had tried his to keep them mostly under the shade of tall trees or shrubbery. If only for her sake. She knows that the two are—unfortunately—used to harsh conditions.
Kieran had a touch when it came to their horses. They nipped, huffed, stomped, they were a rowdy group of animals with even rowdier personalities. Clashing together in an uncomfortable mix, with the only other person being able to handle, almost, all them being Arthur. However, he was hardly at camp, so that meant the responsibilities fell onto the skittish baggage they picked up. Those weren’t Mary-Beth’s own personal words, but she’s overheard what they say about Kieran—most of them have grown used to him, but some are still apprehensive.
The way he handles himself is far different when it came to how he handles their horses. He’s soft-spoken, a stuttering mess, he can hardly keep an argument up before he’s either shoved to the ground or shrunken in on himself. Then it’s a complete switch. He’s firm yet gentle, with skilled hands, and an even sweeter tongue—he knows how to soothe an animal, and get them right where he wants them. Mary-Beth’s seen him handle Williamson’s mount before, and before long his chomping teeth went from dangerous to nuzzling into his pocket looking for treats. It was adorable, as was it assuming to watch the owner in question seethe across camp.
Mary-Beth’s fingers were fiddling with his belt loops. She had only noticed when Branwen stumbled a bit—a rock loose beneath his hoof—causing them to falter a bit. She jolted as her grip tightened. Kieran huffed, murmured quietly under his breath, and promptly clicked his tongue. Mary-Beth’s face was hot, and whether it be from the weather or her own, more internal heating—that was anybody’s guess.
Branwen shook his head, his ears twitching as Kieran’s fingers pulled the reins ever so slightly—making the mount come to slow pacing walk. Mary-Beth’s gaze followed the shore, a familiar tree here, a rock formation there, the shape of the shore itself—
“Right here, Kieran, right here is just fine.”
“Are you sure?” Kieran asked hesitantly, but Branwen was already leading himself over to the nearest tree—so there wasn’t really any point in going further. Mary-Beth nodded, and when Branwen came to a full stop Kieran had already slid off of the saddle. The reins were pulled haphazardly over the nearest hanging branch, and Mary-Beth got a feeling that the reins weren’t even necessary by this point—merely habit. Kieran then turned his attention to her, glancing up at her with an offering hand. Mary-Beth hadn’t realized it now, but Kieran’s features are much more prominent when the light hits him in such a way, she holds her tongue as she slips her fingers over his palm.
Inviting and soft, he helps her down to her feet—patting Branwen’s neck after he was done. The stallion gave a low noise, one Mary-Beth couldn’t quite decipher, but she suspects was a good thing because Kieran merely laughed at his antics.
Mary-Beth gathered the bottom of her skirt into her hands, before carefully making her way over the rocks and loosened ground. The area itself wasn’t all that grand. More of an ident of the shoreline, with heavy boulders and higher ground built up around it. The shrubs were denser, as was the actual lake itself. She had only been here once before, in all honesty. Most of the time, she and the girls were dragged off to a bath in town—however, sometimes they just couldn’t afford it. So, they end up turning to the closest thing available. Even if the circumstances were less than favorable.
Crunching beneath her shoes, the grass turned to dirt, and then to muddy sand. She could hear Kieran’s footsteps behind her, but he kept his distant—much to her disappointment. Now, could she just ask him to come closer, make up a small little overdramatized fear of being snatched up? Maybe. Would she? Of course not! That was only a back up plan, but that was also only if she too could remove whatever has clogged her throat from saying what she wants.
For a woman who enjoys the freedom of words on a page, vocalizing those words were a skill she had yet to master. A confession is easier when you aren’t facing the eyes you admire so greatly. Mary-Beth toed the edge of the water, the calming sound of licking up the side of the shore—barely audible, but all the more soothing. She couldn’t wait to finally be rid of this absolute hell that was this weather, if not for just an hour or so. After-all, she did not want a manhunt to be for Kieran once Grimshaw comes back to find her gone. That would not be good for either parties, those she suspects one of them would suffer more than just a simple slap on the wrist.
“You’ alright, Mary-Beth?” Kieran’s voice cut her back to reality, and she nodded her head with a tilt. Kieran was standing just a bit aways, having come halfway down the small slope that led to the water—he remained in both the view of Branwen and Mary-Beth. “I-If you’ve changed your mind, it’s no problem of mine to take you home—“
“Oh, no! I’m fine, Kieran, I promise,” Mary-Beth was quick to reassure, but with the tips of her ears practically red as a holly bush, completely giving up didn’t seem like the worst of her options right now—No! No, she was already here, and she’d be damned if the other girls came back looking refreshed and new. Mary-Beth swallowed thickly, her cheeks ablaze as she shuffled awkwardly from where she stood. There was a rock next to the shoreline, it would do for a makeshift surface. Her hands wiped it down swiftly as she spoke,
“Would you..er’ mind..turning—“
“Oh, right! Right! Oh, I’m very sorry—“ Kieran all but screamed, Mary-Beth checked over her shoulder to watch fondly as he turned on his heel. Both his hands slapping over his eyes. It was just a safety measure, but Mary-Beth held her trust out for him, and he was taking great care of it. “I-I can’ uhm..g-go wait somewhere else while you..handle yourself—“
“No, no—I’d feel safer if you were here with me.”
She could practically hear the nervous swallow Kieran gave, Mary-Beth mimicked her own, burning beneath her attire and her own skin. Ah, hell.
“Okay, yeah, yes—I can do that. Right here, Ms. Gaskill! Eyes shut, forever, don’t you’ worry.”
Branwen gave an exasperated snort in the distance, and Mary-Beth could only nod in solidarity. What a fool they’ve both found themselves with.
There was a small nervous shiver throughout her fingers, trembling lightly as she fiddles with buttons and strings. The blouse she normally wore slipped off her shoulders with ease, and the shedding layers aided greatly with her current predicament. This state was heavy with its humidity and heat, the fact anyone would willing settle here was absolute insanity to her. Then came her skirt, shoes, undergarments—Mary-Beth was quick about it. It was easier to get it over with then linger and cause a fuss.
The moment her feet touched the water, she all but dived in. She had her hands over her chest, still shivering despite the heat, as she settled herself about waist deep standing—before plummeting fully into the lake. Washing over her face, she felt the relaxation settle deep into her bones, down her veins and up her spine. Peeling apart the knot she was and letting her drift with the moment. The curls she had fell in almost an instant, but she’d redo them another time when she wasn’t currently relishing in the cold water to avoid the blaring sun.
Mary-Beth kept her eyes closed as she dove under, letting her hair float around her in an uncoordinated dance. Like one of those flowing dresses she’d seen in the shops, not bounded by a frame, but freely made for comfort rather than show. Her fingers trailed over her skin, up her arms, down her legs, around her neck. Making sure to get any lingering dirt or sticky feeling off of her body. Mary-Beth probably should’ve brought something to help the process, but when talking to Kieran her mind always seems to go blank. Mary-Beth smiled to herself before breeching the surface.
The moment her head came up she had wiped the water from her eyelids—lashes damp with droplets leeching on the edges. She huffed out a content sigh. Now, she was facing out towards the open water seen through some of the bushes—she hummed and then turned her gaze to the figure waiting nearby. Kieran had his hands over his eyes still, nervously tapping his boot against the ground with soft slaps of the wet sand. Mary-Beth stared at him for a moment, his hunched back, ducked head, and with a hat that was beginning to slip off. She then looked down, noting the murkiness of the water, and how everything that was visible contorted from the constantly moving currents and wind
Mary-Beth straightened her posture before calling, “Kieran?”
The man jumped, turning around with his hands still planted on his face. Mary-Beth gave an amused smile, her feet graceful in the water as she shuffled her way over towards the shore—being mindful of where she stepped. Mary-Beth’s hands reached out, gently laying them over the rock her clothes were currently sitting on. Grimshaw would probably murder her, Karen too, and Tilly would slap her silly—however, Mary-Beth was a grown woman. She could do as she pleases.
“You can look, it’s alright.” She said, making sure her voice was loud enough for Kieran to not mistake.
“No, I’m fine, Ms. Gaskill, swear—“ The man hurriedly stuttered, Mary-Beth frowned, brows furrowed, “Kieran, I said it’s okay, I promise.”
“Ms. Gaskill, ain’t that improper?“
“Call me Ms. Gaskill again and I’ll show you improper, Kieran Duffy.” She groaned, fingers tapping impatiently on the rock. Finally, after what seemed like a forever-back and forth, Kieran’s hands lowered—though his eyes too remained closed, it wasn’t long before he eventually wrenched those open as well. His gaze was locked onto the ground; toeing his the tip of his boot into the soft sand, before eventually he turned up to meet Mary-Beth’s eyes. Their cheeks a matching shade of red. Mary-Beth could rightfully assume his wasn’t just because of the heat.
She gave him a simple smile and an inviting open hand, gently gesturing that yes—she wouldn’t bite. Nor would she assume his own sharpened teeth. Kieran was frozen for a moment, when he snapped himself out of his own trance he stumbled over the rocky terrain. Eventually finding himself just a foot or so away from the shore, and much more closer to Mary-Beth. It made her wonder if he had always been this way, or if it there was something that caused him to turn into a skittish animal every-time someone even looked his way. One wrong tone and Kieran would return back to his shell—Mary-Beth’s expression soured at the thought. She shoved it away, not wanting Kieran to see it and assume it was his doing for her sudden shift in attitude.
“Sit down, won’t you?” She offered, and Kieran shuffled over to the rock her clothes were on. He looked over at her, she nodded, and he made a little bit room for himself. Right on the edge. Mary-Beth would’ve liked if he relaxed some more, but she supposes progress was still that—progress.
“Gosh, I think I would’ve died if I spent even another hour in this heat..” Mary-Beth complained, opting for conversation to soothe whatever worries Kieran had flooding his mind. The man nodded, scratching idly at his stubble as he rested a hand on the stone—Mary-Beth wondered how he could handle what felt like fire. She didn’t let her gaze linger for long on his fingers.
“Well, I’m glad I could help you, M-Mary-Beth.” He said with an honest and genuine smile on his face. Mary-Beth looked up at him with a grin, one of her hands pulling through the tangles of her hair as it fell over her damp shoulder. “They’ve would of strung me up if I let anything happen to you.”
Mary-Beth shakes her head—fondly but somewhat somber. “The boys are just a bunch of fools who can’t see nothing but whats in front of em..’” One of her hands pulled up from the water, a trail of droplets following her movements as she laid it gently onto Kieran’s. She didn’t note his flinch, but she did take in the way he relaxed immediately after with great pride. “You’re a kind man, Kieran, anyone would be lucky to know you.”
“You’re too nice, Mary-Beth, I-I still ran with the O’Driscolls don’t you know?”
“And isn’t it you who is constantly proving himself better than those animals?”
Kieran paused, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Mary-Beth gave him a smirk of disbelief—as if wanting him to argue, because while Grimshaw and Karen could screech till’ the sun rises and sets, Mary-Beth could shut anyone up with only a few words. Smarts and volume are the true weapon, despite the iron that hangs on Kieran’s hip. She stares it at while the silence covers them, watching it glisten off of the sun—just like the water does with each push of the tide.
“Before I..” Mary-Beth pauses, trying to find the pieces of a memory so far long ago it feels impossible to decipher—its rooted deep in her chest. Though its blurred overtime, the feelings she felt was so very real. “Before Dutch and his boys had found me, I was living off whatever I could grab and pawn.” Kieran’s fingers twitched beneath hers. “It wasn’t pretty, I was so scared at first, wondering when I’d finally misplace my step and fall.” She took a breath, the buzzing of insects and the distant push and pull of the shore the only sounds that covered them. For all she knew, the world was only as big as she allowed it to be—then she was welcomed with open arms into a circus. “The first few weeks I was terrified, Tilly was the only one who gave me some sense of security.”
Kieran’s palm was warm against hers, when he had turned it over to close his fingers over her own—Mary-Beth couldn’t tell. When she looked back up at him, he was staring right back at her. Intent, listening, actually caring for what she had to say. Mary-Beth’s chest knotted up in all the right ways as she stuttered over her conclusion—not wanting to dive so head on into her own head. After-all, she could dissect the words on a page, but her own thoughts were an entirely different subject.
“What I’m saying is..eventually, this’ll become a home for you too. If you think we all like each other, then you’re more denser than Williamson. We were all thrown away at some point—Dutch just helped us pick up those pieces.”
After a moment, Kieran spoke, his voice quiet yet still loud enough for Mary-Beth to hear. Like they were sharing their own secrets, hidden beneath the light of a fire or underneath the bedding of cheap sheets. “You care for the lot of them.”
“I care for you too.” She replies without thinking, Kieran’s gaze snaps up to meet hers, and suddenly diving back under the water doesn’t seem like a bad idea in the moment. “A-and they’ll care for you too! It takes time, and I know you and Arthur are getting along—the rest’ll come sooner or later!”
“Not soon enough it seems, I’ll need more hands to count how many times I’ve been sneered at.”
“We fight, yes, but doesn’t every family?”
Kieran huffed, his lips upturned into a slight smile as he nodded, “I guess you’re right, Mary-Beth.”
“You’d be the first to notice.” She hummed with a smile. The water lapping against her skin that grounded her within the lake. She didn’t feel exposed, not in the most obvious sense. Mentally though, maybe, she and Tilly normally confide in one another—its nice too have a fresh face to talk with. Kieran’s fingers were callused, his palm rough with scratched of years of work dug into his tender skin. Mary-Beth’s own were softer—still rough, but far less in comparison—her hand laid over his so neatly, like it was made to cushion her, and her own made to sit there.
It was funny in some way. A man such as Kieran Duffy, who shy’d away at the slightest hint of hostility—had the hands of a man who witnessed so much. Mary-Beth’s seen her fair share of dirty work, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she wishes neither of them had to hold those hardened parts of themselves. At least here, they could share that weight—if only for a little while.
“Must get your smarts from all those books.” Kieran said, his tone lighter and more open than before. Mary-Beth nodded, “If you call reading between the lines ‘smarts,’ I suppose so.”
“Still! I never had the chance to learn, but just listenin’ to you makes if seem all the more impressive.”
Mary-Beth squeezed his hand tightly, her eyes wide as she straightened her posture out—a determined look overcoming her features. “I’d be happy to teach you!” She beamed, before settling further down into the water, “I-if you’d like me too, of course.”
Kieran’s face was red as he gave a firm string of nods. A little bit too enthusiastically, but Mary-Beth only found it endearing. “I’d appreciate that. A lot.” His head lowered to look at their hands, drawn together over the passage of time. Mary-Beth lit up, the water splashing around her as she leaned closer towards him. Not a lot, she still wanted her decency, but just enough to make Kieran’s breath hitch. Sure, he wasn’t a knight in shining armor, or a built man who could sling a gun quicker than common men—but maybe Mary-Beth didn’t find all of that as interesting as she first assumed. Maybe she liked Kieran, and maybe that was enough for her.
Mary-Beth then splashed Kieran with a few hand, the water didn’t hit him directly—merely grazing the parts of his pants closest to the water. He still jumped, a chuckle left his lips after a moment of realization, sending a mock-glare towards Mary-Beth. Who, in her defense, say it was worth loosening up whatever tightened knots he had tied around him. He seemed younger in this light, like he wasn’t a man thrown into unfortunate circumstances after the other—he seemed like a normal civilian rather than someone who runs from the law.
“Mind getting these tangles out of my hair, Kieran?”
“After you threw water at me—?”
“Oh, don’t be a baby! Please?”
Kieran gave in immediately, shuffling closer to the edge of the rock facing the water, as Mary-Beth turned her back on him. For once, she didn’t need to push him closer, his fingers were delicate despite their show of roughness. He took the strands of her hair with care, like he would when brushing the manes of the horses back at camp. Nearby, Branwen gave a snort, and she could only assume he didn’t like sharing the attention of his rider. Mary-Beth closed her eyes, the stallion would grow used to her eventually. She plans to spend a lot more time with the man, after-all.
When the moon had just peaked over the horizon, was when the gently trotting of a stallion made its way back over towards the bundle of tents and now re-lit fires. Branwen was calm, enjoying the way Kieran was brushing his neck as he led them both back into camp. Mary-Beth’s wet hair laid flatly against her neck and shoulders, her blouse a bit crooked given how quickly she threw it back on. They hadn’t been paying attention to the sun, nor the way the bugs seemed to get louder as night grew closer. The bottom of Kieran’s pants were wet, his shoes all but flooded after Mary-Beth had tried to pull him into the water on multiple occasions.
It wasn’t her fault he fell for her charms, but where she would normally snatch wallets and watches from regular men’s pockets, Kieran only got splashed with lake water as he listened to her laughter echoing over their reflections.
Mary-Beth wasn’t surprised when Grimshaw seemed to materialize out of nowhere, stomping her way over to her to berate her about how worried she was. That had just up and disappeared, how she was just about to go send one of the boys to find her—when her eyes latched onto Kieran. The man was throwing the reins on Branwen over a nearby post, and he stood with a lighter stance than normal. Grimshaw’s eyes had narrowed, before ultimately promising Mary-Beth they would be talking about this later.
Preferably when they didn’t have any eavesdroppers, but Mary-Beth couldn’t had been less bothered by that eventual hell when Kieran had made her frustrations subside and made her evening a whole lot nicer. She had grabbed his hand before he turned away—murmuring something about getting back to his chores, but he had frozen almost instantly when Mary-Beth asked him too.
“We can start you’re lessons tomorrow, if you’d like.” She had said, fingers tapping on his skin. Kieran flushed, fiddling with the bottom of his jacket as he nodded. “Yes, yes, that works just fine, Mary-Beth.”
Mary-Beth smiled, leant in, and pressed a hesitant kiss to the side of his jaw. It was so spry, more like a phantom had pecked his skin. His stubble was scratchy against her lips, but Mary-Beth didn’t mind. It felt like him, and with the way Kieran looked afterwards—how could she regret it? Kieran’s face was slack, surprised, but the way his face grew visibly hotter—it was absolutely worth everything. Mary-Beth had let him go after that; she didn’t want him to get yelled at for slacking off.
“Whats going on with you, Mary-Beth?” Karen had poked when she returned to her bedroll, where her and Tilly were currently sat together conversing amongst themselves. Gossiping, more or less, but still. Mary-Beth had sighed, collapsed onto her bedroll, and gave a pointed look to them both.
“Just a new story I was lookin’ into.” She says, her eyes drifting across camp to watch a figure now lit only by the setting sun and lanterns handle the horses. Tilly gave her a knowing look. Karen crossed her arms with a shrug. And while Mary-Beth was sure she’d get scolded tomorrow and for the next week to come, and most definitely Kieran would face a lot of the heat if anyone figured out their little escapades—all she could do was doze off into her own little fictional scenarios dancing around in her head.
At least, instead of a man greeting her atop a horse—he’s helping her up to join in on whatever awaits them down the path.