Things almost felt normal.
You lived alone now, up in a little cabin a short ways from Strawberry, and did what you could to make a living. You mostly caught your own food, you'd been great at hunting since you were young and your father taught you, though you did odd jobs around town to sustain yourself. Your parents, far richer than you were, also sent an allowance down every month or so, though you weren't too keen on using their money unless you absolutely had to.
You'd had a falling out with them over a foolish decision you'd made, perhaps they were right, but you were too stubborn to admit it. Not to mention, they were rather upset that you'd fallen for a Mexican, said with such distaste you'd ignored their desperate letters to come home for months afterwards out of rage. Once they apologized for the rude comment, they pointed out the much more important fact of 'he's in a gang' and 'he dragged you into that gang with him', which you could forgive because they were correct. But you were young, in love, and you didn't want to think about the consequences of your actions.
You'd met Javier awhile back, while in a saloon with some friends, and he had charmed you easily. You liked the sound of his voice, the way he smiled, and were almost completely enamored immediately. He told you later he had planned to rob you blind since you looked rich, but you were so beautiful, he figured robbing you might ruin his chances with you. Funny that a few months after that, you were robbing people together.
You fell out with the gang a year or two ago, sad to say goodbye to someone you loved so dearly, but knew his loyalty to Dutch was stronger than his to you. It felt like an insult to your relationship, and perhaps some common sense from your parents kicked in when you realized you couldn't live like that forever. Constantly on the run, under fire, was that any way to live? Perhaps for him, but it wasn't for you.
And now you lived alone.
A storm approaches one night and you quickly get ready for it, boarding up your windows just in case, and making sure your noble steed is happy and comfortable in the barn until it passes. After everything is taken care of you're ready to turn in for the night, to let the storm pass over and then see the damage that might be done afterwards. You're lucky you hunted earlier that morning or you'd have to venture out in this mess so you didn't starve.
A knock on your door startles you, and you wished you could see outside of your covered windows. Still paranoid and ready to fight from your days with the gang, you grab your pistol that you keep loaded, hiding it behind your back as you approach the door. You slowly open it, peaking outside and seeing a red-haired man on your door step, smiling cheerfully when he sees you've actually opened the door for him.
"What do you want?"
"Well, ma'am-" His accent is so thick you don't understand anything else, but that was also in part to seeing two figures moving in the thick trees off to the side of your home. You're quick to slam the door shut but you're quickly knocked back by the redhead, who pushes his way inside and sends you sprawling onto the floor. You keep a solid grip on your gun, pushing yourself across the floor before removing it from behind and aiming it.
"Get the fuck out of my house."
"Whoa there lady, no need for that! Just, eh, give us some money and we'll leave you be."
"Go earn your own damn money."
The two figures who you had previously seen lurking in the trees enter your house behind the Irish man, and they're soaked to the core. Who went and robbed people in the pouring rain? What kind of dumb but potentially genius decision was that? You look between the two other men, starting to feel nervous, there's no way you could shoot all three of them before they could draw on you. There's something familiar about the two that just walked in, though, and when you finally see their faces once they remove their hats, you almost laugh at the irony.
"Son of a bitch- Javier! Are you really robbin' me right now?"
Javier is a little startled, calling out your name before scrambling over to where you're on the floor. You lower your gun without a second thought, realizing that might be stupid since it has been awhile since you'd seen your former lover; there was some part of you that knew Javier wouldn't ever hurt you, regardless of how much time had passed between you seeing each other. He takes ahold of your hand and pulls you up, checking you over for any wounds before he steps back.
"You know her?"
"Yes." Javier responds softly, and Arthur seems to find some minor amusement at the situation.
"How you been?" He asks, and you look at him with a smile. You'd always liked Arthur, even if he was one of the grumpiest cowboy's you'd ever met. He had always been kind and courteous to you, so you'd never had a reason to think poorly of him.
"I've been doin' good, Arthur, aside from almost gettin' robbed a few seconds ago."
There's some light-hearted chatter between you and the new addition to the gang, Sean, but Javier remains silent. You can feel his eyes on you, staring at you like he wants to say something, but you can tell whatever it is, he'd prefer to keep it between the two of you. This doesn't pass over Arthur's head, who pats Sean's shoulder and pushes him towards the door.
"We should be getting' back to camp. Let Dutch know the tip wasn't worth much."
"Give me some time, will you, Arthur?" Javier glances at him and he nods, clearly understanding that he and Sean shouldn't overstay their welcome.
"C'mon kid, let's go." Arthur ushers Sean towards the door, who still wears an amused expression on his face. Once they're gone the tension begins, the kind of tension that happens when two people who still have feelings for one another are left in a place alone together. You walk over to the couch in front of your fireplace, suddenly feeling a bit cold, and Javier follows close behind, though he doesn't make himself comfortable yet.
You didn't think you'd ever see him again, and you can tell from the look on his face, he thought the same.
"You're still so beautiful, mi amor."
It still makes your heart flutter to hear him say that, and you hope the dim lighting in your home can hide the blush on your face. Javier sits next to you and there's an awkward silence that makes you feel a little sad; you and he used to be able to talk about a lot of things, some memories of sitting around the camp fire and just talking about anything you could think of came to mind. You always liked talking to him because he liked to listen, to ask questions, and his biting comments could also be hilarious.
"You still play guitar?"
"I do."
You think back to sitting around the campfire with the other, listening to Javier's voice as he sang along to some song he'd written himself. It feels almost a lifetime ago that you used to listen to him throw ideas your way, humming to himself and finding the right words to go with the tune before he showcased it to the gang at night. He really had a talent for it, and you had even joked about him becoming famous for it, if he could find the right audience.
"Didn't think I'd find you living out this way."
You go on to tell him the story of how exactly you ended up here, and what you'd been doing with your life so far. You ask about some members of the gang who you'd gotten along with and are pleased to hear they're still alive, as that wasn't always guaranteed with living such a dangerous lifestyle. You're thankful for the light conversation, nothing too heavy, but you can feel it drifting in that direction. Soon, once all the news of what you'd both been up to is over with, the silence drifts back, and you can't think of a way to continue the conversation.
"I never stopped thinking about you." He finally admits, "I can't stop thinking about you... I can't."
How could you tell him you felt the same? How could you admit he haunted your dreams every night since you separated? It had all been your fault that you'd split up, so you felt like you might not have a right to say anything about it, but it's not like you left because you didn't love him anymore. The need to kiss him is overwhelming, to assure him you still felt the same way; you can't help yourself, staring at his lips before drifting back up to meet his eyes. You know he can sense the mood, he can see you actively trying to keep yourself still and trying to stop yourself from squirming.
"Come here." He whispers, leaning close, his lips just barely brushing against yours. "Let me kiss you."
He's still as good a kisser as you remember, lips pressed softly against yours, enticing you to move closer and press harder against him. His arms wrap around you and it doesn't take long for the kiss to get passionate, you taking the initiative to push him the rest of the way down on the couch and laying on top of him. He doesn't mind the position change, it brings back fantastic memories; his arms wrap around your waist as he wishes you were wearing much less clothing, but...
Just being close to you like this again was enough.
He had missed you, and no other woman had managed to give him the same feelings.
There's a few more bliss-filled moments where you pretend he isn't going to leave, where you and he get to have a nice future together, act like a real couple who find some steady work and get to live in domestic simplicity together. But it's all too obvious it's just a dream, a wisp of one that'll forever be out of your reach, and his, too, regardless of what he wanted. You had left that life behind you with no intention of going back, unable to bear the thought of hurting more people just for their money. The world was changing, and you weren't going to rebel against it; your plan was to adapt, to get with the times, and continue to live with purpose.
"You can come back to visit, when you're not busy, and all that." You look away, feeling sheepish. Were you really trying to strike back up a relationship with him? He would never choose you, so what would the point be? Even with those questions, there was no question that you loved him and couldn't ignore the pain at the thought of never seeing him again. You'd rather see him from month to month rather than not at all.
"I will." He smiles at you, seeming rather happy with what you said; you guessed he assumed you'd tell him to get lost and never come back. You could never. "I should be going."
"It's still raining real hard out there." You peak out the front door, looking over at the trees and seeing how hard they're being blown by the wind. "Just stay the night with me, you can leave in the morning."
"You make it real hard for a man to leave, don't you?"
'It's not hard enough.' You think, unhappily, 'Because you'll still be leavin' me tomorrow.'
"Maybe I don't want you to leave yet."
"...Maybe I don't want to leave yet."
Well, you could stand to fool yourself a little longer, couldn't you?