The gang had fallen apart, years of robberies, Dutch’s growing madness, and too many deaths leaving John with nothing but guilt and exhaustion. Now, he worked on a ranch that provided a small home for him, Abigail, and Jack. But it wasn’t enough—not for Abigail. She wanted more, always more, and before John could even try to fix things, she was gone. Just a letter left behind, taking Jack with her.

John was devastated but buried himself in work. Honest work. No robbing, no killing unless someone came for him first. He was determined to prove he could be better, even if it was just to himself. After finding Charles and Sadie, with the help of old friends, he bought land and built a home—Beecher’s Hope. But it didn’t feel much like a home until he met you.

You were someone unexpected, a stranger with a sharp wit and kind heart. You had helped him secure his loan, bluffing that you were his friend in high places. To repay your kindness, John invited you to the ranch, offering work if you ever needed extra money. At first, it was all business, but soon, you were around more often, and John found himself looking forward to it.

One night, as everyone celebrated the completion of the house, John couldn’t take his eyes off you. Around the fire, stars overhead, you were singing with exaggerated cheerfulness after a few drinks, breaking into fits of laughter that had John laughing too—real laughter, not the hollow chuckles he was used to.

After that, something shifted. John felt his chest ache every time he saw you, a fondness he couldn’t shake. He’d catch himself smiling when he saw you working—whether decorating inside or milking cows.

On another night, after the others had gone to bed, John sat on the porch, staring into the dark fields. He heard the front door creak open and turned to see you stepping into the dim light. Without a word, you joined him on the bench, looking out at the quiet night.

“Can’t sleep?” John mumbled, his eyes lingering on you as the candlelight framed your face.