June, 1899

You slump off of your horse, arm wrapped around your abdomen as you hitch your horse to the post.

Clemens Point is lively, everyone in the camp out and about as the sun sets, pink and orange streaking and reaching across the sky.

You don’t want to ruin their mood.

You stumble towards your tent, nearly falling as you lean against the small trunk at the foot of your bed. You lift your hand, grimacing at the blood smeared across your skin from the bullet wound in your side.

“What happened to you?” The voice is deep, smooth, and sends a shiver down your spine like it’s the first time you’ve heard it.

Charles. He has a tendency of sneaking up on you.