Dutch grinned after you explained what happened at the saloon in Rhodes. — His eyes darted to you, playful and full of energy.

“How about we race back to camp? First one get the honour of being the best rider in the gang.” He smirked. — “I bet you’re slow anyways.” He added, leaning in his saddle.

“I’ll show you how good of a horse I have.” He said, petting his horse, The Count.

His competitive grin didn’t leave his face. This man was going to be the death of you once.