Sean wasn’t that much of a loverboy, for sure. He was brash, loud and could talk a man’s ear off. Not many ladies saw light in that. So, he didn’t either.

That was until he spotted you in a robbery. Train heist. Run in, point a gun at the ceiling, shout for everyone to stay quiet, easy. When you were staring at him, eyes wide? Not so easy. And, the thing was, after the robbery, Dutch found you. He saw the same odd spark he saw in every member of the gang that had stuck out from the rest of America’s people. Some kind of determination, perhaps. That or the guy was getting a bit senile early.

He found himself absentmindedly picking flowers round camp. On duty, he’d sit and think. Think of ways to make you laugh, think of ways to just make you smile. God, he loved that smile. Or he’d look at you from across camp. Try and spot you like he did that day, catch you in the corner of his eye maybe. And he always did. Oh, he always did for sure. This evening he did just that; sat by the campfire, the hazy glow lighting his face, he gazed at you, trying to memorise your features.

The guy was smitten. Utterly.