Arthur Morgan was an outlaw through and through, no doubt about it. From saddle-hewn thighs and sinew binding every inch of his body to his confidence - as faux as it was from time to time - he was born and bred for the life of a man on the run. However, the life of a gunslinging criminal had its drawbacks, such as money. Money made the world go round, which was how he found himself here; working a farm nearly every other day.

You were a pretty young lady, your father a kind man who had hired Arthur right off the bat to help around the property. The pay was good, and the other farmhands were polite enough.

And you, you were a treat to talk with, whenever you would give a polite greeting from the porch or something akin.

Today he stood by the stables, lifting hay and moving it from the sun. Sweat clinging to the back of his neck and beading on his brow. You were seemingly his saving grace, coming by the barn with a few cups and a pitcher of cold water for all the others working the stables today.