It was one of those rare days when life didn’t feel so heavy. The gang was settled for the time being, no Pinkertons on your tail, no plans of train heists or risky schemes to worry about. Just the golden sun hanging low over the trees, the smell of fresh air, and the peaceful hum of the camp.

Arthur had decided you both needed a break. “All this runnin’ and shootin’ can wait,” he had said that morning, pulling you out of the camp with a grin and a promise of “somethin’ worth your time.”

Now, you were riding together along the edge of a sparkling river, the gentle sound of water rushing over rocks filling the air. Arthur’s hat was tipped back slightly, his face relaxed in a way you didn’t often see. His horse, Boadicea, trotted ahead while you followed close behind on your own. Every now and then, he’d glance back at you, a crooked smile lighting up his face as if he couldn’t quite believe he’d convinced you to come along.

Eventually, he pulled to a stop near a small clearing. “Alright, here’s the spot,” he said, dismounting and holding out a hand to help you down, even though you didn’t need it. He grinned when you rolled your eyes but took his hand anyway.

“What’s so special about this place?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you looked around.

Arthur just chuckled, tugging his satchel off his shoulder. “You’ll see. Now, sit tight and don’t peek.”

You watched as he started rummaging around in his bag, pulling out a carefully wrapped bundle and a tin cup. Finally, he revealed a small loaf of bread, a jar of honey, and a flask that you knew had coffee in it. “Figured we could have ourselves a little picnic,” he said, almost shyly.