AN: Sorry it took so long to get this up! I been a little preoccupied, as you can imagine. I'm very happy with my reviewers. A note from last chapter: the story didn't fit starting in 1900, so I moved it back some. That's all I changed, the story's still the same.

Alexis

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As per usual, Theresa complained that I was slow; this coming from the woman that got a good hour more sleep than I. I did notice that she was more subdued this morning, even in her complaints, showing me that the previous night's events still affected her. I made it a point to ask why later, when she was in a better mood.

I dressed slowly, Theresa tapping her boots impatiently, silver spurs clicking methodically. She was halfway out the door with annoyance by the time I had my bag and gun belt thrown over my shoulder, fastening the last of the buttons on my vest. Personally, I liked how I dressed. Simple and timeless, I thought, with my white shirt, black vest and hat, and my brown trousers tucked into black leather boots. I had my nice long coat too, when I needed it, but it was still summer and far too warm.

So there I was, stomping down the stairs in beat to a tune in my head, buckling on my guns, when, out of nowhere, a voice interrupted my musings:

"So, where are we going?"

The light, infuriatingly sweet voice that pierced my poor ears drew up my shocked face to see Annabell, dressed in a maroon riding dress, perched regally on her rather large stack of luggage. Just in front and to the side of me stood Theresa, gazing at the girl with an arched and disapproving brow. I could only hope the sentiments stuck, if the prostitute meant what I thought she did.

"Kid?" my tutor growled.

"What?" I replied, feigning innocence.

"Kid?" she asked again, more sharply, narrowing her eyes.

Annabell flashed her a toothy grin. I blanched.

"I don't know what she's talking about," I said quickly, trying to muster why in the hell Annabell wanted to come with us. If that was indeed what she wanted, that is. I hoped it wasn't.

The blonde pouted, and I instantly felt as though I'd done something wrong. "Aw, Kid! You can't turn me out now!"

The statement drew the lazy attention of some nearby patrons, silly grins on their faces at the obvious assumption. Theresa too, as I knew she would, turned to look at me. Instead of the wily grin I expected of her, she threw me a blank look bare concealing what looked suspiciously like fear.

Now I couldn’t figure out why she’d be so afraid that I might’ve actually spent the night with Annabell.

…Did she really think I’d do that? No. No, she knew me better.

"I think she knows, and you do too."

"What?" I exclaimed fervently, searching for just what was going on. The conversation was quickly getting unintelligible – and it seemed she did believe I entertain a whore. "I don't - I didn't-"

Then the girl's face cracked into a smile, and she started giggling, severing the interest she'd previously earned. "Aw, stop getting excited."

I do believe I felt it proper to sigh. "Stop picking, and just say what you mean!"

Theresa's attention was now safely back on Annabell.

The prostitute rolled her eyes and stood languidly now that we meant to be serious. "Look, I just think it's time for a change of scenery. You guys are outlaws - I mean drifters," she hastily corrected, "And since at least one of you is good with a revolver, I thought it would be nice to have an escort to Reno."

Theresa and I exchanged glances as I stepped level to her, and then we both eyed Anna's luggage doubtfully.

"I hope you have either a herd of mustangs or a coach, in which case you don't need us," Theresa said dispassionately.

"Yeah," I agreed dignifiably. She had at least five trunks and an army of round and square hatboxes. Admittedly, I personally knew no prostitutes, but I didn't think any that worked in a ramshackle place like this could afford all the stuff Annabell was sitting on. Theresa and myself only had a saddlebag, a rolled up mat, gun cleaning gear, bullet box, and a handy Winchester each. Our hands guns, two Peacemakers, hung on our thighs, so we traveled relatively light.

In my thoughts, I had missed Annabell's pleading with my foster mother.

"All right, here, I'll pay you five dollars! How’s that?"

Theresa, though a money grubber, scrunched up her nose at the sum, something I didn't blame her for. Five dollars? It was a tidy sum in those days, but not nearly enough for armed escort to Reno.

Theresa sniffed. "If you really want to make us endanger our lives for the sake of your silly whim, guard you against all manner of dirty characters, then it'll cost you at least eighty."

I broke from my musings at exactly that moment, turning to look at her self-satisfied face. "What?"

Her features turned irritable again when she addressed me. "Yes, Kid?"

That was the 'I don't wanna hear it' glare she hadn't used in quite some years. She made me feel eight again.

Soon after we left the orphanage and Carson City behind, Jane and I were camped on the lee side of a small butte, little more than a stack of rock and clay. I was admiring the warm reds, browns, and oranges in the landmark, enhanced by the setting sun - always a breathtaking sight out west.

"Kid," called the woman I was still hesitant to trust, "Come here."

I turned grudgingly from my awe and back to where she was sitting by her horse and saddlebags. This was back when she was still strict, so I was sure to stumble over after only a fearsome glare my way. While in Carson City, she had taken me over to a store to buy good shoes - boots, she said, good for everything - and as I'd gone most of my life barefoot and inside, I was still getting used to confined toes and other than level ground. When I finally reached her, I could tell she was annoyed by the crease in her brow.

"Yes'm?" I answered as innocently as I could. Such a look at the orphanage meant I was in trouble for something. As it turned out, I was, but not for breaking anything.

Her face was cloudy with anger - I was almost too scared to approach further - and the muscles in her jaw were clenched tight. She beckoned me over with a curling finger, and then gave me a long, hard stare in the eyes, as if daring me to run away before I was scolded.

"It ain't safe for you to be more than five feet from me at your age. If something happens, like a coyote or a wolf nabs you, I can't reach you in time. You might die for the sake of a few seconds. D'you understand?"

I could tell that Jane had no experience raising children. When you're and eight year old child that had previously lived a sheltered life, talk of getting carried off by wolves and dying was a little bit much to take in and comprehend. After staring at her blankly for a few minutes, she probably understood this too.

Her thin mouth cracked into a false smile, and her face softened. She looked much calmer and more motherly. "I'm sorry. Just sit by me and let's not worry about it. Okay?"

I could tell her smile was only false because she was still worried. Gee, I thought, she was taking this adoption thing seriously. She really wanted me to live. I had heard stories from children who came through the orphanage talking about how they'd been adopted by someone who only wanted them to help out on the farm, be an extra hand, or collect money from the government. It seemed to me that Jane was acting like a real mother, albeit an inexperienced one.

She held open her arms, and I stumbled over again after a moment's hesitation. I sat against her chest, much like I had on her horse, and we both looked into the sunset awhile. We didn't have a fire, Theresa didn't want us to; outlaws might be around, she said. By herself, she said she could probably handle them, but with me in tow, she said it would be impossible. It hurt a little to hear that, but then she'd smiled, as she always did, and said that I'd learn to protect myself so that we could have a fire.

It took me some minutes to realize to realize when Jane was making strange whining sounds, very softly, in her throat. Confused, I turned up my little head to see two shining trails of tears coming down from her eyes, her mouth quivering. She didn't realize at first that I was looking at her, but when she did, she quickly looked off to the side, hiding half her face in shadow.

"What's wrong?" I asked softly; that was always how you dealt with crying girls in the orphanage, and I assumed that Jane was a girl, just a little bit bigger. Okay, a lot bigger. The girls I knew weren't taller than me.

"It's nothing. Forget it," she said, the firmness in her tone underlied by the waver caused by tears.

I felt like I'd seen an angel it was a sin to gaze upon, looking at Jane cry. In the short time I'd known her, she seemed so strong and carefree, confident that she could handle anything the world threw at her. Seeing her cry was like putting a cowboy in a tutu. It just didn't fit.

I looked away from her face, biting my lip and wondering about this woman whom I was sure I'd one day call mother. She was kind, if rough around the edges; I could have done much worse.

Jane's hands were clasped in front of my belly, I noticed. It seemed as if they were waiting for something, and as if they thought I knew what it was. I laid both of my small hands on hers, hoping this was some comfort. It seemed the natural thing to do.

I felt her forehead on the top of my head, and then her crying became more audible, her sobs breaking my heart.

That was the only time I've ever seen Theresa cry. I still feel as though I've sinned somehow by witnessing it. I never asked her what she was crying about then. I still don't know. It would be a lie to say it was because she was happy to have me. Those were tears of pain and sorrow, and since then, she's only ever been happy or annoyed. The closest she's gotten to sad is grim. Now, it's hard to even believe that I actually saw her tears.

"Kid?"

Theresa's voice suddenly broke me from my memory. I blushed, having been caught in it; a bad move. Theresa and Annabell, in a frighteningly similar manner, grinned. If she ended up coming with us, I might just have to run away. Wait. No, I wouldn't; Theresa would lasso me and drag me behind her horse as punishment for running out on her. Mothers could be so clingy.

"What's my boy thinking of? Spit it out, Kid."

Well, I couldn't tell her what I'd been thinking of. She'd probably go all quiet and contemplative, and that would be awkward. At least, more awkward than the current situation.

I decided to change the subject. "What had you decided?"

After eleven years, Theresa knew when I'd say no more, and it was usually after I changed the subject. Besides, she didn't care what I was thinking about then, only that she could tease me about it in front of Annabell. Using this knowledge, Theresa moved on.

"She'll pay for her own horses, and us eighty dollars for getting her to Reno."

That sounded more like something we could handle. Two or three horses for Annabell and her luggage, and us protecting her. Reno wasn't but less than a hundred miles from Fernley, and we hadn't but one river to cross. I didn't think it would be so hard.

Famous last words, those.