Chapter Text
Bob opened his book and turned the page. mouth wide open and ecstatic eyes. He could spend hours lying there reading the famous James Brothers Train Robberies again. His weight moving caused his bed to creak, and the apple juice that leaked onto his fingers made it sticky. Robert Ford felt underwhelmed by the word "entertained." These tales kept his brain active, his heart beating, and his life vibrant. His life had been fairly difficult thus far. His brothers were obnoxious slobs and idiots. After their mother passed away, his father never got up from the recliner in front of the fire. His hands tightly gripping a whiskey bottle.
When the fire started, he would fling those bottles at it as if the flames had killed his wife. Robert was the youngest member of his family. Promised a meaningful existence, yet years had passed and no promises had ever been kept. Charlie, his brother, has made two new pals on his own. Dick Little and Wood Hite. Bob was familiar with Wood Hite. why he was Frank and Jesse James' cousin. Everywhere they went, he rode along with them and made sure that everyone knew he was the Jame's cousin.
"Bob!"
"Bob!"
Bob flipped from his bed, the apple core rolled from his fingers and he sucked in a harsh breath. He had landed on his gun belt. Bob had been given his Grandfather's dusty old colt gun, and walked around with it as if it was some glorious prize. Only shooting it once and that once, made Bob believe that the gun would fizzle and crumble from how old it was.
"Bob!" It was Charlie hanging by the door, slumped in the doorway. He looked dirty, and smelled worse than sin. "You got cotton in ya ears, c'mon down here."
"Why?" Bob asked as he tucked his book under his pillow.
Charlie rolled his eyes and grunted. "You wanna be a part of this don't ya?"
Train robberies are a thing of the past. The 1800s had endured a good amount of it and received a lot of criticism. These new ages, however, were the eras of banking. the era of credit, often known as "The Roaring Twenties" by the government. Bob was unsure of their meaning. Only twenty years old, he had never left Missouri and had never had the opportunity to do so.
Bob slouched down the stairs as he pondered Charlie's point. Bob had over the years heard Wood Hite mention that they had joined the Jesse James gang. But they never offered much evidence. Additionally, it was never published in any books. So Bob didn't have faith in them.
Dick Little, Ed, Wood, and Charlie could all be heard laughing. He senses the aromas of maize whiskey, moonshine, and cigars. Bob was unsure of the purpose of the call. As he took the final step, he noticed Frank James' outline. Wow! Frank James was in his kitchen at the time. His hands were looped on his pistol belt, and a pipe hung from his lips as he faced everyone with his back. Bob swallowed as his tongue began to cling to the inside of his mouth.
When Bob refused to enter the kitchen, Charlie looked up and waved his hand. As Charlie drank from a little glass of moonshine, he appeared as though he had been dragged through the dirt. All Charlie did was that. He would drink, swear, and place wagers that would fail.
"It's little Ford! Bobby!" Dick teased as he slapped down his glass on the table.
Frank turned to look at Bob, and sneered at him. Just from that stare, Bob felt his face flush and felt himself want to turn and run away. Frank appeared frail. His eyes were as lifeless as the pipe he smoked, and his face was adorned with creases and wrinkles. He extinguished the smoke before turning to Charlie and sneering at him as well.
"Him? You're bringing him along?" Frank asked. "No." He then continued.
Charlie slung back his whiskey then motioned his head to Bob. He wanted Bob to plead his case. Bob wiped his sweaty palms on his thick trousers, and moved across the kitchen.
"How do you do? I take it, that my brother Charlie brought you here." Bob paused then blew out a shaky sigh. "People figure me to be an idiot, for I speak... the way I introduce myself. But, I read every James story and I think I could be of help for this new age."
There was a violent silence. Frank staggered his weight from right to left on his feet. He blew his pipe smoke in Bob's face then sneered.
"You look as if you ain't robbed nare chick or child. Why would you want to come along? You're a runt." Frank insulted him.
Bob's cheeks flushed red. He heard the soft snicker of Wood Hite behind him. "I'm sorry your opinion of me is so little but if you give me a chance, I can be of use."
"Use of what? Your brother wants you riding along as a sidekick? No."
Bob was set to turn and flip their kitchen table. He wanted to beat the sense out of Charlie. Why had he brought Frank here? To embarrass him? He succeeded. Bob felt his chest heavy, his eyes were stuck to the chipped kitchen floor, and he turned felt his legs lift as he was set to go outside. He did. Weeks prior, the porch light had stopped working. The only sign that someone was inside the house was the moon. Bob was pleased that the porch had plenty of space. He stubbed his toe on the porch, grabbed the banister, and sighed hard. Frank wasn't his favorite, which makes sense. His favorite was Jesse. Bob was well knowledgeable about Jesse James. He was proud of that. He heard a match strike as he leaned over the balcony. This shocked him. He noticed the lingering shadow as he turned. He was there.
The slender build, the arch in the hip, and the pointed toe of the boots. His shadow came with its own lingering introduction. The sweet smell of lilac, pungent smell of cigars lingered in the air. The match came close to the cigar, and Bob almost gasped to pass out. It was Jesse James.
Jesse shook off the match while stepping closer to Bob. The writings were correct. He wore a smile. He smiled at Bob as the smoke softly exhaled through his nostrils. His eyes were misty, dark blue pools; his skin looked soft, and his lips curled delicately around the cigar.
Bob felt air get clogged in his lungs. "H--how do you do?"
"Evening," Jesse called blowing the smoke over his head. "Your Charlie's brother ain't ya?"
Bob nodded feeling his knees wobble with fear and excitement. There was that smile again. Jesse wore it sweetly. The cigar smoke hit Bob's nose and he felt his eyes water softly.
"Smoke?" Jesse offered pulling another cigar out his pocket. Bob had once tried smoking. He did it when he was fourteen. Bob made the promise to never smoke again when his father tracked him down and beat him into submission. Jesse James, though, was giving him a cigar. Of course he would accept it. Jesse ignited Bob's cigar with a second match. They had relocated to the porch's wooden rocking chairs. Every action Jesse made was studied by Bob's own blue eyes. His thighs were crossed, and his legs were long. His hair appeared damp, as if he had just come from the rain, and his hands were braced against the chair's wood. He had hollow cheeks and visible dimples when he smoked. Bob experienced a fast heartbeat.
"Frank musta been mean to ya?"
Bob inhaled the smoke and felt like his lungs were going to bust. He didn't know Jesse had really spoke to him, until Jesse chuckled. "Frank can be a bastard. But... he does well."
"I read all those train robberies." Bob blurted.
Jesse smirked at him, cocked his head the side. "Have ya?"
"Just now fore' everyone came I was on my bed. Mouth wide open, eyes wide, readin' all my stories I collected." Bob confessed.
"Think they all true?"
"Maybe not all, but..."
Jesse rocked softly then closed his eyes. "They write of me as if I'm a mystery. Treat me like a hero."
"You is Jesse James."
"And what's that mean Bob?"
The way in which Jesse called him, made Bob felt a small tingle from the nape of his neck, down to his spine. Jesse slowed his rocking, blew out his smoke, then turned to Bob. His eyes were darker now, small frown lines cupped the corners of his lips; he almost looked soft in the moonlight. "You tell me what I am to you. If all you read is stories of me... then I can't live up to that."
Bob was nervous. He didn't or couldn't gauge how he felt overall, but nervousness was all he could pinpoint. He coughed letting out a cloud of smoke. Jesse smiled then pointed to the cigar.
"You don't have to keep smoking that if it's making you bungey."
Bob tossed it, cheeks flaring with blush. He noticed Jesse staring at him, his eyes locked on Bob. Then he nodded before sitting back in the chair. He had smoked his cigar down, tossed it, then let out a small hum. Silence.
Bob twiddled his thumbs not knowing what to say. Jesse rocked softly, then spoke. "You ever robbed something?"
"Nothing big."
Jesse sneered then lit another cigar. This time he let the match burn down to his finger tips. Bob had seen in the little flame, Jesse's other hand. It had never been written but his middle finger looked mangled; missing a numb. Bob licked his lips as they were dry and then cleared his throat.
"Under my bed I got all these clippings..." He felt like a fool spewing this information. Jesse would think he was a stupid fool.
But Jesse rocked and smoked. The screen door opened and it was Frank. He cut his eyes to Bob and Bob looked away. He hated Frank. After that meeting, he hated Frank. And here he was ruining his time with Jesse.
"Shipping out in the morning. Ed stole a car, at dawn we leave." Frank ordered then turned to Bob, gripped the rocking chair hard; which was shocking that he looked weak. "You load up the car now, diggus."
Bob's mouth fell open and that must have tickled Jesse cause he chuckled. Jesse tossed the cigar standing to his feet. The brothers ignored Bob and disappeared into the house.
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To the stolen automobile, Bob had transported all the equipment. He stumbled, fell, and even got his pants dirty, but he succeeded. Ed and Charlie had messed up the kitchen while making stew. Despite the house's age, it has recently created advantages. lights, functional gas burners, and all those modern devices. Just a few hours remained till they went, and it was now midnight. The most of the group had left, but Bob was still in the living room working on some documents while sitting on the floor. He enjoyed reading. He heard approaching footsteps. Jesse observed Bob while standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips. Bob's tongue flicked along his lower lip and his throat was dry.
"Read a little to me." Jesse ordered, taking a seat on the dusty couch.
Bob tilted his head up to Jesse, couldn't believe what he was hearing. Read to him?
"Go on. Let me hear them stories." Jesse spoke softly, while relaxing against the couch.
Bob scrambled with the papers, his eyes were losing focus, and he felt dizzy. Don't pass out. Is what he kept repeating to himself mentally. "I gotta find it... ah, uh... Jesse James, the youngest, has a face as smooth and innocent as a schoolgirl. The blue eyes, very clear and penetrating, are never at rest. His form is tall and graceful and capable of great endurance... and great effort."
His voice was shaky, unclear, almost as if he didn't know how to read. He look towards Jesse, watching as the older man leaned forward a bit. He nodded on and off as Bob read. Bob licked his lips now with more moisture then stupidly giggled. Jesse waved his hand as if hearing enough.
"I ain't never cared who come with me. Never have." Jesse spoke tilting his head back then kept a small gaze with Bob. "You just seem so eager to be with me. Why is that Bob?"
Bob's head was foggy. His old fantasies, memories, eager excitement filling his body. The dream had always been to be with Jesse James. In front of the filthiest males in the room, Frank labeled him a runt and made him feel foolish. Jesse, though, at this moment, made Bob feel seen. Allowing him to read to him. Be with him, Jesse questioned, "Why?" Bob was aware that his enthusiasm for Jesse transcended his hero and kid complex. It wasn't obsession; it was chance and fate. Maybe it's love. Jesse was said to be in love with Zee James. Furthermore, Bob had no concept of a man and a woman falling in love. Bob was frequently made fun of by Charlie for his unusual feelings for Jesse. Bob didn't care right now. This seemed genuine to him. There was love.
"I just want to is all."
Jesse didn't speak anymore. They sat in silence. As time went by, Bob saw that Jesse had softly closed his eyes, and maybe had fallen as asleep. Bob drew his eyes over Jesse's form. He made the couch look better; it didn't look ratty and old. Jesse's boots looked imported and expensive, his pinky had a gold band on it, and the watch he wore seemed to be of some sort of French design. Jesse was expensive, his scent was expensive; overall Jesse was luxury.
Dawn had arrived. They piled into the stolen wagon as Charlie threw Bob out the door, causing Wood to trip. The others would follow loosely behind while Jesse and Frank would travel in the car that had been stolen. Bob wished he could have gone on the ride with Jesse and Frank. Bob envisioned a day without Frank.
Charlie laughed as he pulled Bob's hair out of his head. Bob pushed him away while complaining. Why must Charlie continually find fault with him. Dick grinned before leaning in close to Bob. "Ever since you set eyes on Jesse, your tiny pecker hasn't budged. I had no idea you were a fruit."
Bob didn't speak. He just felt his cheeks grow warm with blush. The robbery was no train, no salon, or even a bank. Frank had conspired with Ed on this robbery; they were to take from the richest man in Missouri. Bob didn't know what his role would be, in fact, he was certain he'd put out on the side of road and have everyone laugh at him. It pained him to think of that; the thought of Jesse laughing at him.
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The heist was successful. Ed and Wood laughed gleefully. Dick and Charlie were speaking while sitting by the stove in an unboarded home. The living room was where Frank and Jesse were. Off the wall, their voices could be heard. Bob finished his apple and rubbed his fingers over his shirt before entering the living room. After pausing, Frank turned to face him. He snatched his hat, gave Jesse a tip, and then pushed Bob away forcefully.
Jesse made a fuss to himself before glancing at Bob. That smile reappeared. "Me and my brother hardly on speaking terms these days."
"I was gon' mention it." Bob shifted from foot to foot then smiled at Jesse.
Jesse didn't return the smile though, instead he stood from his chair and eyed Bob with almost an anger look. "You like that don't ya?"
"Like what?"
"That Frank and me is on the outs."
What was happening? Bob shook his head frantically while he moved back from Jesse who continued to come closer toward him. Bob gasped when Jesse reached out and gripped his side. His hands were rough, strong, and almost pinched the life out of him.
"Ow.. ouch." Bob whined with a moan.
Jesse stopped, furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head. "I guess your daddy used to beat you."
Bob blushed with a nod. He rubbed his side for awhile then was set to leave, but Jesse motioned for him to sit down. They sat across from each other. He was trained to fix his sights on Jesse. Jesse was clean whereas everyone else appeared to be near death, disheveled, and shabby. He had a scent of talcum powder, lilac, and spices. He had a beard that complemented his face, soft eyes that gazed on the fire, and clean clothes. Bob felt himself scratching the back of his neck and dusting off his own freshly laundered clothing. When Jesse met his eyes again, he flushed. This time, he grinned at Bob before removing a cigar from his shirt pocket.
Charlie appeared chomping on a apple. "Jesse we wanted to see that new picture show."
"Yeah?" Jesse asked tossing his match in the fire. "And how would you all get there to the show?"
"We would walk, wouldn't risk of taking the car." Charlie laughed then winked at Bob.
Bob had to hold back his sneer. He then looked at Jesse who was pondering the idea. He then wondered what he and Frank had been chatting about. Maybe, Frank was angry that everyone was happy. Any fool could understand that Frank was a miserable old man.
"What do ya say Bob? Wanna see that picture show?" Jesse asked blowing the smoke over to him.
Bob's eyes water, he nodded happily. "Sounds exciting!"
Charlie snickered then finished his apple. "Course Bobby, there ain't know fruits in this one."
Bob's ear rang, his face flushed, and all his excitement rushed out his body. He wanted to take one of the fire pokers and stab it through Charlie's chest because he felt little and hurt. Why did he act that way? Did he despise Bob? Charlie would be a wonderful big brother, in Bob's opinion, if he weren't so stupid. As Charlie continued to giggle at his assine joke, Bob felt Jesse's eyes on him. Jesse then gave a throat clearing. He extended his hand to help Bob up as he stood in front of him. Charlie returned to the room after them to let everyone know they were leaving. Bob took hold of Jesse's hand and felt Jesse's warm skin. His legs suddenly became weak, and he peered into his eyes. Jesse appeared puzzled and, in a way, dejected.
There were two viewings of the picture. Ed advised them to catch the one carrying small people. While the others watched from the middle, Jesse sat in the back. Bob didn't care about the program. Jesse's prolonged attention at the house remained in his mind. Charlie made fun of Bob, and Jesse was upset. Yet why? With his knee gently pressing against the elder man's, Bob sat next to Jesse. Jesse appeared uninterested in the show as well; his eyes were darting all about, taking everything in.
Then a shot was fired. A woman shouted after hearing two shots. Jesse cocked his colt after Jesse and Bob both dove to the ground.
As though wanting Bob to witness what was going on, Jesse pushed him out into the aisle. More yells, screams, and gunfire could be heard. Bob observed Wood fire his gun, followed by Dick and Ed. It was peculiar. Had someone anticipated the arrival of the gang? if only somebody had known what to do. Jesse discharged his colt with accurate aim. Bob observed the man who had tripped down the aisle being cut by the gunshot. his life was saved. Bob's life had been saved by Jesse James. He was certain that he would have received a headshot if not.
As everyone raced away from the show, more gunfire rang out. After being knocked to the ground, Bob felt something sharp touch his ankle. He was wounded.
"Charlie!" Bob cried out trying to limp away.
He could feel it, he could feel a looming person behind him, he heard the cock back of the gun. Then a shot rang out. The dizzy feeling Bob had deepened, he felt darkness. He was certain he had been shot and killed.
But he wasn't. He felt himself being hoisted up, tossed over a shoulder, then thrown his legs brushed against some shrubs. He was floating in and out of consciouness. He felt his eyes closing then a hard slap to his face, but he didn't know who did it. Things were moving quickly, moving fast and then Bob passed out.
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Bob moaned as he felt himself being thrown around. Bob complained as he felt his eyelids flutter open after struggling against the person, who then pulled him around.
"Hush. Hush now, stop."
It was Jesse. Bob was able to crack one eye open, and then he saw Jesse in front of him. He had one hand on his shoulder on his blistering hot skin. Jesse had a glare of rage in his eyes that seemed to calm down once Bob was able to open both eyes.
"That bullet nicked your ankle. You lost a lot of blood. But you're fine. You got a little scrapped up... I wiped your chest down with alchol."
Jesse did all that for me? Bob's mouth hung open as his felt airy and light. He watched Jesse move to a chair in the darken room, his gun belt trapped around his waist and he huffed. Where was everyone?
"...Where is everyone?" Bob croaked, his throat was dry.
"Told em' to pack the gathers up." Jesse responded, his voice was slack and his throat seemed dry too.
Bob hobbled from the chair, his hands touching his flesh; he wasn't wearing a shirt. Jesse had touched him, wiped him down, saw him bare. Bob felt all the blood rush to his head causing him to feel dizzy. He spun softly to figure out where they were. Jesse had one hand on his head, muttering, fussing to himself then he stood placing a hand on his gun belt.
Bob was pacing the darken room searching for his shirt when he felt the cold plate of the nickel on his back. He could feel the harsh warm breath of Jesse on his neck. Gulping, Bob automatically held up his hands.
"Your brother ain't that smart, he's uglier than sin, and he can't think far as I can throw him. He knew. He knew what was gonna happen at the picture show, didn't he?" Jesse barked small droplets of salivia flicking Bob's earlobe.
The rifle barrel dug into his skin and seemed to get warmer somehow. Bob closed his eyes tightly because he was aware of Jesse's speed. He may have sent everyone away to kill Bob and had no witnesses, which would explain his jitteriness. Jesse shifted behind him as he inhaled a chilly breath.
"Tell me!" Jesse hollered.
Bob saw stars as the echoing of his scream rang in the empty room. Bob groaned feeling Jesse grip the nape of his neck. His fingers were cold, smooth, and then his hand with the mangled finger gripped the base of his throat. He was choking Bob.
"Speak!" Jesse barked out as he pushed across the room. He held the gun up and pointed it at Bob.
The specs of moonlight castaded on Jesse's face. He had angry look, eyebrows furrowing, upper lip twisted in a snarl and he pointed the colt at the yong Ford. Bob didn't know. He never knew what went through Charlies head. Ever.
"Jesse I don't know, I don't know I swear."
"Liar! You was too excited to see that picture show. Got caught in their plan and got hit!" Jesse screamed and then fired off a shot into the ceiling. Bob covered his ears, sank down to the ground and then felt his eyes well with tears. He was telling the truth. If Charlie had planned this, he wouldn't go along with it. He would never do anything to make Jesse distrust him.
The floor creaked and Bob saw the boots land in front of his face. He was prepared for Jesse to shoot him and think nothing of it. Instead, Jesse squatted down and shoved Bob.
"Get up. It's alright Bob, get up."
He was shaking all over. He felt the cold sweat dripping down his neck and back, his eyes were swelled and puffy. Bob saw Jesse's expression; dispair and remorse? Was Jesse upset that he had scared Bob?
Jesse sat in the chair, built a fire, and smoked two cigars. Bob found some food in the previous location. With it, he pointed to Jesse before being shooed away. He observed Jesse as he nibbled the stale bread. His hands were on his lap, and he was breathing softly with his head tilted. Bob didn't feel any sorrow, hatred, or wrath. He was aware that Jesse had trouble trusting other people. Everyone desired to be Jesse, be the leader, or to have a point to make. Bob didn't want any of that. That was not what he wanted. He merely desired to be near Jesse.
"Frank left in a hurry. He and Ed have become close... cut me out their plans." Jesse talked.
Bob stepped toward Jesse sat down by his chair, and listened to him. Jesse rubbed his thumb over his eyebrow and chuckled. "He calls me temptermental, says I fly off the handle. Everywhere I go... chaos comes."
Bob licked his bottom lip listening intently. Jesse fixed his eyes on Bob, moved his lips and then eyed Bob with more intent. "Charlie called you a fruit."
A heat wave of blush poked it's way over Bob's face and looked at the fire.
"Is ya Bob?"
Bob clasped his hands over his lap and then moved closer to Jesse. Cautiously, he moved between Jesse's legs and sat. Pulled his knees up to his chest, closed his eyes and then felt Jesse place his hand on the back on his head. Jesse ruffled his hair, tugging it gently, then wrapped a his softly around Bob's throat. His mangled finger stroked his adams apple, and the sensation was calming.
"It's alright Bob." Jesse mumurred as his strokes stopped.
When the fire had been put out was unclear to Bob. He couldn't recall how he and Jesse had constructed their floor-based palets. However, Bob does recall approaching Jesse and feeling his warm body. He resisted putting his head on his shoulder, but he eventually did. Jesse had trouble falling asleep, and Bob sensed Jesse's safe arm around his waist. They fell asleep, and when Jesse started to fuss, Bob heard it and thought he had been awakened. Jesse mentioned that he wanted to ask around, about the attack at the show. They then were silent. Bob listened to Jesse's breathing as he rested his head on his arms.