Winter 1932

They were right about him; he was a professional. But he wasn't targeting Rose, and he wasn't lying to her. He never lied to her. He would never hurt her. She was something he hadn't anticipated. She was something that just happened to him.

"Well?" she said, indicating the box of Bibles he held. "Are we doing widow business for a while?"

"Yeah," he replied. "I think we should. Keep things simple. Keep a low profile. That last job was—" He shook his head. "It was too close."

Rose laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I know. I'm sorry, honey."

"It wasn't you," Jack said. "You did everything exactly right. It was the place. Or maybe we pushed too far, overplayed our hand."

"We can't really do that with the widows," she observed. "They either pay, or they don't. None of them ever get the Sheriff after us." The memory of their stay in the tiny Alabama sheriff's office was still fresh. It had looked like they wouldn't make it, but somehow, they had. She decided it was a combination of Jack's talking, and the deputies' interest in her. The longer they looked at her, the less they cared about holding them. When they said they were free to go there had been a moment when they seemed about to add she wasn't free, after all. That had happened before. Rose knew how to read the signs. Jack's hand had already been curled into a fist. His other hand was on the table, inching toward his gun. He hadn't ever shot a deputy—or anyone else—but he had threatened to plenty of times, when he had to. When it was their only way out. Some men might had left her; they might have decided having her along was too much trouble. But not Jack. She knew it was more than the air of respectability she gave him, more than her looks or her status as a partner. If she had been just some girl he picked up the word partner would never have entered the picture. There had been girls before her. Jack freely admitted that. It was part of his code of honesty to tell her.

"If we're going to do this," he had said. "We have to be able to trust each other."

"Who can trust a criminal?" she replied lightly The word scared her, but she didn't want him to know.

"What I do isn't any different from what your fiancé and his friends do," he said. "You think they get all that money honestly? And I never take anything from anybody that really needs it."

He looked the same, she thought as she watched him rearrange the contents of their car. Most of their things were in the trunk, but they kept anything they might need to get to quickly in the backseat. Of course, it wouldn't do to look too prosperous or like they lived out of their car. Passing for a traveling salesman and his wife worked just fine when they did widow business, but they still had to look like they had a respectable home somewhere, not too far off.

His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, revealing muscular, tanned forearms. Jack was always tan. He had been since the night they met. The sun loved him. Soon after they began traveling together, he began a skincare routine he still used, at Rose's urging. "The sun will destroy that pretty face," she warned. But now he was glad he listened. He was forty and still passed for twenty-seven.

"Got everything?" he asked.

Rose nodded. "It's like we were never here."

"You didn't have to be that thorough," he said with a grin. "No law against camping out, is there?"

"When you don't have permission to be on the land there is," she said drily.

He shrugged. "A technicality. I'm sure the owner would have been happy to let us sleep here."

Rose pulled out the map as they drove away. "Where to now?" she said. The glove box was full of maps, all well-used and perfectly folded. Sometimes she marked their routes in pencil, but mostly she kept them in her head, where they could never be used against them. Between the two of them they had most of the country memorized, especially the back roads and small towns. They had to know them. There wasn't always time to check a map, and they didn't like to be seen with them unless it fit their business for that day.

"I'm tired of Texas," Jack answered. "It's too big."

What he really meant was it made him nervous. Getting across the state line would be too difficult, if not impossible, if they got into a jam. Rose knew this without him saying it. She and Jack had developed a language all their own. It began when they met, and it had saved them more than once.

October 1912

The car smoked. Sputtering, it came to a stop. Jack swore under his breath as he got out. "Can you fix it?" Rose asked, following him.

He frowned as he studied its inner workings. "With the right tools I probably could. With enough money," he answered. "But I'm not throwing away any more money on it. It'll be less trouble just to get a new one."

"Do we have enough money for that?" Rose didn't see how they possibly could, even with as much as Jack seemed to have.

He grinned. "Yeah. But we don't need it."

"You steal cars?" There was something exciting about the thought of Jack racing away in a stolen car, being next to him as he did it. Other men she had known stole, just as he'd said, but they never admitted it. And it was always done quietly. So far what Jack did wasn't exactly stealing, not as far as she could see. He didn't force anyone to part with their money. He talked them into it, and most of them seemed more than willing to be persuaded.

The plan was simple. He explained it to her as they drove into town. They would trade in their old car and get a new one. They'd pay with a check. Then they would take that one and sell it for cash, making sure to tell the salesman when and where they bought it. After that, they would go back to their hotel room and wait. The goal, he told her, was to make the first man think their check wasn't good, and then when he was ready to have them thrown in jail, prove him wrong. Jack always had several bank accounts open in different states so he could probe his checks were good, and also because he didn't like his money all in one place. Carrying cash wasn't safe, either. The first thing he did whenever they came to a town where he had an account was go in and put Rose's name on it. "You never have to ask me for money," he said. He had given gifts to girls before but never cash. He had never told them the secrets of his life, either.

"Now, don't be nervous," he said. "When they start accusing us of trying to cheat 'em just act offended. Rose, you don't even have to say anything. I'll do everything." Before they went in he kissed her. "Don't be nervous," he repeated.

"I'm not," she said. It was a lie; she was terrified. But the more Jack talked, the calmer she became. He knew what he was doing. He had the kind of face people trusted. He looked honest, and even younger than he was. Rose knew it sounded absurd, but she knew she could trust him. He changed when he was doing business. His pose, his voice, his eyes, they all changed. The look in his eyes was always the same then. A wall came up in them, but only she seemed to see it. There was never anything like that when he spoke to her, and what would be the point of conning her? He could get a girl without going to the trouble of making her believe he loved her or giving away his secrets. Rose had power over him, and they both knew it. He'd given it to her.

At first, everything went as planned, but then something changed. One of the men got suspicious. Things began moving quickly. They were talking about arresting Jack. Suddenly, they were in front of a judge, and he didn't look sympathetic. Jack glanced at her, trying to reassure her. The deputies were staring at her. Rose didn't know what made her do it. She stood up and heard herself declare, "He hit me!" She pointed at one of the deputies. "And the other one, he grabbed me," she went on. Jack watched, intrigued and amused by her performance. It was like her lie after they met, unnecessary but welcome nonetheless. Unnecessary not because it didn't help him, but because it didn't help her.

1932

They drove through Oklahoma without stopping. Rose slept on the front seat, her head resting against his leg. His arm lay across her shoulder. They night was cold, but they were prepared for that. They had enough blankets to keep a dozen people warm, and in the car it wasn't so bad. As soon as they crossed into Kansas, Jack decided they would stop. It was a good place to go next. They always had good luck there.

…

It was late, but the sleepy clerk gave him a room anyway. Jack took in their bags before carrying Rose inside. Her eyes fluttered as he lay her on the bed. "Go back to sleep, baby," he said quietly. He kissed her. "Everything's alright."

"Hold me?" she murmured.

"You know I'm gonna," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her.

It was difficult to remember what life had been life without her. Jack settled against her, stretching his legs, stiff from driving all day. They didn't really have friends. People who weren't in their line of work got suspicious and asked questions after a while, and they rarely stayed anywhere more than a few weeks. People in their line of work weren't the sort they would associate with. To some it might have sounded hypocritical, but as they saw it, there was an honesty to what they did. They had no illusions about what they did or why. They couldn't afford them.

April 1912

"I knew you didn't do it," Rose said. "You wouldn't. You're not a thief, Jack."

Jack shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Maybe. Maybe not. I don't think I am," he said. "I don't take anything from anyone. I don't make them give me anything."

Rose tilted her head up, confused. "What do you mean?"

He took her hands. "I'm trying to tell you what I do," he answered. "God, I've never told anyone what I do." His eyes were solemn. "But you should know. I want you to know. I want you to come with me, Rose, like you said, but you have to know everything first."

"You told me—"

"I told you some things. They were true, but they weren't the whole story," he said. "I'm not—I don't have anything to offer you, in a way, but I kinda do. I—"

"Jack, what are you talking about?" she asked nervously.

"Do you trust me?"

She nodded. "I trust you."

1932

She hadn't believed him at first, but finally she saw he was serious. More importantly, he was sincere. She was slightly surprised to realize she didn't love him any less. Telling her his secrets was an act of love. It was dangerous for him, mostly because she could leave him. He hadn't cared as much about the possibility of being turned in.

But she hadn't. She went with him, and she was still with him. Jack didn't care about the money. All told, they probably had a small fortune, certainly enough to live on if they needed to. He liked knowing it was three, but they didn't live like wealthy people. They took care of themselves. His clothes were always in good condition, if a little plain next to hers.

What mattered most to him was Rose. There were times when he thought about quitting, giving up their nomadic existence and settling down in one of those towns they always drove through. It was a dangerous life, even if they weren't gun-slinging bank robbers. That was the fashion now, but they avoided violence and outright left whenever they could. Jack carried a gun for protection and for the status it gave him with some men.

Sometimes he brought up the idea of settling down to her, and sometimes she agreed it was a good idea. But they both knew they wouldn't, not yet, if ever. Anywhere was home if they were together, and after twenty years the danger was mostly a distant figure on the horizon. Rarely did it come close enough to really frighten them.

Two months before it had. They didn't talk about it directly, they were both still shaken. Jack tightened his arm around her and tried to fall asleep.

…

"So we're in Attica. I think we should start around here," Jack said. "Work our way out to the rest of the state. We haven't really done this side much."

Rose scanned the obituary page of the morning paper. "Only a few," she said. "A Mrs. Elvira Warren, Patsy-Sue Collins, and a Margaret Black."

"That'll do for now." Jack drained the rest of his coffee. It felt good going down. The day-long drive had left him with a chill he couldn't shake. Through the window he could see the sky was clear, with no sign of snow clouds. It was a bright, sun-filled day, and of it hadn't been they wouldn't even had bothered talking about doing business. They couldn't survive getting caught in a snowstorm.

"You want me to put their full names or just the initials?" she asked.

Doing business with widows was tricky, but most of the time it paid off. Putting their names on the Bibles helped. Just the initials would do, and if they turned it down there was still a chance the Bible could be used later. They got them so cheaply, though, it didn't matter if they lost out on a few. Losing occasionally was all part of doing business, any kind of business.

Sometimes Jack went to the door alone, and other times Rose went up with him. Generally, they played it by ear. Some women took more kindly to the story if she was there. Others didn't. If a man came to the door Rose did most of the talking. They knew doing business well depended on charm, and it didn't hurt that they were both beautiful, although Rose wasn't always sure about herself. And Jack just laughed when she mentioned his good looks.

"Why do you think I ran away with you?" she'd say. "You can't think it was so I could help you do business."

"Wasn't it?" he'd say.

"That part is alright," she said. But really, she liked it. At first she hadn't understood why Jack did it, but then she tried it for herself. It wasn't about making money, not really, though their ventures certainly paid more than any legitimate job they could get would have. It was the challenge they liked most, the risk of it, seeing if they could close the deal. And nothing else would have given the same freedom and security.

Rose stayed near the car when Jack went up to the first house. The door opened after only a knock. A prosperous looking women appeared. She wore a neat, bright dress; her grey hair was carefully done up in a knot. She gave Jack a curious but not unfriendly look. "Yes?" she said.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but is Mr. Peter Warren home?" he said politely.

"Why no. Mr. Warren passed on a few days ago," she said, stepping out onto the porch. She glanced at Rose and then to Jack. "What did you need with him?"

"I was just delivering this Bible he ordered, ma'am," Jack answered. "I spoke to him just a couple of weeks ago."

"He ordered a Bible?"

"Yes, ma'am. The Deluxe Edition, uh, with a woman's name printed in gold on the cover." He opened the box and held it out for her to see. It was a thick edition with a white cover and the name Elvira printed in pretty letters.

"Why, that's my name," she said. "You say he ordered it?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm with the Midwestern Bible Company." He held out a car. "I sell these here good books. Jack Dawson."

"Along with—"

"Along with my wife, yes," he said. He motioned to Rose. She moved up to him and nodded to the woman, smiling demurely. She took in the woman's appearance and what she could see of the house through the open door. Elvira was looking at the Bible cover. In that second before she looked up, Rose tilted her head, signaling to him. Jack nodded, just enough for her to see he agreed. Price was a flexible matter when it came to widows. If they didn't agree on something, they didn't do it. They couldn't do business properly if they were out of sync.

"You're not obligated to take it," Rose said. "We'll just give you back your husband's dollar deposit and be on your way. We're sorry to have disturbed you at a time like this."

"Oh no, I'll take it," Elvira said. "Knowing he thought to do such a thing for me is a greater comfort than you can know. How much did he owe?"

"Well, that's the Deluxe Edition," Jack said. "Minus his dollar deposit, it's $24."

"Alright, I'll get my purse."

Before Rose, Jack had always stuck to the same prices, but she had pointed out he was missing opportunities for profit. "People with money, who are secure in their money," she had said, "They can't throw it away fast enough. Jack, you tell them something is expensive, and they'll want it more." And she was right.

As they drove back to the hotel that night Rose sorted their earnings. They made $60. $40 was to be sent to their Kansas bank account. The other $20 went into Rose's purse. She carried all of their cash, though it wasn't always kept in her purse. She had dozens of hiding places, as Jack had discovered on more than one occasion. Most of the time she didn't need to use them, but it didn't hurt to be prepared.

"Not bad," Jack said.

"No, not at all," she agreed. She leaned against him; he put an arm around her and drove one-handed. The night was bitterly cold, but the sky was full of stars. Jack shivered despite the blanket over his knees.

"Let me drive," she said. "You can get warm over here."

"I'm fine."

"You're cold," she argued.

"Won't kill me," he said. "Having you close is keeping me plenty warm."

"You're trembling," she said.

He grinned. "Doesn't mean I'm cold."

"It does right now. Let me drive."

Jack lay against her, wrapped in a blanket. Her hand rested on his head. Her fingers moved slowly through his hair. He closed his eyes and let the rumbling of the car, and her voice lull him to sleep. It was an old song, but when she sang it, it sounded new.

…

"Wake up, Jack."

He groaned and opened his eyes. The world outside his blanket was cold, and he didn't want to move. But he got up anyway. Yawning, he followed her up to their room.

"I'm sorry I can't carry you," Rose said.

"I guess I can forgive you," he said jokingly. He looked at the clock. "It's not even nine. Too early for bed,"

"Not if you're tired."

"I'm not tired," he insisted. "I'm—" A yawn cut him off. "Maybe I'm tired," he said.

"Go onto bed. I'll be there soon," she said.

"Better be." His tone was affectionate. "I hate sleeping alone."

"You can't remember the last time you slept alone," she said.

"Why would I want to?"

Rose quickly ran out of things to do, but she was too wide awake to get in bed. Reading wouldn't work. Her mind was humming too loudly. She needed something to make it stop. She was out of blank notebooks so she settled for a few sheets of hotel stationary.

Writing things down always helped. She poured out her thoughts and feelings until she felt empty. It was a good emptiness, a clean feeling. She wondered if Jack felt something similar when he drew. With the last sheet of paper she made a list of everything they needed. Drawing paper went at the top. He was nearly out, and if the weather turned bad he would go through it quickly.

Rose was about to get into bed when it began. Tires squealed and sirens screeched. Through the window she watched the police surrounded the house across the street. Guns were aimed at the front door and orders for its occupants to come out were issued. She watched as the people down below waited for what came next. She gasped when the shooting began.

"Don't watch," Jack said, pulling her away from the window. She lay down with him. Outside, they could still hear shots and screams, the squeal of a getaway car. He held her tightly and tried not to hear it. "That won't be us," he promised.

"Jack—"

"I know. But it won't be us. Trust me, Rose."

"I trust you," she said.

When it finally died down he got up. "C'mon, baby," he said, reaching for her hand. "Let's get out of this town."

AN: I don't know if this will be a oneshot, or if I'll add more chapters. I definitely want to do a longer story about them as outlaws. And some of this came from Paper Moon.