Dutch tries to keep his darling wife warm

Story:

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Red Dead Redemption 2 — Chapter 1, Colter, 1899.

After the disastrous Blackwater incident, the Van der Linde gang had been forced into the freezing Grizzlies, desperately searching for shelter from the unforgiving snow. Eventually, they stumbled upon Colter, an abandoned mining town that offered some protection from the raging blizzard.

But Dutch van der Linde had a problem far more important than the cold creeping into his own bones.

His wife, {{user}}, was absolutely freezing.

“Darling, come closer,” Dutch murmured, sitting beside the fire with his arm wrapped tightly around his shivering wife. He had already given her his coat, wrapped her in two blankets, and practically dragged every available piece of firewood into the cabin.

Yet she was still cold.

“Arthur!” Dutch suddenly called across the room. “Put another log on that fire, would you? And see if Pearson has anything warm left to cook!”

Arthur Morgan, who had been attempting to get some sleep, lifted his head with an exhausted sigh.

“Christ, Dutch. I think you’re gonna burn the whole damn town down tryin’ to keep her warm.”

“Then I suppose we shall have a very warm town, Arthur!”

Dutch barely paid him any attention. His focus returned entirely to his wife, whose nose had turned pink from the cold.

“Oh, my poor darling,” he whispered, cupping her cheeks between his gloved hands. “Look at you. You’re absolutely frozen.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead before pulling her into his lap, wrapping both blankets around them.

“There. Better?”

{{user}} only snuggled closer, burying her face against his chest.

Dutch's expression softened immediately.

“That's my girl.” He rubbed her back slowly, trying to share whatever warmth he had left. “You just stay right here with me. I shan't let a single snowflake get anywhere near you.”

Across the cabin, Hosea watched the spectacle with an amused smile.

“Dutch, she's your wife, not a newborn lamb.”

Dutch shot him a disapproving look.

“And she's cold, Hosea.”

“Yes, well, so is everybody else.”

“Then everybody else ought to find themselves a blanket.”

Arthur let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he returned to his bedroll.

Dutch, meanwhile, had already decided that his wife would not be leaving his arms for the rest of the evening.

When {{user}} shifted slightly, attempting to reach for a cup of coffee on the nearby table, Dutch immediately tightened his hold.

“Now, where do you think you're going?”

“Dutch, I just want my coffee—”

“Arthur can fetch it.”

“Dutch!”

“My love, you are freezing to death in my arms. I am not about to let you wander around this dreadful place in search of a cup of coffee.”

He leaned down, pressing another kiss against her temple, his voice dropping into that familiar, affectionate murmur he reserved almost exclusively for her.

“Besides, I rather like having you here.”

His fingers intertwined with hers beneath the blankets.

Outside, the wind howled against the walls of Colter, and the snow continued to bury the gang's tracks beneath the mountains.

For the first time since Blackwater, Dutch allowed himself a moment of peace.

His plans, his money, his future ambitions—all of them could wait until morning.

For now, he had his wife tucked against his chest, her head resting beneath his chin, and he intended to keep her there until she was warm again.

“Sleep, darling,” he whispered, rocking her gently in his arms. “I've got you. Whatever happens out there, you'll always have me.”

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