Valentines day(omake)

The air at Hope Ranch shimmered with an unusual warmth, not from the sun, but from an almost sickeningly sweet glow. Red and pink streamers, salvaged from what Arthur suspected was a very confused haberdashery, crisscrossed the main hall of the cabin, threatening to entangle anyone taller than a squirrel.

Pearson, looking vaguely uncomfortable but surprisingly productive, had outdone himself with heart-shaped biscuits and a punch bowl that suspiciously resembled watered-down cough syrup, but tasted, by some miracle, rather festive.

Valentine's Day had descended upon the Van der Linde gang like a glitter-covered tornado.

And at the epicenter of this saccharine storm?

None other than Dutch Van der Linde himself, attempting to maintain an air of dignified gravitas, while Ms O'shea, her cheeks perpetually flushed a charming shade of rose, kept glancing at him with eyes as wide and adoring as a lovesick calf.

Arthur, perched on a barrel near the fireplace, nursing a bottle of something strong, observed the proceedings with a dry, cynical smirk. "Well, I'll be," he muttered to himself, loud enough for John to hear.

"Dutch looks like he's trying to pass a particularly stubborn kidney stone and propose marriage at the same time." John, merely grunted, a tiny smile playing at the corner of his lips.

The fiddler, a gangly fellow named Silas who swore he once played for royalty (or at least a very wealthy pig farmer), launched into a surprisingly jaunty tune.

Lenny, emboldened by Pearson's potent punch ( or probably spiked), grabbed Tilly's hand and dragged her into a clumsy, joyful dance. Karen, meanwhile, had strategically positioned herself near Dutch and O'Shea her eyes narrowed in mischievous contemplation.

"Oh, Dutch!" Karen suddenly bellowed, throwing an arm around Molly's shoulder, making the younger woman jump. "Miss O'Shea here was just telling me how she absolutely ADORES your... passionate monologues! Says they make her swoon like a maiden in a dime novel!" She winked dramatically at Molly, who turned a shade of crimson usually reserved for sunsets.

Dutch, ever quick on his feet (though currently, a little less so under Karen's watchful eye), cleared his throat, adjusting his vest. "Well, Karen, a leader must inspire, must he not? My words are merely a reflection of the profound spirit within this family!" He puffed out his chest, attempting to regain his composure.

Hosea, who had sidled up with a glass of the festive punch, took a slow, deliberate sip. "Indeed, Dutch. I recall a time, many moons ago, when your 'profound spirit' was primarily directed at avoiding bathwater and convincing ladies their fathers were actually just... away on a very long trip. My, how far we've come."

He patted Dutch on the shoulder, a twinkle in his wise old eyes.

Dutch shot him a look that could curdle milk. "Hosea, a gentleman never reveals the past indiscretions of his youth!"

"Especially when they're still rather indiscreet in the present!" piped up Sean, who had seemingly materialized out of thin air, a mischievous grin plastered across his face. He held up a small, lopsided, hand-drawn caricature of Dutch, complete with a tiny, glittery heart. "I believe this accurately captures the profound spirit, eh, Molly?"

Molly giggled, covering her mouth with her hand, then snatched the drawing from Sean, tucking it into her bodice. "Oh, Sean, you are terrible!" she whispered, but her eyes sparkled.

Dutch glowered at Sean, but a faint, almost imperceptible blush spread across his cheeks. "Sean, my boy, perhaps you could channel your artistic talents into something more… profitable?"

"Oh, no, Dutch, darling, don't mind him!" Susan Grimshaw, who had been overseeing the distribution of punch with the vigilance of a hawk, suddenly loomed over them. She jabbed a finger at Dutch's chest. "It's about time you stopped moping around like a lovesick hound! Molly deserves some proper attention, and not just during your theatrical speeches about the future of civilization! Give the girl a proper dance, man!" She gave a stern nod towards the lively dance floor.

Dutch, for once, looked utterly flummoxed. He glanced at Mary-Beth, who was now blushing so fiercely she looked like a cherry tomato. "A… a dance, you say, Miss Grimshaw? Well, I suppose… a turn about the floor might… bolster morale."

He extended a hand to Mary-Beth, a slightly awkward, but undeniably sincere gesture. Mary-Beth, with a delighted little gasp, took his hand, and Dutch, surprisingly graceful for a man of his theatrical bulk, led her into the growing throng of dancers.

Their movements were a bit hesitant at first, a waltz that bordered on a slow shuffle, but soon, a genuine smile blossomed on Dutch's face as he spun Molly gently. She leaned her head against his shoulder, a picture of blissful contentment.

Arthur, watching the scene unfold, let out a soft chuckle. "Well, I'll be damned," he muttered, taking a long swig from his bottle. "The old man actually did it. Wonders never cease."

Karen nudged him with her elbow, a wide, triumphant grin. "Told you he had it in him! Always knew Molly was the one to tame that wild stallion! Next, we'll be betting on when he finally gets down on one knee!" She clapped her hands together, already plotting the next phase of Dutch's romantic entanglement.

The party continued, a joyous, slightly chaotic celebration of affection, friendship, and the enduring, if sometimes exasperating, bonds of the Van der Linde Gang. .

Amidst the laughter, the music, and the clinking of glasses, Dutch and Molly shared a quiet moment, their dance a testament to a love blossoming amidst the wilderness, under the watchful, teasing eyes of their unconventional family.