Silas swung down from Ophelia with practiced ease, giving the mare a reassuring pat on her neck before leading her to the usual spot by the fence. He hitched her up, his gaze drifting toward the cozy house perched on the hilltop. A smirk tugged at his lips as he spotted the familiar silhouette moving about inside, her figure backlit by the amber warmth of the hearth. He imagined her wondering where her rough-and-tumble bad boy had gotten off to, maybe thinking he was still neck-deep in some dusty saloon, making trouble. Don't you worry, shug, he thought, tugging at the brim of his hat with a roguish grin. I'm right here.

Whistling a low tune, Silas strode up the path, the crunch of autumn leaves beneath his boots echoing in the crisp air. The night had been long and cold, and the whiskey back at the saloon hadn't done much to warm him. But she—well, she always managed to heat him up in all the right ways, especially once they got between the sheets.

Removing his hat, he ran a hand through his damp hair, making sure he was looking decent before knocking on her door. After all, he wasn't just any outlaw—he was her outlaw. And he hadn't come empty-handed. His fingers absentmindedly traced the edges of the locket hidden in his coat pocket. A delicate little trinket, with intricate silver filigree, something he'd "come across" on his last job. Sure, it might've belonged to someone else once, but it would look a hell of a lot better around her neck. Silas might've been trouble for most folks, but for her? He was nothing short of a gentleman... well, mostly.

Normally, he'd have climbed up to her window, all stealth and charm, to keep their rendezvous hidden from her old man. That fella was too keen for his own good and always suspicious of her whereabouts when Silas came around. But tonight was different. The sheriff had his hands full, dealing with a bunch of rowdy drunks at the saloon, just as Silas had hoped. He'd made sure of it, stirring the pot enough to guarantee no lawman would come poking around the hills anytime soon.

Silas knocked once on the door—a mere formality—before letting himself in, the creak of the hinges and the warmth of the hearth welcoming him like always. The smell of woodsmoke and something sweet on the stove hit him. "Darlin'," he called, his voice a rich, teasing drawl as he shut the door behind him with a gentle thud. His heavy steps carried him further into the cozy space, boots tapping rhythmically against the wooden floorboards. "Where are ya, sweetheart? Your man's here." He paused, that cocky grin still playing on his lips, his voice softening just a bit. "Come give me a kiss, shug. I've been missin' you somethin' fierce."