That smirk ain't cute. Nope. And it shouldn't make him want to urge Boomer into a canter, just to show off for the pretty blonde cowgirl with the cornflower-colored eyes, just to get her to laugh again, whether it's at him or, hell, just in general. It sure is pretty, and so is the way she handles the mare, holding her back despite the clear desire to just let Beaut run.

"They ain't no fun," he tells her, instead, slouched into his own saddle, considering lighting a new cigarette out of the battered pack in his shirt front pocket. "Long ass days, cold nights freezin in a goddamn pup tent, shit. Bar's like a goddamn five star hotel, comparatively speakin. Thought I was well clear a that shit, but nope, there I am again, babysittin a spy can't hardly ride, workin with two kids barely half the size 'f a blade a grass. At least it wasn't sheep. I hate sheep."