milliways_bar | EP: Kate Barlow | Outside, Stables / Main Bar

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EP: Kate Barlow | Outside, Stables / Main Bar

It's been a long time since Beaut's had the pleasure of startling the bar with her presence. The front door admits the five-foot cowgirl and her mount, obviously on their way someplace else, depositing them smack dab in the middle of the bar.

Beaut snorts.

"Oh, come now. S'good t'be back, ain't it?"

Kate wins an ear twitch for her trouble. With a chuckle, she sets about navigating the tables and chairs — and waitrats, we mustn't forget them. She'll get Beaut resettled out in the stables and check on the stock, and once she's done there she'll find a calendar. Once she knows the date and has stopped to look for messages in the stables, at the board, or with the Bar, she'll settle in for a while.

Then again, it's such a beautiful evening out. Maybe she'll take advantage of the lingering light and give Beaut a proper ride up the mountain path.

[ooc: I'm so sorry for inundating the bar! I did try to space everything out. ~sheepish~ Post open indefinitely; catch Kate anywhere you like, she'll be making her rounds and she's in a great humor.]

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"Don't think I could get better 'f you, but can't say it wouldn't be worth a try."

His mouth doesn't so much move towards a full smile as it sort of relaxes at the corners, goes indolent and easy, like he's got some joke in mind that she already knows. Hell, no point in tripping all over himself like some tied-up calf, is there? Kate's pretty and smart and sharp as a tack, but she's plenty nice, too, and it wasn't all flirtation, that night. He remembers tucking his sorrows into that whiskey glass just as clearly as he remembers the firehouse flush painting his cheeks and running down over his neck.

His thumbs dig a little deeper into his pockets, shoulders slouched, and he tosses a glance over his shoulder at where the mare is waiting, tacked up and giving him a look just as knowing as any of Kate's.

She's pretty sharp, too, Boomer.

"She ain't been out yet today, figured I might taker her out, check, see if any a the trails out in the woods need clearin after winter."

That comfortableness comes rushing back to her as his smile relaxes, even through the aching burn lingering in her cheeks that reminds her not to smile quite so freely, what on earth are you thinking, Kate? Sorrows they had a plenty, but what it was under the sad blue eyes and coy tongues was a kinship, the kind you don't need to talk about to know is there. She — he — made him — ah, her — feel at home. Like she was talking in a mirror, where her secrets would be kept safe.

She glances away when he looks over his shoulder, not giving more than a crooked smirk in answer to his first remark. Toeing the dirt, she assumes a similar position, thumbs tucking into her belt. She nods.

"That'd be a real help t'me, in fact. I've been up the trail t'the meadow an' along the lake, but I ain't checked the wooded roads in some time. Had a mean winter, an' I didn't much have the wherewithal t'scare off demon bunnies an' the like."

One might get the impression she doesn't mean the weather when she says 'a mean winter', but she shrugs nice and easy and catches his eyes again, smile growing.

"You mind company?"

One might, but all Jack does is nod his head, pinching his cigarette between his fingers and taking a drag before tossing it in the dirt and grinding it out with the toe of his worn-down boot. "Winter's hard," he allows, eyes tracking away from Kate and squinting over towards the treeline, and the hazy, purpled lift of mountains hunching themselves into the air, too far to get to.

Hell. Could be they're not real at all, for all Jack knows, but he looks at them all the same.

His mouth still hitches into a smile when he looks back to her, though, and there's no melancholy in those blue eyes today, just admiration and a friendly sort of warmth.

"Mz. Barlow, I couldn't think a no other better way to go."

Oh, they're real, sure enough. Kate's been up in them. But that's a whole helluva story for another time.

"Good."

She's practically beaming now. Whether it's for Jack or the sheer thrill of getting out for a good ride again is hard to say. Probably a little of both.

"I'll get Beaut ready, then. Wouldn't want you t'fall on your head out there with no one t'hear you, after all."

She winks, chuckling low and soft like she's half-embarrassed of teasing him, and turns to where Beaut is tied outside her stall. The mare is well-rested and looking spry. You can tell she's ready for a hard run just from the way she steps as Kate gets her tacked, tail flickering over her croup and head bobbing.

He chuckles as he turns back to Boomer, pulling reins over her head and leading her away from the fence, mounting in a swing of long legs and the creak of leather.

"'Nother crack might do it some good, so I've been told."

By Ennis, by Lureen, by fuckin L.D. Newsome, by his own daddy, with varying degrees of sharpness or hissing derision, but right now, it's just him saying it, and that makes it a joke.

Boomer turns idly under him as he relaxes in the saddle, slouched into it like he was born there, running his eyes over the animal Kate's currently tacking up, ears twitching like she's heard them talking. One brown eyes catches him, and he grins at the way she blinks. Get a move on, cowboy, we're burnin daylight. "Fine mare."

She ain't shy once Kate gets the last strap cinched. She knows the routine, and that means they're good to ride, so she waits for no prompt before backing herself up and heading for the entrance where Jack and Boomer wait. Kate's left to catch up, chuckling.

"She's a spitfire, but I've known her longer'n anybody else in my life."

She obediently draws herself to a halt once she's about three feet from the other mare, still as you please for Kate to mount. She does so in one easy motion, settling in her seat while she draws reins up into her hands. She looks different when she's in the saddle. A touch wilder; a lot more free. She smiles at him, moving Beaut to Boomer's left.

"You got a beaut of your own. She been 'round here before?"

"Sure. Got her a while back, from Missus Reynolds. Her and that bay gelding in there, too." His smile curves again, lazy as a river winding in summer. "He ain't as much fun, though."

The bay -- he's really gotta find a name for him, sometime, seeing as Ennis ain't around to do the honors -- is quieter, more patient; a real good worker, well broke and good with even the more nervous of riders, but Jack's got a special place in his heart for Boomer.

"Got 'em back when I came 'round here more often. Had a buddy worked in the stables, figured, couldn't hurt havin a couple 'f our own to ride."

He shrugs, turning her head towards the woods, tone conversational. And maybe the brim of his hat hides any distant thoughtfulness that might trace itself across his face. "Knew the old stablemaster, he let us use just about any horse in there, if it was okay by their owners, but it ain't the same, a horse on loan. Shit. There was days I couldn't barely afford to eat, let alone a pony like this. That's the kinda opportunity you gotta take if it shows up, in my opinion."

There's a faint twist to Kate's lips, though her eyes likewise stay on the path ahead.

"Seems more'n more folk are comin' 'round the stables who've got horses that've been there for years, sittin' quiet. Strange effect of the, ah. The End of Days we experienced last winter, I s'pose. S'good, though. Keeps me on my toes with the stock."

There's a bit of a haunted expression that filters over her face as she talks about the apocalypse. Her voice grows a little quieter. It's been coming up more oft in conversation of late. However, she forces the cheer back into her voice as she goes on.

"Which stable master are you acquainted with? Wouldn't happen t'be Mr. Caspian, would it? He's a real kind soul, with a skilled hand at the stables."

"I guess he musta stabled 'em on Shadow while I was gone."

Ennis did. Or...Jack did, in some years he ain't yet lived, or some such craziness. Sallie never explained it fully, and he hadn't wanted to hear much past Ennis is dead.

He ain't. Shit. He's not dead, he's up in Wyoming being the same stubborn stupid son of a bitch he always is. Alive.

That name gets a nod though. "Sure. That was him. Ain't seen'm in a while, but he seemed like a real nice guy."

Giving Ennis that room in the employee wing, letting Jack lend a hand. But he might be all tied up in those years ahead of him, too, and Jack's not exactly interested in skipping down that path, just now.

Kate turns a bright, friendly smile on him.

"He's jus' started comin' 'round again. I'd only heard stories 'bout him when I first found the bar. Had a great deal of respect for what he's done out here, gettin' things the way they are. Then, 'bout a year ago, he showed up an' I darn near fell all over myself."

She laughs softly, shaking her head.

"He's real nice folk. It's good t'have him back 'round the stables."

She quiets down for a moment or two, eyes sweeping over Jack's face. Like there's something there she's not quite seeing. Something important.

"How, ah. How's your leg treatin' you in the saddle?"

"Hell of a lot better than it would gettin tossed out a the saddle."

He winks at her from under his hat brim, nudging Boomer into a loose jog trot while he shrugs. "Gave me hell last summer on a cattle drive, but everthing seems to conspire against you on a drive. Spend all day in the saddle, sleep on the ground, shit, I ain't eighteen no more."

He's not even twenty-five, neither, but that's never stopped Jack from complaining in the past.

"That fall was pure dumb luck. Woulda been fine if the damn bull didn't fall over."

She smirks in answer to that wink.

Cheeky bastard.

"Reckon I'd be a Mexican had the War'a Independence gone differently, too."

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, smirk gone crooked. There's a lot of ifs out there, but that don't change what is. Pure dumb luck or not.

When Boomer settles into that trot, Beaut tries to take them into a canter. Kate has to ease her back, promising there'll be plenty of time to run when the road calls for it. Beaut's ears twitch flat; she bears the pace of others about as well as a racehorse, which should also tell you how she feels about being in second place.

"Y'know, I've never been on a drive myself. My daddy dealt in horses more'n beef, which I reckon I've told you before. I always stayed back t'mind the ranch when he went off on business. Not that I'm unaccustomed t'sleepin' on the ground — hell, Miss Bar's spoiled me rotten. Sometimes I feel like the princess an' the pea. But that's jus' a roundabout way of sayin' I wouldn't much know what a drive is like. Might do me a bad turn if I'm always claimin' t'be a rancher on my travels."

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."

He speaks his mind, and, if we're being honest, that's part of why Kate likes him so much. She's not much of one for dancing around things, and sure, sometimes the bar and its patrons give Kate a real shock, but she'd rather blush a time or two than be relegated to the dark with the rest of the polite womenfolk. So she laughs, stifling it a bit to be polite, given he's serious. Nobody ever said you couldn't be serious and hilarious at the same time.

"So if'n anybody brings sheep around the bar, I know who t'holler for."

Another smirk, all spitfire and hell. She can't be mean so long as she's laughing, right?

"Young Master William lit up like the Forth of July when he was tellin' me 'bout that drive. I know he 'preciated the help, an' I appreciate that there was someone there t'give it to 'im. I think sometimes he needs a man t'look up to; womenfolk offerin' help all the time can hurt the ego."

And, so far as Kate's concerned, Jack and Michael both are good men; though Michael has his oddities. She figures Jack probably does too, hidden somewhere under that good humor and quiet manner.

Edited 2013-04-02 19:48 (UTC)

He gives her the kind of sidelong glance that speaks volumes: in this case, the three-part series It's Never Bad Having Women Around All the Time and the follow-up vignette Aside From Them's Too Young to Get It.

"Anybody brings sheep round the bar, I ain't roundin them up my ownself, so could be you'n Beaut there get a crash course in round-ups. Them sheep couldn't hardly be that much bigger'n you."

Punctuated by a considering look, and a shake of his head, like he's not actually all that certain he's right. Kate sure is petite. He entertains himself momentarily with a mental picture of the cowgirl wrestling a ewe her size plus some, and splits a satisfied grin in response to the evil smirk she's sporting, the one that's got her eyes so bright and her cheeks so pink.

Pleasant thoughts give way to remembrances of the business that drive had been, though, and he shakes his head, effectively dodging any sort of compliment that might be leveled his way. "Shit. Just plain irresponsible, I let him run that drive hisself, just him and his brother and that other fella. His cattle'd be somewhere, happy as pigs in slop, somewhere out on the prairie gettin drowned in the slough in no time. C'n be hard, not havin a man around to take charge."

He sniffs, clears his throat, eyes on the timberline edging toward them. "Kid does good, but it's rough, missin his daddy like that."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you was makin' a commentary on my size, Mr. Twist."

Spoken to the trail ahead, all level and calm like it's just a lark. Couldn't possibly be his intent and all, given the consequences she's sure he's got imagination enough to figure out on his own. It's hard to say, but could be the trail is getting a smile, too.

"My daddy raised goats. Believe it or not, I've rounded up an' wrestled my fair share of livestock. Not in a while, granted, an' always with more'n a few menfolk watching out. My daddy was a believer in givin' me the kinda skills a lady on the frontier might need should she not choose t'settle down an' raise children."

He was a bright man, that Samuel Barlow. As she speaks, her attention drifts to the far side of their path. Perhaps she's seeing something interesting in the forest, or perhaps she just doesn't want to make eye contact right now. In a moment or two she glances back, right as rain.

"Irresponsible or not, y'did good by him. I always used t'wonder if it'd be better or worse should my dead daddy visit Milliways, too. He's got a good head on his shoulders, William Evans."

"Good thing you'n I both know better, ma'am." Offered up as commentary, while he eyes a cloud that threatens to cast a brief shadow over the path, idly pushing at the brim of his hat with one finger.

Could be. Could be she's spotted something that's caught her interest; Jack certainly seems to have done exactly that, given the way he leans to look away, eyes focused intently on something the other direction from the one Kate's looking in, whistling softly under his breath.

Plenty to see out here, after all.

"Better'n some grown men I know," he agrees. "Told'm I'd show him what a real rodeo's like, sometime. Seems to me a boy like him, ain't got much opportunity to go have fun like he ought. Probably got no time at all to be meetin girls 'n gettin in trouble."

He does glance over at that, eyes laced with humor, his smile full of the same mischief that's got Boomer pricking her ears back and forth, all coiled energy and the want to run.

"Not too much trouble, I sure as hell hope."

She laughs, the words tinted by a maternal instinct — or perhaps sympathy would be a better word. His poor momma, raising two boys on a hurting ranch. She don't need any heart attacks on top of it all. Kate only had her school children to fuss about, but a teacher's sharp look is almost as threatening as a mother's, as Jack might be able to attest to.

"I think he wants t'be in school, but knows he can't. Whenever we talk he gets kinda fidgety, like I'm gonna be disappointed in 'im. I couldn't ever be that, but I do worry on how hard he works himself. All that responsibility, so young. You convince him t'have all the fun he wants, Jack Twist, jus' so long as y'can keep 'im safe at the same time."

The path hits a bend, narrowing slightly, and Beaut takes it as an opportunity to cut herself right in front of Boomer, with a smug little flip of her tail. Kate grins over her shoulder.

"Wouldn't want him turnin' into an awful flirt, like some folk I know."

He gives her an injured look in protest. "Course not. That boy couldn't get himself in too much trouble if I put him on the path and shoved him through the door. He damn near runs that place himself." He harrumphs, wounded, and the way he's got to check Boomer as Beaut cuts in front only rubs salt in the wound, as he stares at Kate's back, aggrieved.

Trouble? Unsafe? For shame, Kate. What do you take him for?

At least, it lasts until his grin shines out, cocksure and cheerful as the lifting sun or a bird taking to wing, smiling at her with gently benevolent arrogance.

"Flirts, huh? Well, they trouble you any, you send 'em to me, Mz. Barlow. I'll make 'em mind their manners."

Peacefully obscuring any more pointed meaning she might have put behind the words, and chuckling low in his chest.

Her laughter sings from her throat like the dawn song of day birds, and we're sorry to say it's more at Jack's hurt than it is his humor. She means well, of course. If she thought she'd genuinely hurt him she'd be contrite, but as it stands he looks like a puppy after being thwapped on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper.

"Will y'now? I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Twist; sure as hell couldn't hurt, given they don't much respond t'me when I try an' lay down the law. But who on Earth is gonna protect me from you?"

Hand on her hip, genuinely perplexed.

Now, that's a riddle, and no mistake.

Not much of a puppy about him now, unless you count the way he smiles, ducking his head while the tip of his tongue works to wet his lip.

"Reckon you could handle me yourself."

Tossed back out, easy as could be, like a card flipped off the top of a deck from a dealer with the worst poker face known to God and man.

And any other insinuations or, heaven help us, flirtations, Kate?

Well, they're just obviously accidental, at most.

"You—"

There's a jovial, haughty lilt to her voice that suddenly pulls up flat. Like she was just about to remark upon some joke only just now having got the punchline, and realizing it's not at all what she thought it was.

She twists in the saddle, blue eyes saucer-wide, and quickly goes up in flames.

Just as quickly, she turns back around. And there is a pause.

She clears her throat.

"S'pose y'wouldn't be more'n a handful," she agrees.

He slants a look at her, mouth unruly with that smile sauntering across it, all lazy and pleased.

That high color in her cheeks is worth every barb tossed back at his head.

The rest of his expression maybe goes unmarked as he ducks his head, but the flash of white teeth in tan skin is surely hard to miss, particularly when they start through the dappled shade thrown by largely leafless trees and the dark spears of pine arching over their path.

"Then I guess you ain't got nothin to worry about."

Edited 2013-04-03 01:55 (UTC)

"Guess I don't."

She sounds glad they've got that settled, trial as it's been for them both. Beaut casts another twitch of her tail toward Boomer's nose, snorting quietly.

"I reckon a gallop must hurt like hell on that leg'a yours. Y'must hardly be able t'ride like y'used to."

That pricks at his pride, and Boomer seems to agree, tossing her head to avoid the lashing tail.

"Says who?"

Hell, he can ride. He can ride just fine, thank you and your sympathy just fine, Miss Kate.

EP: Kate Barlow | Outside, Stables / Main Bar

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