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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"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.

"Oh, I'm just pontificatin'."

She's ever so casual, a ho-hum to her voice. The shade of the bare forest sends a quick chill down her spine.

"Musin' that, should I find you more'n I can handle, I can pro'ly outrun you jus' fine."

Smirk.

It probably ain't polite to show disdain to a lady, but Jack must have skipped that lesson from Lureen or his mother, and snorts in wounded pride.

"I'd like to see you try."

Boomer's got a hell of a way of carrying herself, like any good Quarter Horse, or...whatever the hell breed they got on Shadow, and she can turn it on like flicking a lightswitch. At the very least, he thinks she'd be able to give Beaut a run for her money: she might not be Lureen's old barrel-racing pony, but then, chasing someone down rarely involves dime-turns around rickety obstacles.

"I got a busted leg, ain't like I up and forgot how to ride while I was at it."

Hot damn, she can practically feel the prickling heat pouring off him. The lane straightens out, and she drops back a touch to give Boomer a chance to pull up beside her. Eyebrow arched, lips parted but still smiling, delight dancing in her eyes.

"Is that a challenge, Mr. Twist?"

She sincerely hopes it is.

"Y'see, runnin's what I do. What we do, Beaut an' I. I'm afraid you ain't got a chance."

It's mostly for show, just to see how he'll react. But there is plenty of pride to back it up. Beaut's a fine animal, she knows these paths well, and she don't need nudging to get her to fly.

"That's a fact, Mz. Barlow."

Boomer takes the chance to push forward, ears twisting up, turning back to catch Jack's voice, and he can feel the way she quivers, like an arrow on the string, impatient as hell and lively under the restraints he's been placing on her.

"Seems to me there ain't no way to find out without givin it a try'n seein what happens."

He's spent hours, days on these trails, and maybe those hours and days were with Ennis and maybe they were a fair while ago, but that doesn't change shit when it comes to knowing them like the back of his hand.

"A fact that you ain't got a chance? Why, I agree."

The blue in her eyes sparkles with laughter, like sun on a busy lake. She's keenly aware of the state of his mare, and she knows Beaut is, too. It doesn't show itself in such overt ways, but there's a tenseness to her mare; like a coiled spring, or the lever on a mouse trap.

"So what you're suggestin' is ... "

Due hesitation, letting the word sit on her tongue while her eyes, curiosity and innocence, tango with impishness.

"A race?"

"Racin in the woods, seems like a foolhardy notion."

These trails might be covered in downed branches; hell, there could be a tree lying across this one, for all he knows, and Boomer's a fine horse, but she's a cow pony, not a hunter. Thankfully, she's got no high-strung jumper blood, which is good for when he's got to haul on a steer her size or larger.

Just not so much when confronted by a sudden hurdle in a previously clear path.

But he just can't sit by and let Kate get away with her insinuations and impertinence, can he? Besides, the two mares are just about spring-loaded, cocked and ready to go, and all it would take would be a touch of his heels to send Boomer catapulting down the trail.

"Reckon it's the only way, though."

"Whoever said it'd jus' be the forest?"

An eyebrow tics, grin going nowhere fast.

They're not on the northeasterly trail, the one that cuts straight by the lake and follows the forest line back beyond to the great open meadow she loves like the Good Book, where the mountains loom proud and tall. It's not the westerly trail neither, which dumps out toward the inlet. But when you've got a place like Milliways, always adapting and changing, you find the trails are like wagon spokes, all crisscrossing to end up at the same point. She knows just where to run.

Reckon it's the only way.

Her grin broadens, like the sun spilling over the eastern horizon at daybreak.

"Y'know the red ribbon trail, leads up the mountain? The one that'll take y'to the mountain lodge that showed up a few years back?"

"There's a lodge?"

Glancing up towards the mountain with mild surprise. "Shit, there anythin this place don't no more? That woulda made campin out a hell of a lot easier."

Not that comfort was really the point. Not that he wouldn't have missed the smell of hot canvas and plastic from the groundsheet, the campfire smoke drifting everywhere, the cold and crystal air that was such a difference from the near suffocating warmth inside the tent.

Still. Man likes a roof over his head, when he can get it.

"I know the trail."

He's been up that way, anyhow, even if it was before the lodge itself showed up.

EP: Kate Barlow | Outside, Stables / Main Bar

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