The bartender's hands drop under the bar in a move Rachel's seen many times before. Her eyes follow him, sharp, fingers curling tight around her glass of root beer.

There's a sharp sound and ruckus off to the side. Her eyes dart in that direction in time to see a man go down under Kate's fist.

Then there's a finger in front of her nose.

Well, then.

Rachel's eyes narrow as she turns, abandoning her mug to grab the wrist in front of her face and twist it hard around his back, wrenching the joint. Her other hand knocks off the cowpokes' hat so she can grab his hair - and introduce his forehead to the top of the bar.