The thing about Kate is she's a woman of two halves. On the one hand, her senses and instincts are sharp, honed to see through lies and little boy guilt. On the other hand, she's earnest; the teacher in her wants to believe in honesty and change.

It's silent for one more long stretch.

"Okay."

She nods, and kisses him. Now they're back on the same page. It isn't where she thought they'd be, but so long as she knows what he's thinking maybe she won't try and run.

(But she's eying those fence posts, low to the ground though they are, as the corral is built around her.)

Sucking in a deep breath, she pushes herself off him, rolling to the edge of the bed. Her limbs are heavy and dumb, tired, sated — sore. But she sits herself up, her bare back to him, and starts working on taking her garters off.

"How many folk have y'told? 'Bout us."