She doesn't budge, standing over him like some glorious statue; a miniaturized Theodore Roosevelt, standing akimbo. She watches him like a hawk, right up to the very second he settles himself in nice and snug. It isn't until that moment that she cracks another smile, though brief and humorless.

"Good."

Beat.

"As it happens, I'm done with you. Git."

She jerks her head toward the door, and that is that. Turning her back to him, she collects her bourbon and finishes it off with one swift flick of her wrist. If he happens to stick around long enough, he'll hear her add over her shoulder:

"Tomorrow night, 'round eight o'clock, come by the waterin' hole. We still got lots t'discuss."