ikissdhimbck | OOM: Oakville, 1888 -- A few good men, or at least some half-decent ones...

And that at least is solid ground; Ace may be accustomed to keeping his seat through the worst of aerial acrobatics his colts and fillies can throw but that doesn't mean he can't appreciate the steadiness as well. A relieved smile breaks on his face and he reaches up to tip his battered hat.

"John Lehane, ma'am, but most call me Ace." There are many stories behind the nickname but they're for the most part not the kind he’ll tell in polite company. "It's a pleasure." A casual politeness but his mother, rest her soul, brought him up right while she could.

He wonders if she'll introduce herself. He thinks maybe she doesn't need to, that he already knows (fluttering paper and rough ink and a picture that doesn’t look much like her but at the same time, too much) but he wonders just the same.

An eyebrow tics.

"Pleasure's all mine, ‘Ace’."

She holds out a hand; doesn't curtsy, doesn't nod. He could take it as an invitation to kiss her knuckles if he likes, but even being home she figures in this moment she's meeting him man-to-man. He's taller, of course. She's fair and petite, not roughed up by years of labor. But that hardly matters when she's the one offering the employment.

She watches him steadily, a touch wary, a mite amused.

"D'you know who I am?"

Ace hesitates for the barest moment before shaking it. Callus rubs on callus and his grasp is firm, strong, offering her silent respect. He can't quite shake the feeling that she's the one running this conversation in every way, like she's seen the outcome already and now she's just toying with him, but there's nothing he can do but go along with her if he wants the job.

Her question catches him a little off-guard. He squints at her for a moment before casting a quick look around, rocks back on his heels and chews his words over in his mouth before he finally speaks.

"They say you only kiss the men you kill." He's watching her from under lowered eyelashes. Never been one to speak in riddles or dance around the truth but somehow he can't bring himself to say the name splashed over the wanted posters out loud. "I reckon if they," a bird-quick jerk of the head towards the saloon, "knew that, they wouldn't be so quick t'look at you the way they did."

He keeps watching her, trying to gauge her reaction.

Her mouth moves ever so slightly. Was she preparing to say something? Just taking in a breath? The rest of her face stays neutral, not betraying a hint of the upset that catchphrase causes her.

"That is what they say."

The corners of her mouth bob, smile threadbare and just this side of intimidating.

She's watching him like a hawk now.

"An' what interest does a young man like you have in my kinda work?"

Ace breathes slow and calm, tries his best not to show the way his stomach's twisting and his hands are folded into fists in his pockets. He thinks he knows how gophers feel when they see the shadow gliding over the ground towards them, so far away from the familiar that all they can do is freeze and hold their ground.

It takes him a little longer to answer this question. Maybe he just has to think it over, or maybe he wants to be sure his voice doesn't crack like a child's would.

"With respect, ma'am, I didn't hear you askin' anyone else that."

The desperate need to do something else, something real, something more than chasing cattle and breaking horses, that's one thing. But the need for a place that's not here and a life that's not this, that's his. She's got no call to be asking after it.

Edited 2012-11-02 07:43 (UTC)

Arms crossed over her middle, she doesn't relinquish an inch of ground.

"With respect, ain't no one else paid me any mind. Sure as hell didn't recognize me, an' that makes me think you've either been readin' the papers or the wanted signs."

She takes a half-step closer to him, in this moment as tall as a sequoia.

"And, with respect, I jus' wanna be sure you ain't after the bounty on my head."

Seconds pass as long as years, tension between them so thick it feels like a storm coming in over the mountains and turning the air to crackling electricity. The hawk dives, pins the gopher in bright talons. Ace doesn't breathe.

After long moments, he backs down.

He takes a step back and looks away, shoulders hunching suddenly. There's nothing he can say to that, not really. He knows full well no one ought to run away from a decent job and a warm bed for some half-baked idea of glory and fame in outlawing, knows even deeper inside that that's not the only reason but he'll be damned before he'll tell her that. He's lost his chance, maybe.

When he finally looks back to her the cocky set to his expression is gone. He doesn't move towards her.

"I've seen the signs. Read a paper or two." Her story's not a hard one to miss for a boy interested in the sensational. "Fact is, Miss Barlow, I ain't got a lot to my name." His eyes meet her own again, but this time he's not trying to push back. "And there ain't much a bounty can do t'change that, good coin or not."

She's testing him out, maybe. Seeing how deep beneath the skin the boy goes. By the looks of it, pretty deep.

That is until he starts talking.

Could be he's just a bad liar, but there's something about the look in his eyes and the stubbornness in his voice. It's not the money that drew him out here, with her. Just like it ain't the money that drives her toward Cuero, and it won't be the money that drives her to the next job, and the next. She holds his eyes for a long time, and it ain't so much uncomfortable anymore because she sees something there she recognizes.

"If you're lookin' for glory, son, this ain't it."

Her voice is quiet, and a touch compassionate.

"If you're lookin' for people t'nod when y'walk down the street, or usher you inside just so's they can talk t'you, this ain't the way t'go. It's a dirty business, an' once y'step into it I can guarantee you a few things. You're gonna be movin' your whole life. You're constantly gonna be lookin' over your shoulder. People'd jus' as soon shoot at you as offer their hand in greetin', an' it ain't always gonna be easy."

Here's where she pauses.

"You're gonna hafta work for me. That means y'move on my say so; that means I'm the boss. An' so long as you're one'a mine, you share in everythin' I've got. The money, the scores, the good an' the bad. You're tied t'me. That don't jus' mean people'll be lookin' for you, it means if you ever have it in your head t'betray me you're gonna feel the full force of my wrath.

"D'you understand what I'm sayin' t'you?"

He does.

He can see it all too easily, like he's watching his life unfold and he can see the way it turns hard, lonely, the way he walks a path where he'll never find a place to call home or someone to settle in with or any kind of respect to his name, a path whose end comes in a bullet and an unmarked grave without anyone to lay down flowers. He sees it clear enough that it makes his heart ache in a way it hasn't for years, where he'll be and how he'll get there.

And he knows he can't go down that road.

Ace lifts his eyes from where they've been resting unfocused on the bay mare. Maybe his voice is a little hoarse when he speaks or maybe it's just a trick of the light breeze, snatching his words away. "Guess I do." The crossroads looms in front of him, one fork for the life that ends bitter and bloody and alone. And the other, well.

"But I'd still like that job, ma'am."

The other fork has this woman in it, and a life he can't see through the twists and turns it'll take, and it's that one he plants his feet firmly on as he waits for her response.

Edited 2012-11-02 08:02 (UTC)

He's polite. And he don't look at her the way the other men do; not with leering grins and mocking eyes. For a minute she believes this boy has changed his mind, and she can see him going off and living a perfectly respectable life.

Until he opens that fool mouth of his.

She exhales a soft laugh, shaking her head.

"All right, then. Y'can start by helpin' me out. See, I ain't familiar with your town, an' I'd like t'get my mount settled away for the night someplace clean an' honest. Once that's done, maybe you an' I can have a sit down, an' we'll see if you're still lookin' for work by the end of it."

She smiles, full lips cocked lopsidedly, and holds out her hand to shake on it.

The handshake this time isn't much different than the first one save for what it's sealing, a pact instead of a meeting. His hand doesn't feel any different when he raises it afterwards to indicate down the street, but there's still a tingle like lightning running through his body as he realizes what he's just done. No turning back now.

"There's a livery just down the way, run by a fellow by the name of Perkins. Not much to look at but it's clean and he'll do right by your girl." Ace won't have dealings with anyone who treats the horses who are his life with anything less than reverence. "Might even knock a bit off the charge, if I throw in a good word."

Behind him there's a creak of stretched leather on wood as Arrow tests her tie once more, bored of the long chat and anxious to get to her evening meal. Ace shoots Kate an apologetic glance and heads back in her direction, soothing the mare with light scratches up under her withers and a few murmured apologies. Clearly unconvinced, Arrow stomps and nips at his legs.

"I can take y'there, if you'd like."

Edited 2012-11-02 08:16 (UTC)

She nods, committing it all to memory. Perkins. If she comes in smiling, she usually manages to get what she wants.

"Would y'do that? I'd be obliged."

She grabs Beaut's reins, eyeing the boy and his mount sidelong with dry amusement.

"Your animal's a real beauty, too. Good solid legs, fine boned, has a good haunch. Bit skittish for, what is she? 'Bout six? Spirited, though. That much's for sure."

Ace ducks his head a little, can't deny the pleased smile rising to his lips. He knows full well that she's a little more showy than functional, takes after her Thoroughbred side far more than would be desired in any decent working animal and he knew that when he took her on full-time instead of letting her get sold on down the line, but. As he tells her all the time, more often than not in frustration when he's getting up out of a mud puddle and she's dancing away with her reins dangling, she's just too damn pretty for her own good.

"Yes'm, came six a few months ago. Kind of you to say." He gives Arrow a fond look as he unties her and swings himself up, sitting easy as she gives him just enough of a prance to let him know that she's not impressed with the wait. "She's got a real sharp mind but she don't always use it that well, if you catch my drift." His tone may be wry but there's deep affection there as he nudges her around and lets her move in a little closer to Beaut. "You just follow me. Ain't easy t'get lost in this town, but we'll get you there safe and sound anyway."

Her sharp eyes take it all in.

She hauls herself up into the saddle, and where the black Thoroughbred mare shows off her spunk and, let's be honest, the bratty behavior Thoroughbreds are known for, the bay barely moves, waiting until Kate is in the saddle to take a few steps back, lifting her neck and shaking out her mane. She tongues at her bit, ears pricked forward.

"Thank you kindly. Lead on."

Horse and rider move with an ease born of experience and years of familiarity. They're practically one body.

There's a little less synchronicity between Ace and his mount, a little more argument when he turns her down towards the center of town instead of the outskirts and the road home, but he gets her moving in the right direction quickly enough. It's not much longer than a five minute ride at a leisurely walk before they're at the worn wood and brick building with its slightly crooked sign proclaiming the premises to be Perkins Feed and Livery Stable. It's clearly seen some years but appears neat enough from the outside, dirt swept tidy outside the big double doors and a row of tie-stalls just visible in the gloom.

There's a tall man with an impressive moustache forking hay in the loft above the feed-store. At the sight of the horses approaching he'd stopped his work and now he stands, hat pushed back as he watches the two approach. Ace offers him a friendly wave as he draws Arrow to a halt and dismounts, turning to Kate with a bow and flourish.

"Your accommodations for the night, my lady." With a slightly wicked glint in his eye, "Though I suppose we'll still need somewhere for you, ma'am."

She chuckles quietly.

"Royalty before commonfolk."

She tips her hat, offering Mr. Perkins a friendly howdy before getting down to brass tacks. She doesn't waste much time making it clear just how dear her mount is to her, but with a pretty smile and a few friendly words the man is found quite amenable. It's a full livery stable, and Kate pays a little extra just to be sure Beaut is as comfortable as possible.

There's a boardinghouse adjacent, where Mr. Perkins seems keen on sending Kate. Likely because his wife manages it. She thanks him for his help, but her eye is already set on the hotel she saw riding in.

Ace hangs back while she gets herself checked in, remarking on some favor he needs to call in with Mr. Perkins. She stations herself in the parlor with a bottle of bourbon, and waits.

Once Kate's on her way to the hotel Ace has a quick chat with Mr. Perkins, one that doesn't just bring up the good business he's tossed the man over the years but about the few times he's come by to help him with stock on his days off. It's a chat that ends in a free stay for Arrow and a blind eye to Ace coming back to spend the night in the hayloft -- it's getting late already to be setting back for the ranch, and he doesn't know exactly how long this little chat's going to take them.

It doesn't take long for him to settle the mare in and slip both her and Kate's bay a little extra treat, and the outlaw can't have been waiting long by the time he slips in the parlor door. He hesitates awkwardly, feeling just a little under-dressed in work-stained clothing and smelling distinctly of animal.

"Ma'am." He finally crosses to the settee and sits down carefully, scootched as close to the edge as he can get with his hat in his hands. Sharp eyes pick out the bourbon and show more than a little relief that he may be able to get in a sip or two of liquid relaxation before engaging in a conversation that's already making his stomach twist in nervous anticipation.

Her eyes are on him the moment his shadow crosses the threshold.

"Tell me, Mr. Lehane — Ace; where d'you hang your hat?"

She gestures to the bottle of bourbon, silently inviting him to help himself.

"An' do you know much 'bout Cuero?"

He pours himself a glass with hands that don't shake mostly because of just how hard he's willing them not to, and sits back.

"At the Brokentree Ranch, a little ways out of town. Been there coming on three years now." And it's not home, no matter how hard he tries.

Cuero, though, that's a little harder. "Heard the name, but that's about it. Couldn't tell you much else."

Edited 2012-11-02 08:50 (UTC)

She nods, and in the candlelight of the room you can see the dust on her face, the lines forming at the corners of her mouth.

"It's a boomtown north'a Victoria, 'bout twenty-five-hundred folk. It sits pretty as the midway stoppin' point for the Gulf, Western Texas an' Pacific Railway, not t'mention the San Antonio an' Aransas Pass. As y'can imagine, folk there are doin' real well for themselves. 'Leastways, they should be."

That last bit is important. She sighs, leaning forward with her elbows propped on her thighs. She cradles her drink in both hands.

"Y'got two banks in Cuero: Buchel's, an' Runge's. Not t'mention Runge's store, an' the railroad stations. You'll understand if I don't clarify jus' where we're headed, in case y'get the idea t'ride ahead on your own.

"Y'see, most'a the businesses an' owners turn a pretty penny for themselves, but the laborers — millers, hired hands, an' the like — do a mite more strugglin'. I met a woman there named Viktoria, who informed me a certain railroad man by the name of Schleicher happens t'have the banks in his back pocket. Real friendly-like, all of 'em."

She shrugs, lifting her bourbon and taking a slow draw.

"I like Viktoria. Wouldn't mind givin' her a li'l extra business. Schleicher I ain't so fond of."

Ace listens quietly, lets the information in and tries to connect it up to what he already knows. Sitting here in the small parlor with a glass of bourbon listening to some woman talk about robbing banks, got it all planned out and everything, it's almost surreal. He keeps expecting to jerk awake late for morning chores with whiskey on his breath and a hangover making life miserable. But he doesn't, and Miss Barlow, Kissin' Kate, she keeps on talking.

He copies her movements and takes a mouthful of his own drink, lets it burn a trail down into his stomach and warm him from the inside. His voice is a little steadier than it's been before when he speaks. "I ain't a friend of the banks or those that keep 'em. Y'won't find me giving you protest."

He takes another long swallow of bourbon and courage. "You just say what y'need from me, and where I've gotta be."

Her lips slide into a smile.

Good boy.

"Y'said y'work at the Brokentree Ranch? Y'got a good eye for horseflesh, that much is easy t'see. But d'you know how t'handle 'em?"

Ace smiles into his glass of bourbon. "Learned to ride 'fore I could walk," he says with more than a little pride in his voice, eyes alight with his favourite subject. "From the time I was little my Da'd swing me up into the saddle with him whenever he was goin' someplace and my Ma, she used to say that if she couldn't find me she just had t'check in the barn."

He looks younger when he talks about his family, and there's a visible shift as he pulls himself back out of reminiscing. "Which is t'say yes, ma'am. Up at Brokentree, the owner -- well, he's one of them eccentrics, got a bee in his bonnet a few years back about breedin' better cow horses by bringin' in some Eastern blood, and he took me on mostly t'take care of that side of things. I do the handling, the breaking, take care of the herd most of the time. You need someone t'handle your horses, I'm your man."

Bragging? Maybe, but it's all true. He's good with the beasts and always has been and it was sheer dumb luck that he managed to stumble across an operation where he wouldn't be out after cattle all day, he knows, but it's only served to teach him more.

He'll see a shift in her, too. The way he talks about his childhood rings true with her own. She smiles like the schoolteacher used to, soft and hazy, an unguarded light in her eyes, expression sweet with memories. It passes quickly. Far too quickly.

"I reckon you an' I have that in common."

She drops her gaze, thumb brushing bourbon from the rim of her glass. It's business as usual when she looks up again.

"I'm glad t'hear it. I'm gonna need someone t'mind the horses, be my eyes when I'm otherwise occupied. You'll need t'supply your own mount, 'course. An' I'm lookin' for extra ponies; good stocky sort, deep chests, full broke. Y'got a finger on where I might find some?"

He nods, mind already racing and bourbon forgotten in the glass by his side. Supplying his own mount, that's not hard -- fact of the matter is that he's been scraping pennies for a while and while he doesn't have enough for one of the real good mounts he's trained, he figures he can put down just enough cash for Arrow and her tack. He's about the only one who would want her anyway. Other horses, that's a little trickier.

"If you're looking around here I could get you a few from my place. They ain't doing much other than standin' around looking pretty right now anyhow. And I been down the road a time or two, know a few people, a few ranches with some extra mounts who'd turn a blind eye if there was coin in it for them."

Somewhere, distantly, he realizes that if he does this he can't ever go back, won't have a ranch to go to. He's somewhat surprised to find he doesn't care.

OOM: Oakville, 1888 -- A few good men, or at least some half-decent ones...

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