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

[ikissdhimbck]

By the time she reaches Oakville, it's after sunset and she's been riding all day. The last hints of yellow are fading from the sky, giving way to the pregnant dark blue of an endless night. She hitches Beaut to a post outside the first saloon she happens by, noting the livery stable to the south down the broad way. There's a nice hotel across the street.

But, first things first.

The batwing doors swing open as she steps in, all of five feet, tousled hair, and eyes as hard as diamonds. It ain't like it is in one of them Western ‘moo-vees’ — most folk don't pay her any mind.

Most.

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[one_day_ace]

Ace's eyes flick between her and the door, just once.

Then he backs up a step, places his hat on the arm-rest with exaggerated care, and settles himself back down on the settee. One of the most important lessons he's ever learned working over the years is that sometimes you gotta hang on and ride out the bucks, and sometimes you've just gotta let yourself fall and try again some other time.

This time, though, he has a nagging suspicion that he was never even on the horse.

[ikissdhimbck]

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."

[one_day_ace]

"Yes ma'am." It's rapped out quick and smart as Ace gets to his feet and collects his hat, keeping it held respectfully at his side as he offers her a quick nod and makes a beeline for the door. As he's halfway out he pauses and turns back, just for a moment.

"Thank you, ma'am."

For not shooting him or for offering him the job, could be either or could be both. Whichever it is he's gone the next moment and headed out into the street. As he trudges along with his shoulders hunched against a night chill he's not really feeling, he reflects momentarily on what just happened.

He's definitely not on the horse anymore. Matter of fact, as far as he can see he's just getting dragged along behind it, barely clinging to the reins.

And maybe it's just the bourbon, but the funny thing is?

He don't mind at all.

[ikissdhimbck]

It's his thank-you that pulls her up short. She stares at his retreating backside, blinking in surprise.

Her smile spreads like warm butter down a stack of flapjacks.

What a surprising boy he is, this John ‘Ace’ Lehane. She didn't go easy on him, but he managed to keep his head above water nonetheless. And the fact that he didn't back out, didn't quibble, didn't lose his nerve or bluster and bark, says to Kate that he's just the kind of man she needs. Not so weak in the head or the knees that he can't keep up; not so full of himself that he can't follow direction.

Thank you, he said. For the talking-to of his lifetime from probably the only woman outside of his own mama to treat him that way. It's a good thing, too. He's destined to more of it.


By the time he finds her at the saloon, at eight o'clock on the dot the next evening, he'll be treated to the howls of Mr. Ford, whose arm is twisted in a most unnatural fashion while Kate introduces his face to the table. It's a little trick Miss X once taught her. Her sweet Southern drawl grits like sandpaper down a blackboard, and she seems bigger than her meager five feet one inch.

Maybe 'cuz everyone's cowering at her feet.

The boys had their fun for a while, but there's no mistaking she's a force to be reckoned with. And by tonight, the whole town will know it.