ikissdhimbck | OOM sorta: Rooms, back door, stables, in the morning.

Katherine might worry about slowing her own self down in time, were she on another steed. But Nova's a smart fella, and he's already slackening off his speed before Katherine even pulls back on the reins. She clucks and coos at him, with what breath she can muster.

As she comes up on Doc's side, he'll notice that somewhere along the way her hair fell from its carefully constructed bun, and is now falling around her ears in soft, windblown curls.

He might also notice that the look in her eyes isn't entirely dissimilar to the glare in the gelding's.

He'll certainly have never seen her look more wild than in this instant. It's not something she shows often.

It's a look he likes, in her eyes.

The look in his own is different. Softer, even. Doc's not exactly 'wild', just this moment, but that outlaw spark is there, where she'll be able to see it.

"Nothin' better than runnin' like hell," he comments, as he catches his bearings in the cool air and tries to figure out just where they are. The trail loops all the way around, so it's not hard to follow, but with the pace and the blur in his eyes, he wasn't paying much attention to the scenery.

He laughs, quietly, and strokes the gelding's neck.

"He handle alright?"

Not like he expects anything other than a positive answer.

Oh, she sees it.

"Terrible," she teases, hiding her smirk (though he'll see it in her eyes). Her chest is heaving from the thrill of the ride.

"He's an incredible mount. Honest. And I can see why you two get along so well," she baits, reaching to stroke Nova's neck as well.

"We've been workin' together a long time."

In reality, it ain't been all that long, just since he was sprung from the pit (which seems like ages ago) and they'd realized that they couldn't quite just go on back to their lives.

'That's for the horse.'
'Horse ain't for sale, Doc. But how 'bout my boots, they're nice and broke...'

Doc smiles a little bit at the memory, of wrestling Billy in the dirt and being so damn mad at him, for everything, but on the same token, he'd gotten him out of that pit and saved him from the gallows...they were pals.

He nods.

"You've been through a lot together," she also points out.

Her eyes glaze over with the memory of Doc riding into Milliways, his gut purple with blood and the black dye from his clothes, the coat of his dark bay stained here and there with droplets of red.

'Mary, Mother of God!'

She shakes the memory from her mind, letting her thick, blonde hair obscure her face.

"I see a lot of you in him," she murmurs.

"Boy's saved my hide more times than I care to recall," he admits, with a respectful nod of his head in acknowledgment and agreement of the statement she's made. His own mind is aware of what she's thinking of.

Doc wasn't quite sure how he made it back to Milliways, but he had. Everything was a bit of a blur.

She's quiet for a long while, looking out on the horizon as they slowly mosey along. You can tell by the gentle knit of her brow, and the far-off look in her eyes, that she's not quite in the present anymore.

"He's a good boy," she mumbles absently, letting her fingers curl around some of his dark hair.

"He is."

He's content to let both the animals (and both riders) calm down a bit, working out the tension and the rush as they pick their way through the woods.

"They both are."

Doc combs a hand through his hair, the ragged cut of the strands only magnified by the windblown and unkempt appearance being sported at the moment.

It's not warm by any stretch, especially not after a ride like that, wind cutting through her hair like a knife and numbing up her nose. But when she tips her head back, she can feel the gentle warmth of sunlight trying to slice through the umbrage, eyes closed to the mottled shadows thus cast.

There's a ruckus in the air as leaves and boughs and branches and animal and wind and sun commune, and she takes a quiet moment to listen to the conversation, trusting Nova to watch the path and carry her true.

Even if she didn't, she'd trust Doc.

And Doc knows that she trusts him, which is why he leads them along at an easy clip. Nova's plenty good at following, so neither of them need to say a word.

It's almost better that way.

He sneaks a glance back at her face, at the way she's soaking in the sun and the surroundings, and then returns his attention to the path in front of them. Eventually, they round the lake and begin the long trek back towards the inlet, and eventually, the stables.

It'll take them awhile, and Doc's just fine with that, even if it is a bit cold out, still.

Katherine doesn't open her eyes until she hears Nova nicker softly again. He's still breathing a bit hard from their run. His coat is sleek, and she makes a mental note to be sure to brush him again when they get back, and throw a blanket over him for a bit so the cold weather doesn't bother him.

Her hand is running softly along his neck while she murmurs nothing in particular in his ear. He continues to nicker now and again.

"You could do for some water, handsome. And maybe another treat."

She knows Doc will have heard that, but she doesn't mind much.

She feels a sudden bite of hunger.

"...S'pose we could, too."

Doc hears her, but doesn't mind much himself.

"Brush 'em both down, let them get a drink and a few bites t'eat, then turn 'em out and let them relax the rest of the afternoon. Then we can eat that lunch y'brought with us."

He glances back over at her.

"Now y'see, if you hadn't brought that, I wouldn't have eaten 'fore a few hours yet." He reaches into his pocket for a bit of the jerky, tears a piece off, then slows the gelding to come even with her (minimal protest, this time) so he can offer her a strip.

"I know," she remarks, meeting his glance with a slightly scolding look. "Which is why I brought it."

She takes the proffered strip with a mild chuckle, looking at it a moment before trying a bite. It's been a while since the last time she's had jerky. It isn't the most ladylike snack, after all.

Therefore, it might be a little surprising to see her bite a chunk with her molars, tearing it from the strip with some concentrated effort (and a rather hilarious expression >.<), before chewing. She adjusts herself in the saddle, looking more the part of a Texas ranch hand than a Victorian-era lady.

"There y'go," he beams, proudly. "I'll git you learned proper in the ways of outlawin' yet."

The horses move along at that steady clip as he settles into the saddle, his body content to sway with the motions as he eats. This is part of life. You eat on the move. Sometimes it's just jerky and a skin of water, or a bottle of tequila. A bit of fruit if you've managed to pass an orchard in the last day or two.

"Will you, now?" she laughs, though it's futile pretending the prospect doesn't completely thrill her. She turns and gives him a big grin, her face positively beaming.

"All right, Teacher. What's the first lesson?" she asks playfully.

"Too bad I ain't got my gun, could teach you how to shoot," he says, teasing. Of course, he knows she can handle that rifle of her daddy's but there's a difference between a rifle and a six. "And it ain't proper t'be teachin' a lady to swear...or spit, for that matter."

Doc tears another bit of jerky off with his teeth and chews, as he considers.

"Well, reckon I aught t'ask the lady what she'd like to know 'bout us dangerous men."

"Now, wait a second," she cries, pulling back on the reins until she has eased Nova to a stop. "If you're gonna teach me all the ways of outlawin', then my being a lady's not withstandin'. Ain't the point to make bandit outta me?"

She smirks at him, a wicked glint in her eye.

"Now," she leans away from him, spitting (rather daintily, if you can picture it) over the other side of Nova, before turning back to give him a very serious look. "Perhaps you best be startin' over, damn it."

She bites the inside of her lip as her cheeks heat ever-so-slightly.

Doc laughs, the sound echoing off the trees around them.

"Well hell, then, Kate. If I didn't know no better, I'd say you'd be willin' to scare the piss outta some rotten sons of bitches just to show them who's boss. Ain't nothin' like walkin' into town and knowing you make half the residents shit their britches just hearin' your spurs 'long the boardwalk."

He's a bit smug (and playing it up, a little) as he speaks.

"Outlaw's got two types of friends, y'hear me? You got those friends that you can trust t'help you when you're down, and you got those friends that you can't trust worth a lick, but you know they're good at what they do. S'good to have a mix'a both types, y'see."

She laughs her own self, knowing her cheeks are growing redder despite her efforts not to let them. She isn't used to hearing such language, but she did ask.

Of course, that don't mean she won't come after him with a basin and a bar of soap, once they're back inside the bar. She's fickle like that.

"All right," she nods, soaking up the information, and prompting him for more.

"Few months ago, we went to see an old friend'a Mr. Tunstall's, John Chishum. Sure you've heard the name before," after all, the man is the richest cattle baron in New Mexico and the territories. "Anyways. Sometimes when you're dealin' with folk that ain't on the right side of the law, y'gotta do things you ain't proud of to make things right."

Doc shifts his jaw and looks ahead on the path.

"No matter what y'do as an outlaw, you gotta remember that you're doin' the right thing. If you ain't, then you're in it for the wrong reasons. Once you start...hell, you just can't stop. You get so wrapped up in ridin' from town to town, gettin' whatever you want, sleepin' with the best whores this side of the border, you just...you'd give anythin' to keep doin' that. Until you can't do it no more."

She has heard the name, all right. It wins him two high eyebrows and slightly parted lips, before he goes on and her brow furrows with the rest of his words.

It's the dirtier side of them dime novels she loves so much. She knows well enough it's there--she isn't naive to that--but it isn't something you let yourself dwell on.

Especially not when the subject happens to be a man you're falling in love with.

She looks away, stroking Nova's mane slowly, thinking the words over.

"An' how many things have you done," she asks at last, voice even. "That you ain't proud of?"

"Handful. I don't make it habit to think on them all too often," he admits. "Otherwise I'd sleep worse than I already do."

It's an honest admission, and one he doesn't tell many people, and he doesn't look at her when he says it, just focuses on the way ahead.

"Every man I ever shot, it was either gonna be him, or it was gonna be me. But that don't make me proud of the fact that I got blood on my hands and lives to my name. We did the right thing, gettin' justice for John. It wasn't pretty. Killin' never is, but sometimes...you just can't help it."

He may not be looking at her, but she's looking at him, blue eyes soft and concerned and focused on his profile.

She doesn't say a word, because there's really nothing she can say. She's worried for him, and were they not on horseback, she would probably close the distance between them and squeeze his hand. It's the only reassurance she can offer.

As it is now, she is helpless to do anything but just sit as she is and listen to his words, his ever changing picture in her head morphing yet again.

And it's like she's seeing things through a dirty window.

"But more than the men I've killed? I'm not proud of runnin' and leavin' my friends behind."

There's something about being on horseback, for Doc. It's comfortable. Natural, even. The boys would go riding, for long hours at a time. Sometimes they'd joke with each other, talk about bullshit that nobody cared about. Talk about women. Talk about anything. Sometimes they'd never say a word, too tired, too hungry, too sore. But the saddle was home.

Outlaws don't get to put down roots and raise families because it ain't safe, so the saddle and a strong, sturdy horse, a gentle rhythm of hooves on the earth, that's home.

"I ain't proud of not havin' been to a single goddamn funeral in three years," he adds, voice quiet, a little rough around the edges of his words. "More than all those men I killed, I ain't proud of leavin' my brothers behind."

"Doc."

It's concern and protestation and empathy all rolled into one, but she knows there's nothing she can say. Nothing she could say could ever erase that kind of guilt.

She bites her lip and looks down, brow furrowed in three deep ridges.

"I s'pose... if you had stuck around, you would have ended up dead, too," she murmurs, thinking the words over in her head. "Now, I don't know what kinda buddies ya'll were, but... I imagine if I were one of your pals, greetin' you at those pearly gates, I might be powerful angry with you for not gettin' out when the gettin' was good."

She shakes her head, pushing her blonde waves back behind her ears.

"Wouldn't want you to share my fate, just 'cuz I was unlucky. You didn't pull the trigger, 'n you didn't lead them false. You were their friend. You rode with them. Fought with them. Daresay they trusted you; I know you trusted them. That should be enough, shouldn't it?"

She doesn't know.

"Should be enough. You carry their memory on, 'n if they're watchin', if they're listenin', then they know that. They hear that. And, hell, I'd be damn proud if I was them. I'd be touched.

"Don't know if that means a lick, but it's... something to think on, I s'pose."

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