Compared to the frigid and cold January that has taken over the bar, he's needed a few days to get used to the Texas heat. But the sun is welcome, heat soaking into his bones as they walk, and he listens.

Until they are interrupted.

The voice is indeed, unmistakeably female, and familiar, as he stops walking and glances up at the silhouetted horse and rider, the face looking down at them.

(There's that coil of nerves in his stomach again.)

"Howdy, Miss."

Manners and all. He tips his hat back slightly.