[color=aquamarine]Rose's mouth curved in a pleased smile[/color] as the rough-looking stranger all but flung himself into a seat at her bar. New meat was always the easiest to turn the way she wanted them, whether what she wanted was their wallet or their fists to spice up a slow night at the saloon. "'Course, sugar," she purred, sliding behind the bar and picking over the bottles on the shelves. She wasn't always tending bar—sometimes she was dealing at the tables, or shooting pool, or up on stage, or simply sitting among the men. She liked to mingle, but first customers of the night always got her special attention.

Selecting a bottle of bourbon that wasn't [i]quite[/i] as watered down as the rest, Rose poured a shot glass and slid it over to the stranger as the deputy sheriff waltzed in. "Ten cents, sug," she said to the stutterer, resting her elbows on the bar and leaning over. She tipped an imaginary hat to the deputy as he took a seat. "Evening, Pete," she said with a friendly smile as she poured another glass. She trusted the deputy to pay his tab at the end of the night; road-worn strangers, not so much.