For all that the handshake may have meant to Kate, to Reuben, it was far less. That wasn't to say that he didn't appreciate it; it signified the start of a partnership, and the hand itself was also surprisingly smooth, wrapped up in his own. That concerned him, frankly. If this girl, fearsome though she was, had such soft hands, it hinted at the potential for softness elsewhere. Reuben had agreed to help her in her quest for vengeance, but he'd be damned if he was going to drag a prim little girl through the roughs. The West was known for its wildness, but on the trail, living in the elements... they could test even the toughest. From fending off coyotes to roving bandits, it was a wilderness that allowed for the worst of mankind to flourish.

	No need to rush? He could deal with that. He'd paid good money for that whore. It wouldn't do to waste the time he'd bought. The extra time would give him a chance to get his things together, too. He'd stayed in enough rooms here that it could take a good long while.

	Something rubbed him wrong as he withdrew his hand. He had trouble nailing it down, until Kate repeated herself. Her voice was shaking a bit... either she was ready for vengeance, and couldn't wait for it, or she really was a normal person, with emotions and all that shit. He looked her up and down again, this time with less restrained lust, and more curiosity. How old was the girl? She talked like a full-blown deputy, but she was soft and small, like a youth. If he had to guess, he'd peg her at fifteen or so. Certainly too young for him to be looking at her the way he had been. He chided himself, but didn't worry about it too much. He was drunk, he could be excused some indiscretions.

	As the girl welcomed him "back to life," he realized something startling. If he really went through with this, Luckshot was indeed back. Somehow, though he'd fought for so long to leave that reputation behind, he didn't mind too terribly to be stepping back into those boots. It'd been too long, he now realized. Perhaps he was getting older, but Luckshot was a part of him, sure as his Comanche heritage and knack for being in the wrong place at the right time.

	"Yeah... thanks for that." He didn't know what else to say. This girl kept surprising him, kept being more than she seemed, even as he adjusted his opinions accordingly. "Dawn is agreeable to me. If you aren't ready by then, though, forget it. If I'm Luckshot now, my time is worth plenty." He pushed the chair to one side, looking away suddenly as the girl smiled, smiled with such intensity that he was forced once more to redirect his thoughts. [i]You're a dirty old man, Reuben. She's half your age, probably even less. Keep it in your pants.[/i]

	The door closed more quietly than seemed fitting, and he realized he'd left his bottle behind. That was all right by him. He'd had enough in the last few days, and it might do the girl some good to have a couple swallows in her. Might loosen her up a bit, make her smile like that again. Damn, she had quite a smile.

	Reuben was met with a contrast to the youthful, vibrant personality of Kate as he opened his door once more. In comparison to Kate, the whore he'd hired, whose name escaped him completely, just seemed... sad. Her breasts sagged like pendulums, her skin was just a bit too loose, and the makeup was far from enough to cover the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. The scent of stale booze didn't help either.

	He had to give her credit for her willingness, as she dropped to her knees before him, pawing at his belt as though wishing to skip any middleman and take his gold as quickly as possible. Normally he would have given in, taken his money's worth, but the contrast was too much. He pushed the woman away, sending her from his room with but a few terse words. He didn't want to explain his emotions, and he would be better able to prepare for the journey without the old bag filling up the space. She left with a grumble, but left all the same, and in the quiet room, Reuben became Luckshot Caerwynn.

	First, he trimmed his beard to a neat, short stubble. He washed his face and hair, then went about dressing once more. The clothes he'd been in were all but ruined, stained nearly beyond repair. Fortunately, he had a clean shirt in a drawer, and after pulling it and a patched, but serviceable pair of trousers on, he tucked his derringer into his breast pocket holster. Next was a thick leather belt, tooled with weaving lines, like a snake's trail on the sand. From that hung a holster and a sheath; the first  for his pistol, the last for his bowie knife. The shotgun hung from a leather strap, to be slung over one shoulder once he was actually ready to go.

	One final check in the mirror, and he was satisfied. He pulled on the heavy buckskin overcoat, his shield against knives and inclimate weather alike, and finally topped it all off with his turquoise-beaded hat. That'd have to do.

	Dressed this way, his shotgun leaned against the bed, he lay back, hat tipped over his face, and caught a few hours of sleep, before his internal clock forced him awake.

	The sun hadn't yet begun to rise when Reuben crept quietly down the stairs to the stable. He had his shotgun slung over his shoulder, and was pleased to see that his horse, a paint-patterned mare he'd picked up a couple of years back.

	"Hey, girl..." He murmured the words softly, rubbing the horse's neck, his voice totally devoid of its usual gruffness. "Sorry I haven't made it down here in a while. Been right busy drinkin' myself to death. You know how it is. But it looks like we'll have some work now, so you'll be gettin' some exercise. 'Bout time, too." He fed the creature a handful of oats, then gave it one more pat on the neck for good measure. He looked up at the horizon, determined to head out whether or not the girl showed up. If she did, he had a job. If not... well, he'd been in this town too long anyway. It'd do him good to have a trip, even a brief one.