Lucky for him, she's accustomed to taking charge. Even if this ain't home, and even if this stranger ain't part of her gang. When you're just cresting five feet and as pretty as a summer day, you gotta show the boys you mean business by taking no gentle tack.

She nods, bolstered by his readiness, and looks toward the bar. She'll forget the expanse of stars behind her for now, pretend she ain't miles away from home, and treat this like any ol' saloon she walks into out in Texas. Shoulders back and chin high, knees as steady as they dare to be, she marches on up to the counter.

"'Scuse us! Who's in charge here?"

The woman behind the bar holds up one finger. She's busy engaging another patron at the other end, who looks about as startled as Sundance did when he winked in.