"I'll scope out some good spots later." With Doc's agreement, it was bound to happen, either by the gunslinger or the Marshal. Raylan had been ruminating on how to make their little slice of land more productive and through that, more personal, more theirs. More 'Home'. He had no doubts or questions about the choices that had led him here and while he was very much a 'home is where you lay your head' kinda guy to survive his job, something that looked like roots was good.
Hazel eyes lifted over to look at Doc, the firmness of his unspoken opinion on the ladies in his eyes softening to something sweeter, lips curling a little as he stabbed into his breakfast again.
"Guess that's why you're supposed to never say never. Then again, I doubt anyone could have guessed that I'd run across you just workin' a case." His job was the only reason Raylan traveled, but the job took him far and wide enough that he'd ended up on the Canada/Montana border, chasing after a mobster. Instead of finding John Henry at a bar, Raylan had found him wild eyed and gun heavy in the woods.
"And they only deserve so much. It ain't hard to understand and Wynonna likes drawin' blood. Both of 'em, only difference is the depth of the cuts." The redhead liked it deep and gushing; she wanted immediate results. The blonde would much rather try and kill them with a thousand shallow, well placed cuts, to strip pieces off Raylan when she could manage it. He took it all in a passive manner, unbothered and sometimes sharply sarcastic when Wynonna went to far. There was nothing either of them could say that he hadn't heard worse. "They both made their choices," he continued a little more quietly, matching Doc's ending tone. "And we made ours."
If either of the women called, both of them would do what they had to. What they were doing here didn't undo the promises that they had both made.
"'Sides. They like havin' the time to themselves without the girls, and we both know it. The value of silence," he said with a grin. Their normally quiet home was always just a little too loud but in the best way when they had their daughters. Alice was about seven months older than Willa, but the girls were fast friends and lowkey terror on their fathers.
Raylan wouldn't have it any other way. Well, maybe with a 8am wake up time and not six thirty, but that was the way of small children.
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Hazel eyes lifted over to look at Doc, the firmness of his unspoken opinion on the ladies in his eyes softening to something sweeter, lips curling a little as he stabbed into his breakfast again.
"Guess that's why you're supposed to never say never. Then again, I doubt anyone could have guessed that I'd run across you just workin' a case." His job was the only reason Raylan traveled, but the job took him far and wide enough that he'd ended up on the Canada/Montana border, chasing after a mobster. Instead of finding John Henry at a bar, Raylan had found him wild eyed and gun heavy in the woods.
"And they only deserve so much. It ain't hard to understand and Wynonna likes drawin' blood. Both of 'em, only difference is the depth of the cuts." The redhead liked it deep and gushing; she wanted immediate results. The blonde would much rather try and kill them with a thousand shallow, well placed cuts, to strip pieces off Raylan when she could manage it. He took it all in a passive manner, unbothered and sometimes sharply sarcastic when Wynonna went to far. There was nothing either of them could say that he hadn't heard worse. "They both made their choices," he continued a little more quietly, matching Doc's ending tone. "And we made ours."
If either of the women called, both of them would do what they had to. What they were doing here didn't undo the promises that they had both made.
"'Sides. They like havin' the time to themselves without the girls, and we both know it. The value of silence," he said with a grin. Their normally quiet home was always just a little too loud but in the best way when they had their daughters. Alice was about seven months older than Willa, but the girls were fast friends and lowkey terror on their fathers.
Raylan wouldn't have it any other way. Well, maybe with a 8am wake up time and not six thirty, but that was the way of small children.