This is their third night at Frankie's in the past two weeks. Katherine can't fathom the appeal of this bar for all of the townies. Paying for drinks, the stench of cigarette smoke clinging to the very hair on your head, seeing all the same people all the time...

But here they are. Again. Listening to the same music on the jukebox as Tuesday, playing the same game of pool with the same ring of friends from the ranch, and other places. But they're here tonight for college football kickoff...although Katherine can think of a few better places to be for such an occasion.

There's a woman tending the bar. Katherine remembers how she broke her nose earlier this summer, but only very vaguely...she doesn't remember her name, if she was ever told. But she's looking at Katherine...sometimes with daggers...others, just considering. 

And Katherine is sitting with her back to the wall, staring up at the only TV in this place, with a glass of Coke in her hand...to make it look like she was drinking, to avoid the question of why she wasn't. But really, she couldn't stomach the soda, and it's just flat in her glass. Not that anyone has noticed. Well, anyone except Russell. Somehow, without even looking at her, she knew he was acutely aware of every breath she took. Not in a hovering kind of way, though.

Like a hand at the small of her back in a crowded room.

Russell feels that reciprocated presence in his mind, like a cat leaning into touch, and he looks to Katherine across the room. She's chewing on ice, staring up at the TV. Then she looks at him and offers him the smallest of smiles before her eyes slink back upward.

I'm all right, she says. 

Russell turns to the pool table. You sure? We can go home. Get some pajamas on, watch the game on the sofa.

He hears a quiet, golden laugh in his head. I love when you talk dirty. Russell breaks out into a grin, suppressing a laugh to the best of his ability. Not that anyone in here would notice if he laughed to himself.

Katherine looks down at her glass, considering it with a grimace, though the flat soda shouldn't be considered the sole reason for her sour lemon look. The smoke in this place is thick, and she can feel it tearing away at her throat. Truly, it was one of the worst smells...and she's smelled a lot.

She looks up at Russell as he stands before her. His hand moves to the left side of her face, thumb running from underneath her mouth to the fullness of her cheek. He's wearing a soft smile, and his eyes burn bourbon brown, so molten it makes her want to curl up against him and melt. She leans into his palm, sighing as she lets her eyes close. A rare vulnerable moment, in public nonetheless. 

"I guess home wouldn't be so bad," she murmurs, opening her eyes again. Molten steel. A look enough to make Russell's heart seize. 

"Sure, honey. Let me grab the tab." He lifts the bill of her hat—the Longhorn one she's stolen from him on several occasions—and ducks a kiss onto her forehead before moving towards the bar, leaving a trail of cedar and citrus behind. 

She fishes another ice cube from the cup of water beside her and pops it into her mouth. Eyes shift to her right as a woman plops down into the seat beside her with an almighty huff.

Kaia is the only other woman on the ranch. She's from Nevada, and stays in the bunkhouse with the other full-time hands. She's as tall as Katherine, as spritely as she used to be, but there's an inherent kindness in her that Katherine was so envious of. It makes everyone gravitate to her, and she doesn't even know it.

She's the goddess of fall, cinnamon red hair that burns gold, creamy, freckled skin, and these gorgeous round marshy eyes like a doe's. 

Those green-brown doe eyes turn to Katherine, and she raises a delicate brow at her. "You're sulking," she sighs, crossing her arms in a faux pout. "I knew you didn't want to come."

"Sulking?" Katherine repeats.

"Well, it's either that, or you're truly exhausted from walking an ass around all day." A grin pulls at her full lips. 

It's true. Katherine didn't do anything today but walk to the only donkey on the ranch. The ranch owner, Mr. Parsons, found him walking the highway one day, and with no markings, decided to take him home. Instead of a rooster, Parsons Ranch has a donkey.

But Donkey the Donkey took a liking to Katherine, and followed her around without so much as a tug on the reins. 

Katherine offers a small smile. "I'm not sulking, but I am tired," she admits.

"You only played one round of pool," Kaia protests. "We totally kicked their asses on Tuesday. I needed you." She leans against the wall with crossed arms. Then her eyes fall on the TV mounted up on the wall. "Oh, I see now."

"Mhm." Katherine turns her attention back to football. That was her excuse, anyway.

To be totally honest, tonight's games weren't all that riveting. Eastern Michigan is kicking the absolute dogshit out of Indiana State. She stopped watching and started paying attention to the noise in her head after the fifth unanswered touchdown.

Her mind has been far from football. The Stynes, their goonies who broke into her home. How Rufus hasn't found them yet. How no one in her phonebook has found them yet. How long it would take to find them, a layout of the place they stay, how to take them out...how many of them are there, even? 

Glen's warning rings through her ears. They're nasty. The embodiment of evil.

"It's a shame none of them are cute," Kaia tuts. Katherine looks at her with a smile, and then Kaia looks to her, grinning. "Have you seen a cute one this whole game?" She asks by way of confirming her prior statement.

"Not a one," Katherine replies. 

"I guess that's why they chose a sport with such obstructing helmets," Kaia giggles. "You don't see baseball players—"

There's a hint of laughter as Katherine interrupts, "Two totally different requirements out of equipment—"

"You ladies gossiping again?" Russell asks as she approaches the two, tucking his wallet into his vest's inner pocket. 

Kaia beams at him. "Again?" She repeats. "What makes you think we stopped?"

Katherine nods her head to Kaia. "Talkin' about how—"

"Well you can't tell him," Kaia protests. "That's the point of gossiping. It's like you've never had a girl friend in your life." Kaia wraps her arms around one of Katherine's. "Are we still comin' to y'all's on Saturday?"

"You bringin' somethin'?" Russell asks with a smile. 

"Besides yourself," Katherine interjects before Kaia can say anything. She pulls away from Katherine, smiling still. 

"But I'm the best part!"

Russell sighs. "A blonde and a redhead walk into a bar..."

"Oh, shut up Russell, you never finish those jokes," Kaia says, waving a hand at him like a pest. Katherine looks at Russell with raised eyebrows and a grin, and he mirrors her expression. "It's not even a joke, really, it's like a bad set-up for one," she continues. "What do y'all need for Saturday?"

"We'll handle the grill," Russell says. "You bring whatever else."

"You doin' burgers?" Kaia asks. "Steak?" Katherine snorts, reaching for her water. "Salmon! Oh, Russell, you can't!"

"How about that potato salad, Red? That's the good stuff."

Katherine grunts, nodding. "It's all I've heard from him about you," she says.

"That's it?" Kaia groans, pushing herself to her feet. "Russ, you're such a bore." She drops a kiss onto Katherine's shoulder and moves to hug him. "Get home safe. Have fun in bed."

"Jesus, Kaia."

The redhead lifts her hands and hikes her shoulders in surrender as she backpedals for the bathroom. She bumps into a burly man on the way, and yelps out an apology before disappearing around the corner.

"That girl could commit murder and still have men fawning at her jail cell," Katherine sighs, watching after her. When she looks to her left, moving to stand up, she finds Russell is making his way to the pool table. He claps a hand onto Jackson's shoulder.

"Make sure Kaia's good," he says. Jack looks over his shoulder, as if looking for her, and nods. "Gets home and all that."

Jackson, because they've been flirting since they met two weeks ago and thought nobody would notice.

"I might have to fight Blake to get her into my truck," he hums. 

Russell sucks his teeth. "Blake won't do shit," he mutters. 

Jackson looks him over, then to Katherine, watching as she drapes her rust-colored Carhartt over her shoulders. "Y'all headed out?"

"Yeah," Russell sighs. "I'm spent."

"All right, boy. Drive safe." 

Katherine hold Russell's jacket out to him as he approaches, and he offers her a tight smile of thanks before leaning down to kiss her.

"I can't wait to shower," he sighs, slinging an arm over her shoulder as they head for the door. 

"Aht!" Jackson walks over with a small smile. "You don't leave without sayin' bye to me, KT."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Jackson." She allows herself to be wrapped up in his arms, reciprocate the hug, even. "See you on Saturday." He gives her a pat low on the back, smacks Russell's shoulder, then heads back to the pool table.

"Has Jack said anything to you about Kaia?" Katherine murmurs.

Russell smiles. "Has Kaia said anything to you about Jack?"

Katherine smirks, scoffing a little. "I asked first." Russell opens his mouth to speak, lifting his eyes from her face only to reach for the door, and then a blast of cold fall air sweeps through the bar.

A familiar brunette walks in with two other women, all in dark scrubs and jackets of varying colors. 

Fuck. It's a mutual thought, and they freeze upon dark eyes settling on them.

Paula.

Her face is honest for a few seconds, displaying full shock and panic as she takes in the two, before she schools it into a pleasant smile.

"Hi guys," she greets. Not overly excited to see them, but friendly.

"Hey, P," Russell hums. "Y'all just get off?"

Paula looks to her friends for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. Long day, just comin' in for a drink. You two headed home?" Her small smile is pressed thin as she glances to Katherine. 

"Yeah. Long day," Russell echoes. 

"Can't focus on the football game," Katherine says. 

"Oh, yeah we had that on at the nurse's station, but we gave up the third time we got called away. It was stupid to even try," Paula chuckles. "Well...good night, you guys. Go Cowboys." She offers them a hand in a wave as she heads to the bar with her friends. 

"That...was surprising," Russell admits as they move for the door.

"Yeah...I didn't realize anyone actually watched Wyoming football," Katherine hums, passing him as he holds the door for her. Russell rolls his eyes as she passes.

"You know what I meant."

"I did," she chirps in agreement, pulling her jacket tighter. "But Paula's not the type to be a bitch."

Russell hums in agreement. "She might be one of the few women who weren't bullies in high school who ended up in nursing."

"That's a thing?" Katherine asks, and Russell gives her a bewildered look. 

"Ah. I forget you didn't have the typical high school experience."

"Not particularly," she agrees. 

At home is much better. Lounging on the sofa with tangled limbs and comfortable clothes, Jake sleeping at their feet. Patrick must still be at his buddy's.

Russell's fingers comb through and twist her hair, run down and up her back just to do the same lazy, subconscious circuit over and over again, all the while his eyes are glued to the TV, breaking down formations and muttering under his breath about how "the defense is gonna sniff that out before you even snap the ball, buddy." 

"Poor Indiana State," Katherine mutters, gazing at the final score of 52-0. 

"That's three hours of my life I'm not gonna get back," Russell sighs. "All in the name of football."   

Half an hour later, Pat shoulders through the doorway and leans his back against it to close it. Jake is the only one who lifts his head to look at him.

"Have fun?" Russell asks. Patrick hangs his keys on the hook and shrugs out of his jacket, toes his boots off.

"Those were the worst buffalo wings I've had in my whole life."

That earns a "ha!" from Katherine. 

Patrick walks over to the edge of the sofa, Jake's thumping tail growing louder and louder with each step forward. His tail is missing Katherine's socked foot by half an inch.

"Well aren't y'all just so cozy on the sofa," Patrick hums, a small smile pulling at his lips.

His dog, unwilling to leave his spot on the sofa. And his brother...braiding his girlfriend's hair.

He braided Heather's hair all the time, looking forward to the first time he'd be able to braid his own daughter's hair. 

He wonders if that's all he thinks of now when he sees braids. Anna, and how her hair was just barely long enough for one.

There's a photo of their little family in the sun visor of Russell's Bronco. Christmas morning, their last together.

Heather began this tradition when they first started dating and spending holidays together. The first person to wake up would grab the camera, go wake up the other person, and take a picture. No brushing hair, no putting on makeup. 

She was always the first one awake. She'd slide up beside Russell, give him a little shake and sing, "smiiiilleeee," and it was all Russell could do to pull the corners of his mouth up into one.

So the Christmas in this photo, Anna is clinging to Heather with a scrunched-up nose, thick mess of copper hair sticking up every which way on her little head...spare a teeny, tiny braid Russell was able to weave the night before. 

I've been thinking about cutting it.

Russell's fingers stop braiding, and he moves his eyes to her face, though he can't see hers. How come?

My mom once said that hair holds memories...I think more than anything, she just meant it in a symbolic way. Freedom from it all. She pauses for a moment. My best friend growing up was named Gina. She was Native American. We called her great-grandfather Poppa Alfred. He told us people in their culture would cut their hair when a loved one passed, and however much they cut off was meant to represent how much they meant to them. If I was part of their culture, I think I'd only have a couple inches of hair right now.

Russell chuckles, twirling the white-blonde ends of her hair around his fingers. His eyes move all the way up the length, to the freshly-bleached roots. 

I think you'd look pretty with short hair, he says. 

What about the Cynthia doll hair from Rugrats?

Too far.