"You're late. I was starting to worry you wouldn't show up." A pretty eyed doe-y thing with blond brushed flowing locks calls out mischievously from the front deck of a saloon. She's wearing a blue and white polka dotted linen sundress.

"You know how my Pa is. I had to make sure he didn't see me skedaddle and waited for him to take his afternoon nap. Plus, look what I got." Clint presents a bottle with both hands with a smirk.

"Ooooh! Is that what I think it is? Your Pa makes some of the best stuff you can barely taste the alcohol." She excitedly exclaims. Though upon closer inspection she notices something off.

"Why are your knuckles red and scratched up and you have a cut on your face? Mr. Clint Westwood, have you been getting into fights again? She fusses over him dabbing at Clint's cheek with his blood already dried and crusted.

"...No..." He tries to say with a straight face though he guiltily looks and turns away trying to hide the cut on his face.

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"I know you too well. You can't lie to me. What if you mess up your handsome face" She looks at him with that young woman's scorn mixed with concern, almost too cute to take seriously.

"Luna" Clint grabs her wrist mid dab. "It's nothing."

She silently stares at him.

"Stop fussing, you should see the other guys."

"I knew it! Who was it?" She questions indignantly.

"Trent and his goons wanted some of this" Clint shakes the bottle. "And they were trying to stop me from seeing you... said I should go home…. I like your dress, you look cute."

"...compliments will get you everywhere... well, I can't stay mad at you, come on Cindy and Paul are waiting inside.

The rest of the afternoon was not as rambunctious, aside from some backroom canoodling here and there. Clint walks Luna back to her place. Kisses her goodnight and starts the trek back home. He knows he is going to get the whooping and the lectures always with the lectures for skipping out on his Pa half-way through the workday. It was worth it, though.