"No need to apologize, ma'am," he smiled, lowering his hands slightly but still keeping them raised. "Yours is a just and warm welcome in these parts. More beautiful in the bargain." He gave a sly wink, glancing over at Little John.<br/><br/>Continuing his slow walk forward, Malcolm's eyes kept sweeping this way and that, looking for dogs, other men, anything that would change this meeting for the worse, before lighting back upon Mrs. Winston. "Name's Malcolm Blackwood, ma'am," he introduced himself, tipping his head towards her in a smooth gesture. "You've got a mighty lovely place out here; good stake of land, too."<br/><br/>He approached the porch steps, keeping his eyes simultaneously fixed on her and Little John. "I haven't seen a homestead out in these parts for nigh on three days yonder on the trail. Last place I stayed was the Harding ranch a ways east of here." His left foot rested upon the bottom porch step as he gazed up at her.<br/><br/>"My god, you have the whole Pacific in your eyes, ma'am," Malcolm smiled. "I certainly hope I'm not dead, because that warm cup of coffee sounds like heaven to me and you look the part of an angel. Worse ways to go, I reckon." He crooked a smile at her.<br/><br/>"My coat will do me just fine, but if you've got a fire goin', I'll take advantage of that, by your leave. I won't trouble you none. Be on my way by morning if that's fine." Slowly, politely, watching her hands, he proceeded up the steps, the wood talking back to his heavy boots.<br/><br/>"I'll follow your lead," he smiled, standing just a couple feet away now, her soft features, sea-green eyes, and inviting lips betraying none of her years.<br/><br/>Following her inside, he shed his coat, hanging it up before proceeding across the room to the fireplace, taking off his gloves, and rubbing his hands quickly together. He felt Little John watching him like a loyal dog, his eye never leaving his back.<br/><br/>"I come from Gettysburg, originally, to answer your question from earlier," he squatted down and put his open palms to the flickering flames, grateful for the waves of heat they gave off. "That place is right famous now owin' to the War. Fought in that when I was only fifteen. Carried messages, mostly. But I did fight at Gettysburg for the Union cause. Figure e'ry man has a right to live free, I s'pose. E'ry woman, too, e'en if we ain't there yet."<br/><br/>Malcolm stared deeply into the flames, as though he was beholding the devastation and carnage of the Civil War, and all the strife, struggle, and suffering before and since in human history. His expression took on the ages for a moment, before relaxing.<br/><br/>"Anyway, seems like people always find somethin' to fight over, somewhere," he frowned. Without turning around or looking up, he asked the question that was lingering on his lips since the moment he saw her:<br/><br/>"Where's Mr. Winston, ma'am?"