<div class="floatleft">(http://i247.photobucket.com/albums/gg157/onilobo/Clint2_zpseedf516a.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span class="bbc_u">Clint "Cowboy" Forge</span></span><br/><span class="bbc_u">Location</span>En route to The Rusty Spur Saloon<br/><span class="bbc_u">Date &amp; Time</span>- April 15th 2006 10:20pm<br/><span class="bbc_u">Tag</span>- Blair<br/><hr/><hr/><br/>"It's home away from home, they even have Shiner Bock and St. Arnold on tap!" He shared, that fading Texan drawl surfaced when he talked about the beers and the bar that reminded him of home. There was a smile on his face, no offense was taken when she joked about getting tetanus. "You really have a knack for making checks your tight little ass can't catch, don'cha doll?" Clint teased as the got onto the open road. The truck was sifted into top gear and his booted foot bottomed out the gas. The truck was not meant nor designed for racing but it was hauling ass down towards the bar.<br/><br/>"So you do have a pair of boots? I haven't been in your closet...give me some details on what I might find in there." Clint asked as he slid his hand over and placed it on her knee. The rough calloused hands did not linger in one place for long. As the taillights became headlights, his hand moved up the inside of her thigh, his eyes on the road but that hand knew what it was doing.