Irene looked at Sam, surprised by his tone.  "Oh, I have desires...and hankerin's, Sam.  Or at least one," she added, giving him a long, meaningful look.  "But, I need sustenance to keep up with you."  She gave him a wink and led the way down the hill towards town.<br/><br/>There was no sign of the man who'd been shot, now.  She was glad.  When they were alive, you could imagine any evil possible in their wicked minds.  But, when they were dead, when they were just the shell of a person, you were reminded that they were someone's son, an innocent child at one time.<br/><br/>She felt a wicked chill up her spine and moved her head, pulling up one shoulder to help dispell the chill.  She'd left her hat in the room.  Un daunted, she led Sam down the road and to the tea house.<br/><br/>"Don't fret, Sam.  It's not like a fancy-pants sort of place.  This is the wild west, after all."  A slate outside the door pronounced that they were serving chicken sandwiches, chicken pot pie and coq au vin.  She looked over at Sam.  "They have chicken," she said, grinning.<br/><br/>Inside, tables were scattered about the room not unlike the saloon.  Here, the floor was varnished and swept clean.  The dishes, while chipped and worn, were also clean and the wine was served in cut crystal goblets.  The proprietor was a French man who'd thought to make his millions in the gold fields, was robbed en route, and wound up here knowing only how to cook.  He said that he'd been a chef in a royal house, but most people didn't even care.  He was rough in his speech, but cooked good enough that he made plenty of money.<br/><br/>The proprietor's roommate came to lead them to a table, his brown eyes assessing Sam, while he talked to Irene of her work.<br/><br/>"I'm sort of out of that line of work, now, Louis," she said, giving him her hand.<br/><br/>Louis smiled, kissed her hand and hurried off once he'd settled them at their table.<br/><br/>Irene smiled once more.  "I suspect champagne will be forthcoming."