Part of fighting someone was knowing what they could do. And Texas had taken a brief look at Sabo when she realized he wanted to go a few rounds with York. Sure, she didn't know much about him, but she'd done enough research to know he was a badass motherfucker. So she was expecting great things from him.
Maybe that was why she'd waited. That was why she hadn't reacted to Grey getting char-grilled (that was amusing, she had to admit, it was something she'd taunt him about later).
She wouldn't take the first swing on someone she wasn't positive she could win against, she wanted to see what they had, first.
He reared back. It gave her plenty of time to react. She dropped her gun. He shot his fist forward. It was timed perfectly for her to catch that fist in her hands. It took both hands, but his fist slammed into twin metal gloves and the black Spartan planted her feet-- and all that momentum slammed right into those waiting hands, causing her arms to recoil a bit, and her body to be pushed back a good two or three feet, those heavy boots digging into the ground, tearing up the earth as it struggled to take on the force of a semi slamming into the beast of a woman.
When she finally came to a stop, Tex was still upright, knees bent, leaned forward against the blow that had come, and her feet had dug in a solid six or eight inches into the ground, having been pushed back maybe a total of six or seven feet.
Slowly straightening, the woman shifted her stance and jerked one booted foot from the gouge in the ground, then the next, stepping out and focusing her attention once again onto the blonde man. She had to admit, that was impressive. The only time she'd been knocked back like that was when she had, admittedly, actually been hit by a semi-truck on the highway.