Who: Nate and Hagar When: December 26th, late afternoon Where: Trading post Why: Trading, old habits, conversations (now rated R)
Nothing traveled quicker than rumor in the Locks and talk of new arrivals always drew Hagar's ear. It paid to know who to avoid, who to befriend and whether there was anything to lose by approaching a stranger on the open road, where Lot's influence might not be enough to protect her. There had been a dearth of good gossip when Nate rode into town – according to the grapevine a little worse for wear than when he'd left the Locks – and yet the information seemed to precede the man.
Hagar had gone by trading post twice since she'd heard, only to find no sign of Nate anywhere. His horses and van were sighted, so clearly he hadn't taken off as soon as he arrived. (Some did, either because Saga's people ran them off or because they fretted at the sight of so many people in one place.) It was until her third attempt that she caught wind of Nate's visit to the Doc. He must have gotten bruised up good to ask for help.
She gave it another day before she put that theory to test. She needn't have worried; on her fourth visit, Nate was at his post, looking at once aloof and strangely eager to do business. If not for his bandaged arm, it would've been hard to know why he looked so grim.
"If ever there was a cat that landed on its feet," Hagar greeted, hands at her hips and the late afternoon gales eddying around her. "Christ, boy, heard you ran afoul of some poor idiots… now I'm starting to think maybe they ran afoul of you. You get your hand caught in a bear trap again?"