Oh, ain't she a sight for sore eyes when she smiles? Rodeo watches Lita hold up the bullet in her bloody forceps, red splashed across her chest, and he's pretty sure he visibly gulps. Because he shouldn't be getting all worked up like this, especially not here and now. Wheeler is bleeding and possibly dying and he's got work to do here and this ain't the time to be settin' his sights on a prize, not even one as fine as this. But maybe he should have expected something like this. His life is nothing but an ever-increasing series of complications. Finding himself hot for a class-act lady doctor would just be the latest hitch, and certainly not the last.
The blood loss seems to take the steam out of Wheeler some, and Rodeo doesn't have to hold down so hard on the man's shoulders. He eases up, but he's ready just in case the man tries fighting Lita off again. He straightens up a little, shaking his hair back from his face and looking to Lita.
"S'no problem, darlin'," Rodeo says in response to her thanks. "Couldn't just let him bust up a mug as nice as yours. You start catchin' punches and you'll wind up lookin' like me." At that he grins rakishly, because despite the self-deprecating nature of the joke, he knows his own mug ain't all that bad.
"Anyway, coulda just told 'em you had to fight it out with a varmint from the subways or somethin'. Reckon folks'd believe it. Bet you know how to throw a pretty good punch," Rodeo says, narrowing his eyes at Lita slightly as she works. His troublemaking smirk is starting to return to him, playfulness creeping back into his demeanor, as if he's under the impression that Wheeler's gonna be fine now that the bullet is out. "You ever been in a brawl before, baby?"