Rodeo is surprised when Willa reaches up and tucks back his hair. He doesn't show the extent of his surprise on his face, though his brows do lift faintly, but the shock is kind of strong. It's a sweet sort of gesture, and Rodeo hadn't been expecting that from Willa. He might have joked to Teagan about occupying Bishop's ex, might have suggested that he reckons he could scratch Willa's itches for her, but on some things he's all talk and his chances with Willa were definitely over-exaggerated during that conversation. The woman strikes him as being above his charm and too smart to mess with trouble, so for all their flirtation the other times they've crossed paths he doesn't really think she's got an interest. Her brushin' his hair back, it probably don't mean nothin', but give him hope and he'll chase it 'till he's sure there ain't a chance.
Rodeo listens to her instructions, and he pats the chicken on the back and gives a nod. He follows Willa out of the hangar, giving a short whistle that beckons Sweet Melissa to follow, and she sticks to his heels obediently. He gets them a bucket and they head to Willa's new digs, Rodeo still holding the hen who has finally relaxed in his arms.
Still, when it comes time he ain't afraid to do what has to be done. He's fuckin' hungry, after all. He inwardly gives a prayer (from Psalm 23, "You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely your goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.") and does as Willa instructed, tucking the bird under his flannel to bundle it up and then using an unhesitating, sure hand to snap the bird's neck.
"Cold world, but you're gonna be delicious," Rodeo says, taking the ka-bar from his belt. He keeps the blade sharp and clean, so it removes the chicken's head easily so the blood can drain into the bucket. He looks up as Willa comes out with the boiling water, ready to scald the bird for plucking. "She went easy," he informs Willa, as if he's a doctor comforting the family of a dead patient. "I don't feel bad. I ain't had a real chicken dinner in at least six years." The "chicken" they served in Huntsville sure as hell doesn't count. He doesn't believe them sawdust patties and soggy nuggets came from real chickens in the first place. "Still, I ain't never killed nothin' that don't try its hardest to kill me back first."