"Not getting shot at is a good thing." Bohannon was mostly joking, he didn't want to worry her. But it wasn't as if he got hit very often. Not before he put a hole in whoever was doing the shooting. He could tell she was already nervous, there was no need to make it worse.
When she answered, he nobbled over to the kitchen. It was the one part of the apartment, aside from the spare bedrooms, that he hadn't changed. But he was strictly a french press sort of man. Setting his cane to one side he set to preparing the brew. "Ain't we done this before? Seems I can remember sitting at a table with you, from before." Maybe it was just a dream. Though this whole place had seemed like a dream when he'd found himself back in Cheyenne, Mormon's shooting up the place.