This was one of the things he most appreciated about Marta. She was a woman running a ranch on her own, a businesswoman. It was no small challenge she'd risen too. The news didn't balk her or queue any shifty emotional response. No, Marta was just as formidable as many of the men he spent his days hunting. All of that, and she still had the heart to sweet on his horse while he took care of the carcass.
"Sport kill," he commented quietly when she scrutinized the wound. "My favorite people." A small smile ticked at the corner of his mouth through the burl of his scruff.
He nodded thanks at the offer of the leather, busying himself with tying the doe's hind legs while Marta tended to Bertha. By the time she brought her horse around, the deer was strung up over a tree limb beside the smokehouse. His horse stamped expectantly when Bear mounted back up. "The usual then? I watch you be diplomatic?" From a distance, because a bounty man up close never led to friendly exchanges with wayward sorts. A warmer smile broke in earnest then, partially obscured when he bent his head to check the chamber of his rifle. It was a routine that had worked well countless times before; good cop, bad cop.