Bitterroot Valley good, honest snake oil

He would remember that. Being called pretty boy, by her. It plumed a pinkish warmth, within him. Gave a confidence to his step that he was not so sure had been carried beforehand. And as he led them, he would cast her a sidelong glance, corners of his lips tugging further upwards as they went.
Barrett did not want this to end.

But it must, as all things did, and such weighed heavy like a stone within his chest. He knew, though, that with a new dawn, a new day, he could resume his place next to her, and maybe that was all he needed.
A sense of hope.

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