All Reese can do is quietly come to the mental conclusion that, were they in L.A., one would never be able to drag her to a place like this - apart from the possibility of an on-going investigation, of course. But considering that this is supposed to be her spontaneous choice of a vacation, she's trying to keep an open mind.

(Even if the itch to drive had made it nearly impossible to concentrate on what Raylan had been talking about the entire time.)

She squints behind her shades, peering down the line-up, her gaze honing in more on colors and numbers rather than horses and jockeys. Her eyes eventually follow where Raylan's hand indicates.

"You're the expert," she admits - here, she's not going to deny that she's the one assuming the role of fish-out-of-water - lips pinching together in what could either be a thin smile or an unconscious facial tic.