[[ lexington, kentucky ]]

[itwasjustified]

[ "you brought me breakfast." ]

After a morning spent wandering the International Museum of the Horse, Raylan has soaked in more than he ever forgot about the history and role of the horse in modern civilization.

He can also rattle off the last dozen Derby winners in chronological and alphabetical orders now -- something he cheerfully subjects Reese to during the drive to Keeneland.

It's all gently rolling meadows, green grass, and picturesque white fences as they near the track; once Raylan pulls into the entrance and joins the long line of vehicles inching toward the designated parking lots, he fights the urge to (mis)use his badge to cut to the front.

Patience wins out, and fifteen minutes later, they're strolling through the main gate. The paddock is a smorgasbord of old money, new money, and laughing college students. Amid the riot of summery dresses, skinny jeans, seersucker, three-piece suits, and every fashion statement in between, Raylan directs Dani's attention to a pocket of grooms, owners, trainers and jockeys. A moment later, a bay trots out on a lead, sporting a cardinal-red blanket emblazoned with the number 11 in white stitching.

"Think that one looks like a champion?"

Comments

[notenlightened]

For the most part, Reese remains a calm, passive observer, the expression on her face barely changing as the horses spring from the gate, thundering past in a rumbling of hooves.

She keeps her eyes on the blue-and-gold, fingers barely tightening on her lemonade.

[itwasjustified]

"Oh, c'mon," Raylan says, mostly under his breath.

"C'mon, c'mon -- "

Noise from the crowd swells as the horses approach the final turn, and Dingoes for Breakfast cuts closer to the rail, nosing past the horses in third and second place.

Seconds later, Reese's horse is vying for the lead, streaking toward what's sure to be a photo-finish.

[notenlightened]

The excitement of the crowd is audible, palpable. A man next to her crumples the racing guide in his fist, the paper crackling loud in her right ear.

Calmly, Reese takes another sip of her lemonade, squinting slightly toward the finish.

It's too close to tell; she can barely make out the sight of her bet amongst other the other horses just behind.

[itwasjustified]

Raylan's eyes are narrowed, but there's no way to tell which horse nabs the lead.

A minute passes, then two, and the announcer's voice booms over the babbling crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen -- "

The last few lengths of the race are replayed on the giant screen mounted in the greenspace in center of the track.

"It's Dingoes for Breakfast by a nose!"

[notenlightened]

It's plainly obvious by this point that Reese isn't the type to get easily excited - and hard to decipher a squint between a brief smile.

"I won," she murmurs, in completely even tones.

[itwasjustified]

Crowd reaction is mixed; a handful of groans are heard, along with a chorus of ohmigods from a group of what looks like sorority sisters.

"You are remarkably collected for a woman who's just gotten considerable returns on an eight-to-one bet to win."

[notenlightened]

Reese is too busy trying to hear him over the squeals and other high-pitched exclamations from said sorority sisters to even realize what she's heard, exactly.

"Takes more than that to get me excited," she explains, with a half-shrug.

[itwasjustified]

"That is beggin' for a remark I refuse to make," Raylan says, and gently bumps Reese's arm with his elbow.

"C'mon, let's collect your winnings, moneybags."

[notenlightened]

She pretends to glare at him through her shades, nudging him in return, and finishes off the rest of her lemonade.

"How much did I win, anyway?"

[itwasjustified]

"Quite a bit," he says as they return to the row of betting windows.

"The teller'll have the final total; it's affected by how many other people bet on the same horse, and if they bet on it to flat-out win, or to win, place, or show, or -- "

He pauses and shakes his head, slightly sheepish.

"It's gonna be around a hundred bucks, probably."

[notenlightened]

That coaxes more out of her in the form of a raised eyebrow.

"Really."

She exhales softly through pursed lips.

"Guess dinner's going to be on me tonight."

[itwasjustified]

He shakes his head as he steps into line behind a man talking too loud on his cell phone.

"Those hard-earned betting dollars are for you and you alone. After draggin' you out here, the least I can do is foot the bill for dinner."

[notenlightened]

She tilts her head (after a well-timed genuine glare in the loud talker's direction).

"Between dinner, breakfast and more dinner, I can do something to return the favor."

[itwasjustified]

A slow smirk steals across his mouth.

"Are you askin' me out, detective?"

[notenlightened]

She bites the inside of her cheek.

"It's possible."

[itwasjustified]

His smile grows.

"It's possible I'm sayin' yes."

[notenlightened]

"Then it's possible you're going to have to let me treat you."

She sets her jaw.

"No buts."

[itwasjustified]

He pretends to consider as they inch closer to the clerk behind the window.

"As long as you accept it's possible I'll be surprisin' you with somethin' more than muffins and coffee for breakfast tomorrow."

[notenlightened]

Now it's down to the man in front of them, still talking loudly on his cell phone. But now, Reese isn't exactly noticing.

"Do I get a hint?"

[itwasjustified]

A pause.

"Waffles."

A beat.

"Not from Waffle House, mind you."

[notenlightened]

She leans in to mutter amidst the loud chatter in front of them in line.

"There's only one reason you take a girl for waffles after a date, you know."

[itwasjustified]

He angles his head, all the better to hear her.

All too innocent, "Is this some L.A. secret you're about to share?"

[notenlightened]

She leans in, and there's just the slightest amount of pressure as she places her hand on his shoulder, lips hovering by his ear under the brim of the Stetson:

"Means she did something to earn 'em."

It's her turn in line, and she steps forward with a satisfied smirk.

[itwasjustified]

Swallowing a surprised chuckle, Raylan clears his throat.

When Reese steps up to the window, he digs the ticket from his pocket and passes it over.

The teller, who had been sending eye-daggers in the obnoxious talker's direction, offers a polite smile as she rings in the slip.

A moment later, she hands Reese a sum that's even more than Raylan ballparked, and Raylan grins.

"I don't feel so bad, now, seein' as how you can certainly afford to feed both of us."

[notenlightened]

The chuckle is more than enough of a signal to let her know her aim was good, though she's quickly distracted by the amount that's pressed into her hand.

"That makes two of us," Reese murmurs, looking over the bills and then discreetly folding them into her back pocket.

"Maybe I'll treat you to waffles."