"Roped a poor wild one in, didja?" Rafe asked with a grin. "Not used to the halter? Don't break his spirit now." He clapped a hand to John's back, the sort that looked strong but was oddly warm because of the way Rafe left his hand there as he turned to Dexter, eyes wide with faux innocence.

"No? Who's this? Someone I oughta be rememberin'?"

"Now that's just cruel," Dexter grumbled. "It's a blow to a man's ego, that's what it is. I think I should demand compensation."

"Get in line, pretty-boy," Rafe shot back. "Everybody asks for compensation. You'da think the world owed y'all somethin'."

He didn't sound like he was from the American Midwest, like the cowboy John had once heard talking, but if this was Rafe then he had to be Gabe's brother. Which explained why he was here, if they were helping out the Detective. John stayed quiet, not entirely sure what to do with this new scenario or the teasing, and yet watching with something close to fascination.

"Of course it does," Dexter retorted. "I'm young and handsome. It automatically means I get owed things."

Rafe eyed Dexter critically. "Too pasty," he decided. "I'm handsomer. Right!" He spun on his heel as Dexter spluttered, and pointed at the hall. "Controls're right this way, by the door."

"What door?" John asked uncertainly, and Rafe grinned at him over his shoulder.

"Exactly. Pick a spot, any spot, and let's have some fun."