Louise
Lou sits as tall as any man does in a saddle. She can shoot and fight as good as the rest of us. She's spunky, loyal, and caring. She's also puny, but spry. All are admirable qualities a man likes to have in a friend.
It wasn't until that day in Emma's kitchen that we all saw her as a woman for the first time. Well, all of us, except kid. Something tells me he had already had the privilege of seeing Lou in a dress.
She was downright pretty. Her short, dark hair was oddly becoming, leaving her scrubbed face clear for our perusal. Her skin was rosy hued and flawless without the layer of trail dust it usually caked on it most of the time. Without the wire rimmed glasses to hide them, Lou's eyes were large and the color of aged whiskey.
The pink and white striped dress she wore suited her coloring, and shaped her small frame nicely. I don't know if the other fellows took notice or not, but Lou had curves in all the right places. I don't know about the others, but I'm never going to think of Lou as anything other than a woman from here on out, regardless of what kind of clothing she's wearing.
