"That's weird behavior," Machiavelli commented, watching Billy the Pup walk around with Georgette stretched out on his back.

Billy looked up and shrugged. He stretched out his lanky legs on the coffee table. "I don't think he minds. The Pup's getting bigger." They both watched as the puppy flopped over in front of the fireplace. Georgette began grooming the puppy; the husky tried to pull away, but the tabby grabbed him in what could only be called a feline chokehold.

"Strange," Machiavelli echoed, shaking his head.

"I've seen cats do stuff like this before." Billy looked over his shoulder as the backdoor slammed. "Hey, Germain. We got you some danish; it's on the counter."

The Italian twisted around to watch the Fire Master as he grabbed several pastries. "Have you ever seen a cat ride a dog like a horse?" He jerked his head at the pair by the fireplace.

"No," Germain admitted. Machiavelli stuck his tongue out at Billy. "But then I've never had pets before. I move too much," he finished with a happy smile. He bit into the pastry. Flakes flew. Billy turned on the TV.

"We should go horse riding again," Machiavelli said suddenly. He pointed to their pets. "Like Georgette and Billy."

"We could," Billy agreed. "If our guests want to."

"Of course," Machiavelli agreed. He looked at Germain through his long lashes. "Do you like riding horses?" he whispered.

Germain chuckled. "Oh my, yes. I was there in 1519 when the Spanish reintroduced horses to the Americas."

"Were you?" Billy asked. He thumped Germain on the back. "I got my first job cause of you."

"Cowboy?"

"Horse thief."

The two men stared at each other. Germain began to chuckle. "Fair enough. I wasn't always an honest man either. He turned to the Italian. "In answer to your question, I would love to go riding. I'm sure Joan will agree, but you can go ask her, just to be sure."

"Okay," the Italian agreed. He slipped off the couch and pounded out the back door. The screen door slammed behind him, but he stopped, the bright sunlight of the outside world disorienting him.

"Hey, kid!" He looked to his left and grinned. Scathach and Joan were frantically waving to him from the hammock.

He ran up to them. "Can we go horseback riding?" He backpedaled. "Billy says we can as long as you want to go. So can we go?"

Joan smiled down at him. "I would like that." She tugged at Scathach's hand. "It'll be like old times.

~MB~

"This reminds me of when Mac and I went to an amusement park," Billy told Scathach. "I put him," he jerked his head at the Italian, "on a carousel. Every time he came around he'd wave to me."

"He's not waving now," Scathach said, watching Machiavelli walk around the paddock. The Italian was a lot calmer than he had been last time, but was still gripping the reins firmly.

"Ah, he waves with his eyes," Billy said dismissively. He stepped onto the bottom rung of the fence. "I really wish I was taller sometimes."

"So do I," Scathach agreed. She leaned on the fence beside the American. "So why's Joan riding there beside him and not you?"

"Joan offered," Billy said. "And Mac likes her a lot."

"Joan's a good teacher." Scathach briefly watched the two riders in the paddock. "Why don't you ride a horse? Machiavelli is in good hands. And I know you like to ride."

Billy cocked his head. "I might." He waved to the two riders. "Mac? I'm going to ride a little bit. Do you mind?"

Machiavelli paused, tightening the reins in his hand slightly. He cocked his head. "I guess so. You'll be back soon?"

"Of course."

"Okay," the Italian muttered. He waved his hand slightly.

Billy reached out to touch the Italian, but couldn't quite reach. He touched his lips thoughtfully. "I'll be back soon!" He ran up the hill towards the bigger pasture and waved to Black Hawk.

The Native American rode over and dismounted, handing the reins to Billy. "You're going to ride for once?"

"Yeah," Billy whooped. He swung onto the big bay horse and smacked the animal's neck affectionately. "Ready to ride for real?" he asked the horse. He spurred the horse in a quick trot before completely opening up. He let the horse gallop with no particular direction in mind, enjoying the feeling of wind blowing sharp against his lithe body. He let out a wild cheer.

The outlaw could feel the muscles of the horse beneath his legs. They rippled with each burst of energy the horse put forward. The outlaw rode for a while at the quick speed before he let the horse slow to a canter. He turned the horse around and headed back for Black Hawk.

Black Hawk smiled. "You've still got it," he acknowledged.

"Of course," Billy replied. He slid off of the horse and handed the reins back to the muscled man. "I've always loved riding horses."

"And stealing them," Black Hawk retorted.

"Nah, I don't do that anymore," Billy said, ducking his head. "I'm an honest man now, through and through." He thumped his chest and lifted his chin at the other man, defying him to say differently.

But Black Hawk said nothing of the sort. Instead he pointed down to the little corral. "While you were off gallivanting, your kid has rode around the perimeter of that paddock a dozen times."

"Oh yeah," Billy said excitedly. "How's he doing?"

"Seems fine. Why don't you go see him, let me go back to riding?" Black Hawk sounded bored, but Billy didn't notice. He was already running back to where Scathach was watching the Italian's progress. He slid down the incline and hit the fence next to the Shadow with a soft thud.

"How is he?" Billy asked Scathach, straightening his hips out. She motioned with her hand at the boy who was approaching them, Joan in tow.

"I think I'm getting it, Billy!" Machiavelli hollered as he passed the American.

Billy whooped and climbed up the fence, balancing at the top on the fence post. "You're doing great," he called as the Italian went around the paddock again.

Joan pulled off to the side and dismounted. She headed in their direction, leading the horse behind her. "He wanted to go around once more. I'm a bit tired though." She leaned against the fence. "Where's Francis?"

"Oh, he's over there," Billy drawled, pointing towards the barn. "If you can believe it, he and Nicholas are fencing."

"I can believe it," Joan said. They looked over in the direction of the barn where the two Frenchmen were mock sparring. Nicholas had pinned Germain to the side of the barn, but with a quick twist of his wrist, Germain pushed him backwards. "He reminds me of Inigo Montoya," Joan said laughing. "I can't believe I married him."

"Hey, who wouldn't want to marry Mandy Patinkin?" Scathach said, laughing slightly herself.

Billy twisted around to look at the two women. "Inigo Montoya is what women look for in a man?" the American asked with some interest.

"Oh, yeah. Gorgeous, long hair-"

"-A charming accent-"

"-and good with his hands," Scathach called out enthusiastically.

Billy frowned. "By your definition, I'm the lowest of the low."

"Oh no, Billy, you're just a different type of handsome," Scathach told him, but Billy wasn't listening. The American had sat up ramrod straight before swinging his leg over the rail and dropping into the paddock. He took off running.

The two women looked in the direction that Billy was running and immediately sprang into action. The horse that Machiavelli had been riding on was now galloping towards the far end of the paddock. The Italian was lying on the ground.