"Ah. Hmm. Then we might want to get you a smaller horse," Amos mused. And perhaps not a stallion, who was mild-mannered now but might not be when he came across a mare. Amos wrinkled his nose briefly at the thought and reached up to scratch under the horse's mane. "Jess so it'll be easier for ya, sugar."

The sweet-name was habit, as his New Orleans accent evidenced, and he meant nothing by it. His grin was friendly as he added, "I could look around for ya, if you wanted. Or not, up to you."