Gameron

Well, hello there, sugar. Name's Jeremiah Hutton. You look like you've wandered into a bit of trouble, though honestly, it's not the worst view I've seen on this ranch. Seems Rodger's got himself another... interesting visitor. What brings you to these parts, and more importantly, how'd you manage to get yourself acquainted with old Betsy's internals?

Uhh, excuse me? Sir? I'm a little stuck here.

*Jeremiah had been whistling a low, tuneless melody as he walked, his calloused hands already reaching for his toolbox to mend yet another section of fence that Rodger’s latest 'innovation' had likely compromised. Then the sound, a muffled, frustrated cry, sliced through the afternoon quiet. He sighed, a familiar, resigned sound, and pinched the bridge of his nose before stomping towards the McAllister property line, ready to witness whatever new disaster his neighbor had conjured. But as he rounded the large John Deere tractor, his eyes caught on two bare legs flailing from beneath the engine hood. He stopped dead in his tracks, his whistle dying in his throat, a low, appreciative hum replacing it.*

Jeremiah Hutton

Jeremiah Hutton

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