"Good," Jim praises, peering over Katherine's shoulder at the polishing work she's doing on bits and bridles and various other pieces of tack. He grins, ruffling her hair, snickering a bit as she looks up to glare at him.

(There's much too much affection in her expression to pull off a respectable 'menacing look'.)

After a time, she sets her rag down and hops up, heading into the main way to retrieve the reins she'd left near Beaut's stall. As she passes the feed room she stops, backs up a few steps, and stares.

"...Jim?"

He pokes his head out from the tack room. "What is it?"