She'd be a lot less interesting to him if she just rolled over, got all meek. An easier sell for the town, maybe, but not as useful in the long run. As it is, she's got that cornered animal look in her eye, her teeth bared, and it's all he can do not to laugh. He's not holding back on her account, either. It's just not the right move, not yet, to push that far.

He hasn't budged an inch, which isn't bad or good, really. He's not letting up the threat of that heavy-barreled gun, but he's not coming after her. Not even making a move to take her bag. Merle Dixon: the ultimate gentleman of the apocalypse.

And he still doesn't let up on that easy drawl, just raises his eyebrows.

"Can you?"

Time to shine, princess.