His southern drawl is thick and warm, and so are his hands, but they're soft when they fall on your shoulders after he throws his brown leather coat over them.

"Are you alrigh', sweetheart? Fucker didn't do too much damage, did he?"

His voice and light blue gaze morphs into one laced with sharp venom as he turns his head to look at your drunken attacker on the ground, knocked out from the knuckle sandwich your knight in... a cowboy hat? had just given him.