[ The corner of his mouth quirks upward as his hat threatens to tip down in front of her face, even as he tries to maintain that flat, innocent look. He leans back, tipping the chair slightly on its back two legs, his arm resting on the back of his chair as she regards him. ]

Now you're just slingin' mud. Those are patent falsehoods, Emma Cullen. Bald-faced lies.

And I certainly don't see you treatin' any other folks the way you treat me. It's on account of my open, trustin' face, ain't it? Makes you think you can take such terrible advantage of my good nature.