A/n - this story was written after Season 3 finale. Season 4 was not yet released. Its a stand alone story and I hope you like it.
Chapter 1
Sheriff Walt Longmire was getting ready to go home. It had been a quiet day in the Absaroka County Sheriff's Office and he had been grateful for that. Things had been extra busy ever since they had lost Branch Connally a few months earlier.
Branch had resigned shortly after shooting his father in self-defense after Barlow had tried to kill him. Naturally, it had hit him hard. Branch had been traumatized enough having being shot by David Ridges. Having to deal with his friends and family thinking he was going crazy and then having to kill his father had taken its toll. Walt actually felt sorry for the young deputy. That fateful night, Barlow had managed to wing Branch with shotgun pellets, but the younger Connally had reacted a fraction quicker and had blasted his father in the chest, killing him instantly. It was a horrific experience for the young deputy. He was still having difficulty sleeping and dealing with everything that had happened.
Walt had been on his way to see Jacob Nighthorse when he had heard the shots echo through the valley. He had planned to exact his revenge on Jacob Nighthorse who he was convinced had been responsible for his wife's death, but Branch's panicked call to him over the radio following the shooting had stopped him from committing what would have been career suicide, not to mention a huge mistake. Walt was grateful that Branch's personal tragedy had stopped him from doing something he would have soon come to regret. But he was deeply sorry when he considered the price the young man had been forced to pay.
Following an official interview with Branch after the shooting, Walt was shocked to discover that Barlow Connally was ultimately responsible for the death of his beloved Martha. He found it difficult to understand why and struggled with the fact that Jacob Nighthorse appeared innocent, but he would never truly understand the motives behind her death. Her murder was the definition of senseless. As a result, Branch wasn't the only one struggling. It was taking Walt a little time to deal with the fall out as well.
Having been the subject of a federal investigation and cleared of any wrong-doing, Branch had inherited his father's fortune and was working each day to put his life back together. He had decided to try and do some good with his inheritance instead of wreaking havoc on the environment like his father used to. As he came to terms with the eruption of his life, he and Cady had also re-ignited their relationship.
For Walt, it was a strange situation. His daughter was seeing the son of the man who murdered her mother. He hoped that someday he could get that depiction out of his mind and be happy for them. After all, it wasn't Branch's doing. He, too, was an injured party in all this. Walt knew he should not blame his former deputy for what his father did. Slowly, Walt was coming to terms with the fact that his beloved daughter had a new man in her life and his role too was changing. So much was changing.
However, Walt was doing his best to keep as much normality in his life as he could. He got up and went to work every morning and stuck to his routine as much as he could. It was the only way he could get through each day. And to add to the pressure he was under, he was now a deputy short. Vic and Ruby had been on his back to replace Branch for weeks now so he had finally lined up a few candidates for interview for the following day.
"I'm off," he said to Ruby as he reached for his hat and coat from the coat stand.
"Don't forget, first candidate is at 9.30 in the morning," she reminded him. "Don't be late."
He smiled at her.
"I'll be here, Ruby," he replied in his deep, dulcet tone.
He headed down the stairs and outside. Dusk was descending. He climbed into his Bronco and drove home to his remote log cabin in the valley. He threw his hat on the side board, removed his gun and holster, cracked open a can of Rainier from the fridge and took a large, well-earned mouthful. He put a match to the log fire which he had left set in the fireplace before he had left for work that morning. The evenings were growing colder now as winter closed in and the open fire warmed the cabin.
He found he missed Martha more those long, dark evenings. He missed her welcoming him home with a cooked meal and the fire already glowing. He missed their conversations, her smile and her sense of humor. Mostly, he missed her warmth in their bed at night. He found that ever since he had decided to let her go, to accept her loss, he missed her even more.
He had managed to keep his feelings for Vic in check for the last few months. There was no denying he had affections for her, but he felt nothing but guilt for feeling them. He still felt as though he was betraying Martha. He knew Vic reciprocated his feelings, but neither of them had acted on them. Even now after Sean and Vic had divorced, Walt and Vic were tip-toeing around their feelings. Walt knew he wasn't ready and Vic sensed that was the case.
He sat in front of the fire, which was now crackling, and relaxed as night fell. He fell asleep in the chair in front of the fire as he often did and woke after midnight with a start. The embers of the fire glowed in the hearth. He stood and sloped off to his bedroom, removed his jeans and shirt and fell into his bed, grateful for the comfort it offered.
He woke at his usual time the next morning and looked out across the valley. It was a sharp, cold morning with a light frost glistening on the grass, but the sky was clear. It was a perfect morning for a ride. He made coffee, poured it into a Thermos, pulled on his sheepskin jacket, grabbed his rifle and headed down to the barn in which his horse was stabled. He saddled him up, put his Thermos in the saddle bag, slid his rifle into its sheath and mounted.
He headed out at a canter across the plain towards the foothills like he did most mornings. He found the ride cleared his head and lifted the weight of the world from his shoulders. It was the only therapy he needed. Sometimes he rode up to where he had scattered Martha's ashes just to feel close to her for a little while.
This was one of those mornings. He had a couple of hours to kill before he was due at the office. He felt alive and free as he cantered up the hill and into the woods, savoring the fresh, crisp morning air. He reached the higher plain where he had scattered her ashes and looked around and paused to remember the intimate times he and his wife had shared up there.
He dismounted and poured some coffee. He sat on the grass and talked to her for a short while as if she was there. He told her what was on his mind, about his confusion in relation to Vic and his mixed feelings about their daughter's new relationship. As the sun rose higher in the morning sky, he checked his watch and decided that it was time to make his way back to make sure he was on time for his first interview of the morning. He emptied his coffee cup into the grass, closed up the Thermos and remounted. This time he galloped across the plain until he reached the line of pine trees. He slowed his horse to an easy walk as they navigated through the narrow tree-lined path.
As they rounded a large rocky outcrop, a teenage boy stepped into their path, giving both Walt and his horse a start.
"Woah," Walt said, gathering the reins as the horse skittered. "Easy boy."
"Hey, Mister," the kid said casually.
"Hey, yourself," Walt said curious as to what this kid was doing out there. "You alone out here?" he asked glancing around.
"Nah, my Mom is back at our campsite," he told him.
"Oh. Okay. Well, it isn't safe for a kid to be out alone in these parts," Walt told him. "There are bears and wolves around. What's your name?" Walt asked.
"Derek," the kid replied. He looked over Walt's shoulder at something higher up in the rocks and smiled an unsettling smile. Walt turned slightly in his saddle to see what the kid was looking at.
That was when a single shot rang out. It felt like a sledgehammer had hit Walt in the back as the bullet struck and he slumped forward against his horse's neck. The horse was startled by the sound and bolted. Walt managed to cling on for a few meters, but was thrown as the horse suddenly turned to the left. He landed with a thump on the rocky ground and blacked out momentarily.
When he came to, he found himself lying on his back, staring up at the tree canopy desperately trying to get oxygen into his lungs. It hurt like hell to breathe and he knew his lung had been hit. As he lay there the boy stepped into his line of vision once more and smiled down at him with a twisted grin.
"Derek Gilbert," he said, making sure Walt knew who he was. "And the crack shot who just killed you, Sheriff, is my mom, Ida. You might remember her…and my dad, Chance, the man you murdered."
The name registered with Walt immediately. Chance Gilbert was the survivalist who had kidnapped Vic and Sean several months back. He cursed himself for not recognizing the boy. His mom came down from the rocks where she had been hiding and stood over Walt. She waved the barrel of her rifle at his face and looked him straight in the eyes.
"What do you think, Derek? Between the eyes?" she asked menacingly.
"Do it, Mom," the kid replied enthusiastically.
"You know, finishing him off would be too kind, Son. He deserves to suffer and die out here like the dog he is," she said cruelly laughing at Walt's attempts to draw air into his lungs.
She knelt down and checked his pockets for a cell phone and weapons. No cell phone, but she took his .45 and his knife and threw them out of reach.
"See you in hell, Sheriff," she said as she and her son turned and walked away, leaving him to die in the dirt.
Walt coughed as blood filled his throat. He knew he had to get off his back if he was to ensure he didn't choke. He rolled onto his injured side and coughed again, this time expelling quite a bit of blood from his trachea. The movement was agonizing and he was close to passing out, but he knew if he did, he wasn't going to wake up.
He managed to drag himself to the nearest tree and sat and leaned against it. With trembling hands, he gingerly opened his heavy jacket and pulled up his shirt to reveal an ugly looking exit wound just below his rib cage. It was bleeding heavily and he knew his priority had to be to stop that. He noticed his knife laying in the dirt a few meters away and wondered if he could get to it.
Pressing his right hand tightly into the wound, he used his left had to slowly drag himself on his side along the dirt path towards his knife. After several agonizing minutes he was within arm's reach of it. He made one last grab for it before collapsing on his side gasping for breath. It took several minutes to recover enough from the exertion to be able to sit back up and lean back against a fallen log. His vision was blurring and he knew it was likely he would lose consciousness soon.
He used his knife to cut a piece of cloth from his shirt. Then using the cleanest piece of the cloth he packed it into the open wound. The pain was excruciating and it brought black spots before his eyes. He squeezed them closed momentarily until the pain eased. Then he rooted in his inside jacket pocket and came out with a book of matches. He peeled some dried moss and peeling bark from the log he was leaning against and picked some twigs and pine cones from within arm's reach and used them to start a small fire.
Once there was a flame, he held the blade of his knife over the flame until it glowed hot. Then, taking as deep a breath as his wounded body would allow, he pressed the red hot metal against the wound and screamed aloud as it sizzled on his skin, cauterizing the wound. Then his peripheral vision began closing in. He slumped to one side unconscious.
A/n - hope you like the first chapter. Feedback always welcome.