I've often held the theory that beautiful women get sick of men asking them out and hitting on them. That was until I talked to a beautiful woman who informed me that the opposite is true. Most men mistakenly think as I once did, and will not ask her out, because they presume she is asked all of the time.

In fact, she admittedly told me, is that most men are cowards and that cowardice alone is enough reason not to go out with them. The worst part, she said, is that the men she feels that little tinge for, and the ones she secretly urges to ask her out never will, and in the end they will both lose. She is an old-fashioned woman who still holds firm that men should pursue and that she is worth the effort of the pursuit and sadly many good men missed hearing a yes from her perfectly shaped lips.

I never fashioned myself a coward even in the worst of circumstances and as I have often been reminded I am not a fan of change for change sake.

They stood on the right shoulder. The Ferg's big smile that he flashes more frequently as he soaks in the clues and puts them together. Vic's left leg jutted out, her arms folded across her chest, Ray-Ban's perfectly perched, and her blonde locks pulled back in a ponytail that goes just past her collar.

"Hey," I say, my lips don't quite part but there is a hint of a smile. I make sure of that.

"Hey," she says back and there is a more obvious smile with her lips closed

My open hand flops over as my thumb points to the wrecked out SUV, "Waiting on the tow truck?" I even up to her.

Ferg looks over, back at his posse box, "Yeah, the original eta was 20 minutes. I'm gonna finish the inventory search."

"Ferg, I can help you with that." She says like she really means it.

He smiles, "I got it, Vic," and walks over to the ditch to the wrecked pile of metal.

"Vic," she looks at me at the sound of her name, "Would you like to go out with me Friday night?

She doesn't bat an eye but it almost looks like she has relief on her face, "It depends. What did you have in mind?"

This is the part where the beautiful woman who gave me advice told me that even the most interesting men fail. They fail to plan because they put all of their energy in the asking and not the planning.

"George Strait concert in Cheyenne. He's making his way back to Texas for his farewell tour. It's now or never to see the King."

"Wow, Walt, he's pretty much the only country guy I can stand."

I smile a little broader, "I caught you listening to Luke Bryan last week."

Her smile matches mine, "No, you caught me staring at his tight fucking jeans."

My lips close and I wait because she's making me wait for an answer.

"Sounds like fun."

Ferg makes his way toward us as the tow truck slows down behind our patrol vehicles.

"Just in time. Paperwork is done."

I turn to Vic, "I'll fill you in on the details later. Ok."

"k" and she turns back as if nothing happened.

I hang my hat and coat in the back room at Henry's and join him in the kitchen after washing my hands.

"You must be starving. You cannot wait for me?"

"I am but it's your help I need right now."

"What is wrong?" He doesn't stop mixing the corned beef hash on the grill.

"I need to get some concert tickets and book a couple of hotel rooms but I need to use your computer."

"You cannot use the computer at the station?" Now he's fishing without really casting his line.

"Nope."

"Ok, you can use my office."

"Thanks, but I haven't stayed in Cheyenne in a long time. You got any hotel recommendations?"

He scoops the hash off of the grill and onto a plate which he slides in front of me.

Surprised, "Thanks, Henry. This looks good."

"It is good."

I take a big forkful and the tasty delight melts in my mouth, just enough salt with perfectly soft potatoes to balance it out.

"What is going on, Walt?"

"I asked Vic out and she said yes. I was planning on taking her to see the King on Friday night in Cheyenne but now I have to get tickets and a couple of hotel rooms."

"A couple of rooms." His eyebrow arches up and his world class smile illuminates his perfectly shaped cheek bones.

"Yup."

"Always the gentleman your mother raised you to be."

"Cut it out."

Henry gets the last laugh, "Come on, nothing has changed in 39 years, I will come to your rescue yet again. I am relieved that you are finally living again."

I carry my plate of delectable into the office behind him, "So, Walt, we are celebrating 40 years of friendship next year, are you planning on taking me anywhere? I will tell you now that I will settle for nothing less than a 5-star luxury resort with a view."

My eyes look at him solidly, I don't flinch, "You know Henry if that did it for me I would be the happiest man on earth."

His laugh bellows and I join in as our voices bounce off of the walls. It's been a very long time since we laughed like this and it feels good.

A few minutes and several hundred dollars later my date with Vic was set.

The next few days we carried on like business as usual and it was easy because our usual is always full of casual flirting.

Dorothy places two plates of the special in front of us, biscuits and gravy this morning, and Vic slides her fork through the tender flakey dough, "So, you gonna fill me in on the details or am I going to have to fucking guess?"

I raise my eyebrow and for a moment watch her squirm. I want to trade places with the biscuit on her plate.

"Figure we will leave at high noon, have dinner, enjoy the show…..she cut me off before I could finish like she was anxious.

"Are we driving all the way back home? Walt, that's like a five hour drive each way."

"We can stay if you want." Our eyes are fixed and the butterflies that live in my stomach have come alive and are swarming. Looking at her, I can feel my heart race, and I know she feels it too. I don't have to ask. I just know it as sure as I know the sun rises in the east.

"Umm, well, I….." she mutters and this time I interrupt.

"We have reservations, two rooms, so we are good there."

She looks away then back at me, the words at the back of her throat, fighting to come out.

"Vic," the end of my fingers touch the edge of hers, "You know you're safe with me, right?" It's a statement really, not a question.

She nods her head.

"We will never have a room 32." I say it like I mean it because I do.

Her eyes sharpen as she focuses on me. My fork is down on my plate. Her fingers lift up and back away from my hand.

"I know." Her head drops down.

"Hey."

She looks at me, the hurt evident, in her eyes but there's resolve there, too.

"Walt, you don't need to say anything."

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know. You're not just a good time." Her voice is soft as if we are discussing a murder case.

My voice is low, matching her softness, but making sure she hears me, "I wanna be a lifetime."

Our eyes meet again, and then they go back down to the business at hand, finishing our biscuits and gravy.


The inclement weather changed family plans which left me with a few hours to think Longmire. Fair warning, I can't say when I will be able to write additional chapters, but I will. So, thank you in advance for your reviews and your patience. #LongLiveLongmire