Clementine Williams has never, ever been a subtle person in all the time Junior Deputy Charity Rook has known her. The wild red-head is a phenomenal hand with a shotgun, and her loyalty and friendship are unquestionable. But, still, the last thing Charity expects Clementine to say as they sit drinking a beer together is,
"Lord have mercy, I'd like to climb that man like a tree," while staring at Charity's boss, Sheriff Earl Whitehorse, a man at least fifteen years Clementine's senior, and though the thirty-something year old woman looks young for her age anyway. Charity snorts beer out her nose, chokes, grabs a napkin and wipes both her face and the table where she spilled beer.
"Wh-what?!" she says, incredulous, glancing over at her boss, who is sitting at the bar sipping slowly on a whiskey, neat. He glances over at them, holding one hand up in greeting at Charity.
"Rook," he acknowledges in his dry, deep voice before turning back to watching the bull rider competition on the big screen behind the bar. He, thankfully, ignores the redness of Charity's face and does not glance at Clementine at all where she twirls a fiery red strand of hair around a finger.
"Mmhmm," Clementine says, unashamed as she stares at him lasciviously. "Just look at those wide shoulders. That derriere. Jesus H. Christ."
"Clem. That is my boss. And it's….it's Earl," she says, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper to try to avoid hurting feelings. "He's gotta be at least a decade and a half older than you if not more!"
"Mmm, Daddy, yes," Clementine responds, winking at Charity.
"Oh God," Charity moans, taking a deep, deep swig of her beer.
"I'm going to get me some of that," Clementine informs Charity.
"Oh, Christ, Clem, he still wears his wedding ring. He's not over his wife leaving him. Just leave the poor man alone," she pleads, remembering the fallout from Clementine's last conquest, Adelaide Drubman. Charity would probably never hear the end of that, from either Clem or Hurk. "Clementine, I swear to God. Do not come on to my boss. He's…he's like my dad, he freaking stepped into that role when my dad died and he's basically been my second dad ever since. He comes over for Sunday dinner. He's balding and he just had a heart attack last year, please don't give him another one, and please don't give me my first. Please, please do not, Clem, no, stop, sit back down, goddammit," she trails off, because Clem has slammed the last of her beer and is making a beeline for Earl. Charity covers her lower face with her hand and stares in horror.
"Hey there, Sheriff," Clem practically purrs, sitting down on the stool next to his. He turns to her surveying her for a moment with that kind of quick assessment all law enforcement officers learn to do when approached in any situation. He's still in his sheriff's uniform, though he's off duty. Strictly speaking, they aren't supposed to drink while wearing their uniforms, but who's going to report the sheriff? He sits in his brown felt hat and yellow-tinted aviator glasses, his green sheriff's shirt starched and crisp over a white undershirt that can only be seen because he's undone two buttons now that he's gone 10-42. His gray tac pants are also crisply starched with a fine line running down the middle of each leg, all business. He's been a cop his entire adult life, been sheriff for the past twenty years. He's older, nearly fifty-five now, and he can be grouchy and crotchety, but Charity knows he is infinitely kind and so just that sometimes he lets things slide because, as he has taught her for years, "sometimes you aren't on the wrong side of the law, the law is on the wrong side of right." Earl takes a deep, steadying breath, sitting a little straighter on his barstool and setting down his glass carefully, straightening the napkin beneath it with both hands. His face has gone a little pink, while Charity's has gone fireball red.
"Young lady," Earl says slowly, deliberately, "I believe you have misplaced your hand." Clementine's hand is resting on Earl's backside and Charity wishes she could melt into the booth where she's sitting, or that she could spontaneously combust, or that she could teleport herself out of this bar, but none of those things are possible, so she finishes her beer and watches the train wreck that is watching one of her best friends flirt with her father-figure and boss.
"Have I?" Clem asks. Earl looks at her over the top of his glasses, all business.
"I hope you know that touching a police officer against their consent can be considered assault," Earl says coolly, still staring into Clem's brown eyes with his forest green ones, clearly irritated and uncomfortable. Clem slides her hand off his rear and up to his lower back, but does not remove her hand from his body.
"I guess you'll have to cuff me then," she flirts poorly. Earl clenches his jaw, the look on his face screaming "I'm getting too old for this shit." He wipes his thick, dirty blonde handlebar mustache with a hand and knocks back the last of his whiskey, sighing once he has done so. He turns to face her, which forces her hand off his back.
"I think I'll just cite you for disorderly conduct and call it a night, if it's all the same to you. Rook," he calls, raising his voice a bit. "I think your friend here needs a ride home."
"Come on, now, Sheriff Whitehorse, I'm not trying to harass you, or assault you or play a prank, even. I'm not drunk. I'm friendly. Come on. Let me buy a drink for one of the thin blue lines that separates the little folks like me from calamity and ruin." Earl sighs, giving her side eye for a moment and leaning back wearily on his stool. He considers for a moment, and then holds up two fingers to Gary Fairgrave, who is trying very hard to keep his face neutral as he listens to the interaction around helping his other patrons.
"Rook, another?" Fairgrave asks, leaning on his bar to call to her. Charity, still beet red responds with,
"Tequila, dressed, I'll need a glass and the bottle." Fairgrave snorts, but sends his daughter Mary May over with the drink and a smirk on her face.
"Don't you start your shift at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow, Rook?" Earl asks, a warning tone in his voice. She doesn't, in fact her off days have just started, but Charity can take a hint. She downs two shots of tequila, bites her lime, pays her tab and leaves with her tail between her legs, while still looking extremely relieved at her escape.
"Well, there went my ride," Clementine says softly, hands now both on the glass of whiskey Fairgrave had just sat on the bar in front of her.
"Keep it up and you'll get one in a patrol car," Earl says, resolutely not looking at her, and instead staring at the tv screen as though the Budweiser commercial playing is the most interesting piece of media he's ever seen. She's making him nervous, real nervous. She's not the first uniform-chaser he's ever encountered, hell, it's how he met his ex-wife. He feels that familiar pang of pain in his chest and takes a swig of the whiskey this young woman had ordered for him. He knows it's not wise, but he's tired, and he's lonely, and to hell with turning down perfectly good whiskey. As an elected official, he knows he has to be careful not to offend or overstep, so he's cautious, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't interested. The red-head next to him looks to be about thirty-five, way too young for him, but life's too short to play by the rules, especially with all the cult nonsense he'd been having to deal with lately. He recognizes her as one of the citizens Rook had recommended to help keep an eye out, to help keep people safe from whatever it was the cult was doing. Too many people had disappeared already.
Eyeing her up and down appreciatively, Earl takes in the tailored purple plaid shirt, the khaki cargo pants that squeeze her in all the right places. Her eyes are chocolate brown with gold rings around their edges and her hair is a crimson red that is clearly natural, but so red it looks like she might have dyed it with cherries if it weren't. Her lips are pink and full and smiling, showing a beautiful set of teeth. So, not an addict then, he concludes, cop senses never turning off. Her apple cheeks are dusted with freckles and her skin is porcelain pale, but still glowing as though burnished gold is sitting just beneath it. She's beautiful, he will admit that. Which is why her interest baffles him utterly. Uniform or not, he's old, wrinkled, and sports the beginnings of a small beer belly over his solid, muscular frame. But the way she looks at them with those brown eyes, my god, it's sinful. He looks away, taking another sip of whiskey that warms in his belly.
"Do you like what you see, Sheriff?" she asks, point-blank.
"I think you know what most men's answer is to that question, young lady," he says, trying to remain neutral while not giving offense.
"'Young lady,'" she chuckles. "Not so young. Not so much a lady," she purrs, and there's that hand again, this time on his thigh. He glances down at it, but says nothing. For now. It's fortunate he doesn't, because she removes it almost immediately, holding it out this time, offering it to him to shake. "My name's Clementine. Clementine Williams." Reluctantly, he takes her hand, shakes it briefly, but she holds it, her grip warm and soft.
"Earl Whitehorse," he purrs, still cautious, but he doesn't yank his hand away.
"I already knew who you are. I voted for you. And, of course, I'm friends with Rook." He grimaces as she releases his hand at the end of this statement. His junior deputy might as well be his daughter the way he took her under his wing after her father was killed in the line of duty. She's the last person he wants to think about while one of her friends is flirting with him. Clementine takes a drink, turns her barstool so it's facing his, her legs swinging gently as she surveys him. "She's a good kid. But I don't want to talk about her, I want to talk about you."
"Clearly," he says, before he can stop himself and he closes his eyes for a moment, rearranges his face into a more friendly expression. "Sorry. It's just…I haven't had a woman approach me like this in…oh, I don't know how many years." He meets her eyes and sees genuine friendliness there. "Are you sure you don't want to spend your time with one of these younger gentlemen? It won't hurt my feelings if the hat made you think I'm younger than I am," he jokes, removing it for a moment to comb his brown-blonde shoulder-length hair back, the front of his head gone bald after a difficult divorce. Clementine smiles a smile so kind, so genuine, it makes his heart hurt a little, makes him wonder if he might have another heart attack if he allows this venture to continue. Absently, he does a mental check to remember if he took his heart medication today.
"I'm not here for any of them, Sheriff. I'm here for you," and she sounds earnest when she says so, not so desperately flirtatious as before. Clementine opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again, clearly trying to decide what to say next. "I've heard you've been having a rough time the past few years." She puts her hand delicately over his own, her fingers toying with the gold band on his ring finger and a flash of anger and then sadness flares through him for a moment before he calms himself, takes a breath, and takes a drink with his free right hand. "I know the cult's been stressing you out. Hell, they've been stressing me out. Give yourself a night off. You're here to protect," she continues, wrapping her fingers around his now, "I'm here to serve." Earl looks over at her sharply, searching her again for motive. "Relax," she says. "I really do just want to show you a good time, if you'll let me." Earl finishes his drink, considers. He stands, tugging his utility belt back up his waist. He tips his hat to Fairgrave who nods to him as he sets down two drinks in front of Kim and Nick Rye.
"Good night, Gary," he says, dropping some bills on the bar out of his wallet before placing it back in his pocket, resolutely not looking at Clementine. Sometimes it's best to leave well enough alone. He makes his way to the door of the Spread Eagle, torn. On the one hand was her age, her unknown motivations, his reputation, Rook…but on the other, he was so very lonely at night, sitting alone in his trailer eating microwaved tv dinners and watching Jeopardy in his underwear, wolves howling mournfully outside. A bit of company for the night… No. No, he was the sheriff. He had responsibilities, duties. She was too young, and…he turns back to where she is sitting, forlorn, on her bar stool as he pushes the door open. "You still need that ride?" he calls softly.
"Nice place," Clementine comments absently, mostly because that's the thing one is supposed to say when setting foot into someone else's house. She sets her purse down on the hallway table near the door. "Mind if I use your powder room?"
"Second door on the right down the hallway," he says, trying to ignore the shake in his voice. He clears his throat and snatches several tv dinner trays off his coffee table, grabbing beer cans while he's at it and cursing when the kitchen light flickers out when he flips it on. He searches for a spare lightbulb and screws it in quickly. Clementine comes down the hallway, her hair tied back in a neat braid, her lipstick refreshed. Her hands are folded demurely in front of her. She smiles gently at him. Her beauty seems to light up his lonely trailer. It's like a red bird has flown in through the door. He thinks, wildly, mind and heart racing that he should let it out, set it free before this dingy place steals that beauty. Swallowing, he says, "You want anything to drink?"
"I'm alright," she assures him, picking a piece of lint off her shirt. She looks up at him from hooded eyes, suddenly sultry and tempting and he feels his youth come back for a moment, that reminder that he's a red-blooded American man with a beautiful woman standing in front of him. He stands a little taller, but then twirls one end of his mustache automatically, a nervous habit he thought he'd broken long ago. Realizing this, his hand jumps and he puts it to the back of his head, scratching awkwardly, unsure what to do now. Clementine, bless her, seems to pick up on his nerves and smiles sweetly, taking his hand. "It's a beautiful night. Couldn't help but notice you've got a great view of the lake. What's say we watch the stars? And, I think I'll take that drink. Meet you outside?" He nods, mute, grateful for the respite, feeling horribly out of practice with this kind of situation, feeling both his too-many years, and as though he's an awkward teenage boy again simultaneously. He pours two glasses of whiskey and steps outside into the cool night air. The city glows far below, a beacon of light in the otherwise dark night. He hands her the drink and sits on the porch swing next to her, leaving space between them.
Clementine scoots closer to him, their ribcages touching. She grabs his arm and puts it around her shoulders. He doesn't question it. She leans against him and they both stare up at the night sky for several minutes, enjoying the sounds of wind playing through prairie grass and fir trees, the songs of crickets, the lonely call of a loon coming from the lake, a poorwill call from the forest nearby. Wolves howl and coyotes sing in the distance, their calls echoing off the mountains and the lake. It's a new moon and the sky is brilliant with stars, occasional flickers of green and yellow, the tail end of the aurora. After a few minutes, Earl takes a sip of his drink, setting it down to wipe his free hand across his mustache. He looks over at Clementine's silhouette, feeling his heart thundering in his chest. She looks over to him, the glint of her eyes just visible from the light of the stars. She leans up and presses a chaste kiss on his lips. They separate, look into one another's eyes and he leans down, softening into the kiss this time. He pulls her into his lap and she wraps her arms around his neck, straddling him easily, deepening the kiss.
"What do you say we take this inside before the mosquitoes take our presence as an invitation to dinner?" she whispers in his ear. He can hear a smile in her voice. He nods and they stand, abandoning their glasses on the porch railing. Earl opens the door for her and she steps through, turning to him as he closes the door behind him. She steps up on tiptoes, grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls him down into another kiss. His hands hover in midair, unsure, and she grabs one of them, puts it on her waist. She looks deeply into his eyes. "Lead the way to the bedroom," she suggests, her voice barely above a whisper. His face flushes and he swallows hard, but he complies, leading the way, heart thundering in his chest so hard he's fairly certain this is all about to be over anyway because he's clearly about to drop dead from another heart attack before anything more exciting happens.
Earl leads her into his bedroom, the king-sized mattress covered in a simple cotton quilt he'd been given years before by some relative or other. The room is sparse, simple. One bedside table carries one bedside lamp and one bedside book. At a glance, he realizes that to company, the room probably looks forlorn. That said, it does have one large window that looks out over the lake across from the bed. A landscape painting of a portion of Glacier National Park takes up part of another wall, and a gun rack covers the rest of it. The carpeted floor is clean, and thankfully clear of any clutter or laundry. He wasn't a fastidious person since living alone, but he didn't enjoy living in filth. Clementine sits on the edge of the bed and unbuttons her plaid blouse, setting it aside, folded neatly. In its absence, Earl can see that she is wearing a thin white tank top that does nothing to conceal the lacy black bra beneath it. He feels another prick of familiar interest and swallows, again unsure. She makes it abundantly clear that she's still interested when she stands long enough to abandon her cargo pants, and she pulls off the tank top. She sits, pretty as a picture, on his quilt in a lacy black bra, and lacy black panties and Earl stares, flabbergasted at his luck or his misfortune, he hasn't decided which. Time, and maybe an ambulance will tell.
Clementine frowns a little bit.
"You alright, Sheriff?"
"I'm trying to decide if you're going to be the death of me," he admits, resting his hands on his belt. She chuckles.
"Why don't you come here and find out?" He steps forward, stepping out of his boots and socks. She leans forward, unbuttoning and untucking his uniform shirt, hands gentle on his stomach and chest. She reaches for his belt buckle and he stops her with a hand.
"I want to make sure you really want to be here, Clementine," he says gently. "That no one's put you up to this, that you don't feel like I forced you to be here with me." There's that smile again, melting him, tugging at heart strings he thought long-broken.
"Sheriff. Earl. I am here because I want to be here. I am here because I find you attractive, and I would very much like to sleep with you if you would just stop talking like your yesterday's news. You're a fine looking man in uniform, Earl Whitehorse, and I'd be willing to bet you'd look just fine without it too." Earl's eyebrows raise, and he chuckles softly, wiping his mustache again, his shirt front flapping with the movement. Reddening, he opens the top drawer of his nightstand and swears softly under his breath. "I've got that covered too," she murmurs. "Just relax." Clementine pulls out her phone a moment later, cues up a country music playlist and sets it on the nightstand, and Earl is happy for the music as a background sound, especially when her hands go again to his belt buckle, undoing it and relieving him of his belt. He warily eyes her, her hands a little too close to his gun for comfort. She pulls out his handcuffs with a wink and he chuckles, taking them from her.
"Maybe some other time," he suggests, the idea of putting her in cuffs feeling a little too close to work for comfort at the moment with his nerves all on edge. She drops his pants and tugs off his uniform shirt and he escapes her for a moment to turn the overhead light off. Clementine switches the lamp on, its soft, warm light flowing over the bed where she lies on her back now, looking at him expectantly. "You are beautiful," he murmurs, crawling onto the bed toward her. He leans down, kissing her gently and the two strip the rest of their clothing off the other, rocking slowly against each other. Earl covers her cheek with his palm, his calloused fingers feeling too rough, too clumsy to be touching such a lovely creature. She grabs a handful of his hair and tugs him down by the neck, rubbing herself against him. Aroused, he thrusts into her hand, a little gasp tumbling out of him the gentle touch. She flips them over, putting Earl on his back, taking his hat off and hanging it on the headboard to avoid crushing the felt.
Earl grabs her thighs gently and firmly before she can sink herself down onto him.
"Hang on, now," he murmurs, sitting up on his elbows as he holds her up. She tilts her head biting her lip.
"You alright?" she asks. He half picks her up, flopping her down onto the mattress on her back.
"Just taking my time," he assures her, shifting. He settles with his face between her legs and looks up at her. "Is this alright?" She nods, a little breathless. Clementine feels herself let out a little moan of surprise and pleasure when he touches her with his mouth, his mustache tickling in all the right ways. She balls her fists into the quilt.
"Oh god," she sighs as Earl runs gentle fingers over her, kisses and caresses with his mouth. Clementine feels her muscles clenching, feels her heart slamming against the inside of her ribcage, feels hot electricity running from her toes up her back and she comes with a tiny gasp of breath. Looking a little flustered, and a little pleased with himself, Earl hovers over her for a moment, taking deep, calming breaths. "You need an ambulance, old man?" Clementine teases gently, settling her hand in his blonde and gray chest hair. He gives a dry chuff of laughter and cups her face with his cheek.
"Not yet, but keep the phone close," he answers. If you can't laugh at yourself, he thinks dryly, the old familiar ache of unfinished desire and a want for warmth and touch nagging at him. Earl allows Clementine to flip them back over, adjusting himself upward on the bed so his pillow is beneath his head. Back pain at his age is no joke. She hovers over him again, but the look on her face has changed, that mischievous glint in her eye has been replaced with an admiration that scares him a little.
"Don't You Wanna Stay" is playing quietly in the background and Earl shudders with pleasure, meeting Clementine's eyes as he lets her sinks down onto him finally, fingers trailing through his chest hair. She rocks up and down on him, little breaths shuddering out of her as he settles his hands on her hips to guide and lift her. Clementine increases her tempo, her pupils dilating, pink nipples erect. Helpless beneath her movements, Earl lets out a soft huff, running a hand over her breast before sliding it back down to her waist. She grabs his hand, kisses it gently, places it back on her breast, kneading her own flesh with his fingers and he moans. Earl leans forward and she kisses him passionately, tangling a hand in his hair, holding his shoulder with her other. He kisses down the side of her neck, thrusting up as she sits in his lap, mouth open in a soft rolling gasp. Earl knows he's getting out of breath, feels his age catching up with him, but he'd be damned if he gave out this soon in the evening.
"Slow down, darlin'," he suggests, and she complies, tilting her hips slow and agonizingly pleasurable. He groans, a hoarse sound that grinds out of him when she reaches down and grabs his thighs to support herself. Feeling himself losing control, he flips them back over with a grunt, pressing into her slow and deep, a hand on each side of her ribcage. Earl thrusts into her rhythmically, making himself focus on a whorled knot in the wood of his headboard, pulling himself away from the sensation of that tight warmth, distracting from fingers clawing down his back. He clenches his teeth when she lets out a little choked cry, tightening around him. She climaxes with a beautiful sound falling out of her mouth and he makes a deep purring sound, tight and low in his throat. He raises one of her legs to set himself deeper and he holds her shapely calf, nearly shattering when she looks up at him with those beautiful brown eyes. Her fingers run down his sides, griping muscle and flesh from too many tv dinners, too many off-duty beers and he blushes a bit, slowing his tempo further, taking a deep breath and wiping his forehead.
Clementine smiles and arches her back, pulling her leg down and wrapping them around his back, pulling herself up, down, up, down, up, down, until she clenches with a high-pitched sigh and he can stand it no longer. Earl lifts her, his back and his knees complaining, but he ignores them and he holds her, hands underneath her ass, her arms slung around his neck and he lets her ride him with wild abandon, letting himself be fully present in that sinful warmth that invites him to let go. His breath goes ragged and he thinks to himself that if he dies like this having another heart attack, at least it's a good way to go. He feels a familiar flame growing hot in his belly, hot fire alight from the coal bed she'd been stoking in him and he kisses her again, buries one hand in her bright red hair and thrusts up, up and moans in ecstasy as the fire disintegrates him to ash like a wildfire through brush.
Earl lies beside her, her leg slung comfortably over his waist, her fingers woven into his. She is snoozing, her head resting on his shoulder. She smells like strawberries and sunshine and Earl knows this is a dream, knows that at any moment his alarm will go off and he'll wake up, alone again, lonely again, stressed again, hurting again, so he lies here, memorizing this moment, memorizing the curve of her cheek, the arc of her hips, and gentle swell of her lips and that golden-framed chocolate of her eyes. He brushes gentle fingers down her waist and goosebumps raise up on her. She looks up at him, a small smile on her face.
"Just a Kiss" is playing softly from her phone now and he leans down, presses his lips to her gently, making himself forget all the complications for a moment and just take in the beauty lying next to him.
"Are you alright?" he asks, afraid to break this spell, or to wake himself from this wonderful dream, but she's frowning a bit when she pulls away from the kiss.
"We're going to be okay, right? The Seeds can't just take over the county, right?" Clementine is shaking a little bit. Earl sits up, scratching his chest distractedly.
"What happened?" he asks her, not wanting to press, but he can feel that she is afraid. She snuggles against him as if for safety.
"They came to my house night before last. They're still trying to recruit followers. So many people have disappeared. So many strange things are happening. There's these white flowers they grow. They left some in a pot on my porch when they left. I know you and the deputies have been working hard to try to get the situation under control, but…"
"But it's not. Not any more." Earl strokes her shoulder softly, trying to calm her. He pulls her closer to him, kisses the top of her head. "I got a call from a U.S. Marshal on Monday. He wants to arrest Joseph Seed. I think it might be kicking a hornet's nest, but…I don't want any more people to go missing on my watch." It's impulsive, and he knows it, but he can't stop the words before they're tumbling out of his mouth like a shattering glass, startling and making a mess of everything, but they're said, the glass is shattered, the damage done: "You're welcome to stay here until we get this situation under control." Clementine freezes and looks up at him, her expression unreadable. She stares at him for a long moment and he feels himself reddening again, wanting to twist his mustache, wanting to put his clothes back on with a fury, but she chuckles warmly.
"And we started this evening with you threatening to arrest me. Must have done something right." She puts a hand on his chest, looks down at her fingers where they intertwine with his, then back into his green eyes. "I'll think about it," she promises. They're quiet for a long, long moment and Earl hears his joints creak as he shifts a little to fold one arm behind his head to prop it up on the headboard. "That was," she says, stretching in place and settling back into him, "really, really good," she informs him, sounding surprised. Vaguely insulted, Earl tilts his head to look down into her eyes, pasting his stern and unimpressed sheriff face on.
"I'll have you know I know how to treat a lady, regardless how long it's been since I've had the opportunity," he informs her, tone a little defensive. She chuckles.
"Clearly. I think you may have ruined me for over-eager little twenty-year-olds. They have no fucking idea what they're doing," she sighs. That mischievous glint returns to her eye and he prepares himself for whatever she's about to say next. "Gonna have to let me call you 'Daddy' next time and make you spank me."
"Absolutely not," he says firmly. "I'm the Sheriff, not your father." She glances at him, but sees humor in his face as well and the corner of her lip curls upward in a wicked smirk.
"Well, all right then, Sheriff," and if he was a younger man the way she says his title would have had him ready for round two. "You've at least gotta let me break out the cuffs next time." He eyes her with amusement.
"Why me?" he asks, figuring the likelihood of an actual repeat of this experience isn't high, so he might as well sate his curiosity. She frowns, seems surprised he's asking.
"You're serious?" she says, rhetorically, and he listens expectantly. "Have you seen the way you carry yourself? Have you taken a good hard look at those just, unbelievably green eyes recently? Have you heard that, Jesus, that fucking purr of a voice you've got? Sheriff, any girl who's even a little bit interested in an upstanding man in uniform should be throwing herself at you."
"Oh, come on," he says, dismissively.
"Sheriff…Earl…" Clementine waits for him to meet her eyes as she sits up. "You're a good man. You've got a good heart. The way you're there for Rook? You make me feel safe. Christ. Um. I'm, uh, I'm gonna go have a cigarette," she says suddenly, pulling on her panties and his discarded white undershirt.
Earl pulls on his briefs and his bathrobe, thanking God he lives in the middle of nowhere where no one else will see them, and he steps outside behind her with his own pack of cigarettes. He lights hers, takes a drag of his and puffs a cloud of smoke out into the now-chilly night air. He fiddles with his cigarette, tapping the filter with his index finger.
"Thank you," he says finally, and she turns to him, looking dumbfounded.
"Are you seriously thanking me for having sex with you?" Earl feels himself blushing.
"I – no, shit, I was just," he takes a breath, collects himself. "Thank you for telling me how you see me. You're right, even though I don't appreciate Rook sharing my business," he informs her as an aside, "it has been a hard couple of years. It's nice to be reminded occasionally that you're not such a bad guy."
Earl does not awaken to his alarm the next morning. Instead, he is awoken by his phone ringing incessantly long before the alarm ever has a chance to do so. Swearing, he stands, stretches and grabs the phone.
"Yeah?" he answers, terse before his morning coffee. He swears again after he hangs up and throws the phone on the bed. Another missing person's report has been filed. He wipes his face, discouraged and furious. The bed is conspicuously empty.
"Hey," comes a small voice from the doorway and he turns to see Clementine wearing nothing but his uniform shirt. He can't help but smile, regardless of the news he just got.
"Hey."
"Want some coffee?" she asks, holding out a chipped mug. He steps forward, pausing to pull on some shorts, and takes the mug gratefully.
"Somebody else went missing," he says without preamble. "My offer stands, Clementine." Clementine smiles, but he can see in her eyes she's afraid again, thinking of the cult and their visit to her house. Earl has half a mind to go to her house and wait for them to return with a 12-gauge in his hand, but he's old enough and wise enough to know better.
"I'll have Rook swing me by my house and I'll pack a bag," Clementine finally says. Earl nods, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
Charity pulls up to Earl's house, taps the horn and Clementine steps out, looking more put-together than Charity was expecting. Climbing in, Clementine greets her. Earl is standing in the doorway, wearing his tac pants, but no shirt. A steaming mug of coffee is in his hand. He raises a hand in greeting to Charity before stepping back into his house. Clementine looks over to Charity, her hair cluttered into an unmistakable "just fucked" style. There's a stupid little smile spreading across Clementine's pretty face and Charity rolls her eyes as she drops her Jeep into gear.
"I don't even want to know," she stops Clementine. Clementine chuckles.
"So you don't want to hear about how he handcuffed me to the headboard while I screamed 'spank me harder, Daddy?'" she teases. Charity makes a faux gagging noise.
"I will kick you out of this car while it is moving, do not push me."
"I'm joking," Clementine says, suddenly quite serious despite her words. "That is the sweetest man I've ever met." Charity spares her a glance, surprised.
"I still don't want to hear about it, but, that's the most relaxed I've seen him in years, especially given recent circumstances. You two may be good for each other. Jesus, I know it's the end of the world because those words just came out of my mouth."