Snippets of dialogue in this and future chapters are taken directly from the show for clarity and belong to Graham Yost and Co. and NOT to me.

I had an idea to look at the events in Bloody Harlan from different points of view…Winona, Ava, Boyd, maybe others….first…Winona.

Winona intrigues me because everyone has an opinion about her, but we don't really know her, except through Raylan's eyes. I wondered what made Art change his mind about going to Harlan.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"You have to help him! Art, please." Calm and pragmatic; Winona has never been one for hysterics, so she blinks back her tears and tries to reason with the man who seems the only hope of bringing Raylan back from this alive.

"Sometimes you just can't help." Art says; finality in his voice.

"I'm pregnant." The words hang in the air, fill the room. It's only the second time she's spoken them aloud.

Art stares at her for a moment. "You're pregnant?"

Winona nods wordlessly.

"Raylan knows?"

Again, she nods.

"Well, that explains Glynco." Art says. He pauses. "Congratulations?"

"Thank you." She ignores the slight questioning and smiles at the pleasantry. The softening she senses in his words gives her hope. "Art, please help him. Don't let him die down there today."

Art sighs and walks behind the desk. "OK. Tell me again what's happened with Loretta."

Winona relays the story, including Raylan's suspicion that the girl was going after the Bennetts, maybe Mags in particular.

"What makes him so sure he knows where she's headed?" Art asks.

"He says it's what he would've done."

"Alright." Art says. "I suppose I could call Tom down there and see what I can find out."

"Thank you."

"You go on back to work. I'll let you know what we decide." Art picks up the phone and she's been dismissed.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

She paces in her office, staring at the phone. Twice she picks it up to dial the Marshal office and twice she hangs up again. She checks her cell-phone to make sure Raylan hasn't called. No calls. Dammit.

She sinks into the chair, leaning back, rubbing her temples. She suddenly has a helluva headache. Automatically, she reaches for the bottle in the desk drawer. Then stops. Can she take these? Shit. How does she know what's safe for the baby or not? She'll need that book. What's it called? What to Expect When You're Expecting? She wonders if there's one just for her: What to Expect When You're Expecting and the Father of Your Child Has a Death-Wish? She almost laughs. Almost.

She glances at the cell phone again, wishing it would ring, wishing Raylan would call. But why would he? She chides herself. What made her snap at him that she might not be here when he got back? And why did the hurt in his eyes surprise her? After all, she'd left him once before.

The phone rings and she fumbles to answer.

"We're headed down to Harlan." Art tells her. "He's probably fine, but we'll be there for back up if he needs it."

Relief floods her body. "Thank you."

"Someone will call. I 'spect it'll be Raylan. You sit tight. Try not to worry."

She gives a snort and feels the pause at the other end, as Art considers something. "You need anything, you call Faylene. She'll be home all day." He rattles off a number and Winona writes it down, thanks him again, and hangs up.

She glances at the calendar. Nothing on her schedule until a deposition at 2:00. The one day she wants, no needs to be busy and there isn't a goddamn thing to do for the next three hours. Her stomach growls, reminding her that it's almost lunchtime, and she didn't have breakfast. Crap. She's not even eight weeks along and she's already a lousy mother.

Grabbing her purse, she heads out of the office.

At the last minute, she pauses in the doorway to the breakroom . Gwyn, the judge's secretary is pouring a cup of coffee.

"I'm going to take an early lunch." Winona says. "You want to come?"

"Sure," Gwyn says, smiling. "I'll get my purse and tell the judge."

Ordinarily, Gwyn wouldn't be her first choice of a lunch companion, but the woman's constant prattle about her two high school sons and their athletic exploits might take her mind off Raylan and Harlan for an hour at least.

The two women slide into a booth at the deli. Completely famished, Winona makes the mistake of biting into her sandwich first, giving Gwyn the opportunity she's obviously been waiting for.

"So, we been seein' that handsome ex-husband of yours more and more lately. You two back on again? I wouldn't blame you. Wouldn't kick him out of bed for eatin' crackers." Gwyn gives her a wink.

Winona swallows and sighs. This is why she doesn't have girlfriends. She's much more comfortable with men and their total ignorance of gossip and innuendo.

"We'll see how it goes." Winona says noncommittally. Part of her suddenly longs to tell this motherly woman everything and get another perspective on what she should do, but she squelches the idea.

"Well, you just light up when he comes around." Gwyn says. "That says something. I hope it works out."

"Me, too." She admits. "Me, too."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Back in her office, she tries to stay distracted with filing and other busy work, but her mind keeps drifting to Harlan. She places one hand on her still-flat belly and tries to imagine a baby. Her baby. Raylan's baby. It's what she wanted; what she hoped for when she tossed her pills in the motel room trash that night. But now that it's reality, she's terrified.

It's easy to blame that fear on Raylan, on his job, on the dark streak of anger a mile wide and twice as deep running through him like the black seam of coal cut through the hills above Harlan. But it's not all his fault. She chose him, not once, but twice. She could have had babies with Gary. He'd certainly wanted them, but she had put him off. Yet once back with Raylan, she'd felt a desperation that was hard to describe, a need to seal the love between them, to make something from it so that it could never be denied, never be lost.

"Well," she thinks to herself, "Be careful what you wish for."

Glancing at the clock she sees that it's almost 2. She gathers her things and heads to the conference room. Turning back, she violates policy, putting her cell on vibrate and shoving it into her pocket.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

When the phone finally buzzes hours later it startles her out of daydreaming at her desk. Heart racing, she pulls it from her pocket.

"Hello?"

"Winona? It's Art."

The sandwich she ate for lunch suddenly lurches in her stomach. "What happened? Where's Raylan? Is he…."

"He'll be fine. He took a bullet…"

"What?" She is out of the chair and grabbing for her jacket before realizing she has no car to get to where she needs to be. With Raylan. Shit.

"Winona?" Art's voice is soft and firm, as if he's talking someone down in a standoff. "Rachel will be outside the courthouse in…" he speaks to someone else in a whisper, "Ten minutes. She'll bring you here. He's gonna be fine."

"Okay." Winona says. "Okay. I'm on my way down. Tell her to hurry."

"You got it."

"Wait!" She says, hoping he hasn't hung up.

"What?"

"Art, tell him I'm coming, okay? Tell him I'm on my way."

"Will do. He'll be glad to hear it."