The second in my series of continuations of Craig Johnson's Christmas stories. I love his short stories and always wish they were longer and included more Vic. This is a series of scenes inspired by his stories. You don't have to read the short story "Several Stations" in the collection titled "Wait for Signs," but it helps. In that story, Vic is visiting family in Philly while Walt watches over the county on a snowy Christmas Eve. They talk on the phone briefly and he asks her to call him later. This is that phone call.

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Several Stations, cont'd.

The wreckers finally showed up to deal with our twisted, sideways semi and I was finally able to make it back to the station. With the roads the way they were and the snow still falling, I couldn't risk going home to the cabin. I resigned myself to staying in the office for at least one more night, until the storm broke and I had staff back on duty.

I changed into dry clothes and washed up in blessedly warm water. Feeling more human, I began to think about Vic. When talking to her earlier via Sancho's cell phone, I told her I'd be at the station and asked her to call me. I wanted to hear her voice and all about her family adventures, but doubted that would happen. The cleanup took longer than predicted and I was pretty sure she was fast asleep by now.

As I was trying to decide between the terrible cot in the cell or the uncomfortable couch in my office, the phone rang. I recognized a Philadelphia area code and picked up the phone on my desk, knowing the cord would stretch to the couch.

"Absaroka County Sheriff Department," I answered automatically, and in case my suspicions about the person on the other end of the line were wrong.

"I'd like to report a missing person." Her voice was low, sultry, and quiet, like she'd been drinking very smooth whiskey. I imagined her curled up by a fire, a warm blanket wrapped around her. The sound and the image made my heart sputter a bit, not sure if it could reconcile the lure of the image with the sad fact that she was so far away.

I matched her low tone, trying to keep the conversation intimate despite the distance. "Could you describe this missing person?"

"Female. Mid-thirties. Height, weight, hair, eyes – all average. Big chip on her shoulder, classic smart-ass know-it-all, hell of a cop and a crack shot. Curses like a sailor, some would say."

I couldn't help but smile at the description. "I know someone a bit like that, but the woman I have in mind is in no way average." As I talked, I turned out the desk lamp and stretched out on the couch, throwing a scratchy wool blanket over me. "What makes you think said person is missing?"

"Because she's not where she's supposed to be."

I took a few breaths, savoring the sound of her voice, before I answered. "And where's that?"

"A little cabin perched on the edge of a frozen, god-forsaken valley, twenty miles outside of nowhere in one of the flyover states … with a fire in the fireplace, doors shut against the wind, and her legs wrapped around the local law man."

She sure could paint a picture. I smiled again, forgetting she couldn't see me. The thought that Vic was admitting she should be with me was a better present than I'd hoped for. "Any ideas how we can get our missing person back where she belongs?"

"Yes. In fact, it's taken care of. There's a flight out tomorrow night, if you're willing to pick me up in Billings."

As much as I wanted to see her, I had to acknowledge this was too soon. "Tomorrow is Christmas. You traveled all that way, you might as well spend the whole day with your family."

She sighed a slow sigh. "What am I doing here, Walt? I don't know why I keep doing this to myself. I keep traipsing back here every Christmas like some kind of college kid on break. I'm in my late thirties, for Christ's sake. It's about time I started making my own traditions."

I couldn't argue with her logic, and certainly didn't want to argue the fact that she wanted to be with me, but I wanted her to have time with her family, too. Families are important, functional or not. "Did you make it to your folks' house yet?"

"No, I'm still at Alphonse's, but I talked to mom on the phone. I'm headed over early in the morning. Promised her I'd be there for breakfast."

"Good." Vic had a love/hate relationship with her mother - a dynamic I couldn't begin to understand. "Did you tell her…?" I couldn't bring myself to put words to the subject. Like her, I was still feeling the loss.

"About the pregnancy? No. But I will. I'll find time tomorrow."

"Okay then." My mind went back to that image of the two of us by the fire in my cabin. "Tell you what. Spend at least 24 hours with your parents. Check up on all those brothers and uncles of yours, and I'll pick you up at whatever airport you like in the lower 48. Then we can get you and those legs back where they belong. Deal?"

"Deal."

I wasn't ready to hang up and just held on to the phone, listening to the sound of her breathing as it traveled the many miles across all those flyover states to reach me.

"And Walt?"

"Yeah."

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Vic."