A/N Special thanks to MSBrooklyn for lending a hand with this chapter. Heh.
I.
Raylan taps his fingers on the bar, waiting for Art's response.
"So," his boss says, after a moment. "The call that put the locals onto Crowder came from a cell phone, no longer in use, but it pinged off the tower closest to Noble's Holler?"
"Yeah."
"You think it's Limehouse?"
"Limehouse or one of his men. He knows more about the goings on in Harlan than just about anyone else, includin' Boyd." He takes a swallow of the bourbon. It's the good stuff, smooth as silk, and it burns all the way down. "He talks big about keepin' to himself and mindin' his own business but if you ask me, that's a crock of shit."
Art rubs his chin with one hand. "I suppose you wanna go down there."
"Not really, no." Raylan admits. "But if it means finding somethin' we can hang on Boyd ..."
"Go on down tomorrow. Talk to Limehouse and see what you can get outta him. Take Tim or Rachel."
"Which one?"
"Hell, I don't care. " Art chuckles, lifting his own glass. "Have 'em flip a coin."
-o-o-O-o-o-
Flip a coin. Raylan stands by the elevator the next morning, fingering the quarter in his hand. The last time he brought Rachel to Noble's Holler, she made a remark about being an ambassador for Black America. He grimaces and imagines spending time on the road with Tim. That could be fine, if Tim is in one of his quiet moods but if he's in a mood to start playing mind games because he finds it amusing...
Then again, Limehouse's reaction to Tim might almost be worth it.
-o-o-O-o-o-
"Tails. You lose," Rachel said, her perfect white teeth flashing in a grin. "Enjoy your time in Harlan."
"Shit." Tim says, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. He glares at Raylan. "Why you taking back-up anyway? You never take back-up. It's kinda your signature. Then we have to make like the cavalry and swoop in and rescue you. That's kinda my signature."
"Look," Raylan says, sliding on the hat and fishing his keys from his pocket. "Art told me to take one of ya, so I'm just following orders. You got a problem, take it up with Art."
"What is this? Deputy Marshal Raylan Givens 2.0?" Tim smirks. "You got a reason for havin' someone along or you wouldn't be takin' someone along, orders or no orders." He pushes the elevator button. "Spill. What've you got up your sleeve?"
""Up my sleeve? Nothin'. I just could use an extra hand." He lowers his head so Tim can't see the grin spreading across his face.
Raylan considers telling Tim the truth. He doesn't really want to go to Harlan at all, and certainly not alone, but he's not sure how such a revelation would be received.
In the car, it seems Raylan's gotten lucky. This is one of Tim's contemplative days. He watches in silence as they leave the city and wind into the mountains and Raylan is grateful. Maybe the younger man just hasn't had enough coffee, but he wonders if Tim's sensed that today just isn't the day to give him a lot of shit.
-o-o-O-o-o-
Three guys holding rifles come out of nowhere when they pull onto the bridge separating Nobles Holler from the rest of Harlan County. Evidently, Limehouse has enhanced his security. The youngest of the three is a guy Raylan recalls seeing in the diner on one of his earlier visits. The other two are unknowns.
"Who does this Limehouse think he is?" Tim asks. "Don Corleone?"
"The Great Protector of His People." Raylan rolls his eyes and rolls down the window, slipping the Marshal's star from his belt and flashing it at the young man. "Morning, Bernard. Deputy Marshals Givens and Gutterson. We need to speak to Mr. Limehouse."
The kid spits on the pavement, shifts the tobacco in his cheek, and calls out to the others. "It's the Feds." Something is yelled back and he waves the Lincoln through.
Raylan parks in front of the ramshackle set of buildings and turns off the ignition. "Let me do the talkin'," he says to Tim.
"No problem. I happily defer to the Hillbilly Whisperer."
He shoots Tim a glare. "This guy may look like simple country folk, but take it from me, he ain't." He pushes the door open and they walk into the diner.
"Why Marshal Givens," Limhouse drawls from behind the counter. "Didn't 'spect I'd see you back 'round these parts so soon."
"Neither did I," Raylan says. "It's not a social visit."
"I didn't think it was." He lays his ever-present knife down on the counter and wipes his hands on his apron. "So, what can I do for the Marshal's Service today?"
II.
The nurse unwraps the blood pressure cuff from her arm and jots something in the file. She smiles at Winona. "Still a little elevated. I'm going to share this with the doctor since she's in. I'll be right back."
Winona leans her head back against the wall. Gayle is driving her nuts, bringing her food, throwing out name suggestions, and generally hovering until Winona wants to run screaming out of the house. She appreciates her sister taking her in, but she hates feeling obligated and dependent. She has some money from savings and, ironically, the payout from Gary's life insurance, since he'd never changed the beneficiary. Still, a lot of that is being eaten up by her health insurance and buying maternity clothes and things for the baby.
It's a long while before the nurse comes back, and she almost dozes off. "Dr. Delano wants a blood test to check a few things, if you roll up your sleeve I'll take the sample then she'd like to see you in her office."
Her heart beats faster and she's sure her blood pressure raises another degree. "Is everything okay?"
"I'm sure it is, Sweetie," the nurse says. "Let's just see what we can find out, okay?"
Winona rolls up her sleeve and turns her head, wincing at the prick of the needle.
The doctor walks in, Winona's chart in hand. "So, your blood pressure is a little higher than I like, but everything else looks good. Your weight is stable, the baby's heartbeat is strong. We'll see what the blood tests say." She takes the chair beside Winona rather than sitting at the desk across from her. "Aside from the pregnancy, are you under any new stresses?"
Her quiet tone of concern and sympathy pushes Winona over the edge. "Um..well.." She hesitates. She's never been one to share personal things. Her mama called it "airing dirty laundry" and had driven the point home to both her daughters that it simply wasn't done. Now she feels the tears start and with a mixture of shame and relief she tells the doctor everything; the break with Raylan, quitting her job, living with Gayle. She hates that it sounds like such a godawful soap opera plot, even to her ears.
"Sounds like you've got your hands full," Dr. Delano says. "Do you have anyone you can talk to?"
Winona shakes her head. "Not really."
"Your sister?"
"Maybe, if I wasn't living there," she says ruefully. "We're getting on each other's nerves."
The doctor nods. "Families can be like that."
Winona takes a tissue from the box on the desk and wipes her eyes. "It doesn't help that she hates Raylan."
The doctor steeples her hands and looks at Winona. "Why? He seems supportive."
"He is. We just...there's a lot of history there."
Dr. Delano goes around the desk and opens a drawer. Pulling out a card, she hands it to Winona. "It might help to talk things out with someone," she says. "This guy is good." She cocks her head, considering her words. "He does couples counseling, too, if that's something you're interested in. Even if you aren't together, it looks like he wants to be an active parent; so it might be worth thinking about. The stresses aren't going to go away when this baby is born."
Winona takes the card and glances at it before sliding it into the outside pocket of her purse. "Thank you," she says. She can't imagine Raylan agreeing to anything like the doctor suggests, and it's one thing they might actually agree on...the thought of telling a complete stranger about all of it doesn't really appeal to her, either.
"I want you to take it easy for a few days until we get these results back. I'm not putting you on bed rest, but nothing strenuous, okay?" Dr. Delano raises an eyebrow. "And no worrying. Worst case scenario we keep you on modified bed-rest until the BP comes down. This baby is going to be just fine."
Winona nods, her hand automatically going to her stomach, protective. Silently she promises her son she'll do whatever it takes to keep him safe, before he's born and after.