Disclaimer: The usual. You were expecting something different?

A/N: If I'd just pay attention I wouldn't have to double update every time. But a few nights ago I finished the next installment in this series and I'd like to get that posted sometime. :)

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Balladeer: Shelly and Lloyd had two kids, the just-turned-five Molly and the almost-three Tom. Molly was a spitfire and looked exactly like her daddy, while little Tom was only now starting to come into his terrible two's. Lloyd had taken them away to play the games, but after it became clear that neither kid could carry any more prizes they came back to eat with the others. And was it worth it. There ain't nothin' like Hazzard barbeque.

"Don't play with your food, baby," Shelly was saying quietly to Molly. The little girl was wedged between her mother and Henri-Mae, her favorite place to be when it came to eat, as it was Lloyd whose job it was to wrestle with Tom. The little boy was well on his way to feeding himself, except that he preferred to try to create different kinds of Pollack Jackson art with the multi-colored baby food, rather than getting it into his mouth. Shelly was watching this with amusement, as her husband was on the other side of the picnic table, across from her, with Tom's high-chair perched a safe distance from the other diners.

On the sly, Henri-Mae passed bits of biscuit to Molly, who gobbled them greedily, opening her mouth like a trap door and closing it again just as soon as Henri-Mae's fingers were cleared. Shelly had gotten into some kind of non-carb diet and was forcing it on Molly as well, as the little girl seemed a bit pudgy for her age. Lloyd continuously argued with her for it, claiming he went through the exact same stage, "And I've got baby pictures to prove it!" and the man had turned out rod-thin and in perfect health. Normally, Henri-Mae wouldn't have interfered with Shelly's parenting, as it brought out a maturity to her that Henri-Mae liked about her old gossiping friend, but seeing poor Molly's disappointment whenever she wasn't allowed to take a biscuit was too much to bear.

Around them the air was buzzing with sound. The band was on break and nearly everyone was eating, as the next round of barbeque was done and nearly falling off the hog. The picnic tables were lined up neatly, like soldiers, all in a row. At the first table was Henri-Mae, with Jed on her left and Molly and Shelly on her right. Across from her were Bo and Luke, Sue Ann between them, Lloyd on the end with Tom. Daisy and Uncle Jesse were at the next able over, Jesse laughing and carrying on with his neighbors, Daisy attempting to eat between the boys who came over attempting to reserve a dance.

"You keep doing that, she's gonna catch you," Jed said softly to her. Henri-Mae shot him a surprised look, caught his smile, and then smiled back.

"Please, she's having too much fun watching Lloyd," she replied, slipping Molly another piece of biscuit. It felt comfortable, sitting there with him, bantering lightly, even with Bo practically across from her. In fact, it wasn't until a good long while after it had happened that she noticed how normal if felt.

"So what exactly do you do again, Jed?" Sue Ann was asking, even as Henri-Mae passed Molly the last piece and barely got her hands away in time.

"Leave the fingers, Mol!" Henri-Mae whispered at her. Molly just grinned at her impishly.

"Horses are my business, ma'am," Jed replied. "Breeding and training, mostly. I'm just starting up but I was told that Hazzard is a good place for it."

"Sure enough," Bo agreed. "Not too many ranches around here, but farther west, where the farms are bigger, and outside Atlanta, places near as big as plantations need them for their hands."

"Hands?" Sue Ann asked, looking at her own pale palms.

"He means the workers that run the place," Luke explained. "Good work on a farm like that, real cowboys and Indians kind of stuff—" Then he frowned, a flash of light crossing over his face.

Henri-Mae caught his gaze and glanced over her shoulder. Her ears caught the sound of tires on gravel before her eyes focused on the familiar car that was pulling up to the edge of the blockade. She slid around, attempting to get her legs out from underneath the picnic table without flashing all of Hazzard, but seeing Sam Brockson's tight blond curls appear over the roof, and his extremely broad shoulders follow, suddenly made her tense.

She glanced around, not getting up yet. Molly was leaning back, her feet straight out under the table, her hands grasping the checkered table cloth, her head practically upside-down and curls dangling inches above the ground. "What's up?" she chirped, thinking it was just another partier come to join the crowd.

"Honey, watch it!" Shelly admonished, reaching out to pull Molly up.

Brockson was walking directly over to Henri-Mae, and he took one look at her appearance and scowled.

"I take it you're not still on duty?" he asked, the scorn in his voice.

She stood up, folding her arms. She was vaguely aware that the entire table behind her had stopped eating and was listening intently. "Everybody takes time off," she said.

Brockson grinned. He looked particularly tired and cranky, and the look was not pleasant. "Well. You have to work first, in order to take time off."

Her face darkened. It was bad enough that he picked on her. For him to pick on her in front of God and everyone, was a bit too much. Tossing her hair to one side, a sure sign that she was pissed that Shelly caught, if no one else, she said, "Exactly what is it about me that you don't like, Marshal Brockson? Is it that I'm a woman doing a man's job? Or do you just think I'm a pain in the ass? Because that I can understand, but if you're really just a misogynistic asshole, I'd really like to know."

He pulled up short. Her folded arms and arched eyebrows matched his iron-like features. It was like watching two rams at a standoff. Then, upon seeing the other eyes upon him, Brockson withdrew, just a touch. "Take your pick," he said softly, and then, "regardless, we've got a problem. We have intel that says that Slocum is still in the area but we can't confirm it. And," he added, his eyes sweeping the crowd, "you've got everyone in Hazzard out the middle of town. Not sure how smart that is."

"Not my idea," Henri-Mae said, very plainly. "Boss Hogg wanted things to go about as normal."

Brockson made a "hruh," sound in the back of his throat, and said, "Where is the butterball in white right now?"

Henri-Mae thought for a moment. "You know, I'm not rightly sure."

Brockson looked at her, and cocked his head to one side. His voice lowered conspiratorially. "You don't think he'd be stupid enough to try and contact Slocum on his own, do you?"

Henri-Mae hesitated. She hadn't breathed one word about Boss being the very reason Slocum was in Hazzard County, and yet, the look on his face plainly said he knew.

"I, uh…why would he do that?" she tried.

"Well, Ms. Blake had suspicions that she shared with me, and from what I know about Hogg, they're more than likely true." Still that hushed tone, no one behind her could hear, she hoped.

"Then why don't you just arrest Boss?" Henri-Mae asked in a low voice.

"Can't. Lack of evidence." Brockson's face twisted ironically. "Don't worry, one day he'll get his. But in the meantime, we're going to have to station someone here to confirm the rumors. If Slocum sticks around, we'll know it in a few days."

"I wonder why he's still here," Henri-Mae said.

"So do I," Brockson agreed. "You don't think it has anything to do with you, does it?"

Henri-Mae considered this thought. "Don't know why it would," she said. "I didn't have any unfinished business with either him or Kelly. And that's been so long ago…"

Brockson looked at her. She shrugged.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," she sighed. "I'll be back on duty first thing in the morning. In the meantime, did you check in with Rosco? He's on shift tonight."

"Yeah, already done that," Brockson said. "He got some major phone call though, not sure how much he absorbed. Thought it would be better to just talk to you."

"Even though I'm a pain in the ass," she supplied.

"And I'm a misogynistic asshole," he agreed, still low-key. "Plus, with your history…I figured you have the most at stake here."

"To be honest, I really hope not," Henri-Mae said, repressing a shudder. Then she swept her hand behind her. "Why don't you grab a plate of barbeque before you take off?" she said. "At least take some home with you."

Brockson considered this, and then wandered off toward the grill. If there was one thing folks in Hazzard knew how to do, it was eat.

Henri-Mae turned back to the table, her head spinning. To think Slocum was around because of her…the shudder came back, even stronger. Which meant she wasn't paying attention. The last words she heard before reality snapped back into place were, "Molly, wait!"

Something warm and oozing slapped her square in the lap. She looked down to see that Molly had her small hands in the air between them, and that her discarded plate, smeared flat with barbeque sauce, now lay facedown on the grass between them. Of course, the plate hadn't gone straight to the ground. It had made a segue to the middle of her dress, as was evidenced by the very large, round stain of barbeque sauce that was rapidly seeping into the soft blue fabric.

"Oh," Molly said, horror growing in the huge bright blue eyes she had inherited from her father as she realized what had happened. Instantly expecting Henri-Mae to be enraged, her eyes well with tears, and she shrank back.

"Molly!" Shelly cried in distress, pulling herself out from behind the picnic table. She crossed the short distance, and still neither girl had moved. Henri-Mae managed to blink and look down at the mess, and felt an instant and horrible flush of embarrassment at being soiled in such a way in front of practically all of Hazzard. Which was totally out of character for her, considering the reputation she already had. Later on, she realized it was a purely natural reaction to be that mortified – the only way she got from day to day was to keep her head held high. Not so easy when your pretty dress was utterly ruined.

"I'm sorry," Molly said, her voice softer than normal. The girl was not a whiner, not even when she was in trouble, but to have done something to her beloved Aunt Henri-Mae had blown her little circuits right out. Her bottom lip started to quiver.

Henri-Mae drew a breath. She bent down, grasped Molly by the shoulders. Looking her square in those huge, glassy eyes, she said, "It was an accident, baby."

"I'm sorry," Molly said again, a broken record, not knowing what else to do.

"I know you are, and I forgive you. Don't worry." She kissed Molly's forehead and straightened, lifting up the skirt as much as modesty would allow. A sardonic look twisted her smile. "Got any club soda?" she asked Shelly.

Lloyd had already come around, observing the situation. Shelly grasped Molly's hand and brought her over to her father. "Let's go back to the boarding house," Shelly said to Henri-Mae.

"Can I come, Mommy?" Molly asked.

"No, sweetie, you stay here with Daddy and Tommy," she said, hand brushing Molly's cheek. "Come on, Henri-Mae."

Henri-Mae managed to unlock her feet and head off in the direction of the boarding house. Not that it did much good. The deep crimson against the pale blue offered no contest.

"It's not ruined," Shelly said as she plunged the garment into a practical bath of soda water in the bathroom sink. She snatched up the hand soap, which usually worked brilliantly on occasions like this, but the grease had already sunk through the fabric, and while the red was gone, the shadow of it remained, ugly like an oil slick. "I'll take it to the dry cleaner tomorrow, they should be able to get it out."

Henri-Mae came down the stairs, not sure if Shelly was talking to her, or herself. "Don't worry about it, Shell," she said. "It's not that big of a deal."

"Yeah, well…"

Henri-Mae watched the hunch of Shelly's shoulders, frowning slightly. She had known Shelly since high school, and could read her body language pretty well. "You know what you should do?" she said, fluffing out the last of her hair. "You and Lloyd should come back here, put the kids to bed, and have your own private little party."

Shelly looked at her over her shoulder, eyes wide. "What?"

"Come on, I live in this house with you. What you two need is some personal time," Henri-Mae said. "Trust me."

"Trust you," Shelly said, turning away and giving a little snort of laughter. "I guess that makes sense, considering I can't even trust myself lately."

"You and Lloyd are so immersed in buying this boarding house that you've forgotten why you want it," Henri-Mae said. "Besides, have the two of you been together for more than ten minutes, alone, this whole week, let alone this whole night?"

Shelly didn't answer.

"Besides, I know you want to. I saw how you were watching him taking care of Tom. You looked lonely."

"Yeah," Shelly said softly, lifting the dress and letting the last of the water drip back into the sink. "Yeah, maybe you're right." Then she turned around and saw what Henri-Mae was wearing. "What the—"

Henri-Mae looked down at herself. Her hip-hugger jeans with the sparkly designs along the hips had been the only clean pants she could find in her closet. And the midriff baring white T-shirt had been the only stain-free top. "It was all I had that was clean," she said. "What, does it look bad?"

Shelly shrugged a shoulder. "Not for the bawdy music they're going to stay playing any minute now," she said. "I'm sure Jed will love it."

"It's more comfortable than that dress!" Henri-Mae called as Shelly went back downstairs to take her friend's well-meant advice. Henri-Mae turned around, and Molly was standing behind her.

"Hey baby, shouldn't you be in bed?" Henri-Mae asked, kneeling down to Molly's height.

"Just wanted to say sorry…again," Molly said, coming up. "And to give you this!" She handed Henri-Mae something small and red that weighed heavily in her palm.

"What's this?"

"Daddy won it for us, but he says I have to wait until I grow up a bit more before he'll teach me to use it," Molly said. Henri-Mae examined it and realized it was a Swiss-army knife. It was rather fancy, too, containing all manner of tools, and it was rather actually huge for a Swiss-army knife. "You can have it," Molly said. "To make up for the dress."

"Oh honey, you don't have to do that," Henri-Mae said. "But I'll keep it for you until you can learn how to use it, okay?"

"Okay," Molly said. "Sorry again."

Henri-Mae took the little girl into her arms and kissed her. "Don't give it another thought," she reassured her, and took her back to bed.