Part VII Dance With Me

Raylan rolled over, throwing one arm across his eyes and breathing heavily. Becky pressed her lips against his bare shoulder and giggled.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Raylan murmured.

She tucked herself into the fold of his arm, smelling of jasmine and vanilla. "Was it worth the wait?" She bit her lip, unsure.

"Uh huh, and then some."

He leaned in and kissed her and she opened her mouth, inviting his tongue. He reached down, discarding the used condom and pulling the blanket over them as they huddled in the bed of the pick-up. The moon above was full and round, lighting up the wooded hillside where he'd found a private place to park the truck. Becky's hastily discarded prom dress was tossed over the tailgate along with his pants. The rented jacket was in the cab. He had no idea where his shirt and tie ended up and right now, he didn't care.

"You okay?" It wasn't his first time, not by a long shot, but it had been hers, and that was a first for him. Most of the girls he'd been with up to now were older and had reputations. They were bold, usually approaching him first, and he wasn't one to turn down an invitation. But Becky was a quiet girl who was smart and funny and quite direct - once you got to know her.

"I'm pretty wonderful right now."

He grinned at her. "Worth the wait?"

"Um hmm." She nodded. He threaded his fingers through her hair and kissed her again.

"You look real pretty tonight," he said. He couldn't remember if he'd told her that when he picked her up. Her father, mother, and all three of her brothers had lined the porch when she walked out. Her newly highlighted hair was piled on top of her head, her skin already tanned from early summer sunbathing. The dark blue dress she wore was homemade, but you wouldn't know it. Helen said Becky's mother was the best seamstress in the county and it showed. She looked so different all he could do was stammer hello. Luckily, Helen had showed him how to pin on her corsage, so he wasn't a total fool.

They'd had dinner at Annie's Diner. It was the only decent place for miles around, so the folks who ran it always tried to make it a little fancy for prom night with real tablecloths and candles and a different menu, even though most of the kids still ordered hamburgers and chicken fried steak.

He and Becky sat crammed close together in a booth with Johnny Crowder and Cindy Mutter. Johnny snuck a flask out of the pocket of his pale blue tux and quickly poured some into each of their cokes. Cindy drank hers down right away but Becky took a sip and made a face. "Come on now, girly...you want to have fun, don'tcha?" Johnny teased.

Raylan leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "You don't have to drink it if you don't want."

At the high school, the gym was decorated in a wild west theme for the dance. The teacher chaperones all wore cheap felt cowboy hats and paper chaps that crackled, unintentionally warning students of their approach. Mr. Jessup, wearing a hat too small for his large head, hovered near the punch bowl, occasionally sniffing or taking a taste to be sure no alcohol had made its way into the foamy concoction.

He and Becky had their picture taken in the fake stockade and mingled around talking while the braver kids gyrated to the fast music on the dance floor. When the lights dimmed for a slower song, he gathered his courage. "You wanna dance?"

Her eyes lit up and she nodded eagerly.

It was Helen who worked with him on this, too. Mama had promised, but she got one of her headaches, so it'd been his aunt stepping slowly and counting "1-2-3, 1-2-3," dancing him around the living room while Arlo was drinkin' at the VFW. As it was, he really wouldn't have needed the damn dance lesson. All the other kids did is sway in slow circles, making out vertically. Becky felt good in his arms, the satiny front of her dress brushing up against him. They played three slow songs in a row and by the middle of the third he was uncomfortably aware of her closeness. He pulled away, not wanting to embarrass her, but Becky pressed her hips against his.

"You wanna get out of here?" She whispered.

He looked down, catching her eyes to be sure he wasn't misunderstanding. He'd been taking it slow since she confessed she was a virgin. He liked her a lot and he didn't want to scare her off.

"You want to?"

"Um hmm." She smiled shyly.

They'd rummaged some blankets from an old trunk in the band room and threw them in the back of the pick-up. Becky ignored the seatbelt and scooted close to him. They kissed at every stop sign, once getting carried away and forgetting where they were until the car in back of them honked. They'd ended up here, parked down a dirt road about a half-mile from Helen's place. They crawled into the back of the truck, where Becky surprised him with her enthusiasm. He'd heard the guys talk about it not being very good for girls the first time, but Becky'd only bit her lip once and urged him on. From all the signs, she'd enjoyed it as much as he did.

Now he rolled over, stretching out flat, and she laid her head on his chest. "What're you gonna do after graduation?" She asked after a few moments passed.

He shrugged. "Arlo's already got a job lined up for me at the mine. I 'spose that's what I'll do. For now, anyway." He wanted, more than anything, to get out of here, to put Harlan in his rearview mirror and never look back, but that wasn't likely to happen, and, even if it was, telling Becky that at the moment would surely kill the mood.

She leaned up on one elbow, her ample breasts brushing against him. Her huge grey eyes searched his face. "Why'd you call your daddy Arlo?"

"It's his name."

She giggled again. "I know that. My daddy's name is Frank, but if'n I ever called him that I'd get a slap."

"He don't care."

"You don't like him much, do you?"

"No," he said, honest. He twirled a strand of hair around his finger. "But I like you a lot."

"I like you a lot, too." She smiled and dangled the discarded wrapper from the condom in front of him. "You got any more of these?"

He pulled her in for a kiss and hoped to hell there was another condom in the glove box.

-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-

Raylan paced by the van, glancing at his watch. With every second that ticked by he felt his chances for recapturing Ray Brewer slipping away. Finally the black and white Marion County cruiser skidded to a stop in front of him.

The window lowered and a round ruddy face appeared, topped by a thick mop of graying brown hair. "Get on in, I think I know where your guy might be."

Raylan hooked a thumb at the van. "How 'bout I follow you. I'd like to return the van, and there is a crime scene down the bank there. Thought maybe you'd like to take a look at it."

"Oh, shit that's right." The deputy turned the car off and opened the door. "Tom Thomas," he said, holding out his hand.

"Raylan Givens."

"So you're a U.S. Marshal, huh? Never worked with a Marshal before. That accent...where you from?" Tom kept up a flow of conversation, interrupted by occasional bursts of coughing, as they made their way to the wrecked car. He peered in the shattered window at the body of the car thief.

"Damn, damn, damn," he said. "That's Wendall alright. The missus is gonna be mighty upset. Had that boy in her special class over at the high school. Liked him a lot. I think he even had dinner at our house once or twice...nice boy, real polite." He shook his head. "Dumb as a box of rocks as far as readin' and writin', but anything to do with cars, he was a wiz."

Raylan knew there wasn't a damn thing anyone could do about Wendall. "So what's the lead you got on my guy?"

"Come on, maybe we can kill two birds with one stone."

He followed Thomas back up the road, surprised when the deputy turned off his headlights and pulled into Trintiy's gas station. Raylan clicked his off as well. There was a car parked at the pump, no sign of a driver or passengers. Other than the bright lights from inside, the place seemed deserted. The hair on the back of Raylan's neck stood up. Something wasn't right.

Tom met him by "We got a call from here to 911 right after I hung up with you. It was interrupted, so it mighta been a mistake, but I don't much believe in coincidences." He drew his gun.

Raylan pulled his out as well and the dark gave them cover as they inched their way forward. "You see anythin'?"

"Looks like the Trinity is behind the counter." Tom inched back over to his car and pulled out a pair of ancient binoculars. "My eyes aren't what they used to be. See what you can see."

Raylan leveled the binoculars on the hood of the car and stared through them. The blonde from earlier was perched on a stool beside the register smoking a cigarette nervously. "Yeah, that's her." He shifted, sweeping his eyes through as much of the inside as he could see. He spotted a flash of green back by the coolers. Brewer's jailhouse scrubs were green. "Shit, I think he's in there."

"He armed?"

"He's got my spare," Raylan sighed. "It was in the trunk."

"Ammo?"

"Enough."

"I'm callin' Harrison County for back-up." Deputy Thomas inched back to his car. As he leaned in to grab his radio, his elbow hit the horn. The sound echoed in the darkness. "Shit!"

Through the binoculars Raylan saw Brewer turn. He started advancing toward the window. Raylan could just see the top of the man's head over one of the shelves. "Just a little further," he murmured. A couple of feet and he'd have a shot. Not a great one, but a chance. Then Brewer appeared at the end of the aisle, holding a dark-haired girl no more than a teenager in front of him. The girl clutched a baby in her arms. Her eyes were squeezed closed and her mouth was moving.

"He's got hostages besides Trinity." Raylan called to Tom. "A girl and a baby."

"Crap." He hooked a thumb at the car sitting by the pump. "Probably the driver. Can you get to the car? Maybe her name's on the registration."

Raylan scooted half on his knees half on his belly to the car, the passenger side faced away from the window. He reached in and opened the glove box, pulling out a handful of papers. He made his way back to Thomas. They sorted through the papers. No registration.

"I'm goin' in." If anything happens to these people, it would be on him.

"Just hold your pants on, Marshal. Don't be rash. We should try to get him talkin'." He pulled a horn out of the backseat of the cruiser. "What's your fella's name again?"

"Brewer. Deacon Brewer."

"Mr. Brewer?" Deputy Thomas pushed to a standing position, still partially covered by the car. "There isn't any way out of there, Mr. Brewer. I know you don't want to hurt anyone. Why don't you let her go and we'll talk about it?"

Brewer's answer is to shoot out the window and duck behind the shelf, pulling the girl and the now screaming baby with him. "Shut that kid up," he growled.

"Let her go, Deacon," Raylan yelled. "I know you got other people in there. Just let the lady and her baby leave." He stood up from behind the cruiser. "As a sign of good faith."

A moment passes, then another. Brewer came back into view, still holding the girl by the arm, but this time, his gun was aimed at Trinity. He gave the girl a shove and she ran, sobbing, holding the baby tight. Tom met her halfway and eased her into the back of his car.

Brewer motioned to Trinity to come out from behind the counter. "Don't come any closer or she's dead." He backed into the aisle, pulling her with him and they both disappeared from view.