The paperwork required for an Episcopal wedding took an hour or so, and they made plans to lunch with Father Josh at the Busy Bee. In the intervening hour, Cady stopped by her office to straighten her desk while Branch climbed the stairs to the Absaroka County Sheriff's Department. The wardroom was empty.
"Walt?"
"In here."
He followed the sound of rustling papers. "Hey."
Walt looked up, blinking to refocus. "Branch."
"Gotta minute?"
"One," the sheriff scowled at the stack of papers. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah, sure," the younger man stammered.
"Cady?"
"Yes." Branch wondered why this particular conversation was so difficult. "I just needed to talk to you about something."
"Okay." Walt leaned back in his chair, pointing to the couch.
Branch laid his hat on Walt's desk, but did not sit. "I, um," he glanced at the floor, then lifted his gaze to meet Walt's, "Cady and I are getting married."
"When?"
"New Year's Eve."
"That's barely a month away. What's the rush?" Sadness settled on his weary face. "Cady's pregnant."
"We thought she might be, but," Branch swallowed back the disappointment, surprised by its depth, and shook his head. "It's something we both want."
The sheriff studied his former deputy as the ticking clock echoed in the silent room. "What made you think you could be sheriff?"
Branch was confused, then sighed at the prospect of facing a conversation he'd hoped to avoid, but remained silent.
"I received a letter from the state last week telling me that the grant that pays for a third deputy needed to be renewed." He held up a folder. "I signed it but I didn't remember applying for that grant. Or the one that paid for two new vehicles." He picked up another folder. "Then I started looking at the patrol logs. I signed yours, but you signed Vic's and Ferg's."
Branch crammed his hands in his pockets and shuffled over to the window. "Yes, I did."
"And you applied for those grants?"
"I did the paperwork, but you signed them."
"But, I don't remember signing them, any of them." He stood and joined the younger man at the window. "Because I was drunk."
Branch could feel the older man's stare.
"For nearly a year, I was drunk." His voice lowered. "And for that year, you did the job of sheriff. That's why you thought you could be sheriff-because you had been, in everything but name."
Branch lifted his chin, "When I pulled my petition, I didn't think you were going to run." He lowered his chin. "And then you did, and you felt betrayed, and then you won and everything started going to hell." He cast a sideways glance at his former boss.
"If you'd told the whole truth, Branch, you would have won."
Branch shrugged. "That 's not the way I do things."
"Barlow would have."
Branch's face jerked to his, eyes flashing, voice threatening. "I'm not Barlow."
"No, you're not," Walt said gently. "Barlow would have taken any opportunity to ruin me." His voice rose. "Barlow would have killed you and not lost a minute's sleep." His voice grew gentle, with a surprising strength, "You're not the man your father was, Branch." He watched the younger man fighting back the tears. "You're better."
Walt walked to his desk, and leaned against it. "You had my back when I needed it."
"We're cops, Walt; that's how it's supposed to work." Regret colored his voice.
"And when you needed it, nobody had yours-not Ferg, not Vic, and, most especially, not me."
"I don't want your pity," Branch hissed. "I'm so damned tired of everyone's pity."
"Don't mistake pity for regret, son. Heaven knows I have a wagon-load of that where you're concerned."
Branch turned, planted his feet, and crossed his arms. "I made my own choices."
"We all did." Walt lowered his chin. "And now we have to live with them."
The clock struck noon.
"Do you love her, son?"
Branch's expression softened, "For a very long time, Walt."
"Then," Walt stood tall, voice soft, grip firm, "you take good care of my baby girl."
Branch gripped the outstretched hand, clasping his own around the older man's forearm, "Yes, sir."
"You told him!" Cady admonished from the door.
"Yeah, he did, Punk," Walt waved her over and hugged her tightly. "Congratulations!"
"Thanks!" Cady beamed as she left her father's embrace and slid her arm around her husband-to-be with a peck on the cheek. "We're having lunch at the Busy Bee with Father Josh. Why don't you come with us?"
Branch Connally thought of that conversation often throughout the years: on his wedding day, when he bought Falling Water, when his children were born, when they buried Lucian, and, today, as the snow fell silently on Walt Longmire's grave.
"You're not the man Barlow was," Walt had told him, "you're better."
Branch bent down, scooped up a handful of rich Wyoming soil, and sprinkled it on the casket. "So were you, Walt. So were you."
