Chapter 10

Early February

She didn't come right out and say it, but she wouldn't ride with him anymore.

The day after they received the M.E.'s report, she fed him yet another excuse and ended up meeting him out at the Edwards place shortly before noon. He'd already been over to the barn and the house, and he was standing at the edge of the thawed stock pond when she pulled up.

"We need to get Aubrey out here," he told her.

If anything positive had come from his catastrophic mishandling of what could now only be labeled the one night stand, it was that she was more respectful of his authority and less mouthy.

"I'll go get him," she said.

Without even a hint of argument, she got back into her truck, and she drove off through the hazy mid-day sun towards the Davis property.

He was on the other side of the pond when ten minutes later she was back, and as the truck came down the decline into the bowl he could see Aubrey's worn brown hat peeking over the dashboard.

"How do, Sheriff?" Aubrey said when he was out and standing in the powdery new soil.

"Morning, Aubrey," Walt said, walking over to the spot where they'd dragged Warren out of the water. "Who filled this in?"

Aubrey looked down at his feet, kicked the dirt then glanced back at Walt. "I don't folla," he said.

"This area's been filled in. It was three or four inches lower the night Warren was found."

Aubrey scratched his beard and appeared genuinely perplexed.

"Where'd the cows go?" Walt asked, trying another angle.

"The renderer came and got 'em."

"How much did they pay?" Vic asked.

If he hadn't been offended by the suggestion ten days ago that he was dumb, he was certainly offended now.

"I paid fifty dollars per head for him to come get 'em, and that's after I whined and blubbered for a spell. That's three hundred fifty dollars for seven dead cows." He looked back at Walt, shaking his head. "How much they pay, she asks."

"Deputy Moretti's from the big city," Walt said. "She didn't mean any disrespect."

"Well she's here now, ain't she?"

Vic bowed her head and crossed her arms and stayed out of it.

"So no idea who filled this in?" Walt asked.

"Looks the same to me," Aubrey said.

"You know anything about Warren getting set to move?" Walt asked.

"Can't say as I do. But I hadn't been over there in at least a year. Doubt he woulda told me if he was. Maddie might know."

"Why might Maddie know?" Vic asked, but the question was void of any of her signature attitude.

"She'd been over a couple times. So what of it?" Aubrey said, getting a jump on defending himself.

"You were okay with her visiting Warren?" Walt asked.

"Now you hold on. It'd been a long time. Weren't nothin' goin' on with them now."

But Aubrey didn't seem so sure, and Walt felt bad for bringing it up.

** [ ||||| ] **

Late January

He woke up disoriented and thirsty with a low-level, creeping headache and an overhead light in his eyes.

It took him a moment to remember why he was lying on the couch in Henry's office with a woman's arm across his bare stomach and blond hair that smelled of lemon and lavender draped over his shoulder and chest.

He tried to move her arm. He couldn't have been more careful, more gentle, but she stirred anyway, and fear scampered like spiders through his veins.

She said, "Hey," and she lifted her arm from his stomach and ran her hand through his hair, and stretched to kiss his cheek, and he noticed his pants were unbuttoned and his boxers were riding low.

There was that stirring again, and he sat up.

"I have to . . .," he started, and he almost said take a leak because apparently when the façade was stripped away, he was really just an ill-mannered Neanderthal.

He went to the restroom and washed his face and ran wet fingers through his hair, and when he came back, she had a glass of water for him on the coffee table, and she'd moved the boxes out of the way, and she gave him a couple of Advil.

"You're not freaking out on me, are you?" she asked, playing with him, but the undercurrent was serious, warning even. "Dine and ditch?"

"Dine and . . . what? No. Of course not," he said, and he put his arm around her because it was exactly what he wanted to do, and he wondered when the idea of doing what he wanted to do had gotten so screwed up in his mind.

"Good," she said. "'Cause I think we should do that again. Soon. And often."

She kissed him, and at first he didn't kiss her back, even though he wanted to, but then he did.

Then he was flat on his back on the couch and he was in her and warm all over, and she was running the show. She bent down and he kept moving and she said, "You may not have noticed, Walt," breathing hot and damp in his ear, "but I'm really into you," and there was a sun flare somewhere deep within him and he wanted to say something, but he didn't know what to say.

His jeans and his underwear were bunched around his thighs for the second time in a matter of hours, and a voice came up at him from somewhere, scolding him, telling him the least he could have done was muster enough respect to take off his pants.

** [ ||||| ] **

Early Febraury

Walt found Reynard "You Can Call Me Dale, Sheriff" Yazzie working as the night watchman at a trucking yard just outside Sioux Falls.

His voice was deep and gentle, and his speech measured. "You drove six hundred miles to ask me where I was Saturday night?"

"I was out here on some business," Walt lied. "Thought I'd kill two birds."

Though Yazzie was two years older, he looked ten years younger than Walt. He was at least 6'4", probably more, with a buzz cut, and high cheekbones. Ruby would have described him as handsome.

"The night manager can verify I was here," Yazzie said, peaceful and accommodating. "He'll show you the video."

So Walt spoke with the night manager and he watched the video, then he thanked the manager, and Dale unlocked the gate and let him out.

As he was locking it up again, he said, "Sheriff," and he looked out over the dark trucking yard, and his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "How is Lola?"

"She seems good," Walt said through the rot iron fence. "She's living with her sister in Gillette."

Dale nodded like he knew that.

"When she left Warren," Walt said, "why didn't you two get back together?"

"We did, but I was stubborn. Been stubborn my whole life."

"You were up at Blue Cloud."

Dale nodded. "St. Joseph's. The Bureau schools do that to you. Tough's all you got. If I'd been weaker, I would've won."

Walt didn't get a motel after all. He drove through the night across the South Dakota Plains, up the slight incline over the Missouri near Pierre, past Wall Drug, and up into the Black Hills at sunrise, wishing he'd shown more restraint.

Early April

He was dozing off when he heard the truck pull up in front of the cabin.

The envelope, the blow-out at her front door, the tears had been over a week ago, and he hadn't been to the station since. He hadn't seen her.

If she still planned to go, Friday would be her last day.

He went out onto the porch in his socks and leaned against the support beam, and he watched her walk towards him with the evening sun glowing pink and yellow behind her.

She stopped at the bottom of the steps.

He stood up, bore his own weight, but he didn't rush her.

Finally she said, "To me, it was an incredible, romantic, beautiful thing, and it seemed like you felt it, too. It felt like . . . ."

"Love."

"It did, Walt. It didn't even occur to me it was wrong until you acted like it was." She bit her lip and crossed her arms, and she looked down at her boots, then out across the pasture, and eventually, she looked back up at him. "Who gets to decide what feels like love to me?"