"Hey Raylan, it's Lyla."

He paused at the sound of her voice, wondering why she was calling – he'd gone to Devil, to Dewey, askin' people closest to Boyd for information on him. He never considered Lyla; a gun to her head she wouldn't say a word against her brother. "Lyla Jo, didn't realize I'd given you my number."

"You were in the shower," she said making him laugh at knowin' she'd taken it. "Do you look at who's callin' fore you answer, you'd've seen my name?"

Raylan smiled as he drove with Judge Reardon to whatever bar he normally ventured. "What can I do for you, Lyla?"

"You busy?" she asked; he would've continued joking if he wasn't. "I'm sure you'd tell me if this was a bad time." He wouldn't, he was after Boyd and she had all the answers; he could've been arrestin' someone and he might've still taken her call.

"Honey I'd tell you if I didn't wanna talk to ya," he told her curious why she'd called him specifically – she had a better chance of gettin' answers outta Tim cause of the sex. Not that Tim would say anything, which was why Art wasn't pushin' it – Tim didn't talk about her, and didn't talk to her about work. Which meant she'd called for something personal. "So what can I do?"

"Somethin' you can say, actually," she told him, melting butter in a pot. "I'm gonna ask you somethin' but give me a minute fore you roll your eyes." She allowed him time to refuse, for him to decide to hang up; that moment told him she was hesitant, that her question was personal and he may not answer, which put Raylan in the mindset that she was small and needed his help. That moment would make him more likely to answer, and he hadn't hung up yet. "Is your sole aim gettin' Boyd in prison or are you lookin' at my daddy too?"

He might not've rolled his eyes but he sighed shakin' his head. "You're not an idiot, you know I can't answer that." His brows furrowed at what sounded like crinkling on her end.

It was onions, which were now sizzling in the pot. "Not lookin' for details just a simple yes or no. Are you lookin' to put my daddy away or is this a vendetta against my god-fearin' brother?"

He rolled his eyes then, having spoken to Boyd and gotten nothing but distorted religious ramblings. But he didn't refuse her, not completely – she knew he was after Boyd, Devil made it clear he'd call her thinkin' she'd have some way of puttin' a stop to it. He didn't see harm in admitting that, hell his honesty might get something out of her. "Soon as Boyd's back where he belongs I can look into gettin' your daddy back there too."

"So you're not," she said almost irritably, adding thyme and the paprika she'd bought at the store – referring briefly to the recipe she'd written down about a year ago. Rachael Ray was the only show she and Mack actually agreed on and Lyla paid attention to anything relating to soup; it was easiest on him cause of his gum disease. And his favorite was tomato soup, it was also incredibly easy to make. She added salt and pepper and covered the pot to let it sit, leaning her hip on the counter as she held her phone to her ear.

Raylan drove hearing her making noise in the background but she didn't say anything. "Is there something you're tryin' to tell me?" he asked wondering if Tim was right– it was hard to believe, she'd always been a daddy's girl.

She brushed her hair behind her ear glad he wasn't there to see her, he'd know she was upset with his answer; but her voice she could control. "Maybe I wanted to know what you were doin' so I'd know what I was up against, Boyd's always been my favorite you know."

"I do know," he agreed. "But you weren't askin' about your brother."

"How do you know? My plan all along could've been to hear you were goin' after Boyd – I might've asked bout my daddy but your answer wasn't about him."

The smile left his face as he held the phone in one hand and the other held the wheel. It took him a moment of thinking he was an idiot for tellin' her anything, cause she was absolutely right, before he remembered she'd already known his sights were set on Boyd. "Well shit Lyla," he exclaimed quietly, "I know Devil told you I went to see him." He was impressed at her ability to make him forget something he already knew, especially as a way to not answer his question – but he was also incredibly unhappy she was able to do it. To be able to turn anything, even her own sayings, to her benefit should've worried him; but then she spoke, and he was once again wrapped around her finger.

"If I told you what I wanted I'd have to tell you why. And if you knew what life with my daddy's been like I could kill a man in front of you and ya'd find a way to pardon me. And that's not exaggeratin' it's just been a long twenty years."

"Okay," he said reluctantly lettin' it go but only cause he'd heard something in her voice. "Now it's my turn to ask somethin'," he said hearing the breath of her sigh. "Are you happy?" The answer was in her silence, and he felt somethin' in him going out to her – he knew round about what her childhood was like, he saw too much of himself in her and the similarities they shared is what made them hard, what sucked the life away. And he'd always had a weakness for pretty women. "Call Tim, get outta Harlan for the night."

Oddly enough she'd planned to call Tim next, to tell him she wasn't comin. "Away from my family, you mean."

"Well," he pulled into a space outside the bar and cut the engine, "you said it not me."

Her smile was small, tired, unhappy. "Hey Raylan," she said waitin' for his quiet 'yeah', "don't make it known we're talkin." Before he posed his next question, which was if she was safe, she hung up. He wouldn't like the answer to that, and she wanted to know what his mindset was in the comin' days to see how much he was willing to risk to get to Boyd – cause if she was right then he'd throw her under the bus. But she was at least givin' him a chance to prove her wrong.
Without the sense the good Lord gave her she was dialin' Tim's number as she walked to the front window. She didn't return Tim's hello she simply asked, "where are you right now?"

He'd given her his number two days before, after seein' her a total of twelve times and knowin' her almost two months, he figured he should have a way to get in touch with her. Especially now that her daddy was out and Raylan was after Boyd; it seemed every day he saw her she looked a little more run-down. Art had advised, strongly, stayin' clear of her; they were lookin' to take the Crowders down and anyone with common sense knew her hands were dirty, and if it were possible they'd take her down too. And Tim thought about it so many times, wondered what in the hell he was doin' with her – then she'd arrive at his door quieter, more abrasive, and sadder, than the last time and he couldn't help himself. And so his answer was, "I did not get shit to make grilled-cheese for you to blow me off."

She smiled, watching as Johnny sat in his car readin' some magazine. "Just makin' sure you remembered."

He pulled into his driveway and grabbed the groceries he'd gotten after work before headin' inside. "You seemed pretty sure you were comin' last night. Only reason you'd call is if you changed your mind."

"Look at you usin' your detective skills," she teased fore goin' back to the kitchen to add the tomatoes to the pot.

Locking the door behind him and dropping his keys on the table he set the bags in the kitchen and grabbed a beer. "Don't turn this around on me. I buy a lot things from you, 'specially when your clothes are off, but I ain't buyin' that shit," he told her, wishin' he could see her face cause he knew she was tryin' to be cute. "What happened?"

She hated that he could figure her out, that she'd let him close enough where he was able to; but she liked it more, and she knew he liked it too. "I'm not sure where me and my daddy stand and that's all I'll say on the matter."

From the little he knew about her, which was no more than fingerprints her daddy left on her arms, it wasn't a position she wanted to be in. She was probably walkin' eggshells around Bo, no wonder she was tired. "Yeah I see why you don't wanna come," he told her, "wouldn't have to deal with family shit, it'd be quiet."

She rolled her eyes at his sarcasm, peerin' into the living room to see Mack was still awake – he was so sluggish these days, only perked up when she brought booze. "It's quiet here," she said as a pathetic means of defense. "Til Mack hollars at the T.V."

Tim stood against his counter hearin' Mack yell, 'take a dick in the ass, Lyla Jo,' and then as Lyla dryly responded with, 'I don't do anal.' They were an odd pair, constantly yelling insults and slinging foul language; but Lyla went by his house everyday to make him dinner and bathe him cause he pissed himself without the energy to get off the couch. She cared for the dyin' alcoholic more fiercely than Tim thought her capable, and god if he didn't enjoy every reminder of that. "You don't have to come if you don't want to," he said leaving her no obligation to him.

But she sighed, not feelin' obligation but want. "Be easier if I didn't like you."

Wasn't the first time she'd admitted to liking him, and it did the same thing now as it had then – and his reaction, which was him wanting her, was the only reason she said it. "Yeah you should stop that."

She smiled at the deepening of his voice, getting what she wanted in his arousal. "You first," she said hearin' the breath of his laugh. "I'll see you at eight."

Thirty minutes later Johnny wasn't saw her walking outta the house with the pot – she'd done the same thing last night, taking dinner with her to Lexington where she stayed with the Marshal. "I know you're not about to leave."

"Call my daddy, say I fed you dinner and I'm stayin' the night," she told him setting the soup on the passenger's side floor. "Or tell him the truth, say I'm with a Marshal, say you think I'm bein' an idiot but after Bowman passed you feel the need to protect me. He'll say it's good someone's lookin' out for me, he won't be mad at you," she huffed, climbing in the driver's side. "Say I was an idiot and fell in love; hell maybe daddy won't be mad at me neither."

Johnny scowled watchin' her drive away. He called Bo and lied, said she was staying with Mack. And the only reason he did was cause he was seein' she was somewhere on her way to in love, and outta the lot of 'em she deserved it most.

…

1x11

Tim's workday ended in Art's office hearing, again, about the meth lab explosion whose main suspect was Boyd Crowder with the running theory he was working with his daddy; and Art's own personal theory, which Raylan disagreed with, was Lyla playin' some hand in it all. There was no evidence to put her with either Boyd or her daddy in anything they'd ever done in their entire lives – all law enforcement had to go on was she was a Crowder, that was apparently all the proof required.

But a shared name wasn't grounds to consider her a suspect, the only authority they had – since they were bordering harassment – was going after her as an informant. And their efforts either amused her or she was waiting for some lose bit of information cause she neither agreed nor disagreed to inform, which meant they'd continue to ask; especially now everyone was outta prison.

"She's smart," Art said sitting behind his desk. "Local police, hell state police, started askin' her to inform on her daddy since she turned eighteen. It's a general rule when askin' a person to give information that you tell them what you wanna know; where your daddy does his business, who works with him. And somehow that girl figured out how to play us, gives information small enough to peak our interest, like eight years ago she let a name 'slip' which was a pervert who said nothing against her daddy. We think she's helpin' we think she's a viable source of information but all she's doin' is monitoring our plays and coverin' her daddy's ass by givin' us dead ends."

"I don't think that's fair."

Both Art and Tim turned to see Raylan leaning against the door. "I don't remember invitin' you to this particular conversation."

"Well if it's just a conversation," Raylan said moving to take a seat. "You forgot to mention that pervert was arrested for statutory rape, which we wouldn't have found out about if she hadn't given his name." Raylan sat back with an arrogant grin having proved his point.

"One name don't make her a saint."

Raylan shrugged nonchalant. "Before her daddy went to prison four names were given, only verbally is her name attached – she never agreed to be a CI. All four of those men went to prison based on what was found upon further investigation. Don't get me wrong, she fed the police crap to take their eyes off Bo but she did give you information."

"As well as two cook sites," Tim added. The sites weren't big, and they'd also been abandoned when police arrived.

Art sized Tim up as he sat stoically opposite the desk. "You get that from her file or did she tell you?"

Raylan looked at the younger man wonderin' what all she did tell him, as well as how she was with him cause he was obviously taken with her givin' his silence. So Raylan looked to Art. "I thought the reason you allowed his relations with Lyla was cause he didn't speak for either side?" Raylan posed earning a harsh look from their boss. "Unless of course we now have evidence that makes her a suspect of a crime."

"When that day comes neither of you will be allowed near her case, or her. I find it absolutely fascinating you two have the most emotional investment in Ms. Crowder." While that was true his tone of voice was so hard and exasperated it might well not've been.

Raylan sighed, tired of this particular conversation cause they were all closed minded in their view of her. "You don't know her."

Art held up a hand silencing Raylan's spiel. "We can't prove her involvement in her daddy's business, fine I won't call her a criminal. But do you have proof she's as good as the sweet kid you remember?"

Finally, something Raylan had a direct answer to – one that proved he and Tim weren't damn fools. "She's funneling money into Ava's account," he wisely left out it was technically coming from the store, Ava had assured him Lyla was takin' it outta her own paycheck. There was no actual stealing, which didn't make it less illegal but Raylan honestly didn't mind lookin' the other way on this. "The owner of the store, Mack, is dyin' of cirrhosis and yet he's fed dinner every night, his house is neat, his garden's tended, his bills are all paid. And before you say anythin' he's a ninety pound alcoholic who can't get off the couch, whose only kin lives outta state."

"Mmhm," Art hummed nodding, thinkin' deeply enough it showed on his face. "And you know she's carin' for him how?"

"I paid her a visit the other day," Raylan answered. "She made beef stew and I swear, she chewed every piece of beef so he could swallow it." He paused to let Art soak in that disgusting mental picture, seein' him grimace. "She also cleans the bucket he pees and shits in since he can't get up. Is that enough, cause I can vouch for her wipin' his ass too."

"Alright," Art said mostly to shut him up. "What were you doin' in Harlan?"

Raylan shrugged feigning innocence. "Personal business." And before Art could say anything on that matter Raylan turned to Tim. "Was the stew as good it as smelled?"

Tim gave a short, quiet, irritable laugh as he stood. "If that's all."

Art was about to tell him to sit back down, to advise him to rethink a relationship with her, but Raylan quickly spoke up – hopin' maybe Tim would think to keep Lyla outta Harlan tomorrow. "Are we gonna continue talkin' about a girl who may or may not be a criminal, or can we talk about the raid to get Boyd who we know killed a man?"

At the time Tim had been glad to leave the office, to leave behind another talk about whether Lyla had said anything – which she hadn't – and to be reminded, again, if evidence surfaced against her she may use their sexual relations against him. He knew the risks he was taking, how this could all blow up in his face; when he found himself thinking of her in the middle of the day he'd convince himself it was a mistake. Then he'd see her, whether it was her truck at the bar, or they'd agreed on a day she was comin' up and he heard her pull into his driveway. Just like that it wasn't so much a mistake as it was serendipity.

That night was no different. He'd gone home regretting her and then two and half hours later her headlights flashed through his window and he was unlocking the door and invitin' her inside. He didn't notice it immediately, more time she spent around him the better she got at hidin' when she was upset – she smiled, she laughed at his jokes, she kept up a conversation and fell silent when he wanted to. She did everything right. Then he'd asked her about Boyd.
"Can I ask you a question about your brother, for curiosity's sake?" He didn't try to bullshit her, he'd learned days ago she was more likely to answer if he asked her straight.

She shrugged loading their dishes. "Sure."

That's when he noticed. She should've turned to him and asked, maybe jokingly, if he was sure it wasn't for a Marshal's sake – and his response, both verbal and physical, would tell her whether he was bein' honest. But she hadn't looked at him, didn't seem to really hear him; her mind was far away. "You alright?" he asked moving to stand beside her, taking the silverware from the sink and loading it for her.

She looked up at him and shrugged again – not botherin' to pretend she was fine cause he wouldn't be askin' if she was okay less he'd seen she wasn't. "Ask me your question first," she told him righting herself, preparing herself to lie – lyin' to him was harder than it'd been when she first met him but it wasn't hard enough she wouldn't.

He'd thought good and long about how to ask this question so it wouldn't sound like he was diggin' for information or conformation, or any other formation. But noticing the stillness behind her eyes, that only grew stronger the more upset she was, made him pause; and he stared at her now having forgotten the phrasing. "Did you know Boyd threatened to blow up a math lab?" That wasn't what he'd planned to ask but there was a possibility she didn't know it'd blown up.

But she sighed before starting the dishwasher. "You sound like my daddy."

"What every man wants to hear," he said quietly, not half as sarcastic as he would've if he hadn't been preoccupied with the knowledge Boyd wasn't workin' for Bo.

She didn't just give him a look she practically burned him with her eyes. "I know the lab blew up and I know a man was inside."
Boyd had come to the store early in the mornin' all kinds of upset – after he'd finally told her what'd happened she'd given him some bullshit about how God had called him to blow up the lab, therefore it must've been His plan for that man to die. She hadn't believed a word she'd said but it made her brother smile.
But meth labs blew up all the time. Since Tim knew Boyd had threatened to blow it up it meant one of the men had been an informant, which she'd tell her daddy about in the mornin'. "Only reason I'm tellin' you anything is cause I'm standin' between Boyd and my daddy. And Ava and my daddy, and Raylan and my daddy. I might not answer some of your questions but I feel like you should know if anythin' happens, it ain't Boyd I'm worryin' about."

Her voice had been harsh, her gaze set not even half an inch above his eyes – she was tellin' him something she shouldn't, something important. But instead of askin' if she was safe, a question she wouldn't answer, he asked; "is that why you're upset?"

All her gusto released in her heavy sigh, her shoulders slumping and her face fallin' as she leaned against the counter suddenly exhausted. "Mack's gettin' worse." Man was constantly in pain, and pukin' cause he was in pain, and in pain cause he was pukin', his legs were swollen his eyes and skin yellow, his mind jumbling and forgetting. He was dyin' and she didn't want him to. And Tim was standin' there now sympathetic, his face so cute and sweet as he stared at her. "Stop starin' at me like that and get the bourbon."

And that was why he liked her, why he couldn't seem to let her go. She didn't wanna be held, certainly didn't wanna talk about it, and she'd be damned if he saw her cry – she was gonna suck it up and drink it away. It was familiar, it was comfortable; she was so similar to him it was unsettling. And he didn't mind it, he live could with it.