It's the next morning by the time he gets ahold of Johnny. Raylan figures he's probably waking him, but he also knows that it's only a matter of time before Boyd figures out that his cousin is the one who told Limehouse about Devil's murder.

"Hullo?' Johnny's voice creaks like old wood.

Raylan gets straight to the point. "I got your message. You said you've remembered something?" Silence. "Johnny? You there?"

"Ye-ah, Raylan, I'm here. Gimmee a minute."

He hears a shuffling noise and several grunts and realizes that Johnny is likely getting himself out of bed and into the chair. "Shit, Raylan," Johnny says once he's back on. "You couldn't wait 'til a decent hour?"

"How was I to know when you get yourself outta bed in the morning."

"I like to sleep in," Johnny says. "Not all that much to get up for most days."

Raylan has nothing to say to that. He tucks the phone between his chin and shoulder as he unlocks the Lincoln and slides behind the wheel. "What'd you remember?"

There's a deep sigh on the other end. "I'm not talkin' about this now. Not over the phone."

"Well, shit, Johnny...you want me to just show up down there, pull in the drive?" He snorts. "Boyd'll never notice that." He eases out into traffic, turning toward the courthouse.

"You know that diner off of Stinking Creek Road 'bout halfway between here and Lexington?"

"Didn't the health department close it down?"

"Naw. That's the one in Benton. Meet me at the diner on Sunday morning. Boyd and Ava have taken to goin' to church. Boyd's idea of 'community relations', I 'spect. Don't know where they spend the rest of Sunday, but I don't usually see 'em. The bar's closed so I reckon I can get away unnoticed."

"Alright. Sunday morning...what time?"

"I can be there by ten I s'pose."

"I'll see you then," he says. "And Johnny?"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful. You think anyone's followin' you, double around and go back, or head into Benton to the Walmart."

"Why Raylan, I didn't know you cared."

"See you Sunday, Johnny."

-o-o-O-o-o-

She's never been an early riser. But since she's been away from Raylan living in Gayle's busy house, no matter how late she stays up some inner alarm wakes her with the sun. She's tried staying in bed but all she does is roll and toss and relive the past in her head. She's not sure where this sudden change is coming from. Maybe the baby-hormones are preparing her for less sleep, or maybe she's unconsciously avoiding the confusing dreams that seem to invade her slumber more and more frequently. Maybe she just craves the time alone, without Gayle's hovering. No one else is up when she makes the coffee and takes a place at the kitchen table to savor the first cup.

Raylan hasn't called since she left that idiotic apology the other night. She's not surprised, and not sure she blames him. How did she expect him to react? What do you want? She's asked herself that a hundred times since Henry posed the question. The answer is always the same. She wants what she's wanted ever since the night he walked up to her in that Salt Lake City bar. She wants Raylan. Without even trying she can picture his easy grin, the way he tips his head down when he's exasperated, the way his eyes light up when he sees her, even now after all the shit they've been through. All the shit she's put him through.

She didn't expect to miss him like this, the way she imagines someone misses an arm or a leg that's been amputated. It's a physical ache. She finds herself looking for excuses to call him. She wonders if the whole therapy thing is just a ruse to spend time with him. She still can't believe he agreed to it. Maybe he's missing her the same way. The thought both comforts and terrifies her. What in the hell are they going to do?

There's a creak of footsteps, just enough warning for Winona to clear her mind of Raylan before Gayle comes into the kitchen.

"You're up early."

"I like the quiet."

"You sure you're sleeping okay? You should tell the doctor if you can't sleep. Sleep is important when you're..."

Winona takes a sip of coffee and counts to ten in her head. "I sleep fine. I just wake up earlier than usual, that's all."

Gayle pours herself a cup and pulls milk, butter, and orange juice out of the fridge. Picking up the bread she slides several slices into the toaster. "More coffee?" She asks Winona, the carafe hovering above her cup.

"Just a little, thanks."

"So how did it go the other day with that counselor?" Gayle asks. The toast pops up and she spreads a thick slice with peanut butter. "Emma! Breakfast!" She calls.

"Fine," Winona says. She stirs a little milk into her coffee and turns her face up to the sun streaming through the kitchen window.

Four-year old Emma pads into the kitchen in her pajamas, clutching a worn stuffed rabbit, her brother on her heels. Kyle is tossing a baseball and catching it in his glove.

"Not in the house," Gayle says.

"Sorry, Mom."

"Mornin'." Peter plants a kiss on his wife's cheek. "Morning, Winona." He lays a hand lightly on her shoulder as he follows his son out the backdoor.

"Can I eat my toast in the other room and watch Babar?' Emma asks.

Gayle smiles down at her daughter. "No peanut butter on the couch."

"I'll sit in the bean bag, okay, mama?" She takes the plate carefully, transferring the rabbit to the other hand and looks at Winona. "Wanna watch with me Aunt Noni?"

"Maybe in a minute," Winona says. "You go on." She stirs the coffee again and takes a deep breath. "Raylan came, too."

Gayle turns, her eyes skeptical. "To the counselor? You're kidding me. Why?"

She takes a sip of coffee. "I asked him to."

Gayle pours more coffee for herself and pulls out the chair across from Winona. "Why?" She asks again.

Winona stares over Gayle's shoulder out the window to the driveway. Kyle, three years older than Emma, is helping his father load baseball equipment into the back of the van for the game later today. She shrugs. "We're going to have a baby. If we want to raise this child together, we need to figure this out."

Gayle raises an eyebrow. "Meaning what?"

She decides honesty is better than evasion. Gayle always figures it out anyway. It's as if she can read Winona's mind. She's a lot like Raylan in that regard, although Winona would never dare to tell her so. "I miss him." She looks around the small kitchen at all the signs of family life; Emma's preschool papers magneted to the fridge, Kyle's threadbare Cincinnati Reds hat on the counter, Peter's briefcase leaning against the wall, his suit-jacket and tie tossed over the chair where he left it the night before. She meets Gayle's gaze. "I want this. I want a family."

For once, Gayle doesn't attack, at least not a frontal assault. "I know you do." She takes a sip of coffee. "But you know Raylan isn't..." She bites back whatever she was going to say and sighs instead, shaking her head. "I just can't picture him in therapy."

"He was pretty uncomfortable," Winona admits. "But then, so was I." Another sip of coffee. "This isn't all his fault."

To her surprise, her sister nods slowly. "Nothing's ever all one person's fault."

Winona cocks her head and stares at Gayle.

"What?" she says, rising to pour herself more coffee. "You're a grown woman who's about to be a mother, and if you decide to go back to Raylan, I suppose my job is to stand back and be there when it falls apart again, not shake my finger in your face and try to tell you what to do."

Winona barely stifles a laugh. "Peter's been talking to you, hasn't he?" She makes a mental note to thank her brother-in-law later.

Gayle doesn't confirm or deny. She busies herself at the sink, her back to Winona.

Winona considers her next words carefully. "I thought I might ask him to the cookout for Kyle's birthday next weekend, if you don't mind."

There's an unmistakeable tension in Gayle's shoulders when she shrugs. "That's fine, I suppose. He's gonna have to get used to all of us if he wants to spend holidays with this baby, no matter what you two 'figure out'."

Winona gets up and hugs her sister. "Thank you," she says. She tops off her coffee. "Now I have a date with my niece. I'm going to go watch Babar."

A/N I know NOTHING...less than nothing, about current Saturday morning cartoons. Rather than date myself by having Gayle's daughter watching Scooby Doo or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, I chose Babar, who seems to be a classic, and is my nephew's absolute favorite.