"So," Art says, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back on the desk. His lips twitch as he levels a gaze at Raylan, part curious, part amused. "Openin' that box must've been quite a shock. How much money is in there?"
"A little less than a hundred thousand."
"You want to run the numbers?"
Raylan pulls a crumpled slip of paper out of his pocket. "I know it's personal but, yeah. I'd appreciate it."
Art reaches behind him for the phone. "It's personal to you, but it's also Marshal business. Arlo's still a federal prisoner. This is his property." He picks up the receiver and pushes a button. "Tim? " He says when the other marshal picks up. "Come're for a minute."
"Yeah, Art?" Gutterson wheels out from behind his desk and walks over to peer into the office.
"Raylan's got some serial numbers for you to run by the Secret Service."
He takes the wrinkled paper from his boss, glancing at the numbers scrawled there. "Sure, give me an hour or so."
"Thanks. Oh, and shut that door on your way out, wouldja?" Art goes behind the desk and eases into his chair.
Tim raises an eyebrow at Raylan. "What? You in trouble again?" He grins as he shuts the door behind him.
"So...somehow Arlo came into possession of a hundred thousand dollars." Art leans back in the chair, crossing his legs. "You think Boyd's got anything to do with it?"
"The box is in Helen's name too," Raylan reminds him.
Art picks up his coffee, taking a long sip. "Was Arlo the beneficiary of Helen's will?"
Raylan shifts in his chair. "I didn't know she had one until today." He leans forward and hands Art the manila envelope. "If Arlo knew, he never told me." Art slides the paper out and adjusts his glasses, running his finger along the page.
He looks up at his marshal. "So, you're it."
"She didn't have much."
"Well, there's what's left of the house at Indian Line."
"Yeah," Raylan says. "Might be worth somethin' once I get the bullet holes patched in the wall."
"Hell, just leave 'em. It'll give the place some Harlan ambiance." He chuckles. "You think it could be Helen's money?"
"Don't see how." Raylan shakes his head. "She wasn't workin' anywhere."
"That you know of."
"Don't know what she would've been doin'. I mean, she used to make 'shine, but as far as I know she hadn't done that for years. Anyway, no one's gonna put away a hundred thou on that."
Art nods thoughtfully. "So...how is Arlo?"
Raylan leans forward, elbows on his knees. "He's still hangin' on."
"You found the medical power of attorney, though, didn't you?"
"Yeah, and they disconnected the respirator but he's breathin' on his own."
As the doctor turned the machine off and slid the tube from his father's throat, he stood there with Winona, her cool hand pressed flat between his shoulder blades. Raylan didn't look at Arlo, he focused on the monitor's steady beep, expecting it to turn to the shrill note of a flatline at any moment. But it didn't. He lowers his head and rubs the back of his neck with one hand. It registers that he needs a haircut.
Even though it's barely past ten in the morning, Art reaches into the cabinet and brings out the bottle. He adds a splash to his coffee cup and pours two fingers in a glass, handing it to Raylan. "What do the doctors say?"
Raylan takes a sip, letting it burn its way down his throat. "Without a feeding tube, he'll basically starve to death."
Art sets the cup down with a clunk. "Well that sucks."
He shrugs. "They say it's peaceful. Probably better than he deserves. He won't feel nothin'. The coma is irreversible." He finishes the rest of the whiskey in one gulp. "Thanks," he says, holding the glass out to his boss.
"You want another?" He gestures at the bottle. "Wasn't expecting you back until Monday anyway."
"I do, but I won't." He stands, sliding the hat on. "I got an appointment to get to."
Art raises an eyebrow. "Winona?"
"Yeah," Raylan says, leaving it at that. "I'll check back in a bit."
"Alright," Art says, bending his head to papers on his desk. "Hopefully Tim'll have those numbers for you by then."
"I want to check on Johnny anyway." Raylan stops with his hand on the doorknob. "Your old friend Lou is driving him up the wall."
Art's head snaps up. "How'd you know I brought in Lou?"
"Johnny called me last night."
"And..." Art stares at him, pen in hand. "What exactly did Mr. Crowder want?"
"Evidently Boyd called him. Got him nervous."
Now Art looks pissed. He pushes up, hands on his hips. "You were going to tell me this when?"
"I just forgot, Art." Raylan slides the hat back on.
"You 'just forgot' about Boyd Crowder callin' our witness?" Art snorts.
"Yeah, well, I got a lot on my mind," he says. He looks at his watch. "Shit, I gotta go."
Art's voice follows him out into the bullpen. "We'll talk about this later, Raylan!"
-o-o-O-o-o-
"We can reschedule," Henry says, glancing at his watch.
Winona cranes her neck, but with the reflection of the morning sun off the window she can't see beyond the curve in the path leading from the house.
"Raylan said he would meet me here. I'm sure he's just running late. Otherwise he would've called." She shoots Henry a nervous smile. "Can we wait a few more minutes?"
"Why don't you and I just get started then. We can catch him up when he gets here." He flips his notepad open, pencil poised above it. "So, how have things been with you two?"
She flushes. "Fine. Good." Smoothing her blouse down over her belly, she turns her head again, hoping to see Raylan's lanky form hurrying down the path. No such luck.
Henry tilts his head, eyes on hers. "'Fine' doesn't really tell me much. Can you elaborate?"
Her face must be fifty shades of red at this point. She tells herself there's no way Henry can know she and Raylan slept together unless she tells him, but it feels like he can see what she's thinking. Clearing her throat, she stalls by telling him about the accident. She's up to Raylan's arrival at the hospital when the door opens.
"Sorry I'm late," he says, taking the hat off and placing it upside down on the low table in front of the couch. He sits beside her. "I had to run by the apartment to get somethin'." He tosses a crumpled water stained paper on the table beside the hat.
Henry takes the paper and unfolds it. He eyes Raylan over the top of his glasses, a slight smile on his face. "Thank you," he says, sliding the paper into his notebook. "Winona was just telling me about the accident. How did you feel when you got the call?"
Raylan huffs out a breath, rolling his eyes. "How do you think I felt?"
"I try not to project my possible emotions and reactions onto others," Henry says with a shrug.
"He was scared for me and the baby," Winona offers.
"I'd like to hear from him." Henry makes a note. "Is she right? Were you scared?"
"I was worried, sure." Shooting a sideways glance at her, he clenches and unclenches the fingers of his gun hand, stretching them. "Peter didn't tell me much, so I didn't know what was going on."
"What was the physical sensation like?"
Winona watches Raylan's face. He drops his head, sighing and she wants so badly to put a hand on his shoulder, to remind him that this prying, this self-revelation, is worth it if it means they can have something they'd both given up on. Something better than they've had before. Something that just might last.
"I felt sick," Raylan murmurs.
Henry makes another note and doesn't push for more. "So what did you talk about?"
"Huh?"
"When you got to the hospital and found out she and the baby were alright...what did you talk about?"
Winona jumps in again. "They did a sonogram, so we could be certain about the baby."
Henry slips off his glasses and levels a stern gaze at Winona. "You keep jumping in. You need to let him answer, or let him choose not to." She bites her lip at the rebuke and he turns to Raylan. "How do you feel when she does that?"
"She's just tryin' to help," Raylan says in her defense. He leans forward, one hand on his knee.
"She's speaking for you, which is fine with you, because you're uncomfortable with all of this," Henry says. "But it really doesn't get us anywhere."
Silence floods the room. The only sounds come from outside; the breeze rustling the plants by the window, a blue jay angrily defending it's territory in a nearby tree, a car door slamming out on the street. Henry waits, infinitely patient. Winona takes a deep breath, ready to say something, anything, to breach the impasse.
"Arlo had a stroke." Raylan's expression shows that he's as surprised at what he's said as she is. For some reason he's more comfortable talking about his father than whatever's happened between them in the last few days.
Henry accepts the change in subject, making another jot in his notebook. "Arlo would be your father?"
"Yeah."
"Why do you call him Arlo?" Henry lays the pad in his lap and steeples his fingers, cocking his head as he waits for Raylan to answer.
Raylan lifts and drops his shoulders. "Just do. Always have."
"Even when you were a child?"
Another shrug. "I don't remember."
"You said before there was violence in your family. Was Arlo violent towards you?" Raylan's jaw tightens and he doesn't answer. Henry goes on. "Using his first name is a way to keep him at arms length...to deny your relationship."
"I'm well aware of my relationship to Arlo." His voice takes on an edge of irritation. "I ain't pretendin' he's not my father."
"Do you wish he wasn't?"
His lips curve up slightly and he shakes his head. "Helen used to say 'Wish in one hand shit in the other and see which gets full faster'."
"Who's Helen?" Henry asks. "Your mother?"
"My aunt."
"So," Henry uncrosses his legs and leans forward. "How is your father since the stroke?"
"He's dyin'."
Winona scoots toward him, reaching out, and he meets her halfway, fingers linking through hers. She feels Henry's steady gaze on them.
"So, would you say these crises have brought you closer?" He points at their clasped hands. They stare at each other not answering. "You do realize this is the first time you've touched each other here." He smiles.
Raylan's fingers twitch in hers, ready to pull away, but she gives a gentle squeeze and after a moment he squeezes back. "She wouldn't let me go down there alone." He murmurs.
"And you stayed with her after the accident."
They both nod.
"Sounds like you're taking care of each other."
"Tryin', I guess," Raylan agrees.
"Any fighting?"
"Only when he tried to stop me from going along with him," Winona says.
"Why didn't you want her to go?" Henry leans forward, elbows on his knees.
Raylan presses back against the cushions, creating space between himself and Henry. "I don't want her anywhere near Harlan."
"Why?"
"It's..." He sighs again and runs a hand through his hair. "...dangerous."
"So you're protecting her?"
Raylan nods slowly.
"How is it dangerous?"
"Too many ways to count." Raylan snorts.
Henry points a finger at Winona. "Give me a specific way she is in danger being with you in Harlan," he says, pen at the ready.
Winona watches Raylan's face, notes the tension in his neck and shoulders, and knows he's at a loss to answer.
Henry glances down at his notes and back up at Raylan. "Have you ever considered that maybe it's not her you're protecting?"
Raylan's eyes narrow. "Whaddya mean by that?"
"Sorry." He taps his watch. "Looks like our time is up for today." He smiles at them, eyes twinkling. "See you next week?"
-o-o-O-o-o-
"Whaddya think he meant by that?" Raylan is still puzzling over Henry's last question as he walks her to her car.
"I don't know Raylan." She bites her lip. "Maybe he means that...well...there are things about Harlan...about Arlo...that you don't want me to know because..." she shrugs. "I guess I don't know why. Maybe you don't even acknowledge them to yourself."
He leans against the car, crossing his arms over his chest, his face hidden under the brim of the hat. "I never wanted you to be a part of all that."
"Harlan?"
"Harlan, Arlo, Boyd...the whole ball of wax."
She walks over and stands next to him, mirroring his pose, staying quiet, waiting to see if he'll go on.
"When I first saw you, in that bar in Salt Lake?" His eyes slide sideways to her. "You smiled at me and it was like the light at the end of a long tunnel, bright and warm and..." he sighs. "I never wanted to come back here myself and I sure as hell never wanted to bring you here."
She laughs, low. "Then I ran away from you and ended up right where neither of us ever thought we'd be again."
He slides an arm around her and kisses her temple. "I guess I'm glad you did." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keys. "I gotta get over to the motel and see about Johnny Crowder."
"Alright." She leans in and kisses him, quick and soft on the lips. "Here." She slips a plastic card out of her pocket and hands it to him.
"What's this?"
A small flirty smile plays on her lips. "I have an early ob appointment tomorrow. Peter's mom is there helping Gayle with the kids and the house is kind of crowded. So I got a room here at the Hilton for the night."
"Oh, you did, did you?" He's smiling now, too, flirting right back. "And you're tellin' me this because...?"
"I thought you might want to stop by for a nightcap. They have one of those outrageously expensive mini-bars you like so much." She lays a hand on the baby. "I certainly won't be using it."
"It would be a shame to have all that over-priced booze go to waste. Not to mention that tonight is 80's night at the bar. Bon Jovi isn't really my kind of music."
She laughs. "So, I'll see you later?"
"Count on it." He turns and winks at her as he walks to his car.
