Winona watches the girl slide into the back seat. Rachel clutches a book and several envelopes in her hand. Her face is tear-streaked, and Winona fishes in the glove compartment for a tissue as Raylan shows his I.D. once again to the guard at the gate. It's started snowing, and he maneuvers the car carefully onto the narrow road.

"Thanks," Rachel says, taking the tissue Winona hands back to her.

"You okay?" Raylan asks.

She nods. "I just miss him, that's all." She stares out the window.

"They're lookin' for your mama," Raylan says. "They'll find her."

She doesn't say anything more until they pull up in front of the foster home. "Mom would never leave us or stay away if she knew Jemmy was in trouble. Something's wrong."

Winona slides her eyes towards him and watches Raylan's face. His jaw has that hard set to it, and she knows his mind is puzzling, trying to fit the pieces together. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. The radio is playing Christmas music

"What do you think?" He asks Rachel, keeping his gaze in the rear view mirror. They've parked under a street lamp and the car is lit with sharp yellow squares of light falling through window.

"I try not to think about it," Rachel says.

"But when you do...?"

Winona wonders why he's pushing the poor girl. She nudges him and gives him a look. He looks back at her, shakes his head and holds up a finger.

"I think she's dead," Rachel says, flat. "I think she wouldn't tell them where we were so they killed her. "

"You really think they'd do that?" There's a note of suspicion in his voice as if he doubts the girl, when Winona knows he doesn't. She watches and listens now, fascinated. So this is how he does what he does.

Rachel shifts uncomfortably. "It's not like other people haven't disappeared," she mumbles.

"Like Haley and her family?"

Rachel's eyes go wide. "How'd you know about Haley?"

"Your brother told me about some of the folks who've left the compound. I spoke to her grandmother yesterday. I figured you were about the same age. Is she your friend?"

Rachel nods.

"Haley's okay."

"She is? You're sure?"

"Yep."

"Did you see her?" Rachel is leaning forward now, her hand on the back of Raylan's seat.

"No, but her grandmother knows where she and her mother and sister are. Hopefully, we can help them. Do you know why they left?"

Rachel shakes her head, but even Winona can tell she's lying.

"Look, if Haley is safe, maybe your mama is too. Maybe she's afraid they're watchin' her and she knows you're safest right where you are."

"You think so?" Her voice is soft, but hopeful.

"Could be." Raylan fishes in his pocket and comes up with a card. He writes a number on the back. "You hear from her, or need anything, or think of something else to tell me, you call. I'm gonna be out of town for a few days, so if you can't reach me, call Marshal Larsen. He's the other Marshal that was at the house."

"The one who got shot in the arm?"

"That's him."

"Why are you being so nice to us?" She asks.

"Your brother knows what he did and he's sorry," Raylan said. "It was a mistake. Everyone makes 'em."

"Thank you for taking me to see Jemmy."

"You're welcome."

She looks at Winona as she opens the car door. "Merry Christmas."

"You, too, Rachel," Winona says. She wonders though, how this can possibly be anything but a miserable holiday under the circumstances.

-o-o-O-o-o-

"You're awfully quiet," Raylan says as they pull out of the subdivision onto the main road.

Winona turns in her seat as much as the seat belt will allow. "That's a nice thing you did for those kids. I'm sorry I gave you such a hard time about it."

He takes his eyes off the road for a minute to look at her. "I'm sorry, too. I'm kinda used to doing whatever I want and not checking with anyone else. Guess that's gonna change."

His eyes go back on the road, but he takes her hand and squeezes it.

They find a tiny restaurant in a plaza that's still open and eat spaghetti and salad and warm bread. Winona having a second glass of wine and Raylan's nursing a beer when his cell phone rings. He glances at it and clicks it off.

"Who was that?"

"No one." He slips the phone into his pocket.

Winona swirls the wine in her glass and gazes at him with those wide blue eyes that seem to see into his very soul. "Who was it, Raylan?"

"Helen." He tips the bottle back and drains it.

"It's Christmas," she says. "Why didn't you answer?"

He fiddles with the hat on the table and ponders her question. He's not sure he has an answer other than not answering was the easiest thing to do. "Come on, let's go home."

He pays the check and she follows him out to the car. "What if your mother called? Would you talk to her?" He asks.

"My daddy did call, and I talked to him," she reminds him. "It wasn't Arlo calling you, right?"

The thought of Arlo picking up the phone to call his son and say 'Merry Christmas' almost makes him laugh. "Not likely."

"She loves you, Raylan," Winona says softly. "Maybe she just wants to hear your voice and know you're alright."

"Aww hell," he says. He pulls the phone out of his pocket and pushes the buttons.

"Ye-ah," Arlo's voice comes over the line. Raylan listens to the man breathing almost two-thousand miles away and pushes the 'end' button.

"No answer."

"Um hmm." Winona shakes her head and he can tell she knows he's lying. "Whatever, Raylan. You do what you have to do." She turns her head and looks out the window. Straight ahead there's a church, bright and glowing in the darkness. Cars are turning in and people huddled against the cold are making their way into the building.

"Maybe we could go," Winona says.

"Go where?"

"Here. Raylan, turn in."

"To church? You want to go to church with a bunch of strangers?"

"No one cares if you're a stranger on Christmas Eve," she says, wistful. "We used to go every year. Didn't you go to church?"

"When my mama or Helen dragged me there, sure," Raylan says. "But not voluntarily."

"Please?"

He looks down at his jeans and boots. "Not really dressed for it, am I?"

She points out two men walking in with the same thing on. "I don't think it matters. It's Christmas Eve."

He pulls in and parks the car and she links her arm through his as they walk in. The lights are dim, candles line the aisles, and most of the pews are full. An older couple, white-haired and stooped, scoots over to make room for them. "You just sit right here," the woman says to Winona. "Look at them, Frank. Oh, to be young and in love again."

"What's that Gladys?" The man leans in and she repeats herself. "We may not be young, but we're still in love," he says. He kisses her cheek and winks at Raylan.

Winona squeezes his hand. When he looks at her she smiles. "They're sweet," she says.

"You and me in fifty years?" He grins at her.

"I hope so."

The service begins, mostly carols and Bible verses so familiar even he could recite some from memory. Winona sings along with some of the carols, her voice thin and sweet. The pastor's sermon is mercifully short, and to his surprise no one accosts them as they're leaving. They're back in the car headed for home in just over an hour.

Once inside the apartment, he unloads his pockets, pulling the cell phone out to plug it into the charger. Winona leans against the archway, arms crossed over her chest.

"Why not try again?" She says. "Maybe someone's home now."

"You aren't going to give up, are you?" Sighing, he picks up the phone and pushes the buttons again. This time the voice that answers is thick and raspy from cigarettes. He swallows hard. "Hey," he says after a long moment. "It's me."