"You know what I'm hungry for?" They've left his car at the courthouse and Winona's driving. He can hitch a ride back with her in the morning to pick it up. It will give them a few more minutes together.

She stops at the light and turns to grin at him. "I think I have an idea."

He grins back. "Besides that."

"Oh, you mean food." She laughs.

"Fried chicken."

"Fried chicken? Like Kentucky Fried Chicken?"

He taps his fingers against the armrest in time to the song on the radio. "That'd do in a pinch, I 'spose, but homemade'd be better."

"Bacon and eggs I can do, but fried chicken?" She looks doubtful. "I've never made fried chicken."

"How hard can it be?"

An hour later, with just about every surface in the kitchen pretty much covered in flour and the burned pan still smoking in the sink, he wonders what he was thinking. Winona is talking to Trina, and even over the phone he can hear the other woman's laughter from across the room. She must be giving Winona some direction, though, because the oven is on, and Winona is gingerly arranging the remaining pieces of flour-coated chicken in a new pan.

"Thirty minutes, then turn it and thirty minutes more. Got it. Thanks, Trina," she says, opening the oven and sliding the pan in. "You're a life-saver." Setting the phone down, she wipes her hands on the kitchen towel and shakes her head at him. "You thought you owed me before, Cowboy..."

He takes another sip of the bourbon, a Kentucky blend he's never heard of from the case Winona's father sent, and sets the glass on the counter. "Thirty minutes, huh? That's plenty of time for round one."

"Round one?" She pauses with her fingers on the top button of her blouse. "You planning on another triple-header?"

"Gotta make hay while the sun shines," he quips.

-o-o-O-o-o-

"You'd better get that," Winona says when the timer goes off. "I don't think my legs will hold me up yet." She shivers as an aftershock of pleasure ripples through her.

"That good?" He lifts his head from where it's resting on her stomach and props himself up on one elbow. His fingers lightly stroke her waist.

"Ummm hmmm." She murmurs, stretching, one hand reaching out to brush the hank of hair from his forehead. "That good."

"Well, there's more where that came from."

The annoying buzzing continues from the kitchen. "Timer, Raylan. Unless you want another pan full of burnt chicken."

He pushes up from the bed and walks out to the kitchen in his boxers. "What am I s'posed to do?"

"Just turn it over, reset the timer for another thirty minutes, and get your fine ass back in here."

"Oh, you like my ass, do you?" The oven door opens and shuts and he walks backwards into the bedroom, wiggling his butt.

"Raylan!" She giggles. Then her voice turns husky. "Come'ere."

He turns around and she grabs the waistband of the boxers, pulling him down on top of her. "I love your ass, and all the rest of you, too. Especially this." She circles his tongue with hers, drawing him into a kiss. "And this." She wraps a hand around him and he slips out of the boxers, kicking them onto the floor.

When the timer goes off again, they're lying tangled in the covers, skin glistening, breathing heavily. "I don't know about you, but I sure worked up an appetite."

Rolling over onto his chest, she kisses him. "Me, too. Let's go eat this dinner you wanted."

They sit at the counter half-dressed, eating the chicken. "Not bad," Raylan says. "Room for improvement, but not bad for a first try."

She takes a last bite of the drumstick she's holding and looks up at him. "Really? You just said that? Really?" She takes her plate to the sink and rinses it before putting it in the dishwasher. She runs water into the crusty pan and starts scrubbing hard enough to slop water onto the counter. "I told you I didn't cook much."

"Hey, hey, I was kiddin'. I'm eatin' it, ain't I?"

She keeps scrubbing and he gets up and wraps his arms around her from behind. "It was good. Really." He lifts her hair and plants a soft kiss at the base of her neck.

"You're just saying that so I won't be mad at you anymore."

He sighs. "Well, I don't want you to be mad, but it was good."

"But you've had better, right?"

He drops his arms from her waist and turns her around. "Do you want to fight about this? Seems kinda silly to me on our one night together."

She lets her head fall against his chest.

"Oh, so that's it." His arms go back around her. "Madeline is home, so Brett'll be trading off with me some nights. It won't be much longer."

"I just miss you," she murmurs.

"I know. I miss you, too." He glances around the kitchen. "Save the rest of the mess for morning. I'll help."

"What do you want to do instead?" She looks up at him through long lashes, a smile curving at the edges of her mouth.

"Oh, I'm sure we can think of something."