Author's Notes: Hey everyone! For those of you who haven't seen my profile - my computer is on the fritz again. Needs a new motherboard this time - joy. So updates may be intermittent. Bear with me. And I swear you'll see WRR updates as soon as I have some more time to write - because a certain Blue reader presented me with the most logical argument I've heard yet to convince me to write. What can I say, logic works where begging, pleading, and threats have failed. Let's see, two notes - one, Mr. Winterson is in fact named for my cousin, not for any theatrical lieutenants, in case you were wondering. Two, my thanks to Dierks Bentley for reminding me about Luke's dogtags - and if you can figure out that connection, kudos to you:-D Enjoy!
Chapter 4: Not Home Yet
"Hey Luke…"
He was instantly awake at the soft sound, though it took a moment longer for awareness of his surroundings to truly sink in. Warm, comfortable, soft grass, red dirt, burbling water - Bear Paw Creek, Hazzard, Home. The sunlight streaming through the trees had faded considerably since he'd closed his eyes, and he didn't think he'd slept that deeply and soundly in a long while. He was so relaxed, he considered just going back to sleep, but Bo wouldn't have woken him without a reason. Luke turned over to look up sleepily at his little cousin, who was holding their fishing poles, the tacklebox, and a string of trout.
"It's gettin' late," Bo told him softly. Luke was sleeping so heavily, he hated to wake him, but Uncle Jesse might be worried, they'd been out so long.
Luke nodded appreciatively and yawned, reluctantly pushing himself upright and groaning at his stiff muscles.
"Come on," Bo held out one hand to help him up. Luke took it gratefully, hauling himself up and dusting his clothes off. Searching around, he located his hat, which had fallen off into the mud again, and replaced it on his head. Then he looked up at Bo, who was waiting expectantly, and they started off down the path to the road where the truck waited.
Bo drove - he was a natural behind the wheel, Jesse said, and he took advantage of every bit of practice he could get. Luke had plenty of experience at 'shine-running and many other kinds of driving besides, so he was happy to leave Bo to do the 'work' for now. Then, as they rumbled along the county road, Luke's sharp eyes spotted something of interest.
"Hey, isn't that Cooter's truck?" he asked Bo, pointing into the parking lot of the Boar's Nest.
"Sure is," Bo confirmed, slowing down a little. "He must have just closed up shop for the day."
"Well, let's stop by and say Hi. We'll give Uncle Jesse a call inside, let him know where we are."
Bo readily agreed, a part of him hoping Luke might sneak him a beer, but no such luck. Once the truck was parked and Jesse was called, Luke ordered up a brew for himself and a root beer for Bo. Cooter was nowhere in sight just yet, but a few minutes later he emerged from the men's room.
"Lukas Dukas!" he cried out when he spotted the pair, breaking into a wide smile as he greeted his old friend. A slap on the back turned into a fierce Davenport bear-hug, which Luke readily returned. "I missed seeing your ugly mug around here!" the mechanic teased.
"Oh I doubt that," Luke teased right back. "I'm sure you were just miserable, turning away all the girls that used to chase after me!"
Still grinning from ear to ear at the unexpected surprise, Cooter ordered up a beer for himself and they found a table, anxious to catch up. Unfortunately, though, their conversation was interrupted time and again by some well-wisher stopping by to greet Luke, so they'd barely gotten started when Cooter frowned and muttered something under his breath, glancing at a new arrival.
"What is it?" Luke asked, half-laughing still over a previous comment.
"Trouble, with a capital D," Cooter explained. "Danny Winterson."
Luke recognized the name of one of his graduating class - a quiet, shy boy who'd unexpectedly joined the Army at the same time Luke joined the Marines - but he didn't understand Cooter's comment. When Bo frowned as well, Luke turned to look for himself, but he didn't need to. The Army infantryman had already spotted him.
"Luke Duke!" he growled in a distinctly unfriendly voice, though Luke didn't know if it was personal, or if he was just generally unfriendly. He approached the little bar table, shoving aside the chairs in his way and ignoring Bo and Cooter's frowns. "I heard you were back."
Luke looked up at the man who's addressed him. Though Luke's age, he appeared about ten years older, with grizzled, overgrown hair that hadn't seen a shower in a week and sallow, pale skin that hadn't seen the sun in a month. His clothes were at least as grubby, and the distinct smell of whiskey hung about his person like a noxious cloud. What drew Luke's attention most, though, was the crutch under his right arm, and the stump of his right leg, ending at the knee.
Swallowing back his discomfort, Luke stood, towering over the other man by half a foot. Bo was surprised by his response.
"Got home yesterday," Luke replied evenly, and held out his chair. "Want to sit with us, Danny?"
Winterson squinted at Luke almost suspiciously, ignoring the question. He was silent for several moments, looking the Marine up and down, while Bo and Cooter waited tensely. Luke was the very picture of calm. Then, lifting his crutch, Winterson tapped the side of Luke's right boot, right where his sheathed knife rode against his ankle. The man's lips curled in a small, mean smile.
"You ain't Home yet, Duke," he declared gruffly.
"Winterson!" a voice bellowed from the bar, interrupting the scene before Luke could respond. It was Harry, the bartender. "I told you to stay out of here! We don't want your kind of riff-raff here!"
Danny Winterson glared in his direction, then squinted back at Luke. Bo was relieved to see him stump off and out the door with a humph! Luke still hadn't moved, standing behind his chair, staring after him with a frown of his own. Bo turned back to Cooter, but apparently Luke had other ideas.
"Come on, Bo," Luke finally said in a low voice. "Uncle Jesse and Daisy will be waiting on us for dinner. See ya later, Cooter."
Bo and Cooter both had identical expressions as they watched Luke start for the door - jaws hung open, blinking with surprise and confusion. Shrugging to Cooter, Bo got to his feet and trotted after Luke with a hasty goodbye.
"Don't worry about Danny Winterson," Bo was telling Luke on the drive home. "He's been causing trouble all over town since he got back, but Rosco won't arrest him, no matter how drunk he gets, 'cause he was…" He trailed off into silence, glancing over at Luke, who didn't appear to be listening. Instead, Luke was staring out the window, with the same thoughtful frown on his face. Bo sighed and gave up.
Luke had the same expression dampening his features a little later at the farm as he sat at the kitchen table, vacantly looking at nothing in particular. Daisy was cooking the fish fillets Bo had contributed to dinner, while Bo and Jesse worked on the evening chores outside. Luke had tried to join them, but Jesse waved him off, and he was left with nothing to do but think. After about ten minutes of working around her silent cousin and his serious expression, Daisy decided it was too quiet, and she patted Luke's shoulder.
"You with us there, Luke?" she asked lightly, playfully.
Frowning deeper, his response was anything but playful. "I don't know…" Then Luke blinked and looked up, summoning a smile for his lady cousin. "Sorry, Dais'. Just thinking, is all. How's dinner coming along? Need a hand?"
Daisy smiled and accepted the offer of help, setting him to smushing the lumps out of the mashed potatoes.
After dinner, Luke was back to relaxing on the porch, while Jesse helped Daisy with the dinner dishes inside. Bo had disappeared somewhere or another, but Luke was sure he wouldn't be gone for long. His animated chatter at dinner had quickly turned Luke's thoughts away from the worrisome questions brought up by Danny Winterson, and now Luke had a whole other set of ideas to think about.
"Oh, Luke, I gotta show you the Gazette after dinner!" Bo had exclaimed somewhere in the conversation. Jesse and Daisy smiled, knowing exactly what this was about.
"What's in the Gazette?" Luke asked curiously. There wasn't much important that Bo hadn't told him in letters, but his little cousin sure seemed excited about this one. "Don't tell me someone's got hound pups for sale…" he trailed off, seeing Bo nearly jumping on the edge of his seat. No, not hound pups. What, then?
The blond looked appealingly at Jesse, who nodded permission, and Bo was off like a shot to the bedroom to fetch the latest copy of the North Georgia Gazette. In another moment, he was back, opening it to a well-thumbed page and handing it to Luke. Bo grinned broader, if possible, as he watched his elder cousin's eyes widen when Luke read over the advertisement. With raised eyebrows, imagining the possibilities, Luke looked up and opened his mouth to speak - but Bo beat him to it.
"I've got more than five hundred dollars saved up," Bo told him proudly, enjoying his surprise. "Just a couple more months, another six hundred dollars…Luke, you can just see it, can't you? Our car!"
Luke's expression of surprise spread into a grin and a chuckle, feeding off Bo's excitement. Yes, he could see it…just like they'd always talked about…dreamed about…and here was one dream dangling tantalizingly close. All he had to do was reach out and grasp it… Luke shook his head as he grinned, reading over the ad one more time in wonder.
"Bo…I can do you one better than that…" Luke chuckled, looking up again with a surprise of his own. All eyes rested on him expectantly. "They did pay me in the Marines, and I didn't spend that much of it - whaddaya say we go pick this engine up Monday, split the cost, fifty-fifty?"
Bo's joyful response was unmistakable - with a whoop, he leaped up and wrapped Luke in a delighted hug, then Uncle Jesse, then he danced around the table to hug Daisy too.
"After school, and your chores," Jesse reminded him, but he was smiling himself, watching Bo settle back into his seat. He was sure if someone suggested it, Bo would be happy to run right out and pick it up this very minute.
Now Luke rocked idly on the porch swing, every so often looking down at the gazette ad in his hands. After dinner, he'd called the owner and made an offer on the engine, then made arrangements to pick it up Monday afternoon. With too much energy to stay inside, Bo had taken off running around behind the barn somewhere. He hadn't returned yet, leaving Luke to muse over the days of tinkering and machinework to come.
The sharp report of a shotgun blast snapped Luke out of his reverie. He was on his sore feet in an instant, every sense alert and straining for more information. It had come from around the far side of the barn, with no warning and no resulting shout or howl of pain. A moment later, the front porch door opened, and Jesse calmly joined Luke, watching the farmyard expectantly with none of his nephew's keyed-up tension. It wasn't long before Luke's ears picked up the soft thuds of Bo's booted feet on the packed earth beside the barn, and his younger cousin came into view, carrying a shotgun over one shoulder and an annoyed expression.
"Well, did you get him?" Jesse asked, though he could read the answer on Bo's face. Luke's eyes darted from his uncle to his cousin, clearly bewildered and not much liking it.
"No…I swear, I had him right in my sights, too!" Bo protested, frowning at the firearm in his hand. "That's the third time I've missed him! At least he won't come back tonight, now."
"Don't be so sure of that," Jesse countered as Bo joined them on the steps. "He's got a taste for chicken, and he'll keep coming until we stop him."
Luke blinked, then realized this perplexing conversation must be referring to the raccoon Uncle Jesse mentioned had been going after the chickens. The henhouse was on the south side of the barn, just out of sight from the front porch. Looking down at the shotgun Bo carried, Luke recalled his cousin's comment moments earlier, and he thought like a Marine.
"Had him in your sights?" Luke asked, reaching for the gun, which Bo readily surrendered. With experienced hands, he disarmed it, then started examining the barrel, chamber, and trigger mechanism. "When was the last time this old thing was cleaned out and looked at?"
Jesse was surprised at the question. He kept all his guns in good working order, regularly oiled and cleaned, and Luke knew it well. He said as much when he answered the question. "Just last week…that shotgun's in fine condition," the Duke patriarch objected.
With keen eyes intent on the weapon, Luke sat back on the porch swing, pulling out a handkerchief. "Yeah," he agreed absently. "But it's so old, the barrel can build up…ah-ha! There…" He spotted the slight imperfection that was throwing off the precision of the aim. He knew Bo wasn't such a bad marksman that he couldn't hit a raccoon at thirty paces. Taking his knife from his boot, he expertly scraped at the metal of the gun barrel with the knife tip. He frowned as he worked, noticing other spots that could use some work as well. This was gonna take a while…
Jesse and Bo watched for a few minutes as their Marine silently worked at decades of wear on the old shotgun with knife and cloth. They were both startled when Luke broke the silence to ask for the gun oil and a few other items, which Jesse moved to get, instead of sending Bo.
Bo watched for several more minutes, amazed at the…change would probably be the best word…in his cousin. The young man sitting here on the porch swing wasn't the smiling, laughing cousin of his younger days, nor the tired but contented cousin of this afternoon - this Luke was all business, and his business was guns.
To Luke, this was the most useful thing he'd done all afternoon. When he was finished, this old beauty would peg a 'coon square on at two hundred yards, with enough power to knock the critter clear into the next farmstead. As he worked, he was vaguely aware of Uncle Jesse settling into the creaky old rocking chair far to his left, and Bo sitting down somewhere on the steps to his right. It was a fair evening - gentle breeze and golden sunset, family close by, comfortable - though that comfortable feeling came as much from solid steel in his hands as from his surroundings.
So focused on his work was Luke that it was some time before a flicker of motion caught the corner of his eye, and he paused to look up, oil rag in hand. He watched Bo for half a moment before a stern frown creased his brow. As Luke set down the shotgun, Bo dropped the K-bar mid-way through a fumbled twirl, and the knife clattered to the porch step. For a good ten minutes, he'd been trying to replicate Luke's skill at handling the blade, with limited success. Now the blond looked up at Luke wide-eyed as the Marine bent down to retrieve it, and Luke returned Bo's startled look with the same stern frown. Without a word, he re-sheathed the knife in his boot, and returned to the porch swing and the shotgun.
It was dark when the steady sounds of scraping, polishing, and smoothing suddenly stopped. Bo and Jesse both looked up from their respective seats on the porch to see Luke studying his handiwork. With a satisfied nod, he picked up a few shells and loaded the shotgun, cocked it, then stood and strode down from the porch to test it. Bo was quick to jump to his feet and follow.
Luke stopped about halfway to the woods on the far side of the barn, glancing up briefly as Bo joined him.
"Pick a target," Luke instructed, pointing towards the fence and the woods just beyond it.
"Uhm…" Bo said, scanning for a good mark. "That old stump, over there."
Luke made a face. "Farther than that!"
Bo looked skeptical, but he looked again. "Okay…the dead branch on that box elder." He was pleased when Luke nodded, then raised the shotgun to his shoulder. BAM! The end of the branch was gone in a flutter of brown leaves.
Smiling with satisfaction, Luke ejected the spent shell and handed Bo the shotgun. "Here, you try. Careful, it's got a kick now."
Bo picked a somewhat closer target, aimed, and fired. He grinned when the shot hit dead-on, and looked down at the gun, rubbing his shoulder with one hand. "Wow! It's hard to believe it's the same gun! This is great, Luke!"
Luke's smile had faded, though, the moment Bo had taken the shotgun from his hand. It was all he could do to keep from grabbing it right back, and keep his little cousin from ever firing.
"Boys!" Jesse called just then from the porch. "It's getting late! Time for bed!"
"Coming, Uncle Jesse!" Bo called back. Still grinning, he clapped Luke on the shoulder, and they both headed for the farmhouse.
Jesse and Daisy were both waiting on the front porch as the boys approached, and their 'goodnight's were combined with another series of hugs all around. Before he turned in for the night, however, Luke had one more thing to talk about with his family. It had been nagging at him all day, since he'd realized he'd fallen asleep the day before without warning them.
"Look, ah - Uncle Jesse, Daisy, Bo…" he began, getting their attention. "I might…if I…" Exactly how did one go about saying this? "Don't…wake me up," he finally said lamely.
Misunderstanding, Daisy smiled and patted his arm. "Oh, it's alright, Luke! You can sleep as late as you want!"
Luke shook his head. "No…I mean…if I'm asleep, and it looks like I'm…having a bad dream…don't try to wake me up. Don't…just don't."
Comprehension dawned on Jesse, and he nodded solemnly, but Bo and Daisy just looked confused.
"Promise me," Luke insisted, looking at his cousins.
"Well, okay, Luke," Bo agreed, still not understanding. Daisy nodded likewise, with the same baffled expression.
Satisfied, Luke gave them a small, reassuring smile, and hugged all three each one more time before Jesse ushered them all back inside.
Bo followed Luke down the hall, and they both undressed and got ready for bed like any other day of their lives. It made Luke's head spin, thinking how some things seemed so completely normal one minute, and completely out of place the next. Like now, when Bo was climbing under his covers, looking at Luke with a thoughtful expression that he'd never seen on his younger cousin before. Then Bo noticed Luke noticing that he was looking at him oddly, and the blond quickly flashed him a grin and said goodnight, settling into bed. Luke smiled back and got into bed himself. Soon he was stretched out, hands folded behind his head, and he was staring up at the ceiling, thinking.
Bo lay awake for a little while as well, thinking and glancing at Luke out of the corner of his eye. It was great to have him back, but it would take some getting used to, too. Sometimes it was good ol' Luke he was talking to, and sometimes Bo saw a stranger acting like Luke and not quite succeeding - like the way he wore a t-shirt to bed, because he felt cold in the sixty-degree weather, or the business with the knife. Especially the business with the knife. It didn't take an unusually perceptive person to realize the K-bar hadn't been more than three feet from his cousin since his arrival home, and then only when his boots were off and he was in bed.
It was just strange at first, but it was starting to nag at Bo on a deeper level, especially when he watched Luke arrange his boots within arm's reach of the mattress, and check the distance before he settled back under the blankets. Who was he afraid of, here in Hazzard? He was home, not off at war. Uncle Jesse didn't even lock the front door. They kept that shotgun in the house, but it hung in the living room by the bows, and they only used it to hunt. And with Luke around, well, there wasn't a person in Hazzard who would try their luck against the Marine, once they heard he was back.
Bo sure felt safer anyhow. He'd had a hard time sleeping well, all alone in their room with that bed empty, after a lifetime of falling asleep to the sound of Luke's steady breathing. So maybe that was why he drifted off so easily and slept so soundly again tonight, snoring softly and content that whatever might be different about him, his older cousin was finally home for good.
Luke still lay awake a good hour after Bo dropped off. He stared at the ceiling, tracing familiar patterns in the cracked paint with his eyes. Finally, he decided he was too wide-awake to lay there any longer, and he quietly got up and slipped back into his jeans.
Earlier, he'd been too tired to notice or care about the strangeness of being back in his own bed. Now, though, it was too quiet in the farmhouse, the mattress too comfortable, the pillow too soft. He kept waiting for something to happen. To double his unease, his internal clock was still set to Golf time – Vietnam time – and right now, if it were dusk there, his day would just be beginning.
Twenty-two months ago, Luke had been field-promoted by the unanimous decision of his unit after the death of their immediate commanding officer, and he had gotten all ten men safely back behind the lines. The field promotion stuck, and soon he found himself in charge of regular patrols of the lines as well as advance scout teams probing the enemy position. Quite unintentionally, he distinguished himself as particularly capable of leading nighttime operations – his commanders called it skill, but Luke chalked it up to all those nights sneaking around revenuers and working Uncle Jesse's forest stills. So just like that, Luke found himself consistently handed nighttime assignments, whenever the situation called for them.
So now, not only were his surroundings too strange, but for Luke, this was the time of day to be active, not sleeping. As soon as he was dressed, boots laced, he made for the door, but not before Bo stirred, sensing the movement.
"Luke?" came the boy's sleepy voice through the darkness. "Where ya goin'?"
"Just out for a walk," Luke answered softly. "Go back to sleep."
"Oh, m'kay."
Bo was snoring again when Luke slipped out the door and closed it behind him.
Outside in the cool October night air, Luke took a deep breath, taking in the view from the front porch. The fields and trees were bathed in darkness, dimly lit by a sliver of waning crescent moon, and a light breeze stirred the red-orange leaves hanging onto the branches. He paused for a moment on the porch steps, reflexively surveying left and right with eyes and ears, before setting off down the driveway.
When Luke reached the trees at the end of the drive bordering the Duke property, he stopped, peering into the dark shadows. Once more he felt the absence of his rifle, disturbingly missing the cold metal that hadn't been more than a few feet from him at any given time since leaving boot camp. Instead, Luke stopped to shift his knife from his boot to his belt, securing it in easy reach before setting off into the woods.
He hadn't really had a plan when he left the farmhouse, just intending to go for a walk to clear his head, but as he walked along, Luke realized he was more relaxed now that he had been in several days, months even, since before that sniper. He let habit take over, stealthily creeping through the undergrowth and between the trees, avoiding the game trails and deer paths, his every sense alert for movement and life all around: the solemn hoots and soft wingbeats of owls met his ears, the smells of sweet hay and heavy manure drifted on the wind from the barn, the trickle of the creek as he reached the northern border of the property and turned east, the occasional squeak or scurry of some rodent underfoot. All these were Home too, and comforting in their own way. The chilly night air ceased to bother him as his activity warmed him, and the long-sleeved blue-plaid shirt provided warmth of its own.
In this manner, Luke made a complete circuit of the entire Duke property, not once disturbed by a single abnormal event. It took him several hours, not only because of the vast acreage, but also because his gait was slowed by fatigue. It would be some while before he regained his previous endurance, since his hospital stay.
Finally, when Luke was satisfied that all was well, his family safe and base camp secure, he turned up the driveway and headed back to the farmhouse on wary, silent cat-feet.
Anyone looking in on him would know it was a nightmare. He tossed and turned restlessly, muttering in his sleep, and the blankets had long since fallen off the bed in a tangled mess. In the early morning hours before dawn, the chilly night air set his skin ashiver, but it wasn't the cold that woke him.
"No!" he cried softly, almost to himself, bolting upright in bed. Anxious eyes searched the room and strained to listen for activity in the farmhouse. There - footsteps. Then a deep, dry cough, that went on for a few minutes until a glass of water quieted it.
Jesse climbed to his feet and found his slippers, quickly wrapping a robe around his shoulders. He knew those muted footsteps weren't Bo or Daisy, and he was soon walking through the farmhouse, afraid with every step that his nightmare would turn into reality, and Luke would leave again. His worry quickened when he found the living room and kitchen empty, but he breathed an audible sigh of relief when he spotted the young man standing on the front porch, leaning on the rail and looking out at the night.
"Everything alright, Luke?" Jesse asked, stepping out onto the porch and letting the screen door close behind him.
Luke looked up, a little surprised and spooked that he'd allowed his uncle to sneak up on him. He hadn't really been paying attention, deep in thought and watching the night as he cooled off from his jaunt through the countryside. His long-sleeved shirt was untucked and unbuttoned, hanging open to let the sheen of sweat he'd worked up evaporate into the cool air. His battered dogtags still dangled around his neck, never removed since the day he was issued them more than three years prior.
"Just fine, Uncle Jesse," Luke answered, after pausing a few seconds too long. "Couldn't sleep, is all."
"Nightmares?" Jesse asked gently. He'd barely spoken the word when Luke shifted and turned towards him, and for the briefest moment, the kitchen light illuminated his bare chest between the folds of his shirt. A small, round, puckered scar stood out fresh and pink against the pale white skin of his lower right ribs. Jesse's heart leaped in his throat as he recognized the bullet wound, and in his shock he nearly missed hearing Luke's answer.
"Naw, I just couldn't fall asleep." Luke turned again, leaning on the railing, and darkness once more concealed his secret. "It's so quiet…" he observed softly, looking out into the night again. Then, to his surprise, Luke found himself swept into a fierce, tight hug. Jesse maintained his hold for several long minutes, and when he finally released his nephew, keeping one arm around his shoulders, the young man blinked at him in bewilderment.
"Had a few nightmares of my own," Jesse admitted by way of explanation. As quickly as he recognized the wound, he realized Luke must have his reasons for saying nothing of it to his family, and the Duke patriarch wasn't willing to push the issue and push him away.
Nodding understanding, Luke returned to the rail, while his uncle stood close and companionably beside him. After a little while, he'd cooled off enough to feel the chill of the night air again, and Jesse felt the shiver run through him, accompanied by a few more dry coughs. The elder Duke frowned in the darkness, now recognizing the occasional cough for what it was, and his role as a paternal caretaker took over.
"Well, it's getting late," Jesse announced, "and I know you need your sleep. It's well past time for you to be in bed, and we've got church bright and early in the morning. Come on, now," he added insistently as Luke started to hesitate, but orders were orders, and the young man didn't hesitate for long.
Jesse followed him inside and saw him into bed, hugging him again and kissing his brow as Luke said his goodnights. The Marine yawned heavily as Jesse settled the blankets over him, more tired than he expected after his unanticipated night patrol. He was already drifting off as his uncle shut the bedroom door and returned to his own bed for a few more hours of sleep.
"You can't hide from your demons…feel them all lurking around
You're runnin' scared, 'cause you know they're out there
They're waitin' for the sun to go down..."
- "Bones" by Little Big Town