Longmire:Frames

Chapter 3…..Location

One day later:

"Are you sure Vic? I just… damn, I'll miss having you here," he trailed off, elbows on his knees and head staring down at the floor.

"Yes Walt." Vic slowly exhaled. She knew that this wasn't what Walt expected when she said she needed to talk to him. She'd been trying to find a way to tell him for the last few hours. In some ways, she couldn't believe it herself, and found herself worrying the tip of her thumbnail between her teeth.

She watched closely, finally seeing his shoulders sag as he excepted the news she'd just handed him. He stood up, walked over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders bending down to stare into her eyes. She felt her heart skip a beat, thinking up arguments for the denials and pleadings she was sure he'd give.

"Look Walt, I just can't keep on going like this. I have to move on… hell you've told me that yourself. But I just…" she found her voice trailing off as she saw the ghost of a smile curve his lips.

"You're really ready to go back to work?"

"Yes! God I love it here, and I'll be glad to get back to the peace and quiet here every night. At first, I used to think you and Martha must have been off your rockers to buy a place out here, no matter the view. But seriously?" Vic leaned out over the railing of the front porch and looked left and right. No houses in view, no cars in view. "If I wanted to go pee in the front yard who'd know?"

She was surprised when Walt started laughing. "What are you laughing at?" Vic asked indignantly.

"Martha said something like that… it's why we bought this. Turns out it was a good idea, otherwise this would be some damn golf course run by some greedy jackass like Barlow Connelly."

Vic stepped up behind him and wrapped her arms around him feeling him breathe in the fresh air. "The good thing is I'll be home at night and busy during the day while you trot Lucian's ash…es all over hell and Absaroka county. Did that old fart really know where the treasure was?"

"Yep. He did. Why?"

"I just have this idea you're trying to Woodrow his Gus butt, but I'm NOT Clara and don't expect me to bury you here!" Vic said, sarcasm coating her words.

"First off, Clara was Gus's…" he never finished his sentence. Vic hauled off and backhanded his shoulder, HARD! If anyone ever says another word about someone hitting like a girl, I'm going to send them to this one. Walt rubbed his shoulder then asked, "How do you even know about Woodrow hauling Gus around after he was dead?"

"I saw you reading the book and may or may not have looked the plot up online. Videos… YouTube… any of that ring a bell cowboy? Technology shit like that cellphone you have now?"

Her words bled snark and sarcasm and irony. Walt snorted. "And? Watching these videos?"

"I cried when Gus died. And that whole trip back…", she swatted Walt on the arm again.

"Ow! What was that for?" Walt rubbed his abused shoulder again. Hits like a girl? Walt shook his head to clear his thoughts.

"Say ONE WORD about me crying because I'm female and you'll get another." Vic widened her eyes, daring him to saw anything.

"If I did, I'd be condemning myself too. Hell, I cry when I read it and don't let that old bastard fool you. He cried too, even if he'd say it was because he'd been pepper sprayed."

"So," Walt continued, "since you're ready to go back to work, I think we should have a party."

"Is this going to be like an Animal House toga party? Or one of those parties at Grandma Moretti's where we sit around looking at pics of all the cops in the family and eating stale gingerbread cookies?"

Walt turned around and walked inside. As he entered the door, he looked back over his shoulder and said, "Stay there."

Vic wondered what he was up too, but she was entranced with the view. The sun was just starting to set and the air and land were gradually darkening. Insects were starting to make gentle buzzes and chirps, and in the distance, she could hear an owl hooting. What is it with owls out here?

After several minutes—in which she heard Walt clattering around in the kitchen—he came back out, an Igloo cooler in one hand and two thick blankets slung over his forearm. Reaching down, he took her slim fingers in his callused ones and started leading her down the steps then around to the back of the cabin.

Walt lead Vic into the woods behind the cabin, to a spot he'd often come to. It had a rock firepit and several tall pines surrounding it. There was a smoothed out area of ground just behind the pit, and he tried to keep some wood for a camp fire. At least he'd tried when… NO! I am NOT going there. I have Vic!

Kneeling down, he spread out one of the thick blankets then started grabbing some dried branches to place in the pit. He then placed tinder under the stacked wood, and pulled out a box of matches. The first one he struck was blown out by an errant breeze. The next burnt strong and steady but had almost burnt his fingertips before the kindling caught. Leaning over he blew gently to encourage the fire. Soon, he had a nice low fire going.

Vic had stood watching, arms folded under her breasts. She felt a tingle run down her spine. She didn't know what Walt had planned, but the fire was romantic, and some primitive part of her psyche responded to the fire: It was warm, provided comfort, safety… Just like the man she'd told a couple of weeks ago she wasn't sure how they could make a relationship work.