Longmire: Frames

Chapter 7…..Candid

Vic kept her eyes closed for just those few seconds more. She was snuggled up behind Walt, her leg draped over his, and she just wanted this to last a bit longer. Since last night she was ready to face the future. Those hasty words she'd said after the first time she and Walt had made love faded into the background. They COULD move on even though they both missed someone else. She finally understood. Life could go on. Walt had gone on even though Martha was murdered, even though she would have died soon from cancer. Cady had gone on, even though her mother was gone. She was still going on even though the people of the Rez hated her because she'd dared to help save a boy's life.

When Walt turned over, staring into her eyes, she reached up and pulled his face closer with both hands. The kiss was sweet. Not sexual, just her telling him that she loved him. The hand he raised to cup her cheek then play with her hair told her the same.

"Damn. I don't want to go to work. Maybe I should stay home?" She teased, running the tip of one finger down his chest and across his belly. She laughed when Walt tried to wiggle away. Who knew Mr. Bad Ass was ticklish. She laughed and slid out from under the covers, making sure he got a good view of her backside by reaching up, and gathering her hair into a pony tail.

Walt rubbed his eyes, thinking that there WAS a view that put the one out his front door to shame. Vic cleaned up nice when she chose, but that didn't compare to the toned muscles sliding around under her soft skin. He longed to reach out and stroke her back, but he knew that if that happened, she would be late for her first day back to work. It would be an important day for her. Her first day filling in as the Sheriff of Absaroka County, Wyoming. The idea of a woman being a sheriff would probably make heads spin. He imagined the look on Jim Wilkins face. The sheriff of Cumberland county had never had a good opinion of females as peace officers, and the idea of one as sheriff, even if temporarily would singe his mustache.

"Either go to work or come here. I'm ready to burn off some calories.", he said, patting his stomach.

Vic looked over her shoulder and winked, a broad smile splitting the lower half of her face. She took a deep breath and started to dress. Walt lay on his side, head propped up in his hand. It wasn't the bra or panties she slipped on that drove him to distraction. It was the tight jeans and the tank-top she slid into. They accentuated EVERYTHING!

He slid out of bed, and hugged her from behind as she was buttoning up her shirt. "Anything you want for breakfast?"

Vic looked over her shoulder and replied, "I'll grab something at the Busy Bee."

A few minutes later she found herself walking down to her car, trying not to remember watching Walt dress in just a pair of pants. Just pants, nothing else, and wondering if he was trying to entice her to take just one more day off. Probably. That old goat knows how to push my buttons… I'll push a few myself. She smiled to herself as she added just a bit more hip-action to her walk. She knew he was watching and he better damn well enjoy the view!

Walt leaned against the porch railing, his hands spread wide and watched Vic stroll, no, saunter was the word that came to mind. The rear view of his deputy was the second-best thing about seeing her. As she drew near her car, the horse plodded over towards the fence. He watched The Holy Terror juggle options in her head, then she climbed over the fence and walked to the shed. She reached the barrel just to the side, pulled off the top and reached her hand inside to scoop up a handful of oats. She walked back over to the dark horse and held her hand out. The horse, being the gentleman that he was promptly bumped her hand, knocking most of the oats onto the ground then started to munch. Even though he couldn't hear her, he knew that Vic was castigating the horse—mostly with four letter words that would raise some eyebrows with people who didn't know her.

"Seriously? What the fuck?" Vic found herself running her hand up the back of the horse's head and neck, feeling the power lying just a few millimeters under the coat and skin. "Seriously, is the food you like to eat, or the dirt?".

The horse lifted his head to stare her in the eyes. She'd seen a lot of crazy in her days back east, but this horse beat all. Dirt seemed to be his main food group. She'd watched as Walt took the plastic food bucket, filled it with oats, and placed it on the ground. Then this dumb chunk of horse walked up, placed his left front hoof on the corner of the bucket and flipped it over on its side, spilling at least half of the food onto the bare ground. He'd gobbled it all up, then used his nose to right the bucket and burying his head deep inside, had started munching on the dirt-free remainder.

She slipped back over the fence and slid into her vehicle, ready to face the day for the first time in weeks. She wasn't sure which of the two big dumb animals who'd been between her legs recently amused her most: Walt or the horse. Either way, the day was promising to be warm, both had made her smile, and both made her feel that life was out there if she just stretched out her hand.

When she looked at the clock hanging in Walt's old office, she saw it was nearly three in the afternoon. A couple of more hours sand she could close the popsicle stand and go home. It had been a quiet day. The most excitement was when The Ferg had to go out to the Tate Estate. Well not "estate" so much as a sheep ranch owned by Annie and Bob Tate. They were headed to Splitsville, fast, hard and ugly. Bob wanted half the flock and Annie had said no. She said no by taking over half the flock and hiding them while Bob was off getting drunk that morning. Mind you, Annie was half way there herself when she concocted the plan. Annie had rounded up her two brothers and they'd moved half the sheep to another pasture. It had taken a while, but since Bob was an Olympic gold medalist in getting drunk, they'd had time. When Bob finally got home, Annie had told him he could have half. Even drunk, Bob knew something wasn't right. It had gone downhill from there. Annie had shoved him out of the door of their trailer. Bob had called her several un-Christian names, Annie had flung several empty beer cans at Bob, and Bob had retaliated by pulling out his knife and puncturing the all ready flat and decayed tires of the mobile home.

The Ferg had pulled up just a few second after, and had handcuffed them both, with out a struggle, then hauled them back to Durant and the county lockup.

"It's an annual thing for them. They've been getting divorced for years now, even though they never seem to manage it. I have to give Annie points for the sheep though. She'd get 75% if it worked out. Although the best was about 4 years ago. Bob got hold of a cutting torch and decided to give her half of their car… the passenger half. That didn't go well."

Vic rubbed her eyes. "What should we do with them?"

Deputy Ferguson crossed his arms and looked at the window for a moment. "Walt usually locked them up for a couple of days until they sobered up. Then he'd pick up next year's calendar and mark off the upcoming anniversary."

"Anniversary?" Vic queried.

"Yeah, every year about this time they go at it like this. It's their wedding anniversary. I have NO clue what so ever." The Ferg shrugged, lips pursed.

"Have either of them ever managed to hurt the other?"

"No. The trailer tires, the car hood, then there was the time Annie tried to cut the trailer in half with a chainsaw, but that wasn't the anniversary thing. She'd seen a magic show and…" Ferg trailed off and Vic shook her head disbelievingly.

Back home in Philly, she'd been busy doing the typical cop things: robberies, homicides, drugs. Here, she'd done some of that, but not as much. It was quiet here for the most part, but when stuff happened? "Seriously? A cutting torch?"

The Ferg hooked his thumbs in his belt. "Yep. When the sparks started flying one burnt his cutting hand. He dropped the torch and set the lawn on fire. We had all of Absaroka there; police, fire, ambulance, the news people, bystanders…" The Ferg trailed off, running his fingers though his hair.

"And we can expect this next year?" Vic looked at him. He provided confirmation with a simple nod of his head. "Hey Ruby! Get me a calendar for next year the next time you get shopping supplies!" Vic yelled through the door. To her surprise, Ruby strolled through the door, a calendar in hand. She plopped it on the desk and Vic noticed it was open to the relative month, and the date was circled in red magic marker with the single word "TATES" written inside. She gave Vic a motherly smile, patted her on the shoulder then bustled back out.

A few minutes later, Ruby slipped back into the office with a Manila envelope in hand. "I found this slid under the door downstairs."

It was addressed to "Victoria Moretti, Acting Sheriff". She undid the clasps and lifted the fold. Inside were several pictures. She slid them out, and her face went white. They were from last night!

The first was a picture of her and Walt on their sides, his arm wrapped around her middle, just under her breasts in a post coital embrace. The next showed her bending over to kiss him as she straddled his waist. The third showed her sitting between his thighs as they roasted hotdogs over the fire he'd made.

Anger built inside her. I'm gonna rip your fucking nuts off when I catch you asshole! Various forms of violence and epithets went through her mind as she held the pictures, her hands shaking in rage, and in fear. They'd been violated! Their home—OUR HOME!—violated. She felt her face flush from anger, fear, embarrassment. She reached for the phone to call Walt, just as it started to ring.