Longmire: Frames

Chapter 8…..Interpolation

Walt watched Vic pull away, headed to her first day as acting sheriff of Absaroka County. He chuckled, thinking that today she'd get introduced to the Tates and their marital crazy. The chuckle turned into a snort then full out laughter. She hadn't had the chance to deal with them yet. They'd been quiet the last couple of years, well comparatively so. Last year, they'd both been in Mathias's jail over on The Rez. Public intoxication, drunk and disorderly, public indecency.

When Mathias had called him to ask if he wanted to come pick them up, Walt said "Nope!" Even though he couldn't see Mathias's face, Walt could feel the other man grinning over the phone line.

"Walt, how long have they been married?" Mathias had asked.

Walt rubbed his chin, counting back his years as sheriff, adding in the tales Lucian had told him; "About thirty-five at least, and every year they decide to get divorced on their anniversary. What was the public indecency charge about?"

The line was quiet for a few seconds. "They were having sex. On the hood of MY car. In front of the station. In broad daylight."

Walt had rubbed his eyes then pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger after which he rubbed his chin and mouth trying to keep from laughing. "Well now, that's a different one for sure."

"You really put up with that shit every year?" Mathias inquired.

"Uh-huh, although it usually involves more thrown beer cans, empty whiskey bottles, or cutting torches… or road kill."

"Gotcha." Mathias had offered a quick goodbye, and hung up. Walt smiled at the memory.

The year before that they'd been quiet, too quiet. So quiet that Walt had decided to make sure they hadn't killed each other and driven out to Casa Tate. They were both passed out in the front yard, having consumed nearly a half-gallon of Mezcal between them, and a fight over the worm, judging by what appeared to be a tug-of-war death grip each had on the neck of the bottle. He'd walked off and left them to wake up, with a hangover and sunburn as it turned out later.

And the year before THAT, they'd again been in jail, except Billings, Montana had the pleasure of their insanity. When the sheriff had called to ask if they were indeed legal residents of Absaroka, Walt had said yes and asked what had happened. The sheriff said he'd rather not mention it, and the few times he'd talked to anyone up that way, they all clamed up.

Walt had no doubt that Bob and Annie were going to liven Vic's day.

After a shower, Walt dressed. He stamped his feet into the old beat up cowboy boots and crammed the beaver felt cowboy hot onto his head. He strolled slowly down towards the pasture, enjoying the scents carried by the dry air. The horse came to meet him at the fence, and he walked to the gate, the horse following along. He opened the gate, making sure the four-legged beast stayed inside, then went over to the small barn to grab his riding tack. As he was buckling the reins to the bridle he noticed something glint; a dog tag with the name "Horse" stamped into the cheap metal. "Vic… " his voice trailed off and he snorted in amusement.

"Walt, we need to do some work on this place, make it feel like… home." She'd rubbed the back of her neck in unconscious imitation of himself.

He'd felt his heart pound in… anticipation? Longing? Rightness? "So, it's 'we'?" He smiled to let her know he wasn't trying to be sarcastic.

She turned away for a moment, looking out the window at the dark landscape out beyond the windows. When she turned around her face was slightly blushed, but there was fire in her big brown eyes. "Yes, WE!"

Walt took a deep breath—he found it funny how Vic Moretti seemed to make him take deep breaths—and said, "It wasn't that long ago you said…", before he could finish, Vic placed her fingertips over his lips.

"I know what the fuck I said. I meant it then. But, believe it or not, my ears can listen. We both have… I won't, you won't, but…", she paused. "I said I can't go on if anything happens to you. You said You loved me for me even if it was different. I…" She'd shrugged.

Walt knew what she was trying to say. Moving on was hard, and it was normal to love someone a bit more than others, but that didn't mean you couldn't love them. And as he'd learned himself, Loving Martha was one thing. Loving Vic was a whole different matter, and a good one as far as he was concerned.

"Besides this place looks like a fucking crack house, and a shitty one at that. Hell, back in Philadelphia, we have crack houses that would make it into "Hovels and Cesspits" before this place." She pointed her right forefinger at him, them tapped him in the chest. "There is NO WAY IN HELL I'm letting this wannabe hobo refuge be slighted."

Looking at the dog tag she'd placed on horse it was obvious that Vic WAS serious. She'd took her first step by naming Horse. After a good currying, he picked up the saddle blanket, making sure there were no burrs or any other irritants, draped the blanket over Horse's back, tugged it even on both sides, smoothed out the wrinkles then settled his saddle across Horse's back. He tugged the girth strap tight, planting his knee in Horse's ribs, reached up to the saddle horn and gave a slight shake to make sure the saddle was tight and climbed aboard.

Horse plodded out of the pasture gate, crossing the road towards the house then hung a left and followed the verge. Walt let the horse wander as it willed. When it came to an old dirt track just up the road, the horse hung a right and started up the road. Walt remembered the Smiths who used to own this old pasture land. A nice couple.

As he road along, he unconsciously scanned the ground ahead, looking for litter. Instead, he found his eyes falling on a fresh set of tire tracks. He smiled. In the past couples from teens to older adults had pulled off here and over the low ridge for some back-seat boogie-woogie. He decided to press onward and make sure they hadn't left any litter behind.

He found where the car had parked; casting around he saw two trails of depressed grass. One led away from the car, the other towards the car. Sheriff instincts triggered he decided to make sure they hadn't been illegally dumping trash. It wouldn't be the first time. As he neared the tree line, he saw both trails curve off towards the right. As he rode along, he noticed that the trail heading away from the car had started out at a normal pace, but seemed to be growing stealthier the farther it went. The further it went, the closer it came to his, no, their home. The trail leading away was the inverse. The closer it got to the car, the more the steps widened up.

In the pit of his stomach, he started to get an uneasy feeling. The feeling grew even stronger as he reached the copse of trees near his cabin, and the trail hooked left into the trees and underbrush.

Dismounting Horse, he dropped his reins to the ground knowing that the animal would stay there happily munching grass. He followed the trail into the trees. Broken weeds and bent limbs led him to a place where whomever had settled. The foliage was still green, and he was sure that the trail could only be a few hours old. Looking around, he spied a gap between two trees further ahead. In that gap, he could just see a clear spot of ground that he knew well.

Putting all the evidence together: the tire tracks, the trails to and from this point, the fact that the foliage had only been damaged in the last few hours, the fact that from this place, even though it was still a couple of hundred of feet away… someone had watched them making love last night.

A cold lump formed in his belly and chest, then it flashed in to heat, rage. He had no doubt. Their privacy had been violated, and the son of a bitch who did it was going to regret it.

He spoke softly, "Yes, you WILL regret this you son of a bitch!"