Survival

Chapter 8

Wedding Belle

In Chapter 7, I had fun with Vic's old nemesis Towson, adding Walt's foe Cliff Cly from the books. I keep trying to weave elements from the books into the stories. I was surprised, though, no reviews mentioned my melting glaciers—there was more interest in what Vic was going to wear to the wedding—well that is merely another sliver from book canon. Er, also from the books, Walt has been known to wear a suit to weddings, so I am not out of canon to do so.

This one was fun to write…not really comedy, but some hopefully funny parts. Okay, when said and done, this chapter ended up over 5,000 words…I thought I hadn't been writing, but I guess it was just figuring out how to get there from here, and it took some time. I have now broken it into three separate chapters. So far, there are 17.

Lowly fan writer, own nothing, just having aforesaid fun.

—Late June, Two Weeks after FBI Meet—

Vic had taken pity upon his unwillingness to arrive together and said she would meet him there, but she hadn't arrived, yet, although it was early, and guests were still arriving. He hadn't been in the Lutheran church for a long time. The last event must have been with Martha well over ten years ago, since it wasn't her church. He wore his one summer suit with a shirt and tie. He wasn't sure Vic had ever seen him wear one, before. He'd told her "a tie," in order to let her know that (according to Cady) it was a formal (for him) affair. A set of less-strangling clothes lay folded in the Bullet, along with his duty weapon, cuffs, knife, extra ammo and the like, just in case. He wouldn't feel prepared for the day without them. Despite the fact that the Ferg was on call and slated for a 24-hour shift if need be, he still felt he had to be ready for back-up if necessary. Vic wasn't on the duty roster at all, tonight. He hoped it would be a quiet one, for all their sakes.

At least the weather had cooperated for Janine. It was a mild June afternoon, just teasing the 80 degree mark. It did not bear the stinkin' hot summer nor ominous thunderstorm which marked Absaroka's proximity to the Bighorns at a minute's notice. The reception was set adjacent to the church in large tents. Already caterers were scattered like ants, and a band had set up and was tuning. The reception might adjourn to the Pony if the weather changed suddenly, or if it went too late in the night, but for now, it looked promising. Durant was a town which typically rolled up its sidewalks pretty early, which is why this was the social event for the week, if not the month. Later in the summer there was a festival the town dressed up for, but for now, the place to be was this wedding.

An interesting looking young man covered with tattoos and with several rings in nose and eyebrows (Walt was mildly amused by these; he preferred that fashion statement in contrary bulls' noses) had approached him when he had first arrived.

"We hear you play keyboards," the young guy said. "Would you consider playing a couple of boogie-woogie pieces with us, later? Change of pace, you know, for the older set?"

He was more than a little surprised by the question, and cringed a little at the reference to the 'older set.' Vic had never heard him play, never said anything about it, and he wasn't sure if it would make him seem older in her eyes. He sure didn't feel old today, he felt like a teenager going to prom.

But he was flattered; he had played in high school, later in the military at the Boy Howdy Beaucoup, and over the years for Henry and at special events. He had stopped completely after Martha's death. For him, the music had just gone away for a long time after she died.

The peculiar thing was, he had just started practicing again a couple of days after the meet with the FBI. Somehow, with the Murder Board gone, learning that it seemed to be working, and the discussion with Vic in the café, his heart had felt a little lighter ever since their trip back from Sheridan. The lingering darkness around his vision had receded. He attributed some of it to anticipation of something gradually developing with Vic, or maybe it was just time ticking along after Martha's death and he was finally coming out of the grief coma which had enveloped him for so long, or maybe it was both.

It might also have something to do with the wedding. He used to play at receptions, especially when they were held at the Pony, where Henry kept an upright tuned just for him. After Martha's death, when he did not resume playing after almost a year, Henry had quietly moved the piano to his storeroom. Henry still had it in there, though, Walt had seen it when he and Henry cooked up more than breakfast in his kitchen—the scheme to exhume Miller Beck's body. Presumably Henry had kept the piano in hopes of the return of his music along with happier days, or maybe Henry just didn't want to have to move it anymore. Either way, he might just help Henry move it back into the bar again…

Anyway, he had told the young man. "Are you sure? I'm not positive Janine…"

The young man smiled through the tattoos and rings. "Janine asked, specifically. I'm her brother-in-law-to-be. Sal Johnson."

"Oh. Well, in that case…" He had a sneaking suspicion one Ruby Reynolds was behind Janine's specific request.

Not only that, he had kind of hoped to be hanging out with Vic throughout the evening, but…

Even as he held up a stone-faced corner of the Lutheran Church with one shoulder, the Absaroka County white Dodge pickup finally pulled up in the parking lot. When she slid out, she took his breath away—literally, in one of his favorite combinations, a form-fitting sundress in a striking turquoise and yellow western plaid print—he would swear he had once had a shirt with that same plaid—and were those—white cowboy boots? With fringe? How did she know that was his favorite? He doubted Cady had spilled, and felt guilty, Vic must have caught him watching women in similar outfits at some point. Maybe in Odin? Just driving down the street? He'd never said anything…and neither had she. Well, once in a while she'd make crude comments like, "It's rude to stare while your tongue is hanging out," or "If you don't stop that, it's going to fall off," but he'd never thought anything of it. She teased him all the time about looking, but he'd teased her back here and there. She'd once said about her own way of appreciating guys, like how tight their jeans were, with, "I'm married, not fucking blind." The irony way, now that she was not married and could look her fill, he rarely caught her doing that. It was another piece of the puzzle that was uniquely her.

The dress had narrow plaid straps and was trimmed in lace, um, what would Martha have called it? Eyelet. That was it, white fabric with round holes in it. It had a summery, retro feel to it which in turn also made him feel younger.

She looked beautiful, hair loose and swinging, with several small braids woven into it, pieces of turquoise hanging from her ears and a matching piece on a silver chain around her neck…and absolutely western. Not dude western, but more like a ranch girl. Maybe the term would be home-girl, in Philly vernacular?

She also looked less harried, and happier than he'd seen her in a long while, if ever. She saw him, she gave him a little wave with a smile which reached her eyes, and headed in his direction, hips swinging. No man-walking, there. Today, she looked the epitome of girly, as opposite to his deputy as could be. She also looked absurdly young, but for some silly reason, today that also made him feel younger.

He thought about the events of the last year—the Connally shooting, the Murder Board, her offer from the FBI. He was asking himself now, what was he waiting for? The litany too young, too married which had kept that protective force field around him just seemed to have evaporated into the ether, and all that was happening for him was that he was getting older, edging closer to retirement, and she looked…the young people said it…hot.

Well, she was still his deputy, but he had told her he'd made peace with that. There were things they could do about that if it re-emerged as a problem in his mind. He really didn't think it would now, based on feelings which had come long before the chaos around Chance Gilbert, that he simply missed having her around every day she wasn't out with him. He tried to be fair about the roster and took the less-experienced ones into the field whenever possible, but for the most serious cases, he wanted her with him.

"Hey, cowboy," she said, with what looked like an almost shy smile, not the more typical brazen flirting he had seen from her with other men.

He didn't touch or hug her, just drank her in.

"Hey."

"You clean up pretty good for a cowboy, sheriff."

"You look—beautiful." He'd never been good with the compliments.

Her face brightened with another smile. She gave his cheek an experimental touch.

"Baby-soft! Maybe this occasion called for it, but mental post-it for future reference, you don't ever have to do that for me. I like you—you."

He smiled back. He was afraid if he said anything more on the subject, all his feelings would spill out, and there was still an event to attend.

"I'll file that for future reference."

"Ready to go in?" she asked.

"You bet."

"So, does the Demure Sheriff of Absaroka County give a lady his arm, hold her hand, or just escort her in to an event?"

"Come on. We'll miss the event if we don't get a move on." He moved to lay a hand at her back as he often did, and they entered the church together. He pointed to a couple of empty seats in the middle, and they squeezed their way in.

The wedding was well-attended, simple, but being Lutheran, did offer a longer service. He didn't mind, as long as she was by his side.

As a radiant Janine was being whisked down the aisle and people stood, Walt bumped Vic's elbow. He just wanted to kick in and make sure he wasn't dreaming. He also wondered what she thought of weddings. They had never talked about hers, or about his, for that matter.

He hoped at some time in the near future, there would be occasion, if not reason, for that.