She hadn't looked back at him since declaring she was leaving, and even though she still stood at the top of his porch steps, with her face hidden in the shadows she didn't really seem completely there.

"Vic. Come inside."

She didn't move, or turn around.

"You must be cold. I've got a fire going. Come in."

"I'm fine. You're the one without a coat on." She glanced down at his feet. He was standing on the porch in only his socks. "Or boots."

He stepped forward so that they both stood at the top step, although at opposite ends.

"I should go." She adjusted the bags in her arms as she looked out at her truck, but made no move to leave.

"Vic."

Her eyes dropped.

He decided to try again. "Let's go in and talk."

Without a word, Vic sat down on the top step, placing the grocery bags at her feet. Walt looked down at the top of her head as she slouched forward, her forearms resting on her thighs. He knew he needed to take what she was offering. He sat down, keeping some space between them.

She looked both tired and on edge, as if the week had been pulling her in two directions.

Clearing his throat, he ran both hands along his thighs.

"Theresa..."

He stopped. What should he say about Theresa?

He must have let his silence go on too long, because she half-turned toward him. "Theresa?"

"The woman who just left. Theresa Coleman."

Vic's brow furrowed. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

"Last Saturday when you..." Looking down at the wooden board at his feet, he ran his hands across his thighs again. "When Cady came over and you were in...my bedroom."

"You mean your closet?"

The corners of his mouth lifted but when he looked up, her face remained neutral. He would have welcomed an eye roll.

"When I played the messages on my answering machine that morning, the first one was from Theresa. You asked me who she was later, as we were making breakfast."

Vic pursed her lips in thought. "You said she was a family friend."

Walt nodded.

"And she called you at the station before you got in on Monday. Ruby relayed the message to you when you came in that morning."

"She was calling to arrange our dinner tonight."

Walt glanced over at Vic again, but she was still looking out into the distance. "I thought you were engrossed in something at your desk when Ruby was giving me my messages on Monday."

Vic shrugged. "I was multi-tasking."

She continued to look out into the darkness. "What does 'family friend' mean?"

Walt ran his hand through his hair. "Theresa...Theresa and Martha met during chemo treatment at the hospital in Denver."

"Theresa had cancer too?"

"Yes. It's been in remission for about four years."

He watched her as she gripped the edge of the step with both hands. He knew he had to stop openly staring at her, she was bound to let him have it any moment now, but he couldn't help it.

"When Theresa went into remission, she still joined Martha at the hospital for her treatments, and would come to the house to visit."

"So she lives around here?"

"Down in Casper."

Stuffing her hands in the pockets of her coat, Vic leaned the back of her shoulder against the railing to her right, but continued to look out in front of her.

"When Martha passed away, Theresa used to drive up to Durant to check up on me. Those early months I was..."

He paused.

"She met Cady early on, and the two bonded over their exasperation with my refusal to accept either of their help. I eventually gave in and Theresa and I started doing these dinners. Cady and Theresa get together more often."

"Why does she know who I am and I know nothing about her?"

"You and I really don't talk about Martha much—"

"You mean you don't talk to me about Martha much."

That was true. He didn't. "It was too difficult...talking about Martha at first. I wanted to keep things separate...to keep others from that pain...and then...and then it was just too confusing...talking to you about my wife."

"Confusing? Why?"

"Because...you confused me."

"I confused you?"

"How I felt about you confused me."

Vic leaned forward on her forearms again, interlacing her fingers. "But you can talk to Theresa about Martha?"

"She knew Martha. The fact that we both knew Martha is what our relationship is built on."

"And you talk to Theresa about me?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Talk may not be the right world. She's kind of pulled information about you from me."

His hand went to the back of his neck.

"It started with her asking about the people I work with, and the cases I work on. So you first came up that way. Theresa started to read into things before I'd even admitted to myself there was anything to really read into. And then tonight—"

'"So she knows what happened between us last weekend?"

He turned his head toward her, and found her looking at him. "No." He held her eyes. "She just noticed my agitation when we talked on the phone earlier this week, and apparently I was distracted tonight, during dinner. She brought you up, and I just..."

He paused again.

"You just?"

"I just told her that you and I were trying to figure things out."

Staring at her clasped hands, Vic lapsed into silence. He sat, and waited.

"It's strange. I guess I thought that since I know Cady, Henry and Lucian, I knew the people who are most important to you. I don't know why I didn't think there would be others like AJ and Theresa."

"I wasn't keeping them from you. They just weren't part of our context...before."

She looked over at him, and then dropped her hands, hugging her legs.

Wanting to keep her talking, he nodded at the brown paper bags at her feet. "What's in the bags?"

She glanced down at them. "Nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing."

"It's stupid."

"I'm sure it's not."

She stared at the bags for a moment. "I...I should get going." She suddenly picked up both bags and stood.

Walt stood as well. "You don't need to go."

"I already ruined your evening."

"You didn't."

"I did. I interrupted."

"You didn't interrupt. Theresa was getting ready to head back to Casper."

He walked across the porch and opened the screen door, before looking back at Vic. "Come inside. I'm guessing some of the items you have in those bags need to be refrigerated. I think I can make a little room in my fridge." He chuckled, knowing that she knew how much free space his fridge actually had. "And you can warm up a bit before you go."

Vic bit down on her lip, and then without a word, entered the cabin, with Walt stepping in behind her. They stood just inside the door, both looking around the room.

Walt was keenly aware that her presence in the cabin felt very different than on both of her previous visits. Her presence tonight wasn't about protecting her, or giving him the chance to change his clothes before they headed out. She was in his cabin because he wanted her there with him. He wanted...her. Standing next to her in the doorway, he acknowledged just how much he wanted her. It was a big step for him. Acknowledging what he'd been denying for so long.

"Let me take your coat."

She hesitated and then silently placed the bags down on the nearby chair and unzipped her coat as he shut the door behind them. After removing it she turned and handed it to him.

Walt held her eyes for a moment and then hung the coat up on one of the hooks on the wall.

When he turned around he found Vic looking at him. She dropped her eyes and focused her attention on taking off her boots. Once she'd removed them she straightened, tucking her hands into the back pockets of her jeans.

He ran his hand along the hair at the back of his neck. "Let's...uh...let's get those items you brought in the fridge."

He watched as she picked up the bags and made her way into the kitchen, and then followed her in. He entered to find her staring down at the table.

"She made you a pie."

"What?" He stepped to her side and then saw the apple pie Theresa had brought. "Oh. Yes. Do you want some?"

"Uh...no. Thanks." She continued to looked down at the pie. "Did you make dinner or did she?"

He wondered if Vic truly wanted to know if he had cooked their meal, or if her question was about something else entirely. "I...uh...I host, and provide the beverages. She does most of the cooking. I think she thinks dinner won't happen if too many variables are left up to me. That if she has the dinner at her house, I'll find a reason to cancel. Or if I'm in charge of the food, I'll get too busy and not have anything prepared." He rubbed his ear, his eyebrow slanting up. "Or maybe Martha warned her about my cooking."

Vic placed the bags on the table. "I didn't bring anything as exciting as a homemade pie."

He looked over at her and watched as she picked up the smaller of the two bags.

"I...uh. I thought I'd replace your bottle of whiskey." She pulled out a bottle of the exact brand they had drunk the previous Friday night.

He smiled. "You didn't need to do that."

He watched her walk over to the shelf and place the bottle next to the almost empty original bottle.

When she returned to his side, she reached into the other bag and then paused. After a moment she pulled out a package.

"I...I also picked up some coffee grounds. So...so you don't run out again. Actually..." She reached back in the bag. "I got you two."

The corners of his mouth lifted again. "We wouldn't want that. We know what happens when I don't have coffee in the house."

Vic looked up. "So you're admitting you were to blame...or your lack of coffee was to blame..." Something danced in her eyes and in the smirk that graced her lips.

"I thought we decided Henry was to blame."

Vic snorted. "Right. Henry."

Walt stepped forward and then wrapped a hand around each bag of coffee she was holding. "Thanks."

After a moment she released her hold on the coffee. He walked over to the cabinet and placed the packages on one of the shelves as he heard her reach back into the bag.

When he returned to her side she was holding a carton of eggs and a package of bacon. She pulled open the door to the fridge and placed the items inside. He cringed at the sight of the near-empty shelves. "Did you bring over this food because you pitied me for how empty my refrigerator is?"

She grinned as she reached back in the bag, pulling out a carton of milk and a package of cheese. "I kind of ruined our breakfast on Saturday morning. I wanted to make up for it."

Walt reached down and took the items from her and then placed them on the shelf next to the eggs and bacon. "I think I was the one who ruined breakfast."

She looked up at him and then turned back toward the table. "Maybe we both played a part. Either way, I thought breakfast needed a do-over." She pulled out a plastic jug of orange juice, a bottle of maple syrup and a package of butter and then handed them to him to put away, before reaching back into the bag and pulling out a loaf of bread.

With his eyes on her, Walt closed the refrigerator door. He stepped closer to her. "All of this is much better than pie."

She looked up at him and blinked, and then a small grin appeared.

He shifted his stance. "So when were you thinking of doing this breakfast do-ov—"

The phone rang and they both jumped. Vic laughed as she ran her hand through her hair. Walt glanced over at his desk.

She lightly tapped his arm. "You should take it. I'll finish putting away the remaining items."

With a quick glance at Vic, he walked across the room, picked up the phone, and, recognizing the number of the caller, answered it. "Hey, Punk."

"Guess who just called me."

He walked over to the couch and took a seat at the far end. "Who?" But as the word came out of his mouth he already knew the answer.

"Theresa."

"She left my place a little while ago." He looked over at the kitchen. Vic was standing on her toes to put a box of cereal away.

"I know. She told me. I'm glad you found time to have dinner."

"Did you get a chance to catch up?" As Vic turned toward him, her eyebrow lifted, letting him know that he'd been caught staring. His eyes darted over to the fireplace.

"We did. And know what she told me?"

Walt paused, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Would Theresa have mentioned that Vic had stopped by? Would she have shared with Cady any part of their conversation from earlier that evening? The last thing he needed right now was Theresa and his daughter in cahoots.

"She said you might not be able to do breakfast tomorrow."

He had told Theresa about his Saturday morning plans with Cady. His eyes flew back to Vic who was folding up the paper bags.

"She did?"

'"Yeah, she said you need to go up to Sheridan tomorrow morning, for the case."

He had told Theresa about their pending interview with Tyler's mother. The interview that both he and Theresa knew was not until noon. Maybe she wasn't in cahoots with Cady, but it looked like Theresa might be indirectly playing matchmaker.

"Right. Sheridan. We're interviewing the mother of our person of interest." He saw the light go off in the kitchen and then watched Vic enter the room and go and stand before the fire. She stared into the flames and then turned and locked eyes with him. She nodded toward his bedroom and silently mouthed the word 'bathroom.' He nodded and then his eyes followed her as she made her way to the doorway and then disappeared into his room.

"Dad? You still there?"

His attention was pulled back to the call with Cady.

"Hmm? Yep. Still here."

"So you wanna reschedule?"

"Yeah. Probably for the best." His eyes were still on the door to his bedroom.

"Should we try dinner on Wednesday again?"

"Sure."

"Ok. I'll stop by your office around seven, like last time." She paused. "And Dad?"

"Yep?"

"If something comes up with the investigation and you need to reschedule again, that's ok. I know how important it is to you to figure out who did this to AJ's son and the rest of the kids."

"Thanks, Punk."

"See you on Wednesday. And good luck tomorrow."

"Thanks. Good night."

"'Night, Dad."

Walt stood and walked over to his desk. Sucking in his lower lip, he stared down at the handset before putting it in its dock. Taking a deep breath, he turned and crossed the room to stand before the fireplace as Vic had done, this time at the left-hand side, giving him a view into his bedroom. He bent down and threw on a couple more logs.

When he heard the bathroom door open, he stood, wiping his hands on his jeans.

Vic looked at him, her face registering surprise as her eyebrows lifted upwards.

"So...what's going on in here?" She motioned toward the bathroom with her thumb.

"What's goings on in...oh that." He moved to the entrance of his bedroom. "I...I worked on that last weekend. After I dropped you off I...I had a lot on my...I needed to keep busy." He stepped into the room and joined her in the doorway to the bathroom.

They stood, side-by-side, staring into the small bathroom, each studying the progress he'd made so far fixing it up. He thought about telling her that he'd also been mortified by the condition the room had been in when she'd used it last Saturday, and that he hadn't wanted her to see it that way again. But that would mean admitting that he planned to have her back in his cabin, which was something he was only now admitting to himself.

"I was jealous, earlier. Of Theresa."

This time it was his eyebrows that raised as he shook himself from his thoughts and looked over at her. "Theresa and I are just friends."

Vic's gaze dropped to his chin. "You shaved for your dinner with her tonight."

"No, I didn't."

She reached out and briefly touched his jaw, her fingers slightly cool and soft against his skin. "I was up close and personal with your stubble just hours ago. You definitely shaved. And got your hair cut."

When she dropped her hand, he took a step closer. "I mean I didn't shave because of our dinner. Theresa's not the one I shaved for."

Vic's eyes slowly raised back to his. He didn't step back or look away.

After a moment she turned, looking back into the bathroom.

Noticing how quiet the cabin was, he glanced over his shoulder. "The music's stopped."

She looked up at him. "Who was the singer you were playing when we came in?"

"Dinah Washington. Familiar with her?"

Vic shook her head.

"I think you'd recognize at least a few of her songs."

Vic arched an eyebrow. "You and I don't really listen to the same music."

The corners of his mouth turned upward. "I still think you've heard a few of her songs. If you want, I can play the record again, and you'll see what I mean."

Vic pressed her lips together. "Ok." She reached into the bathroom and turned off the light. With the only light now coming from the lamp on his desk in the other room, Walt paused as his eyes adjusted to the near darkness.

Neither of them made a move to leave the room.

"Who called?"

He blinked.

"Cady. She...she needed to reschedule our plans tomorrow."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yep. She must have heard that someone else had brought me breakfast."

He could just make out a grin. Or half-smile, since he could only see one side of her face.

"So, Cady's not going to be dropping by in the morning?"

"Nope."

"Hmm. Rescheduled plans. Freshly stocked fridge. It looks like you get to sleep in."

He immediately thought about ways he could spend his morning, and was thankful for the low light that hopefully prevented his face from broadcasting what had crossed his mind. Shifting his stance, he placed his hands on his hips.

"Do you want a beer?"

He watched the lashes of her right eye lower and then lift. "Sure."

Again, neither of them moved.

He licked his lips and smoothed down the hair at the back of his head even though it wasn't out of place.

Vic took a step toward him, and then another.

He could hear her soft breathing.

He wondered if she could hear his heart hammering away in his chest

He felt her hand on his upper arm, her finger running across his sleeve and over the scar that lay beneath the fabric. The scar that neither of them could forget was there.

Lifting his hand, he brought it to rest on her cheek.

They hovered there, faces close, breaths mixing. Somewhere inside he knew she was waiting for him to be the one to move things forward. That she needed him to initiate, given how things had gone after she'd initiated the previous weekend.

Slowly wrapping his other arm around her, he pulled her closer and lowered his head. He brushed his lips lightly against hers as he wove his hand through her hair. Her hand moved from his arm to his chest, and then gripped his shirt. She pulled him down as he lifted her into him, their lips came together, and suddenly there was nothing restraining them. Bodies pressed tightly together, hands roaming, mouths responding and exploring.

Finally, pulling apart, they both scrambled for air. Their chests heaving, their faces still close, he leaned in and kissed her jaw. She leaned into him, her cheek smooth and warm against his. He felt her smile into his neck, as she simultaneously punched him in the shoulder, her voice a whisper.

"About time."

XX

Walt readjusted the position of his arm behind his head, and then turned the page.

"How long have you been up reading?"

Her voice was thick with slumber, and he felt his body react. Lifting his eyes from the book, he found her head turned toward him but her eyes closed. "A little while."

She rubbed a hand across her face and then looked over at him. "How can you concentrate on a book first thing in the morning?"

He shrugged. "I've always started my weekends reading." What he didn't tell her was how little reading he'd accomplished that morning, given that he'd been distracted by other thoughts, and visuals, since he'd awoken.

"So this is just a usual day for you?"

There was caution in her eyes and a tenseness to her jaw. Like she thought he'd been lying here next to her waiting for her to wake up so that she could leave. Or he could bolt.

"I'm trying to treat it like it is. A usual day." He didn't know if he was trying to prove to her or to himself that he could deal with what was happening between them.

Something flickered in her gaze, but the crease between her eyes still remained. He wanted to reach over and smooth it out.

"Do you usually read here in bed?

"I usually read on the couch, after I've had a cup of coffee."

"Why didn't you go out there this morning? There'd definitely be more light."

He closed the book and lay it on his chest. "I...I didn't want you to have to wake up in bed alone."

She blinked, and her jaw tensed again. "Like you had to last Saturday?" She blinked again. "Sorry about that."

"You were just in the bathroom. I'm the one who left the room."

He thought about reaching out and taking her hand, which lay on the bed in the space between them.

"What are you reading?"

He turned the cover toward her. "The Grapes of Wrath."

"So, a cheery start to your day?"

His eyes crinkled in mirth. "Yep." He longed to see the same humor reflected in her eyes. Instead she turned and stared up at the ceiling.

His eyes drifted to her hair, which was fanned across her pillow.

When he returned to her face, she shifted under his gaze and pulled the sheet up a little. "What?"

He looked away. "Nothing." He could see her questioning look out of the corner of his eye. "I just don't get to see you with...with your hair down very often."

He turned his head toward her.

She looked up at the ceiling again, but directed her left thumb at him.

"Well I don't get to see you dressed like this at work very often. I'm certain I wouldn't get anything done, including reading, if I did."

When she turned toward him he was relieved to see a gleam in her eyes.

"Very often? When do I ever dress like this at work?"

"Well you did strip off your shirt in front of me in the Reading Room."

Now he was even more certain that there was laughter in her eyes and he smiled.

His phone rang from the other room, and both pairs of eyes flew to the door.

When he didn't move, she nudged his ankle with her foot. "You gonna get that? Could be work."

"If it's important, they'll leave a message, or call back until I pick up."

"So, is this what you've been doing every time I've called the cabin and you didn't answer?"

"What? Reading Steinbeck? Or lying in bed next to a naked woman?"

She laughed and it warmed his heart.

"I meant waiting to determine how urgent the call was before answering."

He grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe."

He was never happier to see an eye roll from her than he was at that moment. "You do know what happens when it's someone other than me calling from work and you don't answer?"

His phone stopped ringing, and a few seconds later her cell phone, which lay in the pile of clothes on the floor, began to ring.

"Yep."

After the second ring, Vic made a move toward the side of the bed, climbing over his midsection to reach down to the floor. As the upper half of her body hung off the edge so she could dig through their clothes, Walt's hand went to her hip to prevent her from sliding off entirely. She looked over her shoulder at him as she raised her phone to her ear.

"Vic."

He couldn't hear what the caller was saying, but he didn't think he would have been able to concentrate on the words even if he could, what with her naked form on top of his, and her skin warm against his hand.

"Ok."

A pause as she listened to the caller continue. "I'll let Walt know." Walt dropped his hand from her side. "Uh...I mean I'll tell Walt when he picks me up to head to Sheridan."

His eyes followed the curve of her exposed back as he waited for the call to end.

"Thanks Ferg."

Vic hung up and placed the phone back near the pile on the floor.

When she turned, and started to move back toward her side of the bed, Walt's hand once again returned to her side, halting her movement.

She looked up at him, and then arched an eyebrow in his direction.

He responded with his own raised eyebrow.

"What did Ferg have to say?"

Placing her hands on the bed on each side of his torso, she began to slide up his chest, a gleam once again in her eyes as she approached. "I told Ferg I'd pass along the info when you came to pick me up. I think you said you'd be at my place at eleven."

Momentarily closing his eyes, his body reacted to every part of her that was in contact with him.

He opened his eyes and found her head above his. She looked down at him, the mirth he'd finally earned replaced by something more serious. Her hair hung loose and the ends brushed against him. As he took a breath, he could feel her chest move with her own deep inhale. He was about to lift his hand to run his fingers through her hair when she rolled off him and lay at his side on her back.

He tilted his head to the right. "What?"

"I don't know if I want to tell you what Ferg said...yet."

"Why not?"

"Because you'll go into sheriff mode just hearing something about work and...pull back." She waved her hand back and forth between them. "From all this."

"I'm always in sheriff mode. I can't help it."

She looked up at the ceiling.

Propping himself up on his forearm, he watched her chest slowly rise and fall beneath the sheet. "I'm trying, Vic. I am."

Chewing on her lower lip, she exhaled deeply. "Tom Haskill called the station this morning. He told Ferg we have about an hour with Joanne Daniels before she has to go to the hospital to pick up Rich, and bring him home, so we should do our best to be on time. And he suggested I not wear my uniform shirt to put her more at ease."

She turned her head, looking up at him through her lashes, her lips parting as if she had more to add. But after a moment she closed her mouth without saying anything.

"Is there something else?"

Her lips parted again. "I..." She paused, and then shook her head slightly, and then looked away. "I should go home and change before we head out. You can take a shower, and then come pick me up. We should still be ok leaving my place by eleven."

She was leaving. Walt sank back into the mattress. "Ok." He tried to hide his disappointment from his voice.

Reaching across his chest, Vic grabbed his left arm and pulled his wrist in front of her face to look at his watch. "We've got a couple hours before I need to leave."

He rolled his head to the side, and could feel the grin erupting on his face. "You hungry?"

"Starving."

"What do you want me to make for breakfast?"

"I thought you couldn't cook."

"You've seen my skill with bacon. I can do breakfast."

She let go of his wrist, and tucked both arms under her head. "Surprise me."

He paused. "Those words make me very nervous. I think you have strong opinions about breakfast."

"As long as the meal includes coffee, I'm good."

Sitting up, Walt scanned the floor until he found his boxers. He pulled them on and then stood. Vic eyed him as he made his way around the bed to his dresser. When he selected a t-shirt, pulled it over his head and turned, he found that she'd moved closer to the edge of her side of the mattress.

Under her steady gaze, he walked over to the bed and sat down.

He felt her hand cover his right knee, and then her fingers move in slow patterns across his thigh. His eyes lingered on her face and then traveled to her neck, and the skin visible above the sheet tucked around her chest.

Her hand stilled, as her forehead creased. "Walt?"

"Yep?" He placed his right hand on the bed near her hip.

She stared up at him and he saw it again. That look of uncertainty. Of wanting to say something to him. Was it concern that the bubble they were in would burst as soon as the outside world got ahold of them? Or was it something else?

And then she blinked and the look was gone.

"Nothing."

He reached out and touched the hair draped over her left shoulder before pulling his hand back. "Well I should get started on breakfast."

He started to stand when she suddenly sat up and grabbed his shirt, tugging him down toward the bed. And then her mouth covered his as she leaned back, pulling him with her.

XX

Walt raised his hand to knock when the door suddenly opened.

Vic looked up, surprised.

"What are you doing?" She stepped out carrying her uniform shirt on a hanger, her backpack, a file folder and a few of the yearbooks, which she attempted to adjust in her arms to lock the door.

Confused by her question, Walt's hands went to his hips. "Picking you up to drive up to Sheridan, like we discussed."

"I mean, why did you come up to my door? You always wait in the truck."

"I've never picked you up at your place before."

"Whenever you pick me up from anywhere you just wait for me in your truck."

"Oh. Uh..."

Vic started walking toward the Bronco, before calling out over her shoulder. "And don't even think about opening my door for me."

Walt stopped in his tracks, and then started heading for the driver-side. Once again he watched her do a balancing act to shift the items in her arms so that she could open the passenger door.

As she slid into her seat, she looked over at him. "Walt, you need to be how you normally are around me at work." She turned and started putting the things she had brought with her into the back of the truck. She glanced over her shoulder at him. "You don't hold doors for me, or pull out my chair, or escort me to your truck. You can't start doing that now, just because we...people are going to notice if you start treating me differently. I don't want you to treat me differently at work." She rotated and sank back into her seat, the file folder in her hands.

Walt closed his door and looked out the windshield as he started up the engine.

"You're right."

He shifted into reverse, and with a quick glance her way, pulled out of her driveway.

Out on the road, with one hand loosely griping the steering wheel, he glanced over at her. "I guess that means no more changing my shirt in front of you at the office."

Her eyes dropped to her lap as she flipped the folder open. "Oh, I never said anything about that. You were doing that before this all started, so by all means, carry on. We don't want anyone to get suspicious."

As his grip on the wheel tightened, he saw her look up and lean toward the dashboard to turn on the radio, and couldn't help but notice the smile on her face.

XX

They'd driven in silence for a while, but his brain had been anything but quiet. Every now and then he'd tried to casually look over at her. She'd been staring down at the case file in her lap for a while, and this time, when he glanced at her, he wondered if she was actually focused on the information the documents contained, or if she was churning through her own thoughts, like he was.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on in that head of yours?"

He hadn't seen her look up from the papers she was reading, and therefore was surprised by her question. "I...uh...I was thinking that we don't know much about Joanne Daniels."

She flipped through a few of the pages in front of her. "You mean other than knowing she's our primary suspect's mother, and that she has a live-in boyfriend who is kind of a dick?"

"Kind of?"

She glanced his way, looking over the top of her aviators at him. "You're right, he's absolutely a dick."

"We know that she agreed to let the Sheridan County Sheriff's Office take pictures from her house and Tyler's laptop, without there needing to be a warrant. She may be open to answering our questions."

Vic nodded. "Maybe. But she might be protective of her son or boyfriend and hold things back. It will be interesting to see if she chooses sides, and is more protective of one over the other."

Her eyes stayed on his and he felt the effect she often had on him. The pull to open up to her and say things that he often kept to himself with everyone else.

"I..." Clearing his throat, he started over. "I was also thinking about the fact that I've never woken up with someone and then driven with them to work. This is definitely new for me."

She ran a finger along her lower lip. "New like 'this is scary, and I can't handle it, and I'm starting to freak out because now I have to sit with her in my damn truck' new?"

His left hand went to the back of his neck. "New like...new. Different."

Her brow furrowed. "Different good or different bad?"

He paused. "Different good, but still different. Different can be..."

"Hard?"

"Yep. Or at least an adjustment."

"Well, when I started working for the department a few years ago, and riding with you...that was new. And our styles were different. It was an adjustment...working together...finding our stride. But we did. Find it."

"Yep."

"So we can adjust to this new development. Right?"

Without waiting for his answer she returned her attention to the radio, trying, once again, to find a station that came in, and didn't annoy her.

He allowed his gaze to linger on her. When a song that passed her approval finally came through the speakers, she sat back in her seat and pinned a questioning look on him.

He nodded as he returned his attention to the road. "Right."

XX

As Walt had driven north on 90, they'd talked about the case, both of them doing their best to try to navigate through the yet-to-be-defined state of their relationship by returning to some of their usual patterns. She'd made fun of him. He'd cocked an eyebrow at some of her wild theories regarding who was behind the robberies.

As they pulled on to the street where Joanne Daniels lived, Walt wondered if this is what it took to find their new normal.

Reading the addresses, he pulled over when he found the one they were looking for. They both stared across the lawn at the house.

They were a few minutes early, and it looked like Tom Haskill hadn't arrived yet. Dropping the file folder on the floor near her feet, Vic undid her seatbelt, turned, and started rummaging through the things she'd placed in the back seat.

"Martha didn't really like to ride in the Bronco."

Vic stilled at his words, and then turned, sliding down to a seated position. Her left leg tucked beneath her. Her attention completely on him.

"She didn't like my job. The danger of it. The long hours. The nature of what I was dealing with day in and day out. She didn't outright refuse to sit in the passenger seat, but if given the choice she'd insist we take her car, or she'd meet me there."

Vic didn't say anything, as if she was waiting to see if he was willing to say more.

"Lucian noticed, of course. Teased me about my wife not liking my driving, or my taste in vehicles, or whatever else he could come up with. Martha even heard Lucian's ribbing, but she wouldn't budge. She'd made up her mind long ago on the matter and that's just how it was."

"Did she let Cady drive in the car with you?"

"The car seat was only in Martha's car, so it wasn't even an option when Cady was little. When she was older, Martha did most of the driving when it came to Cady, due to my schedule. And then, eventually, Cady had her own car. I don't think Martha ever told Cady not to ride in the Bronco, or made a deal about it in front of her, but it wasn't something Cady did frequently."

"So your passenger seat has seen more action at work, then at home."

"To some extent, yes."

Vic looked over at him curiously. "You didn't ride with your other deputies before me? Or with Lucian, when he was Sheriff?"

Walt shrugged, as he looked past her and out the passenger window. "I've always worked pretty independently. Lucian was probably the exception." He returned his gaze to her. "And you."

She fell silent for a moment, and Walt wondered how she was taking the news. They'd never really talked about their partnership before.

She turned around, leaned between the seats and started looking through the items in the back seat again. "Is Lucian jealous I claimed this seat?"

Walt smiled. "It has definitely not escaped his attention. And he has not been shy pointing it out either."

"Remind him he retired, so he gave up his rights to it." She sat back down, the yearbooks in her hands. "It's my seat now, so he'll have to fight me for it." She arched an eyebrow. "I could take him, don't you think?"

His smile grew. "He's scrappy, unpredictable and can fight dirty, so it could go either way."

"Well I'll keep my eye on him."

He felt warmth spread across his chest. Less than a week ago she was telling him she couldn't drive with him anymore, and here she was claiming her seat. Her seat.

Walt looked back up at the house. "I saw that you brought your uniform shirt."

Vic leaned forward and picked up the folder. "Yeah, I know Tom said not to wear it, but I brought it in case we needed to go talk to someone else based on what we learn from Tyler's mom. Might need to look more official."

"I was thinking, since we're already up here, it might be a good idea to stop by the bike shop and talk to Evan Brandt, given what we learned from Tuck."

Straightening the contents of the folder, she nodded. "I was thinking the same thing."

"Also, Tom may want us to stop by his office to compare notes from the past few days."

She gathered up the folder and the yearbooks in her arms. "Yeah, that crossed my mind as well."

"And maybe...depending on when things wrap up...and if you're up for it...maybe we could grab some dinner before heading back to Durant."

Vic stilled, and then swiveled her head to the left. "Are you asking me out?"

And of course, Tom Haskill chose that moment to rap against Walt's driver-side window.

Thanks for your patience! It took longer than I'd anticipated to complete this chapter. The holidays were busier than expected, and I've been swamped at work (after being off for two weeks). I've been trying to catch up on my fanfiction reading since getting back in town, but I could not make traction on this chapter until the last few days. Hopefully it hasn't been too long, and you remembered enough about the story to be able to follow along with this chapter. Let me know what you think.