Chapter 3

Bonnie Calloway's reddened eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, and I felt my heart sink down into the toe of my boots. "Can you, Sheriff...er, I mean Mr. Longmire? Can you help me find my son?"

"Walt," Vic said. "You can call him Walt." Her expression didn't change, but I could tell she was pleased with herself by the tone of her voice. We were going to have to have a serious talk.

"Well, I don't know, Mrs. Calloway" I said slowly. "Officially, I'm nobody at all. I'm just a retired sheriff. I'm not a private investigator. I don't have any more rights or privileges than any other private citizen. Maybe you should consider hiring someone who knows more about this kind of thing."

Vic turned and blinked innocently up at me. "Come on, Walt. Who would know more about this kind of thing than a retired sheriff?"

"Vic," I said, hoping she'd heed the warning in my voice. But I could tell by the way that she was still smiling that she wasn't about to heed a damn thing. We were definitely going to have to have a talk.

"Mrs. Calloway," Vic said, cheerfully ignoring me. "Why don't you write down your contact information, and Walt will get back to you. Are you staying in Durant?"

"Yeah." Still sniffling, Bonnie disappeared back into her bag and reemerged with a notebook and pen. Having something productive to do, even something as mundane as writing things down, seemed to help center her. "I'm staying at the Best Western for now - room 202, but you can always reach me on my cell."

I just stood there, helplessly, while Vic orchestrated a coup.

Bonnie finished writing and clicked her pen shut before dropping it back into her purse. She ripped the paper out of the notebook and held it out to me, and, not knowing what else to do, I took it.

"Thank you", she said. The gratitude in her voice made me wince internally.

"Mrs. Calloway..." I began, but she shook her head to stop me.

"Just think about it, Mr. Longmire. That's all I'm asking. Just think about it before you make a decision. Please."

Vic walked our guest to the door, assuring her that I would be in touch soon, and that she should go back to her room and rest. Only when the door had closed behind her and the sound of her footsteps had faded down the stairs did I speak.

"What the hell was that?"

Vic turned back to me and put her hands on her hips. "That was me getting you a job."

"I don't need a job. I'm retired."

She snorted. "That's such bullshit, Walt, and you know it."

"No, Vic. What's bullshit is what you just did to that woman. Did you even stop for a second and think about what you were saying to her? This isn't some kind of game that you can play just because you get an idea in your head. Her son is missing, and she's worried sick. Now, maybe there's an easy resolution, and maybe there's not. Hell, that boy might turn up tomorrow, confused as hell as to why anybody is looking for him. But what if he doesn't? She is a mother, and she is desperate for answers that I am in no position to find for her. If Matthias can't help her..."

"Matthias can help her," Vic interjected. "For whatever reason - probably because he's got his head up his ass, again - he's choosing not to. We can't help her, because it's out of our jurisdiction, and our hands are tied by more bureaucratic bullshit. You can help her, Walt. That's the thing. You are exactly what she needs right now. And, I'm sorry, but she's exactly what you need right now, too." She slipped around me and headed back to her desk.

It was my turn to put my hands on my hips. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She turned back to me and rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Who do you think you're fooling? Do you honestly think that either Cady or I actually believe that you drop in here all the time just to see us?" She held my gaze for a beat and then cocked her head thoughtfully to the side. "Holy shit."

"What?"

"You don't even realize it, do you?"

"Realize what?"

She gave a snort of laughter and dropped back into her chair. "That you keep coming in here so that you can stay in the middle of things. You miss all of this." She twirled her pencil around to encompass the room.

I pushed my hat up on my head, but took a moment before I responded. She wasn't exactly wrong. But she wasn't exactly right either. I missed aspects of the work, but I didn't miss the job. I'd never aspired to being Sheriff. Hell, I'd never even aspired to being a deputy. I'd fallen into the latter for want of an income, and been hoisted up into the former by Lucian as his last act before showing himself to the door. Becoming Sheriff was something that had happened to me as much as it was something I had achieved. As a profession, it was by turns frustrating and confining, dangerous and boring, and the pay was a joke without much of a punchline. But, by God, it had felt good to be a part of something meaningful. And that I did miss.

"Whatever you may think," I said finally. "It isn't your place to decide something like this without discussing it with me first. You understand? It's not fair to me, and it's sure as hell not fair to Bonnie Calloway."

She looked slightly abashed. "Okay. You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have railroaded you like that. It just all seemed to fall into place so perfectly, you know?" She sighed. "I'll tell you what, give me her information and I'll call and explain to her that I was out of line." She stood back up and came over to me with her hand outstretched. "I'll apologize to her, too."

I looked down at the slip of paper that I still held in my hand and considered it carefully before I folded it in half and stuck it in the breast pocket of my shirt.

Vic turned away quickly, trying to hide her smile.

"Don't ever do that again," I said, hoping that I sounded suitably stern given that I'd just buckled like an empty beer can.

"I won't," she said. But I didn't believe her.

Before I contacted Bonnie Calloway, I decided to check in with the Cheyenne Nation to see if he could shed any light on the current whereabouts of the potentially missing Brian Many Bridges. Henry was usually a safe place to start whenever it came to anything that might be going on out at the Rez. He didn't know everyone - just almost everyone. And any excuse was a good one. I didn't see my old friend nearly as much as I used to.

Around the same time that I retired, Henry had stepped gracefully into Malachi Strand's old job as head of security at the Four Arrows. Jacob Nighthorse was over in Englewood, doing a five-year stint for embezzlement, but the casino itself was in better hands than it had ever been. I heard about the occasional scuffle here and there, but nothing worse than what sometimes cropped up on a busy night at the Red Pony, or at any place in America that served alcohol, for that matter. And it was rare that anything escalated to the point where Absaroka's finest got called in. I was happy for Henry. The job suited him. But I'd be lying if I said that I didn't miss catching a companionable beer with him at the Pony at the end of a long night. We still connected somewhat regularly, but the atmosphere at the casino was a little less casual than what I preferred and a lot noisier. And when I ordered a Rainier at the Four Arrows, it came in a glass.

"To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of your company, this evening?" Henry asked as he joined me in the casino restaurant. I had laid claim to one of the small, round bar tables that was positioned as far away from the jarring noise of the gaming floor as I could without setting up shop on the other side of the swinging door that led into the kitchen. Which Henry wouldn't let me do. I'd asked.

"I thought I'd come and try out that new poker machine y'all just put in."

Henry smiled. "No, you did not."

"No, I did not," I agreed. I nodded at the dark-haired young woman in a Four Arrows uniform that stopped by the table. She flashed me a bright smile full of even, white teeth as she set down a pair of bar napkins and then placed a glass of beer on the table in front of me and a cup of coffee in front of Henry. We hadn't ordered. We're just that predictable, I guess.

"Why do I get the feeling that this is not a social call?" Henry asked. He took a sip of his coffee and raised his eyebrows at me over the rim of the mug.

"I guess you could call it business," I said. "I was hoping you could give me some information about somebody who lives on the Rez.

The dark eyebrows stayed up. "I see. Perhaps I am misunderstanding the concept of retirement."

"Vic," I said simply, and raised the glass to my lips.

"Ah," Henry said. "She has decided that since you are now retired, you do not have enough to do?" "Something like that."

There was a short silence - or at least relatively, what with the noise from the casino floor and all - and then Henry asked, "And how is that going?" He took another sip of his coffee and looked away, ostensibly keeping an eye on the goings-on at the nearest bank of slot machines out on the gaming floor.

"What, me and Vic?" I was surprised by the question. I didn't mind being asked, but it wasn't the kind of thing Henry and I generally discussed. When I'd first told him about the change in the nature of my relationship with my deputy, he'd said, "Good. It is about time," and gone back to cleaning the glasses behind the bar. That was the one and only time he had ever commented on it.

"We're doing fine."

He set his coffee mug down, laced his fingers together on top of the heavily lacquered surface of the table, and regarded me evenly. "You are not second-guessing yourself out of happiness, are you?" I blinked at him. "I don't think so." He didn't look convinced. "I know you too well, Walter Longmire. I know that you let small things become big things that then become insurmountable things. I just want to make sure that you are not going to talk yourself out of this wonderful thing that you have become a part of."

"She's sixteen years younger than I am, Henry."

"And?"

"That's only nine years older than Cady."

"And?"

I grinned at him. "She doesn't give a shit."

"I take it that is a direct quote?"

"Of course."

"And?" I shrugged. "If it doesn't bother her, it doesn't bother me." I took another sip of my beer. "Does it bother Cady?"
"Not according to Cady."

That had been an interesting conversation.

After having walled myself off for so many years in the wake of Martha's death, opening up my life, and my heart, to Vic and been a lengthy and sometimes difficult process. But Vic was like trumpets to Jericho. And once the walls were down, the only thing I really feared was having to tell my daughter that I'd finally moved on from her mother.

I had invited Cady out to the cabin for dinner one night before we officially started the process of transitioning me out of the Sheriff's office and her into it. I'd grilled a couple of trout, while Cady put together a salad and warmed the fresh bread I'd picked up from the Basque bakery in town. I'd been nervous as hell, and it hadn't taken her long to notice. "What's going on, Dad?" she asked. "You're being really quiet tonight. You're not having second thoughts about things, are you?"

"No. Not at all," I reassured her. "You're going to be a great sheriff. Better than I ever was."

She laughed and took a drink of her beer. "Flatterer."

"For you? Always." I gave her a lopsided smile, and then took a deep breath, both literally and metaphorically. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something else."

Her smile faded slightly. "Is everything okay?" I could read the memory of another one of these heart-to-heart moments of revelation as it flashed across her face. Only last time, it had been her mother with news, and it had turned the world upside down for all of us.

I reached across the table and put my hand over one of hers. I could feel the tension in her knuckles where she was gripping her fork too tightly. "Everything is fine. Better than fine. Everything is really good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." I gave her hand a squeeze. "Come on. It's a nice night. Let's go outside."

The day had been warm, but the air outside was cooling rapidly with the setting of the sun. Cady threw a shawl over her shoulders and followed me out onto the porch. I sat in my usual place on the top step and patted the spot on the worn wooden boards next to me. Cady sat down and looped her arm through mine. The sun was just starting to turn the horizon red. We sat for a few minutes and watched the shadows unfurl and stretch out across the grass.

"i'm seeing someone," I said, without preamble.
"Okay." She squinted out across the yard, down to where the horse was grazing lazily by the fence. "You've dated people before without feeling like you had to talk to me about it." She paused. "I guess that means it's pretty serious, huh?"

"Yep."

She nodded in understanding. "Is it anyone I know?"

"It's Vic."

She was quiet for a long moment. "She's a lot younger than you."

"Yep."

"You know people are going to talk."

"Probably."

"Does that bother you?" "Nope." I looked at her. "Does it bother you?"

"Does she make you happy?"

"Yes."

She shook her head. "Then it doesn't bother me." She leaned into me and I could feel the comforting warmth of her body seeping into mine. "I really like Vic, Dad. I always have."

"Me, too." I put my arm around my daughter and pulled her close.

Together, we watched the sky grow darker. The last of the sunlight escaped beyond the mountains like it was being chased by the twilight. Cady's features grew indistinct as the night began to settle in around us.
"Dad, can I ask you kind of a strange question?

"Shoot."

"Do you think Mom would have liked her?'

I knew what she was really asking, even if she didn't. How could the same man fall for two such completely dissimilar women? The answer was simple. I hadn't. I wasn't the same man that had married Martha all those years ago. I wasn't even the same man that had lost her all those years later. I was some soft, new, hybrid creature that had been created by all the versions of myself that had come before.

"I don't know," I said, fully aware of how unsatisfactory my answer was. "Your mom had a knack for seeing the good in everyone. But she liked people who were genuine and direct, people who had a little steel in their spine." I smiled to myself then, thinking how I had just described Vic, Cady, Martha herself, and even Ruby - all of the women in my life who'd made it their business to keep me in line and out of trouble. "So, yeah, I think she probably would have liked Vic."

Cady tilted her head so she could look up at me. Her voice was soft. "You love her, don't you?"

It was my turn to be quiet.

I'd never said the words. Not to Vic, not even to myself. But it had been true for years - from the moment she'd first come stomping into my office looking for a job, in fact. Maybe that was wrong - especially back then. But I couldn't help myself. Saying it out loud felt like it would be a kind of bookend to everything in my life that had happened up until that moment, the period at the end of a very long sentence. Carriage return, new paragraph. Every breath I took from that point on would be part of a different story, one which would begin when I admitted, to myself and everyone else, that I was in love with Vic Moretti.

"Yeah, Punk," I said. "Yeah, I do."

Cady nodded. I'd given her the answer she both expected and wanted to hear. "I think Mom would have liked her, too."

I had kissed the top of her head then and gone back to watching the stars slowly appear in the darkened sky above us. Maybe I didn't need my daughter's blessing, but I was happy to have it all the same.

"So, Mr. Retired-but-not-really," Henry said, after he had polished off the last of his coffee and signaled to the smiling waitress for a refill. I was starting to see where he got the energy to deal with this place day in and day out. "Who is this person on the Rez who is important enough to bring you all the way out here on your day off?"

I ignored the sarcasm. "I'm looking for information on Brian Many Bridges, or his father Eddie."

The Bear looked thoughtful, which I appreciated. "I am familiar with Eddie, though I do not know him well. He works at his father's auto repair shop in Sheridan. I believe he is divorced, but the boy lives with him on the Rez."

I nodded. "So far, that all lines up with what the mother said."

"The mother? I was not aware that she was still in the picture."

I shrugged. "She might not be, but she came into the office today looking for someone to help her find her son. She thinks he is missing."

"Is he?"

"I don't know," I replied. "There seems to be a difference of opinion on the subject."

"Whose opinion?"

"The mother, Bonnie Calloway, says that he's missing. The father, Eddie Many Bridges, maintains that, while he cannot pinpoint the exact whereabouts of his son at the moment, he is still not what one would call 'missing'."

"That is an interesting distinction," Henry said.

"I thought so, too, but apparently, some of the older boys on the Rez like to save up their money and go on road trips a few times a year. Eddie seems to think the boy is just on one of his trips and will show up any day now."

"And to that the mother says...?"

"That he's not usually gone this long, and he isn't answering his cell phone."

Henry nodded. He drained the last of his second cup of coffee and then began tidying up the table as the waitress returned to collect his mug and my empty glass. Not for the first time, I reflected on how dedicated Henry always was to anything that he had set his mind on, and was grateful that he and I were on the same side...usually.

He thanked the waitress as she departed, and then turned back to me. "Perhaps we should pay Eddie a visit tomorrow morning, and find out a bit more about this trip that Brian is supposed to be on. It is a place to start, at least."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "We?"

Henry smiled."What would the Lone Ranger be without his Indian companion?"

"Considerably out of his depth."

"Exactly. I will see you tomorrow morning at nine."

A/N: I am determined to finish this story, even if my stupid brain has other ideas. You see, I am a married mother of two AND a nursing student with an anxiety disorder, so there are times when I can write, and then there are times when I very much cannot. Here's to effective and affordable psychiatric medication!

Thank you to everyone who takes a few minutes out of their day to read my self-indulgent fanfic nonsense. And virtual hugs to those of you who take the extra time to leave a review. (Seriously, you guys. You have no idea what getting a positive review does for a fanfic writer. We can coast on that feeling for daaaaays)

And, as always, my eternal gratitude to Katie F. for not only fixing my horrible grammar and syntax, but also for telling me which parts are funny and in character, and especially for adding encouraging comments such as "EAT A BAG OF LANDSCAPING DICKS" to the parts she *really* likes.