Raylan opted not to think twice about his next actions. The voice in the back of his mind that weirdly sounded a lot like Art yelled warnings that Raylan intentionally ignored. His gut told him Darla and Tim were safe. So far, his instincts had been correct 98% of the time, and right now that 2% difference didn't matter.

He wagered his decision was the right call when Rachel failed to call him on it. Despite her gaze seeming to catch the view of Harlan at twilight, she did not react at all when he turned the Lincoln away from Noble's Holler and headed in the opposite direction. Soon, his childhood home, the nearby trailer, and the family graveyard came into view. As the vehicle slowed to a stop, she finally returned to him.

"Raylan, what are we doing?"

"Just a detour's all," he said. He turned off the engine and quickly left the vehicle. He reached the passenger's side and opened her door. "C'mon."

A resigned sigh was her only display of opposition. She exited the car, and they entered the Givens' residence in silence. Thanks to Bob, the house was aired out on a consistent basis. There was just a faint lingering of stale smoke in the air. Raylan locked the screen door but left the main door open. As he hesitated, he allowed himself the pleasure of once again, watching Rachel in a space that came close to defining parts of him.

This was not her first visit, but this one was different. She took her time and admired the framed photos on the wall and the others strategically placed on tables and shelves. After she finished, she sat and stared at him.

"Is the electricity working?" she asked.

The question surprised him. He nodded and reached to turn on a nearby lamp.

"Thanks," she said.

He shrugged. "The fridge could be stocked. Want anything?"

"You didn't bring me here to feed me."

"You sure about that?" He made a move toward the kitchen, but her next words stopped him.

"Not really. In this moment, I'm not sure about anything. Why did you bring me here?"

"Thought you needed a break," he replied honestly.

"Darla and Tim—"

"—are no doubt fine at least for now," he interjected. "We can take a minute."

"A minute?" She chuckled. "I feel like this stuff with Joe is taking far longer than that."

Raylan shrugged. "Give or take."

"I almost wish you weren't trying to make me feel better." She pulled her gaze from his to look at the floor.

"Why? None of this is your fault."

"How can you be so sure?" She ran a hand through her hair, tugging free the ponytail at the nape of her neck. "He's changed so much he's unrecognizable. I can't help but feel responsible in some way. I don't fully understand it, but it can't all be him." She paused to fix Raylan with a stare. "I'm repeating myself, aren't I?"

"You're entitled." He set his hat on the table and moved to sit beside her. "Perfection is an ideal, but it ain't sustainable."

She frowned. "I don—"

"Stop." He pressed a finger against her mouth. "That wasn't an accusation, an observation maybe, but no judgement."

Rachel reached out to take his hand and their fingers entwined. "Thanks."

"Last thing I want is your gratitude," he murmured before claiming her mouth with a slow, deep kiss.

R&R

Smoky. Tangy. Meaty.

The delicious aromas assaulted Tim's senses immediately as he awakened. Smiling, he inhaled a deep breath and ignored the pain. Smoke wafted from the plate of barbecue on the nearby table, but what struck him even more was the look on Darla's face. Her dark brown eyes were troubled. Without a word, he knew why. Despite the silent screams of protest from his injury, he pushed himself into a sitting position.

"Don't. You'll rip the stitches," she said.

"I won't," he muttered. "What changed your mind or are you still in the planning stage?"

A glimmer of hurt flickered across her pretty face. She shook her head. "I don't know what you're talking about—"

"You were gonna run," Tim said.

"That's not it."

"Tell me," he muttered through a tight whisper.

"Limehouse knows." Darla moved to adjust the pillow behind him. "He knows who I am. He knows about the Cassaloti family."

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!" Tim shifted on the bed in a move to get up, but a flash of pain shot through him. The loud grunt that escaped was decidedly unmanly, and he resented the noise immediately. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. Be still. You need to rest. I'm not even sure if you should eat this—"

"Limehouse barbecue?" he asked, surprised. "Have you had any?"

"A bite or two. After he said his piece, I couldn't eat. I've been waiting for you to wake up."

"You didn't have to wait!" Tim winced as he tried to move again.

"Tim, stop it!" Darla held him in place on the bed. "You'll cause more harm."

"According to you, I can't eat the best barbecue I've ever had, and I can't get you out of here. You're making my head spin."

"Sorry—"

"You're not the least bit sorry," Tim mumbled. "Not a bit. Limehouse doesn't do a damn thing out of the goodness of his heart. He's given us sanctuary, which is great, but he knows far more than he should. What did he tell you he wants in exchange?"

Darla grabbed a towel and spread it across Tim's lap. Next, she set the barbecue plate down. Tim took a rib from the plate. Somehow, he resisted the urge to devour the thick, juicy meat and paused to stare at her, waiting for her response to his question.

"Well?"

"Nothing!" she replied. "That's what he said."

"Do you believe him?" Tim decided not to wait this time and tore into the rib. The flavor awakened his senses. The first bite reminded him that he had waited far too long to have more of Limehouse's delicious food. "Do you?"

"He could be sincere." She also began to eat. "I sense that he has reasons for his offer, but I believe he won't go back on his word."

He set the clean bone on the plate and reached for another rib. Then, he asked, "Why?"

"Three reasons," she said, holding up 3 fingers, dripping with barbecue sauce.

Tim could not resist the potential invitation. He reached for her hand and with deliberate concentration sucked the sauce from each finger, taking his time to not miss a drop. By the time he finished, their labored breathing echoed loudly in the room and he cursed himself because he knew that in his condition, he was not able to fully accomplish what he so desperately wanted to do. Instead, after he finished, he slumped against the pillows and asked, "What are the reasons?"

"Huh?" she murmured, her expression a bit dazed.

"You said Limehouse had 3 reasons for not selling us out to the Cassaloti family. What are the 3?"

"Okay…" She stood and began to walk the room. "One is pride. Two is reputation. Three is beef. Gut tells me he may have had dealings with Nik's family. I don't know any of this for sure. Just rambling at this point."

Tim's eyes narrowed as he watched her closely. He hated being injured. This put him at a disadvantage. He was damn good at his job, but this made him slow. He was much better fast. Until he had proper rest, he needed to be sure of something even if it would not put his mind completely at ease. "Do you feel safe here?"

Darla nodded. "Yeah, I think we're okay here. Do you?"

He shrugged. "At least for now."