Rachel waited until the office was cleared of personnel.  Even the janitor had come and gone.  The late shift would stroll in soon but her discussion with Art would be over long before they arrived.

She walked into Art’s office and leaned against the doorframe until he glanced up from the papers carefully placed side by side across the edge of his desk.  At his nod she went to the credenza, pulled a decanter of his favorite from a drawer and poured them both a half glass.  She handed one to Art and sat in one of the chairs stationed in from of this desk.  She took a deep swallow.

Their eyes met over the top of the glasses. “What are “you” going to do about Raylan Givens?”  She thought for a moment that Art might have decided for their benefit, hers and Tim’s to ignore that Raylan was somehow involved with the missing money.

“Work from the assumption that he will have gotten his act together by the time he returns from Harlan.”

Rachel nodded grateful that Art trusted her enough to speak truth to the matter.  “And, if he hasn’t?”  She took another swallow.

“Raylan understands his options”

“So we’ll continue to play ignorant country bumpkins, waiting for him to see the light?”

Art thumped his empty glass down on the desk.  “Hell no!  We’ll do our jobs, making sure he doesn’t take us down with him.”

“How long?”

Art squirmed him is chair, looking uncomfortable.

“How long do we wait, until someone from his past, present or future gets him killed or so fouled up that…  Being a bystander at a slaughter is no fun, Art.”  She stood up and taking their glasses left his office.   She returned moments later with clean glasses that she placed inside the credenza.   Art locked his desk and pulled his jacket from the back of the chair.  “Let’s go home and tomorrow we’ll deal with tomorrow’s trouble.”

They stopped at Rachel’s desk, where she picked up her purse and followed Art to the elevator.  They stepped inside, together.  Art pushed the button and Rachel spoke the thought she’d been holding in since she’d figured out Raylan’s bungled scheme.  “We could just castrate him.  Make our lives a lot simpler.”

Art’s groan and then barks of laughter spilled out into the corridor until the doors closed.

Raylan stopped the sedan in the shadows of the stand of trees two blocks up the street from the department’s offices.  He leaned his seat back and waited.  Rachel had told him not to wait but she couldn’t control what he did outside on his own time.   Minutes ticked by slowly and he was tempted to go back inside to make sure she was okay.

He didn’t jump at the tapping on the passenger side window but his hand clutched the butt of his gun.   His fingers relaxed at the Marshall’s badge placed against the window.  Through the open window he heard her voice then saw her face.

“Waiting for someone in particular?”  Rachel asked.

He shrugged.

“So,” Rachel paused for effect.  “According to the Raylan Givens Fan Club you have a big heart.  According to me you have a lack of respect for boundaries.  So let me say this again.  Don’t.”

Raylan watched her walk away disappearing as quietly as she’d arrived.

Raylan fumed all the time he followed her.   Lack of respect, hell, all he was trying to do was support a partner.  He slowed down at the light his eye on her car pulling into a parking lot.     There were no signs or markers to indicate what the building held, just a crowed parking lot.   Club, bar, church, he thought to himself. 

Inside he stood with his back against a wall of the corridor leading to a large room filled with tables, chairs and a stage.  The rich tones of the night’s featured vocalist filled the space around him.  Memories of late Miami nights and warm companions filled his mind for a moment until his eyes found Rachel sitting at a table far from the door with her back to the wall.  On the table in front of her was a platter piled high and two large mugs of cold liquid.  She never glanced in his direction but her sliding a glass to an empty space signaled her permission for him to sit down.

Butt in chair, hat in the empty chair between them Raylan eyeballed the food on the platter.  A smoky mixture of fried potatoes and whole okra spears strips of chicken and beef wrapped around cubes of Pepperjack cheese and cups of dipping sauce.

He looked at the empty saucer in front of her.

“I thought I was hungry.”

“Anyone else joining us, platter’s big enough to feed almost everyone at the station.”

“No.  Just you and I since you won’t leave me alone.”   Raylan watched her swallow the beer and noticed the shot glass sliding along the bottom of the mug. The boiling liquid disappeared rapidly.

“That’s a raw mixture on an empty stomach?”

“Raylan I didn’t let you sit at my table to play Momma.  I have one.”

“I understand the sentiment so think of me as a friend.   Friends don’t let friends drive drunk or …” he paused for effect, “grieve alone.”

“So,” Rachel laid her cheek on top of her hands holding onto the top of her mug, “you’ve been following me around to hold my hand, pat me on the head, and whisper in my ear that the sun will come out tomorrow.”

At the look on Raylan’s face Rachel couldn’t continue, instead she worked on not smiling.

“Too much?”  She was finally able to ask.

“A bit.”  Raylan said rolling his shoulders. 

“Okay, I’ll play nice.”

For the next few hours Raylan ate while watching Rachel bathe her wounds in music and alcohol.   The clapping died away among the scrapping of chairs on the wood floor and the slowly brightening lights.  Raylan reached for his wallet.

“Already paid for.”   Rachel said, pushing away her empty mug.  She stood with both hands flat on the table her body slightly bent placing her further into Raylan’s personal space.

“I’m going home alone.”

“Okay,” Raylan drawled.  “You don’t need to...”

“Raylan, I think you’re a man that needs to take care of someone: Ava, Winona, Boyd, Loretta.”  She took several steps away from him and the table.  “I don’t need a caretaker.”

“We’re talking friends here.”  Raylan was now standing, hat brim rolled up in his hand.

“Friend is good as long as you understand the boundaries.”

Raylan nodded, put on his hat and placed his hand on her elbow.  “Deal.”   

Raylan entered the office expecting to see the usual crew.  Instead officers from the overnight shift sat at Rachel and Tim’s desk.  Even Art’s office was Art-less. 

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Rachel’s birthday.”  Answered the officer at Tim’s desk.

Raylan threw his hat on the 3-in-one behind him, puzzlement on his face.

He strode over to the area containing the unit’s mailboxes.  Nothing.  At his desk he turned on his computer and opened his email.  No messages with an invitation to a birthday party.  No messages from the three at all.   He stared at the screen, seeking his balance.  He had plenty to keep him busy until the end of the day but the idea that they’d left him out hurt.  He pulled up the latest monthly newsletter, looking for the “Let’s Wish Them a Happy Birthday” section.  “Rachel’s birth month is December?”

“Yep.”  One of the officers replied.

“How long has this group dissertation been happening?”  Raylan tried to sound just interested and not needy.

“Three years or so, after Brooks was injured in an escape attempt.  Since then your partners celebrate her recovery in some weird of way.”

Four hours passed with Raylan sitting at his desk his filling-in the O’s and zeros on various correspondence and forms, the current one an email from HR for department support of the upcoming blood drive.  His mind stuck on why his partners had not invited him to the gathering.  Maybe Art was still pissed about the missing money or Rachel... he thought he and Officer Brooks had worked out their territorial boundary thing and Tim.  Well they understood each other just fine, or so he thought.   The idea of being left out continued to grate on him until he grabbed his hat.

“If anyone asks I’m…out.”  He said to anyone within hearing.  In his car he pulled his radio from its holder.  “Givens to dispatcher.”

“Dispatcher.”

“What is Officer Mullen’s whereabouts?”

A chuckle sounded back at his.  “I was instructed to say, “first he’s surprised at your restraint and two, Rachel says bring more ice.”  

Raylan checked-in at the Silverleaf office, greeting the personnel inside.

“Joining Art and the others?”  Asked the man handing him a clipboard and pen.

“Yes.”

“They’re on Range 6.”  Raylan slid the clipboard back and pick up the goggles and ear muffs waiting for him.

He walked through the building to the back and out onto the bright sunshine.  His eyes quickly adjusted and he spotted Art first, sitting in a lounger with a cooler at his side.   Several paces beyond him stood Rachel and Tim in gunfighter stance, hands resting near their holstered firearms.  He moved slowly forward not wanting to disturb their concentration.  He heard Art shout, "draw," and watched as both drew and fired at the target at the end of the field. 

Art lifted a pair of binoculars and started at the targets.  “Tim dead center.  Rachel couple of inches off center.”

Rachel took off her goggles.  “You need to clean those things,” she pronounced as she strolled to the targets.  She replaced the used ones with new paper.  By the time she had returned Raylan was pulling a bottle of water and a sandwich from the cooler.

“Raylan’s feeling left out.”  Art said.

“Happy birthday,” he tipped the head of the bottle in his hand in Rachel’s direction. 

“Low man on Totem pole loads the targets.”  She called over her shoulder as she settled in front of her blocks.

Raylan looked from one to the other.  “Low man, huh?”

Tim stopped loading his gun to look at Raylan.  “Yep, Rachel’s call all day to day.”

Raylan looked at Art.  

“I’m only allowed to hand out sandwiches and bottle water.” 

“He’s working on his tan.”  Rachel added.

Raylan pulled a cinder block next to Art’s position.  “No invite.”  His voice rose slightly.

Art turned his face in the direction of Raylan’s voice, his famous raised eyebrow working even with his eyes close.  “Word of mouth only.  Guess you would take care of personal business that day.”

“Art cover up.”  Rachel called.  Art put his ear muffs back in place.

Whatever Raylan was going to say was drowned out by Tim and Rachel’s shooting.  After the echo died away, both turned to Raylan.  He rose slowly as if making up his mind.   Pulling his hat low he walked past them toward the targets.

Rachel and Tim looked over at Art, who winked in their direction.

“Rachel.”

“Not me, not me, please not me.” U.S. Deputy Marshall Rachel Brooks begins to chant in a voice she hopes is too soft to be heard.  She wouldn’t usually think of shirking her duty but the tone of Art’s voice says that he’s dealing with a Raylan problem that will soon be her problem.  She almost crosses her fingers but doesn’t because she’s a gown woman.  Instead she petitions the All Powerful.  I have six case files to update.   It’s Ladies Night at the JazB and I want to stay until the last drink and the last set is played. Besides it’s not my turn to babysit the department’s problem child.

“Rachel.” Art Mullen, chief of the Kentucky bureau and killer of Rachel Brook’s hope for a Raylan free day, called again from his office doorway.

 If I don’t look up or in his direction, he’ll have to choose someone else.    

“In my office now Deputy Marshall Brooks!”

“Damn,” Rachel groaned causing everyone within hearing to grin or try to smother their laughter, especially her desk neighbor Tim who stands, gives her shoulder a quick squeeze in sympathy and scurries out the door, his day now free of Raylan drama.   

“Why me?” Rachel asks her hip planted against the doorframe of her supervisor’s office.  She watches him grimaced at the sound of defeat in her voice.  Good, maybe he understands just how much I don’t want to do whatever it is, he going to make me do.

“Raylan seems to recognize that you have a low tolerance for his usual antics and that you’ll happily cause him serious harm.”

Rachel grunts.  “Yeah, right.”

Art’s silence tells her that she’s worked a nerve and the look on his face says he’s the boss and she’ll do what she’s told.

‘What do I have to do?”

“Pick up Raylan at his place and escort him to Marion County and then bring him back here.”

Rachel guided the department sedan over the hump marking the end of the highway and the beginning of the parking lot of the 38 Motel.  At times she’s wondered, today is one of those times, why Raylan chooses to live in a two room box.  She lets the thought go as fast as it appeared, concentrating instead on the vehicles in the parking lot.   She checks each tag to see if it equals to any of the names on her “Raylan Drama Causing Ex’s, Family, Friends slash Suspects list.”  Winona-the ex, not here she mouths; Boyd Crowder-friend- suspect, not here; Daddy Givens, not here; any one of the Bennett’s, not here, and her mood brightens a little.  She notes that several vehicles carry out-of-state tags but none of them are the big flashy makes, those intent on causing Raylan harm usually drive. So maybe, just maybe this day will go smoothly, she throws up to the All Powerful, who she chastises in a very respectful way for not acting in her favor, so far.   

Rachel parked, turned off the ignition and reluctantly stepped out of the sedan.  At the door to Raylan’s lodgings she leaned close listening for the sounds of a struggle or sex and hearing nothing pounded on the door a couple of times.  “Raylan, its Rachel, open up.”

A figure snatches open the door and Rachel smiles up at the pissed off Raylan Givens standing in the doorway with bed hair; unbutton jeans, and bare feet.  Whatever he was about to say, stays unsaid at the look on her face.  However he takes his time lowering the revolver in his hand after looking around the parking lot over her shoulder.

“Art sent you?”

“Art sent me.” 

“He told you to pound on my door at 6 a.m.”

“You have half hour.  I’ll wait for you in the car.”

 “No, come in.”

“No, need.”  Rachel backs away.  It’s not that she hasn’t been in close quarters with Raylan before.  It’s that today her plan is to not let him get comfortable enough to weasel his way out of whatever Art’s assigned him.

“Only hospitable thing to do,” Raylan says grabbing her elbow and pulling her inside.

Rachel sits in her Tuesday blouse waiting for Raylan to finish whatever he doing in the bathroom.  She glances at her watch, 6:45.  She’s reached her “just how long I’m going to wait on him deadline.”  She stands her intent to disturb his “lets pull Rachel’s chain sulk.”  Her side vision catches what she thinks is a shadow crossing the thin curtain of the room’s only window.  Damn-it Raylan, just like your sorry ass to sneak out, she thinks as she pulls her gun and quick steps to the door.  Outside…     

A large scabbed hand clamps down on her gun hand pushing it downward while another locks around her neck, pushing her back inside.   Her next thought is I owe Raylan an apology.  The thought after that, next time I’ll go after Raylan with the safety off.

“On your knees!”  The voice is quiet and serious. 

Hot breath with traces of cigarette and coffee blows across her face as she fights to keep track of what’s happening to her.  The hand around hers shaking her hand until her gun drops to the floor and she hears it hit something across the room.  The hand at her neck applying pressure until her knees touch carpet.

“Come out Marshall.  Come out and join the pretty lady.”

From her position Rachel watched Raylan’s feet and legs enter the room.  She has only seconds to appreciate the view before the hand on her neck moved upward grabbing a handful of her hair.  She hissed at the pain and then all she can see is the ceiling.

“You’re interrupting my shower, why?”  Raylan’s voice is just as quiet and serious as her abductor.

“Seems you’ve pissed off some important people.”

Rachel couldn’t help the grunt of inevitability that escaped.  She missed Raylan’s “I can’t believe you just did that,” look.

“Their exact message was, “make sure he suffers.” 

“Are you sure you want to do this?”  Raylan asks. 

“As sure as your predilection for manipulating your opponents.”

To Rachel, Raylan’s voice seemed to be closer.

Rachel struggled slightly as the hand in her hair tightened.  “Move back Marshall.  I won’t underestimate you like the others.  Besides meeting a woman as good looking as Ms. Rachel here,” his lower body rubbed against Rachel’s back,” is a welcomed advantage.” 

His touch made Rachel’s furious, first at Raylan for consistently being the apex for trouble, at Art for sending her even after she’d made it clear that she didn’t want to come, and finally at herself for being caught off guard.   The feeling of a gun digging into her shoulder and the hand in her hair starting to relax displaces her anger, her mind instead working on a way to secure her freedom.   She tries her script in her head, adjusting it.  Hoping the voice she hears in her head will have the right amount of disdain once said out loud.  Shifting her head slightly she tries for eye contact with Raylan.   

“I can’t believe I’m on my knees in your tacky room with some semi-humanoid’s hard-on rubbing against my back,” the sound of her voice interrupts the showdown between the two men, “because one, you’re not responsible enough to be left alone,” her head moves forward in Raylan’s direction, “and two, your would be assassin here doesn’t understand just how much I hate being on my knees.” Rachel’s legs lunge upward pushing her into her adductor.

“Hold still bitch,” grunts the soon to be jailed convict as he tries to readjust his stance giving her an opening.   Her nails dig deep into the hand in her hair as her other grabs for the gun at his waist.  Her hand grips both shirt and steel as she pushes herself and the gunman onto Raylan’s bed.   Out of the corner of her eye she sees movement and hopes that Raylan is heading for his revolver.   Her hand tightens on the gun as she scrambles forward, her next step to get off the bed as fast as possible.   Her foot touches the floor just as a blow hits her shoulder causing her to lose her grip on the gun.   Rachel instantly knows that trying to hit back or wrestling for the gun is a waste of time so she pulls the rest of her body forward.  She only stops moving when she hears the crunch of flesh being hit with something solid.

Leaning heavily against the bedroom wall she assessed their situation.  Bad guy on the floor, check; Raylan standing over him with a gun, check; I’m alive, check.  Taking a deep breath Rachel moved past Raylan who stood quietly, one hand holding his revolver pointed at the man groaning on the floor, the other holding the bath towel around his waist almost closed. 

Rachel on autopilot begins the procedure for securing a prisoner.  While a part of her mind studiously ignored the amount of flesh showing through the slit of Raylan’s towel, another memorized every mole, scar and hint of muscle for a detailed report during the next girl’s night out.   As if he read her mind Raylan readjusted the towel.  Rachel quickly patted down then rolled the semi-conscious would be kidnapper face down, pulling one arm then the other back and hand-cuffed him.   Finished she held her hand outward motioning for Raylan to hand her his revolver.

“I’ll sit here with your new, old best buddy, while you put some clothes on before Art and the others arrive.” 

“Afraid, they’ll think that…”

“I’ve lowered my standards.  Yes.”  Rachel smiled as she heard him leave the room muttering.

Outside in the fresh air and afternoon sun, Rachel’s sigh held joy as she pulled the last hair pin out of the confusion that was her previously perfect hairdo.  She gently rubbed her sore scalp, annoyed that she would have to pay another $35 to repair the damage. 

From his place next to her Tim watched as the paramedics loaded the now conscious and complaining detainee into the ambulance.  “Pleased you’re in one piece.” He said as the vehicle sans lights exited the parking lot. 

“Thanks.”

Rachel felt a body at her elbow and looked up at her supervisor.  Art took her chin in his fingers eyeing the slight swelling on the side of her face and the scratch across her neck and upper chest that her buttoned jacket couldn’t hide.

“You hurt anywhere else?”

“No.  My blouse tore during the tussle.”

“The department…”

Rachel interrupted, “will take two years and ten wasted trees to replace, so Raylan has graciously agreed to buying me a new one, tomorrow, after a visit to the beauty salon.”

Art looked over to Raylan who was resting against the sedan.  “The ADA in Marion County phoned.  He’s rescheduled the deposition for 6p.”

“Chief, Art, not me.” Rachel, Tim and Raylan all whined.