Sweep Around Your Own Front Door

Raylan didn’t expect to feel like a kid when he exited Art’s office and saw Rachel studiously positioned at her desk. She was an expert at appearing busy when her mind was elsewhere. He could tell that other things occupied her thoughts by the way her shoulders curled and her lips twisted around the pen in her mouth. He hoped that maybe he had staked claim to a small portion of the mental energy she expelled. Distance, time, and circumstances with a capital C had created a void between them. Initially she’d been threatened by his addition to the office, then she welcomed him, and finally she indulged a few of her deepest fantasies straddling his thighs. That wasn’t all she’d become to him. She was a voice of reason, a friend when everyone else turned their backs on him, and shook their heads in irritation at his continued antics. If Raylan were honest, he’d formed a sacred circle with a few members of the staff; they held a special place in his life, Tim and his unnatural love of fried chicken, Art and his methods of comparing everything to the stresses found in a long, life – draining marriage, and Rachel with her doe eyes and open heart. His colleagues…friends…were the reason he’d walked away from the offered reinstatement in Miami and returned home, back to Harlan.

Then there was the matter of unfinished business.

Ava…

Winona…

First…Rachel…

Raylan pressed his hands palm down on the polished wood before he attempted to stand. A discomforting sight caught his attention and suddenly he realized just how much the balance could shift in only six weeks. There perched on the edge of Rachel’s desk was Tim. He appeared to be oddly familiar with that position. His fingers stretched and grabbed the pen she’d used to jot notes down on the legal sized paper. He didn’t use his eyes once, no those stayed focused on the gaze turned to meet his. They were playful and to many onlookers, their teasing would have gone unnoticed, but to Raylan he knew it all to well. He’d been replaced. He cleared his throat and it was enough to disturb the scene in his peripheral view. Rachel and Tim returned to their duties and Raylan was left to stew in the mess he created.

He paused in the midst of the chaotic work day and hoped for a moment of unspoken understanding with the appealing junior Marshall, instead he was ignored. He slammed drawers, sighed loudly, and waited.

Nothing.

He endured hours of interrogation about Boyd Crowder and the $20,000 he’d given Arlo that had somehow disappeared into thin air.

No deliverance came.

Raylan needed relief and that’s why his mouth opened and the sound left as soon as his nose detected the scent of Shea butter seconds before she appeared at his desk. He swallowed the words that nearly spilled from his lips. Questions about what was going on with her fellow Marshall looped over and over again in his brain.

There was no sense in drilling her on the particulars of what had changed in the weeks he’d spent back east. Instead he curled his fingers around the steering wheel and listened to her recount meaningless details about some released pedophile harassing a young girl. Old habits died hard, there was teasing about the perpetual wearing of his hat and the shoot first ask questions later stance that often got him into hot water with Art. He’d missed the sound of her laugh and the breathiness of her tone. It was easy to just be Raylan Givens and equally hard. Rachel made him desire things, long nights in smoky bars with blues singers crooning a tune just for them. He had no right to drag her into the complicated schematics of his love life.

Rachel didn’t ask about Ava or Winona even though he knew it was killing her and Raylan remained stoically silent.

Business as usual became their comfort and overshadowed the weight of unresolved feelings.

Thankful for her nerves of steel when she pulled on Jimmy Earl at the gas station, he soon found himself ashamed of the pride that wouldn’t let sleeping dogs lie on the way back to the office.

He felt his brow furrow with commencement of his question, “Gutterson...”

Rachel interrupted his train of thought before it could be completed.

“Raylan Givens you have no right to lecture me on what I do with my personal life. It’s personal and my life. I don’t tell you…”

Her voice trailed off as she stared out over the hood, steadying the town car between the white lines and ignoring the whine of the tires against the asphalt.

“Rach…”

“I’m not having this conversation. There was Ava and if you think I can’t smell the traces of Winona’s perfume and shampoo all over you, you’re a fool. Sweep around your own front door Givens before you try to sweep around mine.”

That was the end of the attempted discussion.

He looked on helpless as he stood in the parking lot of the field office, watching as she gathered her belongings, cussing and muttering incoherently under her breath. All the time her phone lit with the constant calls from a number he knew well.

It was formality falling into bed with Winona an hour later. Salve for the open wound on his battered ego.