Table of Contents [Report This]
Printer Chapter or Story


- Text Size +

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


Delusions of Grandeur

 

 

Every morning Raylan walked to the paneled lobby and poured two Styrofoam cups to the brim with freshly percolated Maxwell House coffee. It would be another hour before the neighboring diner opened and this was the best he could do for an early morning pick me up. The bottle of Jim Beam securely hidden in his room between the head board and the wall had been drained upon his return to the motel the night before. He threw a half – hearted yet totally charming smile in the direction of the pudgy woman behind the desk, and quickly exited the way he came before the scent of White Shoulders perfume could overtake him and force him to lose consciousness.

 

His head was down when he crossed the threshold, kicking the door closed with one boot covered foot. Winona emerged from the bathroom and slipped her feet into the peep toes at the foot of his bed. She moved around the room with complete ease, it reminded him of the days when they were still man and wife, committed to the vows they’d exchanged. Funny how quickly things changed. He regretted the end of his marriage and the bitterness that had formed around his heart and the fist shaped muscle in his ex – wife’s chest. He sighed and stepped closer, waiting in silence for her snark laced good bye.

 

It was the same exercise every morning. Conversations about what could have been, mentions of the realtor he refused to mention by name, but this morning was different. A new character factored into their heated discussion and it made him wonder when he became so obvious.

 

“Don’t call me the next time Rachel Brooks wounds your precious ego.”

 

Winona glossed her lips and gave her ponytail a final tug before she met his gaze. For a moment Raylan considered denial, until he deemed it pointless. He preferred the mornings she admitted how she truly felt about him. The secrets that his body interpreted from the kisses she placed on his chest. He hated the evil bitch she became when reality set in. The divorce wasn’t completely his fault. Sure he was emotionally unavailable and prone to running from difficult discussions, but Winona could never doubt the love he professed for her. That four letter word kept him in a marriage months after he discovered her indiscretions; the same one syllable expression that drove him from Ava’s arms back to his wife…former wife. Now it was only confusion and the false sense of comfort that accompanied familiarity.

 

“It’s too early for your shit.”

 

He shoved a cup of coffee in her hand before he settled on the bed, watching as her lips twisted and her mind raced.

 

“I don’t deserve to be treated…”

 

“Like what Winona, a hussy who cheats on her husband, ignores a lifetime of promises, and all just to get what she wants. Save it, you can’t point fingers at me this time, there are four more pointing right back at your ass.”

 

Raylan took a long sip from the cup clutched tightly in his hand, searing his tongue on the black liquid. The coffee was still too damn hot and it wasn’t what he wanted; more and more this wasn’t what he wanted.

 

There were no victory laps that morning, no need for celebratory rolls in the hay, since everything remained unresolved and strained between the former spouses.

 

Winona stormed out, hot as fire, muttering curses as she stalked from the door to her car.

 

When Raylan arrived at the office, there were no accidental encounters on the elevator or beyond. He hated that his eyes drifted across the pit to a desk in front of the row of windows. It was empty, the computer monitor black, and the light still as dim as it had been the night before.

 

“Givens, get your hind quarters in here…NOW!”

 

Raylan winced when Art’s voice pierced his thoughts.

 

He stood in the door of his boss’ office and immediately became aware of the daggers shooting from Gutterson’s eyes. There was no amusement hidden there and it was obvious that the deputy’s night had mirrored Raylan’s morning and evidently he was the one blamed.

 

“This is cut and dry, but to keep your unjustifiable shooting ass out of trouble, Tim’s gonna ride shotgun on this one,” Art peered over the top of his glasses, “literally.”

 

The tension in the air thickened as Art continued to lay out his expectations and elaborate on his usual instructions. Tim continued to stare, before he lifted his gun from the holster, checked the clip, and pointed it in Raylan’s direction. He swore he saw the man mouth the words; I never miss, before he slipped from the office.

 

“Givens I don’t know what kind of malarkey you’re up to, but it ends now.” Art slammed the door and turned to face Raylan with hands on hips, “I overlooked the Ava bs, tried to reassign your ass when the Boyd shit hit the fan, but now your toxic nature has drifted to the best of my team.” Art stepped closer, finger pointed directly in Raylan’s face, “I don’t know what you said or did to Rachel but stay away from her or else I’ll tell Tim to make sure he doesn’t miss.”

 

Raylan opened his mouth with every intention centered on his defense, but he lost his voice when he saw her petite frame pass Art’s office.

 

“I mean it Raylan, Rachel doesn’t deserve to be stuck in whatever the hell this is you have going on. She’s a damned good marshal and an even better woman.”

 

Raylan read between the lines and finished superior’s statement, “One I don’t deserve.”

 

He emerged from the office slightly deflated, tempted to walk to her desk, but opting to avoid a personal confrontation in a very public place. Rachel was different this morning. Gone was the customary bun. Her jet black shoulder length hung loosely in body filled layers. She shucked off her black blazer and revealed a bright turquoise colored top that accentuated her skin perfectly. He committed the sight to memory and headed towards Tim Gutterson.

 

It took the sure shot a moment to notice his looming presence. Tim’s attentions were also focused on the female deputy. Raylan cleared his throat and received look that could kill.

 

“Give me five minutes.”

 

The words drifted over Gutterson’s shoulder to Raylan’s ear.

 

He watched helpless as the deputy eased himself down on woman’s desk. No words passed between them.

 

It wasn’t necessary.

 

The silent conversation held their apologies. He would have missed the knuckles that brushed across her cheek if he blinked. Surely he would have missed the corresponding smile and the light that filled her eyes.

 

“Shit.”

 

He grumbled, plopping the hat on top of his head, he really should have blinked.

 

 

~

 

 

The last man Rachel had allowed to worm his way beneath her skin in Raylan Givens’ fashion had left her with an empty bank account and a wounded spirit. In fact in many ways he’d been a carbon copy of the marshal. Exchange one hat for another, same cocky smile, inflated ego, just blessed with a different genetic makeup. She had walked away from the relationship, heart heavy, eyes filled with tears, and years later she was still thankful for the lessons she’d learned. Obviously something didn’t stick because now, the cowboy wannabe was affecting her job and ruining a perfectly good friendship with excellent benefits.

 

Today that would change.

 

She awoke that morning with a fresh outlook. Tim’s departure the night before had forced her to take a long, hard look at her life.

 

She was alone.

 

Often she blamed the demands of her job as well as the schedule she kept, but truth be told if she wanted more with a man it was possible. Rachel had made time to lose her mind over Raylan and his physical prowess. She’d drifted into a deeper friendship and companionship with Tim over thirty minute pitchers of beer. She wasted an hour maybe two a week receiving hot stone massages and pedicures.

 

She just had to stop being scared, step out on faith, and just do it.

 

She wasn’t her sister.

 

She was smarter than that.

 

Enough was enough. Art had looked at her funny the day before and made a rare call to her cell at the crack of dawn and told her to take her time getting to the office, so he could clear the air. In Art speak, he needed to rip Raylan a new one over what the hell he was doing, and quite possibly whack Tim up side the head all before she stepped her sweet little self into the lion’s den.

 

Rachel took his advice, opting for a morning at the gym, to relieve the tension that still resided in her shoulders. She stopped by the salon and begged for a wash and trim before her stylist’s first client of the day arrived. She even sprung for a cup of expensive, frothy coffee that cost more than it should.

 

Things were looking better, until the doors of the elevator opened in the lobby and a travel buddy joined her on the ride upstairs.

 

“Good Morning Deputy Brooks.”

 

Winona’s saccharine sweet tone sounded like nails on a chalkboard to Rachel's ears.

 

“Ms. Hawkins.”

 

Rachel dipped her head and took a sip of her coffee.

 

The woman reached for her hair and fluffed, “I love your hair.”

 

Again she cringed watching the numbers tick as they drew closer to their destination.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Rachel knew the formalities would soon dissipate and Winona’s true intentions would become clearer.

 

“Listen.”

 

The marshal’s eyes closed and she took a deep breath in preparation for Winona’s monologue.

 

“Raylan and I are trying to work through our issues, so I would appreciate…”

 

Rachel’s eyes popped open as her finger pressed the button to pause their ascent, “Excuse me, I have no interest in you, Raylan, or your so – called issues. We’re co – workers and friends. I don’t give a damn about his personal life.”

 

Throwing a wicked glare in Winona’s direction, Rachel released her hold a second after the irritating buzz began. She took a steadying breath before stepping off the elevator and into the office. 

 

Lies…

 

Everything she said had been a lie; she did care, especially about Raylan and the games his ex continued to play with his heart. She cared, even as she watched Art lay down the law with Raylan, she wanted nothing more than to apologize for the harsh tone she had used on their ride home. She needed to admit that it hurt like hell when he chose Ava and now Winona. Eventually, she would be okay, however confession was the first step to healing.   

 

Rachel could feel eyes on her as she settled at her desk. A short time passed and Tim joined her, asking for permission to sit, stand, or go play in five o'clock traffic on a green light. She nodded and he took his usual seat on the edge of her desk. There were bags under his eyes, but he attempted to smile in spite of what he thought or felt. Before she could speak a word,  rough knuckles brushed across her skin. She yielded to his touch, turning her head to take in more of the comfort he offered. Warmth filled her and she knew it was time.

 

Rachel owed Tim a chance.

 

She blocked out the sight of Raylan in the distance and swallowed the lump in her throat. Her lips parted but her visitor shook his head.

 

“We’ll talk later.”

 

Were the only words he said before he walked to meet the fidgeting marshal waiting at the door.

 

No more delusions of grandeur, as pleasing as the thing with Raylan had been, Rachel had to admit it was over, and move forward. Now if she could only force the raw ache deep within her into agreement.










You must login (register) to review.