Growing up in Harlan County gave her a shared history with Deputy U.S. Marshal Raylan Givens. A history that made the two Kentucky natives cynical to the outside world.
However, after meeting former Army Ranger, Tim Gutterson, Jolene 'Jo' Taylor's p...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Museum Hotel.
Jo typed and sent the message the minute she was informed and was unsurprised when the response from Tim came back just as quickly.
I hate that you know this sorta thing.
Whether he hated it or not, the information led to the Marshal Service detaining Boyd Crowder, Wynn Duffy, Picker, and Katherine Hale in one fell swoop. Granted, all those notorious faces under one roof only resolved in an assortment of fingers pointing directly back to Darryl Crowe, Jr.
And so many officers had looked awfully hard just to fail at finding him. Instead, the man in question boldly walked himself into the Marshal's office dedicated to searching for him and offered up his brother, nay, nephew, Kendal, as a scapegoat for the shooting.
Everyone was pissed that the unwelcome Florida transplant had slipped the noose again, and no one knew exactly what to do about it. They'd put a choke hold on all his associates, but Darryl was slipperier than a worm after April showers.
"Kid'll do a few years in juvie, and that'll be that," Tim sighed at the unsatisfactory conclusion as he entered the bedroom, stripping off his jacket as he went.
She watched as he moved about, setting everything into its rightful place before he stepped into the bathroom. The shower turned on, then the sound of heavy utility pants hitting the hamper echoed before she followed after him.
"But you don't think he did it?" She questioned with a hip leaning against the sink, watching his head dip below the spray.
He slicked the hair that had fallen across this forehead back before replying. "Nah, the confession was too rehearsed. You coming in or what?"
Jo could've explained that she'd showered earlier and that drying her hair a second time would be a real pain in the ass, but the offer seemed too tempting to deny. Thus, she threw off her own t-shirt and shorts, discarding them carelessly on the floor, sliding back the glass door before stepping into the steam alongside him.
Her arms looped around his middle, water cascading down his back and between their flush bodies as her nails raked through the curtain of hair across his chest. As fair-headed as Tim was, the coarse curls across his pecs and abs never failed to draw her attention and touch. "This what you had in mind?" She questioned, peppering wet kisses along his freckled shoulder blades.
"Almost," he quipped, turning in her hold so they'd be facing one another, the effect of their closeness prominent in its press against her hip.
He looked worn out. Not even the shower mist could wash away the dark, hollow circles beneath his eyes, and she said as much. "You look tired," she remarked, knowing he'd been neglecting rest the last few days due to the hunt.
"It's been a long week," he admitted, forehead falling to rest against her neck so the following words were muffled into her skin. "Been worried about Art...thinking about Mark."
The confession made her body still beneath him. They hadn't really discussed his fallen comrade since he'd taken down Colt in retribution. Jo tried to avoid what she knew haunted him, like his military service, the people he'd killed, and those he'd lost along the way. It was probably the same reason he neglected to mention Arlo or Helen in her presence. They tiptoed around land mines until it was time to step on one and see if it remained active. Apparently, now was a time for such faith.
"You been missing him?" She probed because it wasn't like he had many personal connections outside of work, but neither did she, not really.
His head shook against her clavicle, and he explained, "More been thinking what can and can't be avoided."
"In your line of work or just in Kentucky?" She asked, momentarily pulling away from his embrace to lather soap into her hands, running the suds down his arms, massaging as she went in a way that made him groan in satisfaction.
Tim's eyes remained closed under her ministrations, but he continued speaking as if there hadn't been a change. "Likely both. It gets old, losing people. Wondering if there was something you could've done differently."
"That's a dangerous line between grief and guilt," she warned, moving to work on the knots below his shoulders with the heel of her palm, earning a contented exhale as the muscles slowly began to loosen. "Some things just happen, and there's not much to be done about it."
"Maybe," he contended with a tilt of the head. "How're you so good at that?"
Just to prove how good she was, Jo dug her thumb into a particularly stubborn lump, and he about buckled, arm shooting out to brace against the wall with a shudder. "Lots of practice," she teased with a satisfied smirk.
"I don't wanna know who you've been practicing with," he gripped, catching her wandering hands within his own, halting any further advances. His eyes were concerned as they caught hers, and much of the earlier playfulness was sucked away within their depths. "What'll you do when Raylan's gone?"
The question caught her off guard, and it must have shown in the crinkle of her brows. "Like when he's dead?" Obviously, things hadn't been going well with Darryl, and were bound to reach a head sooner rather than later, but she didn't think they were in such dire straits just yet.
"No, when he goes to be with Winona and the baby," Tim clarified.
Oh, she hadn't really considered that. It always seemed like a point far off on the horizon, but with her brother on the outs with the still unconscious Chief, maybe that moment was looming closer than she'd realized.
"I don't know. I haven't given it much thought. Why?" She inquired, but it was his turn to stall, rubbing scented bath wash along her body. Taking his time to memorize every curve and dip like his hands hadn't already run along them a thousand times before.
Now Jo understood what pleasurable torture she'd been putting him through with the same actions. The pad of a thumb brushed over one nipple, his palm weighting the heft of her breast, making her keen under the gentleness of the heated touch.
"Would you want to move with him?" He asked while licking a path along the nape of her neck, collecting any droplets that had lingered there.
Her knuckles gripped his biceps so tightly that the reddened skin was white with the indents of her fingertips. "I'd rather not talk about Raylan while you're doing that," she whined.
And just as if her worst wish had come true, he was suddenly off her, eradicating his caresses from her figure as he rested back against the cool, biting tiles with a cloying smile. She couldn't help but huff in indignation.
"Answer the question," he pressed, crossing his arms petulantly as if to say there would be no returning to their activities until she did.
In stubbornness, Jo pulled herself under the cascade and allowed the soap to be wicked away from her skin and down the drain, all under his attentive stare. Only when every bubble had disappeared in a swirl did she bother addressing him again. "Well, do you want to go to the sunshine state? I thought this was some kinda package type deal."
Even if it wasn't a solid black or white answer, the gray must've been what he was angling for because Tim had returned to her in the span of a second. Greedy lips pulled at hers until she hummed, his tongue relishing every taste she offered until they were both left breathless.
"You can have whatever you want," he promised, drawing a leg over his hip, the need present between them.
"I have what I want right here," she panted against his sharp jaw.
When he finally settled inside her, all manner of stress and worry was whisked away in a cloud of passion. The room filled with a different fog of exhilaration since the water had long run cold–not that either noticed.
