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...
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Jo stumbled upon a mini traffic jam outside the elevator leading to the Marshal's Office that morning. Gary, Winona, and Raylan stood clustered together; the latter two held guilty looks upon their faces. Jo had to contain a bark of laughter from escaping her mouth when she heard Winona's current husband asking her ex-husband to go out for a drink sometime. Winona looked beyond horrified by the suggestion, while Raylan made up every excuse possible to escape the situation. Jo simply watched on in glee at the train wreck unfolding before her very eyes.
Once he'd finally shaken loose from the realtor, Jo followed Raylan into the office and asked, "were you dropped repeatedly as a baby?" While the man in question situated himself behind his desk.
"Now, whatever could you mean, Jolene?" Raylan returned sarcastically, shuffling around the paperwork on his desk in an effort to appear busy.
"I mean, I'm starting to think you're touched in the head, Raylan," she reasoned while perching herself on the edge of his desk. An offended scoff was the only thing she received in response. Leaning forward to whisper her next statement, without the danger of being overheard, Jo continued. "Not only did you shoot Arlo, not only are you screwing your ex-wife, but you're also getting mixed up with the Bennetts now too. Why must you insist upon inciting trouble?"
"How could you possibly know all that?" Raylan asked in shock.
She merely dismissed his inquiry with a wave of the hand, "I know everything."
Before their discussion could proceed any further, Art and Tim wandered over to join the pair. Jo hadn't spoken to the younger Marshal since their confrontation the week prior, and from her peripheral, she could see him attempting to catch her eye. She wasn't giving in, however, and pretended as though he weren't present at all.
"Well, hello, Jolene," Art offered a chipper greeting.
"How's it going, Chief?" She returned with a kind smile. She'd always liked him, he carried a paternal warmth that'd been wholly lacking her entire lifelife. He seemed to hold a certain fondness for her too, at least in comparison to how he merely tolerated her brother.
"Oh, as well as can be expected with this one," he stated while vaguely gesturing in Raylan's direction.
"You know, I'm right here," Raylan announced, affronted at the notion of being discussed in front of his person. Both Art and Jo shared a knowing chuckle at her brother's expense.
"I'm gonna need Raylan and Tim in the conference room to discuss their prison transport," Art announced, and Jo took that as her cue to leave.
"Y'all have fun," she offered before exiting the Marshal's Office. No words nor acknowledgment were exchanged between her and Tim, and she figured that was probably for the best.
Later though, while she was preparing for bed, a gentle tapping sounded from her front door. Lifting her .22 off the side table where it lay, she approached the door cautiously. It was relatively late in the evening, and she wasn't expecting any visitors, she thought maybe Raylan was stopping by to finish their conversation from earlier.
However, a look through the peephole had Jo dropping the firearm limply at her side as she opened the door, on the other end stood Tim Gutterson. She considered slamming the door in his face, but the melancholy look in his eyes, instead, had her opening the barrier wider to allow him passage into her home.
Jo returned the pistol to its previous location while Tim stomped into her kitchen like a man on a mission. Retrieving one of the many liquor bottles that graced her counter, he popped the top and took an impressive pull from the flask before setting her with a contemplative stare.
She crossed her arms under his appraising glance, feeling too exposed in just a tank top and shorts. "You wanna talk about it?" She asked hesitantly, his intense gaze and harsh silence had her unsettled.
"No," came his stout reply before Tim marched over to her, collecting her in his arms and swept them into the bedroom. He was anything but gentle that evening, not that she minded.
After the pair's heavy breathing finally settled, Tim seemed to decide he did want to talk about it after all. "Have you ever heard of the apricot?" He voiced, lying next to her on the bed.
Jo rolled over on her stomach to look at him, though his eyes remained trained on the ceiling. "I'm assuming you don't mean the fruit," she surmised.
"It's where the brain stem meets the spine," he informed quietly. There was no need to whisper, it was only the two of them, but this conversation just didn't seem right spoken at full volume.
"Ah," Jo bowed her head, guessing at the direction his story was heading. "You had to shoot someone in the apricot tonight?"
Tim deftly nodded at her prediction, "he was going to shoot a pregnant woman through the belly." The declaration had Jo recoiling in disgust; there seemed to be no limit to the evils men were capable of committing. She really didn't know what to say after that; no platitudes would reverse the situation nor ease his guilt over taking a life, no matter how necessary his actions.
"You can stay the night," Jo offered as some sort of solace. Again, she only received a muted nod of the head from Tim in response.
Some part of him was reaching for her blindly in the dark, calling out for answer to a question they weren't brave enough to ask. There were lines burring that had one been so straight and sharp in the dirt under their feet.
It was the first night either of them had stayed over, but she'd deal with the repercussions of opening that particular door tomorrow.
