The crisp air billows around him but that's only part of the reason he can't sleep. He watches over her as if he has a right to take on the responsibility. To protect her. To keep her. As her partner, he rationalizes his behavior. He sits and waits though he has no business doing either. They lay awake, separately, in the middle of the night as familiar strangers.

The whiskey eventually wilts her defiance. She drifts in and out while rolling through all the things she wishes she had said to him when he was only two feet away. She wasn't surprised by his behavior, it was predictable. The action momentarily made her heart tug and that fact pissed her off. His behavior was clearly out of bounds for any rational human being but so easily interpreted as protective or thoughtful when truthfully he asserted his authority, real or perceived, in unwelcome places.

Before dawn the need to pee become her primary conscious thought. The trees and his cabin are not options so she eases out to the paved road and guns it. If he is awake she made her point she thinks. She calls the station with confidence knowing he isn't there to answer the phone. There just wasn't enough time. Even that knowledge doesn't stop her from sighing with relief when Ruby answers.

"Hey, it's me. I'm not feeling so well, Ruby." She feels her face frown like the words don't sound right.

"Oh, hun. Ferg told me you weren't feeling well. Do you have anything decent to eat? I could bring something over."

She coughs, like she thinks she should, "No, Ruby I'll be ok but thank you."

"Whatever it is it must being going around Walter called in sick just before you."

Her heart stops. Literally.

"He did?" Her voice is higher than she anticipates. Her surprise is real. She tries to overcompensate but decides to settle for authenticity.

"Yeah, first time I think." Her voice trails off as if she was counting back their years together, "First time for you, too." She chuckles, "Come to think of it."

"Yeah, lots of firsts."

"Get some rest. Call if you need anything."

"Thanks, Ruby."

She presses the large red virtual button on her iPhone and tucks it into her jacket pocket. The hot shower and vanilla currant candle helped along with the greasy sausage McMuffin she snagged on the way home. While brushing her teeth she figures that Ruby thinks they are doing it but in that instant she decides to move on. It was as easy as that. A simple decision made without drama or fanfare.

He knew he couldn't face her and he knew that made him a coward. Wars have been waged for lessor stakes, just ask Paris, he thinks. He paints images of betrayal. She'd lied to him. That was a fact. He believed her because he wanted too. His greatest anger is self-directed. He could not come back from feeling foolish or for being a fool.

Ruby didn't take pity on him when he called. He didn't know what to make of that. He feels resentful. He holds the phone in his hand for so long his fingers start tingling and a few knuckles crack when he stretches his lengthy digits.

The melodic drive to the ranch isn't sufficient time to sort out why he's there. She opens the door on the third knock. Her eyes pierce through, she steps aside without saying a word, and he follows her through to the dated but classically styled sitting room lifting his hat and tucking it between his deft fingers.

"Jada." He says his voice low and soft.

She shifts the chew between her lips and eyes him without recourse pointing to the davenport opposite her chair.

He twirls his hat between his knees and pats his hair down as he offers a slight smile.

"It's been a long time." His eyes spark for a moment remembering, "Since we've sat like this."

"It has." She confirms not giving him an inch of kindness.

His eyes circle back through the room and land at the base of her feet as if he expects the answers to come pouring out of the custom crafted wood baseboard.

After a while he says, "I visited Cole a few weeks ago."

Her eyes dart toward him challenging his statement.

"I was in Sheridan." He pauses, "On a case."

Her mouth stops moving with his first admission. She spits in her crushed can of Tab.

"I know."

His eyes drift slowly to hers and he's barely audible when he says, "Absolution."

"You've come to the wrong place for that."

She huffs and scurries her walking stick out then quickly pulls it back contemplating it as a weapon or a necessity.

"I have enough regrets of my own without taking ownership of yours."

He shakes his head his lips smacking in the process. Looking down at his boots remembering and searching in separate compartments some larger than others and some so small they are barely detectible. Their eyes meet and a lifetime passes before them.

"You still ain't learned." She says and readjusts her lower lip.

His eyes are full, peaking over the barrier he has skillfully erected. The cane extends the length of her arm and points to the designated spot for family photos and just as quickly descends to its place next to her as the words spill from her mouth, "Don't you go raising those eyebrows at me."

He flattens his face just as he did as an 18 year old hired hand.

"You've always been stuck in your high minded ideas about things and the world just doesn't give a damn about high mindedness."

"Seems like it once did." He says.

"That was long ago." She tugs at her dress and looks back at the pictures gracing the mantle, "But maybe it wasn't really so."

"You think I was wrong?"

"Doesn't matter what I think." She snaps.

He shakes his head and spins his hat one full rotation between his knees. His lips curl and he looks up their eyes meeting once more. She recognizes the recognition.

"I always told John I thought you'd been kicked in the head by one of them horses. The only explanation I had for you being so plain dumb about things."

His eyes narrow and focus, "I was honorable."

She shakes her head.

"We all were."

He shakes his head.

"We were stupid."

She takes in too much air and it causes her to snort, "Yes, indeed."

She tells him he was a distraction, a good time, nothing serious. She sounds scripted but it's doesn't matter. None of it did. He's only sorry that he threw away what did over something that was meaningless. His visits to Cole are more frequent and on a rainy drive back from Sheridan he stops in front for the familiar Craftsman with the county pickup truck occupying half of the driveway.

He presses his palm flat against the white painted door. He's upright and straight, hat tilted, feeling for her on the other side. His gentle knock is sturdy and when she opens the door the preplanned words, the confession doesn't take shape.

"I don't know where I am but I know I don't like it."