Author's note: Sorry for the delay in getting this last chapter out. It really wasn't planned that way (or planned at all, perhaps this is where the flaw-in-the-slaw lies?) but just sort of happened. Anyway, there are reasons that I pick and stick to a schedule, and one of them is that I don't want there to be so long of a gap between chapters that you have to go back and read the whole thing again to remember what the story is about. Hopefully I have gotten this chapter out before anyone had to do that.

Also, you'll note, I decided to go with putting this whole, long chapter out at once. It's the way it was originally written, and fits with the structure of the rest of the story. But it might not make for tidy, lunch break reading. Unless you get a long lunch.

As always, don't own, ain't earning, never meaning no harm.

Thanks for hanging in through another one. I won't say that thing about retiring (because it never quite seems to be true) but I will say that I'm not sure when I'll be posting again -- this time I've got nothing in my back pocket. (Or my front pocket either, but that's a different story.)

Enough with the blah, blah, blah. I leave you to Bo and Luke. (Do me proud, boys; make them stop being mad at you.)

Chapter 11 – Try Another Finger

His hand's on Luke's shoulder, not his fault that his cousin backed into it that way. Besides, Luke doesn't seem to be making any kind of moves to shake him off, not now. Funny how a pair of guns make his naturally surly cousin turn on the charm.

"There ain't no need for them things," is Luke's current bluff. "We was just out here hunting for squirrels, right Bo?"

More like skunks, and it seems like they've found them easily enough. Not much more than shapes, but Bo recognizes the one. Can still see the fist coming at him, low and mean, while another man held him. Feels that fading bruise on his ribs pull at the memory; seems like those guys from that Boar's Nest brawl were a little more than the drifters that Bo had them pegged for that night.

It's a good thing, he decides, that he listened to that little tickle deep inside his ear, the one that suggested splitting up wasn't the best idea Luke ever had. Reminded him that they'd just been talking about how rusty his cousin had gotten at this kind of plot, and made him picture Luke walking face first into trouble with Bo on the other side of the warehouse and no way to know. His cousin could disappear in any direction before Bo made his way all the way around to where he'd last been seen. So he made the choice to turn around, to catch up with Luke and stick together no matter what his brilliant cousin thought of the notion. Excellent choice on his part, has him facing down the barrels of a couple of guns now.

"Just hunting," Bo agrees, moving slightly right so he's closer to Luke's side than hiding behind him. Gives their new friends two targets to try to hit, makes it possible for both of them to fight.

"Move," the talkative one says. The other just stands there trying to look tough while he's got a gun pointed at Luke's chest. That, Bo reckons, is probably the coward that held him back while his buddy did the beating.

"Where?" Luke asks, and to anyone else it would sound like fear and worry, but there's a tip to his head as he says it, a raised eyebrow, asking if Bo's ready. Bo closes his eyes in one firm blink, a nearly motionless nod.

"Back," Chatty starts, but Bo is already kicking the gun out of his hand. There's movement to his left; he knows Luke's caught in his own struggle. Can't watch it, he's too busy trying to keep his man from getting back to that gun. He takes a hit, and that's all right with him, because the momentum of it pulls them both away from the weapon. Lands the other man on top of him in the dirt, and maybe he's not so much chatty as chunky. Not fat by any means, but deceptively heavy. Takes some extra strength and the leverage of his right leg to roll them over, get Bo on top. He's about to deliver what ought to be a blindingly painful blow to the stranger underneath him, when that calm voice, the one that marks Luke as placating, calls out his name.

"Bo," and in that single syllable is quiet frustration, annoyance, defeat. He looks up to see that Luke's back at the weasely one's gunpoint.

So he lets Chatty-Chunky up, stands, brushes himself off. Watches his opponent do the same, then go to stand on the safe side of the gun. "You was supposed to take care of him, Luke," he starts.

Gets him growled at. "Would've been just fine if you'd done a thorough job of getting rid of your guy's gun," is the immediate answer. Ah, so that's why there's only one gun on them now. Luke managed to lose one of the weapons, but not both. Bo wonders how far away the other one is, and decides it's just best to hope no one else knows, either. Hands up, no threat to anyone, Bo walks up to Luke's left shoulder.

"You try taking care of a gun with the big guy over there in your face," he counters. Luke got the easier man to fight, after all. Skinny dude. "You think you can do so much better?"

"Gun first, Bo. Fight second," is the terse, annoyed reminder.

"All right," Bo answers, kicking the gun out of the weasely one's hand, and everything's in motion again. Damn if that little fighting-amongst-themselves trick doesn't work almost every time he and Luke use it.

This time, Bo bends for the gun, even if it does mean the skinny dude knees him in the shoulder. Dirty little fighter that guy is, Bo ought to have remembered that from the Boar's Nest brawl with him. He learns it all over again as he comes up and throws the gun as far is his arm will allow, off into the shadows. Where it might land is anyone's guess. He's got more important considerations, what with the enraged way the weasel comes after him. Seems he took the man's toy away.

And all that fury is just fine, it's useful, actually. Gives Bo an excuse to let his own anger flow freely. Embraces it like an old friend, one he's had to keep in check during all those months of silent struggle against Diane. Lets it guide his movement, backing out of the way of that vicious swing there, turning it into a graze rather than the solid hit it wants to be. Uses his own right fist in an uppercut to knock the guy back into his own territory, and just hopes the impact rattled the man's teeth as seriously as it stung on Bo's knuckle. Not that it really matters, what's important is that the weasel's taken a couple of stumbling steps backward, giving Bo room to bring out the heavy guns.

First he steals a look at Luke; this is only going to work out if his cousin's got control of his own situation, but it seems he does, and Chunky looks a little fatigued from whatever paces Luke's putting him through. Bo pays for that stolen glance with a cuff to his ear from Weasely. He'd like to blame the guy for it, but really, it's not the weasel's fault he's too short to get a good, solid hit to Bo's eye, which is likely what he was going for. Brings them annoyingly close together again, so Bo shoves him off, not a graceful move at all. Practical enough, though, it puts the space between them that Bo needs in order to link his hands together and turn sideways for one of his patented (though Luke taught it to him, he's since perfected it) elbows-to-the-breadbasket. The weasel's nothing more than a lump lying on the ground. Not out cold, exactly, but he won't be breathing deeply enough to get up for awhile now.

Turns to see his cousin delivering a knockout blow to Chunky's chin. He may never understand why Luke pulls punches instead of just taking guys down when he could, but after he's toyed with him enough, Luke can put a man to gentle sleep. Chunky won't be bothering them for awhile.

His cousin catches his eye, gives him a once-over glance for visible injuries. Seeing none, Luke slaps his shoulder, friendly touch, some kind of congratulations in that. Bo would like to sling an arm around his cousin, to get the kind of close they always stood before he went off with the carnival, but Luke doesn't give him time.

"Let's go see if we can find anything that links them to the bank robbery," he says, practical as always. A fight isn't enough to make Luke happy; he needs to be cleared of trumped up charges as well. There's no pleasing some cousins.

"Hey, Luke," he says as the man leads them around the corner of the building, towards where Chunky and Weasel came from in the first place. He reckons Luke should be indulged in his quest for the money. Giving Rosco both suspects and evidence will decrease the chances the sheriff has of arresting them for harassing tourists. "Wasn't there…"

Three of them. That night at the Boar's Nest, there were enough to go around amongst him, Luke and Cooter. And right there, on the far side of the corner his cousin has just led them around, standing guard on an old, dark blue sedan, is number three. Just as armed as his friends used to be.

"Hold it right there," is a shocked scream. Seems like this one didn't expect to have to fight. Even now, he's backing toward the car, nervous gun moving from Bo's chest to Luke's and back. Probably has plans to abandon his friends right here to whatever their fate might be, while he makes a wild run for it.

And that right there is just the kind of thing that enrages Bo. A man turning on his partners, leaving them in the lurch, well that's just cowardly. Not that he's lost any love on Weasely and Chunky, but it seems that loyalty ought to mean something, even to the kind of idiots that would let Boss goad them into robbing his bank.

"Hold it!" the sacred one screams, as Bo takes a step in his direction.

Luke's hollering a frustrated, "Bo!"

But none of it matters, not when it gets drowned out by the thunder of a gunshot, not when there's more pain than Bo has ever felt, not when he hears his own echoing scream and the ground rushes up to meet his knees, his hip, his shoulder.

Blood.

It's the first thing he sees, followed by movement. That nervous gun is still pointing itself at Bo, at least half the time. The rest of the time it's wavering around somewhere between the ground and Luke.

Hospital is a nagging thought in his mind. Fast. And to accomplish that, the gun's got to go. He could negotiate for it, might even succeed. Tell the guy it'll go easier on him if he hands that weapon over right now rather than taking another shot at either or them, and as nervous as he is, the man might even do it. But it'll take too long, so Luke just charges him.

Thinking stops right there, everything becomes sound and feel. The hard arms of the man in front of him, as he struggles with Luke for control of the gun. The sound of grunting in his ear, the resistance as Luke forces the weapon to point at the sky, over all of their heads where if a bullet gets fired off, it stands a chance of hurting no one. The sound of Bo hollering in pain behind him – his mind grabs onto that, focuses on the deeper meaning of that particular sound – his cousin's conscious. It can't be that bad.

The struggle over the weapon gets brutal when the other man knees at Luke. Misses his target, but it's clear he's got no intentions of surrender. "Let go," Luke growls at him, and it's just frustration. He can't take his opponent down for fear of a bullet getting discharged, and he can't step back for leverage to hit the man, not without giving him half a chance to level his weapon at Bo again. Nothing to do but push at what he's already got: four hands in the air, topped by a gun, and a solid body in front of him, rigid resistance. Luke's the stronger man, or maybe the more desperate. Whichever it is, he's able to force the body in front of him to stumble back a couple of steps, until his backside hits the car. It's like cornering a wild animal, makes the desperation come to the surface and bubble over.

"No!" gets screamed in Luke's ear as he keeps pushing against those raised arms. Sets a rhythm, one-two-three, odd limp to the waltz with only one willing participant. Takes more tries than he wants it to before the gun finally slips loose from those fingertips, clattering onto the roof of the car.

Now that he doesn't have to worry about Bo getting any more holes blown into him, Luke's free to do the necessary. Knee to into thigh muscle, not so much brutal as painful, and the man in front of him tries to double over. No room, Luke's right there shoving at his shoulders. Cocks a fist and punches the stranger's cheek. No real leverage to do any more than make it hurt, but that's enough. Gives him the time he needs to step back and give himself room to finish this thing off. Ignores the way the man's hands come up in some attempt at surrender; he can't be trusted to stay passive, and the gun's still within arm's reach.

Luke's first hit is to the gut, and he lets his opponent double over this time, but it's not enough. It's going to take time and space to take care of Bo, and the only way to get it is to be sure this here bank robber is out cold. The minute the man falls to his knees, Luke grabs him under the arm and hauls him right back up. Leaves him with just his left fist to swing, but that's all right. His next hit connects with jaw, and his opponent slams into the car behind him. Keeps him on his feet so Luke can get a right handed jab right at his nose, then a left to the temple. His right arm's back with intentions of hitting somewhere around the man's cheek, but it gets hung up on something, gets held back, and that's a hand on his bicep. Doesn't fully stop, him, just slows him down so that the hit only grazes cheekbone.

He wheels around to take on whoever this new combatant is, but it's only Bo.

"Luke!" he hollers, and it sounds frustrated, sounds like it's not the first time his cousin's shouted it.

His eyes wildly scan Bo's body; his cousin shouldn't be upright. And now that he's no longer using his right arm to hold Luke back, he's reached it across his body to hold and protect the left.

Blood.

"Bo," he says, stripping his shirt off. "Lay down. And get your arm up. Above your heart." Not that he gives his cousin a chance to follow his instructions, not with how he's grabbing onto that left arm, trying to see clearly enough in the dim light to figure out where the tourniquet needs to go.

"I'm okay," Bo insists, but he's not. He's anything but steady under the grip Luke's got on his wrist, trying to keep that arm still. "Ow!" is the complaint after Luke lets him go long enough to use both hands to tie his shirt onto his cousin's upper arm, above where the blood stain is heaviest. "Luke! I'll be okay if you stop—"

"Lay down," he instructs again. "At least sit," is the compromise his offers when Bo doesn't respond. Thinks twice. "Never mind. Put your other arm around my shoulders, Bo."

"Wait," confusion in his cousin's voice, on what Luke can see of his pale face. "What? Slow down, Luke." Strange suggestion, they're not moving anywhere, not until Bo gets around to putting an arm around him. "We got to get Rosco here."

"We got to get to Tri-County," Luke corrects his clearly delusional cousin. Doesn't look like he's lost enough blood to cloud his mind, but then again, Bo's never exactly been clear-thinking to begin with. "Get your good arm around me so's I can get you back to the car." That old Swinger isn't exactly the General, but with Luke behind the wheel it'll still get them to the hospital plenty fast.

"We can't, we got to get Rosco here." Bo's getting downright repetitive, not to mention stubborn. "Luke, if he don't get here and arrest these guys with the evidence," which they haven't found, but Bo's been shot, he can't be held accountable for remembering such things. "You and me are still gonna take the fall for it. We'll go to prison."

Prison means nothing. Ten years or life, it doesn't matter, not now. Someday he might get around to caring about doing serious time, but it's not going to be on any day when Bo's been shot. (And where's the bullet? Is it in Bo's arm or on the ground, and why is he still standing here thinking about this?).

"I'll call Rosco on the way to the hospital, all right?" is his attempt at a compromise. Funny how he's not so thrilled Bo's conscious anymore. It would have been quicker to drag a limp body all the way back to the car than it has been to have this stupid discussion.

Bo shakes his head. "I ain't hurt that bad, Luke. I can wait for Rosco to get here. Call him now, get him to send an ambulance, too."

He snags an arm around Bo's waist, gets pushed back. Not hard, his cousin's not in any real condition to fight him.

"All right," he says. They need to get moving before these guys wake up and start searching for the pistols that are scattered around what was once the lawn that surrounded the warehouse. "I'll call Rosco now. He can be on his way out here while we're on our way to the hospital, okay?"

Bo would like to disagree with him, but doesn't get a chance. Luke steps away from his cousin, around the man that's out cold at his feet. (Could be he hit him a few more times that was strictly necessary.) Over to the blue car and opens the driver's door. Sits in the seat and looks to his right – perfect, a CB. He tunes it to the police channel.

"This here's Luke Duke, calling the Hazzard County Sheriff's Department. Luke Duke calling Sheriff Rosco Coltrane." Listens to static for a second or two, and he's about to tell Bo they're leaving anyway, when he gets his answer.

"This here's Enos, Luke. I'm sorry the sheriff's not here right now. He's gone off duty for dinner and won't be back until the morning. He's madder than a wet hen at you, though." CB radios really need an interrupt option, but there's nothing Luke can do other than wait for a break in the deputy's happy chatter. "You really ought to turn yourselves in. It ain't proper to go busting out of jail like you done."

"Enos," Luke growls in frustration. "Bo's been shot." Now that right there was a mistake. Enos is back on his end of the radio all but squealing with worry. Luke waits for another break. "He's gonna be fine, Enos. But we's up here at the old Cirulli Warehouse with the men that did the shooting. We think they're the ones who robbed the bank."

"We know they're the ones that robbed the bank," Bo tells him. Uses his good arm to point to the back seat of the car. Seems like the dome light must have revealed the evidence back there.

"They're the ones that robbed the bank," Luke corrects himself. "We're headed to the hospital, but you need to come up here and arrest these guys."

He doesn't wait for an answer, and the noise that comes over the radio isn't exactly clear anyway. High pitched, excited, the tone indicates that the deputy will be out here in minutes, assuming he doesn't wrap himself around a tree or two on the way. Luke grabs the keys out of the ignition on his way out of the car.

"All right?" he asks Bo, standing up and showing him how he's taking the bad guys' mode of transportation away from them by pocketing the keys. He figures, if Boss hired them, they're likely too dumb to hotwire the car anyway. "Can we go now?"

His cousin slings his good arm around Luke's shoulders, leans tiredly against him. It's about time.

"I can so," he has to insist, because holding a nut still with a crescent wrench is a one-handed job. Luke would just about have him in bed all day if he didn't fight to be on his feet. Doing chores is still against Luke's rules, and technically, so is helping Cooter with the General. Mostly, if he's going to insist on accompanying Luke out of their bedroom, he's supposed to sit passively and watch everyone else work. Seems like something his childhood self always wanted; now he knows better. It's boring.

What's on his left arm barely amounts to more than a scratch. A little deeper, ripped through some muscle, and that's going to take time to heal. But it's nothing even close to life threatening, and it probably won't even keep him laid up for planting season. Assuming he lets it rest now.

And he is, he's not using his left arm for anything. Couldn't if he wanted to, the way Luke makes sure that the sling he was given three nights ago at the hospital is firmly affixed each morning, and doesn't come off until bedtime. If it means Luke has to lend a spare hand to making sure that all the peas on Bo's plate wind up on his fork one way or another, he mostly does it without complaining. Oh, he points out how Bo ought to be more coordinated, but technically, that's closer to an insult than a complaint.

"See?" he points out as he deftly hooks the crescent wrench around the nut in question without ever threatening to move his left arm.

"Fine," Luke says, throwing up his hands. Makes a show of heading back to the General's rear end, where he's been trying to make the bumper hang as solidly as it did before the car's frame got rattled in the rollover. Leaves Bo and Cooter to finish up under the hood. Honestly, there's not more than maybe two days' work left in front of them before the General will be back on all fours again.

And the boys will be free to roam the dirt roads of Hazzard, much to the annoyance of one J.D. Hogg. All the details of the bank robbery never came out into the public, and Bo reckons that like any number of other Boss Hogg schemes, him and Luke will never really know all of what happened. By fortunate circumstance, it was Enos that answered Luke's CB call that night, and though he brought Rosco with him for backup, Enos responded to the scene. What with Hazzard's honest deputy finding three men in close proximity to a blue sedan with clearly marked money bags in the back seat, it seemed there was an open and shut case. One that cleared the Duke boys, and sent Boss off into a fit of fury. Finally, Bo knew he was really home.

"Huh, well will you look at that?" Cooter dares to comment, now that Luke's otherwise occupied.

"What?" he asks. All he can tell is that despite the leverage his crescent wrench is giving the nut, the bolt's still not properly threading through it.

"I don't quite believe it," is about all the answer he gets.

"What?" If it comes out sounding cranky, well, that's not exactly Bo's fault.

Meanwhile, their grease-covered friend is getting down on his hands and knees to look at the car's undercarriage. Funny how all three of them have spent the day working on this same car, and Cooter's the only one that's gotten filthy.

"Dang it, Cooter, would you tell me what?"

The man's on his back, sliding underneath the car. There are mumbled words, or maybe they're just noises, from where he's poking around. For a moment Bo catches a glimpse of the screwdriver Cooter's jabbing up from underneath, but the sight doesn't last long. More mumblings and Bo's getting to be about ready to join Luke in sulking at the back end of the car.

"Well looky there," are the first clear words in a while, as the mechanic slides back out from his little cocoon down below. By now even Luke's done pretending to be aloof back there, and cranes his neck around to see what Cooter's holding up. Doesn't look like much of anything to Bo. Must not mean a lot to Luke, either; he shrugs and goes back to fine tuning that bumper.

"What is it?" Bo reckons he's owed an answer after having asked more times than he can remember.

"Well," Cooter says as he tugs himself to standing, milking his moment for everything it's worth, and placing the small bit of silver into Bo's hand. "I figured that there got lost in the tumble, but it didn't." Whistles like that's all he plans to say, then goes back to studying the engine.

"Dang it!" If Uncle Jesse was here, he'd be getting lectured for raising his voice so much, and saying dang twice in as many minutes.

"That there is all that's left of the castellated nut that used to be at the far end of this here bolt we're replacing." Which just happens to be one of the weight-bearing bolts that holds the General's powerful engine in place. "I figured it was as gone as the rest of the hardware, but it weren't. It was jammed up in there, right by the nut you was trying to hold still. Engine must've slammed around pretty good when you rolled, to make such a mess of that thing."

Mess is right. What he's got here isn't much more than a twisted hunk of metal. He sticks it into his pocket, then gets back into position to help Cooter.

"Whatcha do that for? We can throw it into the junk pile," Cooter offers, sticking his hand back out for the prize Bo's just claimed.

"Nah," he says. "Souvenir."

"I can so," Bo insists, sounding every bit of the five-year-old, snotty-nosed, filthy-faced kid he used to be. He displays for Luke the full mobility of his arm, just like he did for Doc Petticord this morning. A little slow and ginger yet when it comes to lifting it over his head, but he can do it. The stitches just came out this morning, too, and Luke's had enough of those things to know that the day they come out feels like that last day of school, finally free. "Come on," he says. "My left arm don't do much more than hold the wheel steady anyways."

"I think he's fine," is Cooter's input and whether he's talking about the car or Bo, it doesn't matter. His opinion wasn't asked. Luke turns to give the mechanic a dirty look that reminds him to stay out of family business, but of course their friend doesn't cower away. He reckons he's really one of Uncle Jesse's brood, figures he has a right to comment on such situations. Luke shakes his head at the man, at Bo, at the General whose gleaming orange coat is tempting him to give in to the pressure.

"Come on," Bo says, lifting his right leg onto the window frame. "If you don't come with me, I'm going anyways."

And that, right there, is the bone of contention between them. Bo will always do exactly what he wants to, regardless of what's best for him. His cousin is exactly the same brat he's always been, and not. Because now he's too old for Luke to keep in line, too sure of himself to listen when he should, and at this moment, too cheerful for Luke to resist.

So he unfolds his arms from where they've been wrapped across his chest, walks across the concrete floor of the town's garage, and grabs the General's roof with his left hand. Looks at Cooter and warns, "This thing had better be in condition to take a beating." Because the energy that Bo is spending getting into the car is only the beginning. Soon he'll be directing all that force into finding every dip and bump on every back road of the county.

The mechanic shrugs. "You put him back together yourself, buddy-roe." Well, yes and no. He didn't look over Cooter's shoulder the whole time, he doesn't know that every weld is solid and every bolt is tightened. But he's about to find out.

The car roars to life as he slides down into his seat. Violent sort of surge to the engine, a feeling Luke hasn't known for a year and a half. The General's resentment at being sidelined is there right under the seat of Luke's pants. He pats the vinyl there – I know, Buddy. Not sure whether its an apology for locking the car up during that time, or commiseration on the nature of little blonde boys that go chasing after little blonde girls, leaving the ones that love them behind.

The remnants of Cooter's holler, "Have fun," come drifting through Luke's window, nearly drowned out by the General's squealing tires as Bo skates him out of the garage and onto the street. Hard left turn and they're gone.

Dirt roads rumbling underneath him at speeds he's no longer used to. His mouth remembers what his stomach has forgotten. He's laughing, uncontrolled, wild. There's every chance he'll be sick, if the laughter ever stops.

"Yee-haw," Bo announces, annoying, eardrum-shattering noise. It's enough to bring Luke back to himself.

"Watch the ditch, Bo," he warns. "It got a little wider after last fall's rains." Deeper, too, broke Daisy's friend Sally-Jo's axle a couple of months back, and Luke had to come out and rescue her or face the wrath of one female cousin on the warpath. "Don't you go getting either one of us hurt, not when we've already put off planting for a week." No two ways about it, they have got to start tomorrow morning, first thing. Even if he's got no intentions of letting Bo put his full strength into the project, not yet.

Bo giggles at the notion of worrying about a little hole in the ground, and only his cousin would be such a blamed fool barely ten days after an ugly rollover. "Say Luke," he says, like they're sitting by a lake under the blue sky with nothing more pressing to do than listen to birdsong. "There still that lip over there on the bank of the Styx River?"

Oh, no. They are not pulling that fool stunt again, jumping off a cliff's edge to land on the far side of the river below. They've done it twice before, but both times it was to escape the likes of pursuing law enforcement. There's no good reason to be doing it now.

"I ain't been out there," Luke admits. "And we ain't got no reason to go out that way now." He might as well be talking to the wind. "Bo!" he shouts. Gets thoroughly ignored.

At least, he figures, they'll have to pull off the road first, check out the solidity of what once served as a ramp there. Once they're out of the car, he'll talk some sense into Bo, and if that doesn't work, he'll—

Not get a chance to do anything, his cousin doesn't even slow down.

"Bo!"

"Yee-haw!"

His stomach's still back there on the bluff, and the rest of his body's got that detached, floating feeling. He's always hated this part, even when it's been him in the pilot's seat. The top of the arc, before gravity claims them, and he knows they are about to die. Sees death reaching up to grab them as he watches that red clay loom in the windshield, feels the car's nose just begging to plow into stone and send them rolling end over end. There's the crunch and he waits for the pain, every nerve in his body at the ready—

Gets another "Yee-haw" screamed into his ear, and while it might not be the pain he's been waiting for so hard that his shoulder muscles are stiff from how they're tensed, it hurts in its own way. Bo skids the car to a stop in the dust, then turns to him with that little-boy grin. "Come on, Luke!" he hollers. "Admit it. That was fun like you ain't had since I left." Then there are hands on him, pulling at him, forcing him into a hug.

Poor boy's ego has clearly suffered horribly over the last year and a half. Whatever happened between him and Diane (and Luke reckons he'd better get around to asking about that pretty soon), whatever she did to make him leave her, whatever pride he had to swallow in coming home, there's no sign of any permanent damage to the man.

"Come on, Luke," Bo says more quietly now, rubbing at his back, his shoulders, trying to find some give or softness there. And he reckons it wouldn't kill him to sling his right arm around Bo, to hold onto the cousin he almost lost more times than he can count, ever since that day when the carnival rolled into Hazzard County. Might not hurt to let Bo know that he's wanted, right here next to Luke. Lets himself relax, lets Bo hold on until he's ready to let go.

"Drive," Luke commands when he's freed from the sweaty prison of Bo's arms.

But his cousin shakes his head. "Not yet," he responds, trying to cram his right hand into his pocket. Jeans are too tight for that, Bo has to twist his body and arch his back, jam his fingers down into denim, then just about lose them there. Luke pulls up on the parking brake; seems like they might be here awhile.

"Watch your—" But he's too late, Bo's already bumped his left arm against the doorframe in his struggle to beat his own pants into submission. Wince for that, and Luke grabs his good arm to right him. "Get out first," he suggests. "Before you go digging into your pocket." But it's too late, Bo's fingers are already down there, now just wiggling their way out. Whatever he's been fishing for nearly drops from his fingertips, and he catches it with his left hand, another wince for having moved too quickly.

Luke's hands are under his then; whatever it is, Bo doesn't need to hurt himself grabbing for it if he loses his grip again. Gets surprised when Bo intentionally opens his hands to drop the object into Luke's.

Silver thing. Luke brings it closer – a ring. "What is it?" his mouth says anyway, even if his eyes can see perfectly well what it's shaped like. Mostly he wants clarification about whether it's something Diane gave his cousin, something he's going to want to throw into the fastest moving current of the river behind them.

"A ring," Bo enlightens him. The Duke cousins seem to be equally brilliant this afternoon. "From that castellated nut Cooter pulled out of the General's engine. Messed up like it was he couldn't be sure, but he thought it might have been original equipment. Like from when we built the engine. I had him smith it into a ring. For you."

Now that he looks at it, Luke can see it's not exactly store quality. Shiny enough, but not real silver by any means. And a bit rough hewn at that, wider on one side than the other. "You asking for my hand in marriage?" is his smirking reply. "Because if that's the case you're gonna have to get Jesse's permission, and I think his answer'll be no." And just maybe the old man would send Bo back out after Diane, telling him he had the right idea in the first place.

Bo doesn't think he's funny. "It ain't an engagement ring," he snaps. "It's more like something to remind you of what we done together. Building the General just being one thing."

Unaccountably, Luke feels his stomach bottom out, even if the car's still now. "You leaving again?" This ring sounds something like a parting gift to him.

"No," Bo tells him. "I ain't got no plans on going nowheres." There's a huff, and then, "Why do you got to make everything so hard?" Eyebrows down, and it's not a pretty look on the boy.

Luke pushes the ring down onto his finger, doesn't make it but halfway there. "It don't fit," comes out of his mouth without him thinking, and he mentally kicks himself. Bo's already pouting over there.

But his cousin just sighs at stubborn fools. "Try another finger, Luke." There's a lesson in there somewhere, he's sure. Something about how he shouldn't give up so quickly, probably, not when it comes to family. How just because they're all grown up now doesn't mean they can't still fit closely together, so long as they work at it a little bit. And maybe, just maybe, about how it took both of them, puffed up like roosters with hot pride in their hearts and dry bitterness on their tongues, to let a girl get between them.

He takes it off his ring finger, slides it onto his pinky. Makes it past both knuckles and settles there at the base of his finger. "All right?" he asks.

Bo nods, a quiet, serious movement, one that's nothing like the wild boy who jumped the car onto these flats a few minutes ago.

"Thanks," Luke says. Maybe he's supposed to make a speech; he can't be sure. But, "a lot," is the only way he can think to finish that sentence.

Doesn't matter, Bo's smile lights up the car, the sand, and the river beyond. Its glow might reach all the way across the county, for all Luke knows. They've got a lot of arguments between them to come, he reckons, when they get to talking about that year and a half Bo was gone. But right now the sun is shining in Bo's smile, and it's a perfect day.

Luke's right hand closes; he can feel the weight of the ring on his pinky there. He points his index finger out the windshield and orders, "Go!"

Bo lowers the handbrake and obeys, sending the General charging with dirt-kicking flare. They leave two divots in the sand behind them: a neon sign announcing the Duke boys were here.