"Well, my uncle's sheriff," John said in a sheepish tone. "He took me on as a deputy when Bill Scott had his stroke last year. I had to do something to..."

John was suddenly back to two days before Christmas, when the only thing that stopped him from killing Luke was Mark putting the business end of a shotgun against his back. The stiff feeling of the gun in the small of his back, the cold metal against his shirtless body, even the strong iron taste of blood in his mouth.

"I left the family business, Mark and Luke are running the general store by themselves now."

He rubbed the back of his neck and tried to avoid blushing as he continued on.

"Look, I have to get back to patrolling... Are y'all still living where you used to live? I was wondering if I could... uhh, call on you sometime. Catch up some more with you. That is, if it's all right with you..."