The sun is warm on Katherine's back. The birds are chirping. Charlie's fingers are lighting running along her back, then full palm. She moans, muscles stretching long as she leans into relaxation. 

"Hey, Kat." Her brows wrinkle, and she lifts her head up from her arms. 

Russell. He's smiling softly at her, looking humored.

"What's funny?"

"Nothin's funny." He wiggles the hat on her head. His, from the college days. "You have a good day?"

"'S all right. Get smacked by any fencing wire?" 

"No." He sticks his tongue out at her.

"You wanna rub my back again? Felt nice."

Russell scoffs in good humor. "Sure, let me just go get some oil."

Katherine perks up a little. "Oil, huh?" She crosses her ankles and pops her feet into the air. Russell chuckles.

"You hungry or what, KT?"

KT. It makes her stomach sink a little. But Russell clearly doesn't think Taylor like Charlie Taylor,  he thinks Taylor like Pat and Russ Taylor.

She doesn't think she deserves to change her mindset. She doesn't think she deserves easy. 

"Yeah," she quietly murmurs. "Yeah, I could eat. What've you got planned?"

"Steaks n taters. I'll handle the meat, of course."

"Ha, ha." She makes a face at him and pushes herself off of the ground by the pool. Russell's dark gaze drifts to the glass at her feet, dregs of whatever drink she made whenever. 

She thought a lot about the little girl on his little league team named Genevieve. Her tan skin and light brown hair and big green eyes. She thought about her so much it made her sick. Good.

While Russell is seasoning the steaks from the refrigerator, she slides two potatoes into the oven.  "Want a drink?" She asks.

Russell glances over his shoulder at her. "What are you having?"

"A mule." She wiggles it at him enticingly, ice clinking against the glass almost comedically. 

"That's light for you," he puffs.

"I needed a little brightness," she sourly hums. "You want one or not?"

"Sure," he chirpily agrees. "I only had one beer at the ranch."

"Drinking on the job, Russ? Not a good look." 

"We have a beer at the end of every day," he scoffs. Katherine sashays past him, and the smell of sun and vanilla and huckleberry wafts over him. He watches her pour ginger beer, the huckleberry vodka, then she throws a lime wedge in the glass. Katherine leans her hip against the counter and offers the glass up to him. 

He holds his hands up. "Contaminated."

"Oh, you big baby." She brings the glass to his lips. "Say when." He almost chokes as she pours liquor into his mouth, and she snorts. "Smooth, Russ." He presses his mouth into his vest to dry it.

"I politely, non-verbally, asked you to give me a sip, and you tried to waterboard me."

"I did not," Katherine gasps, hauling herself up onto the countertop. She's changed from her bathing suit into a big t-shirt and a pair of shorts, and Russell's hat is turned backwards on her head. Her cheeks are a little pink from the sun she got today.

"You look pretty," he says. Blue eyes snap to his in surprise and eyebrows raise, pupils widening as they lock on him. "You always do, but...extra tonight."

A soft smile pulls at her pink mouth, and her face softens a little. "Thanks," she murmurs. Russell washes his hands and then pulls himself up onto the island, waiting for the grill to get hot. They're just staring at each other, feet swinging. 

Katherine opens her mouth, taking a breath before she speaks. But then she decides against it, and her eyes flit to the living room.

"What?" Russell asks. He's trying to gauge how sober she is. There's a little twinkle in her eye. She doesn't seem entirely sober, but she isn't drunk.

Is this what she would've been like before? Happy? Normal?

"A, uh...friend...emailed me last night. I read it this afternoon. He said there could be a wendigo in Jackson."

Russell makes a face. "This far south?"

Her heart squeezes a little. Dean griped about a wendigo too, once upon a time. And he said that, too.

"We hunted one in Colorado before." She shrugs. "I'm gonna go tomorrow."

"I'll go with you." He's looking down at his palm now, brows furrowed. "Jackson's pretty this time of year. We could go on a hike or somethin'." Katherine nods.

"I think all of Wyoming is pretty this time of year."

A broad grin spreads across Russell's face, and it's almost a relief to her. She hated his face before. It was so dark and furrowed and almost pained.

"You're not wrong," he hums. "Hey, I had a thought today," he says a moment later. Katherine nods, lifting her glass to her lips. "You should come work on the ranch with me. I mean I'd teach you some things, obviously, but. I think you'd like it."

Katherine takes a deep breath and scans his face. "You know I grew up with horses?" Russell's eyes brows raise, and she nods. "My mom had horses when she was a kid, and when she got out of the military, she bought some land and put a couple of horses on it." She swings her legs. "I haven't thought about that house in a long time." She chews on the inside of her cheek.

Then she starts thinking of another house. The one Charlie secretly built for her, the house she wanted to spend the rest of her life in, raise her children in. 

Charlie spent the rest of his life in that house, anyway.

She takes three long pulls of her drink to make it disappear. Russell watched the whole thing. How her eyes went from contemplative to spaced, to sharp.

"Where'd you go?" He quietly asks.

Katherine shakes her head, avoiding his gaze.

"Katherine."

"Russell, no."

A moment passes. He slides off of the counter, sets his drink down, and carries the tray of steaks to the backyard. 

Katherine puts her face in her hands and takes a deep breath. Tears slip out from her tired eyes. 

She'd never be normal again. Not that she was normal, normal to begin with. There isn't exactly a support group for people who watched their husbands be tortured to death in front of them, right? So how the fuck is she supposed to move on?

Easy. She isn't.

Russell comes back inside to find her on the counter still, head leant back against the cabinets and eyes closed. He leans against the counter beside her for a moment before reaching for a paper towel. After he tears it off the roll, he folds it up nice and starts dabbing it on her face. Katherine sniffs and rolls her nose.

"Stop being so fucking nice," she whispers, pushing his hand away.

"No." She scoffs, shaking her head. "Stop pushing me out."

"You don't want in," she murmurs, shaking her head still, tilting her chin down to the floor. "I wouldn't do that to you."

Russell squares himself before her. She doesn't look up at him. He grasps her chin between his fingers and lifts her face to his. "Stop being so fuckin stubborn, Katherine Louise." She blinks. He's never called her that before. "I'm asking you. Please."

He probably wasn't asking to be kissed, but she did it anyway. She closed the six inch gap and kissed him. His fingers slid across her cheek and cupped the back of her neck, right at the base of her skull, and her fingers found the bottom of his shirt and fisted it hard. His other hand has found her ribs, right over her anti-possession tattoo. He noticed it several times—really fuckin' hard not to—but never said anything about it.

Paula asked about it once, not long ago. She was freaked out by it. Who gets a pentagram tattooed on themselves?

It's nice kissing Katherine. It's nice kissing anyway, but Katherine is just a dream come true. Well, she would be, if she was a little nicer to him.

"I'm not nice to you," she whispers against his lips.

"I know." His thumb runs along the space in front of her ear. Her fingers latch around his wrist, and blue eyes look up at him, conveying an apology she can't force from her lungs. All of her I'm sorry's are saved for a man who's dead, murdered, and hopefully in a better place than a world that was too good for him, with a girl who wasn't. 

Russell's too good for her. As horrible as it sounds...Dean wasn't. He was never too good for her. He was perfectly hers.

How did she outlive all of these people?

Russell wipes a tear away from her eye and kisses the corner of it before cradling her head against his shoulder. She wonders if he thinks she's crying for him.

Maybe it's not that she isn't...it's just a culmination of situations. She kisses his neck, and Russell sighs. 

"I'm sorry," she whispers. 

"Don't apologize."

She kisses his jaw. "I'm sorry," she whispers again. Russell's eyebrows furrow, eyes stay closed. She sounds like Heather. She kisses the corner of his mouth, lingers over his mouth, and kisses him again. "I'm sorry."

"You're forgiven." He grasps either side of her face and kisses her hard. "You were forgiven a long time ago."

His words twist at her heart, remind her of something she can't quite grasp. Her fingers wind through his long brown hair, and she kisses him back. 

He's always been too good for her. Always will be. It seems like it's in her track record. 

This will be the last time she loves someone too good for her.

She doesn't know how long they're kissing before she reaches for the button of her pants. Russell swallows hard, watching her fingers, before they move up to her eyes. Her fingers stumble over themselves, briefly, uncertainly. Then he starts to unbutton his pants.

"Should we go somewhere?" He asks, nodding his head to the back of the house. She shakes her head as he's leaning in to kiss her again. Her hands settle on his belly before sliding down just a few inches. They slip over the waistband of his briefs, down the front of his developing erection. 

"Is that okay with you?" She asks. Russell nods, hands fishing somewhere not on her body—back pocket. "Is this okay with you?" She asks, pulling away from him. "Paula—"

He frowns and speaks at the same time. "Aht." He kisses her again. 

"Russ—"

"Why are you thinking about Paula?" He breathes, resting his forehead on hers. Paula isn't making his dick hard, Katherine is. Why does she want to talk about Paula? Why are women so complicated?

"You told me yesterday you'd broken up, but y'all were together—"

"We broke up on my birthday," he says. "I don't love her."

It's harsh. Cold. 

"That's the point of everything, right? Love?" 

He's so fucking optimistic, it makes her want to cry. She kisses him instead. If she could take something from one last person, she'd take a drop of his spirit. Persistent, wholesome, good. What she took from Charlie wasn't enough. Would this?

There's already a fucking plan in place, she realizes, as Russell's hands grip her hip and thigh. He looks so fucking hopeful, for her, but she's not planning on coming home tomorrow night.

Home.

Her intentions were set before she knew it. This wendigo would be her last. And as Russell fucks her on the countertop, sweet and slow and long, her fingers dig into his skin, and she tries to take as much of his good spirit she can bear.