James Grady swallows his shot of whiskey in one go, no trace of a wince or discomfort at the burn of the alcohol. It's the mark of a man who has done this a million times; lounging back in a wooden chair inside a saloon that's been ordered empty by the resort owner.

He'd said it was for Rick's privacy when shooing out the same barkeep that had broken the case open with his story. The bartender might very well believe the line, but there's something coiling deep in Rick's gut that mandates he remains on edge even while he tries his hand at faking a relaxed posture he doesn't feel.

Slamming down his own empty shot glass, he sucks in air through his teeth and tries not to grimace as the thick amber liquid burns a trail from his esophagus to his stomach. Personal aspirations of being a real live cowboy aside, he can't imagine having the wherewithal to do this day after day.

"So tell me, son," Grady begins, filling the two shot glasses to their rims for another round, "How exactly did you and your wife locate the mine? That story's gone round these parts for years. We get people in from time to time who want to take a run at finding some treasure, but they've never gotten close."

"We…uhhh…." he's hedging as much in deference to the active murder investigation they still have going as much as reluctance born from the glint in the man's eyes. Until now, James Grady had seemed amiable; a guy with an affinity for guns and the Old West but rather ineffective at enforcing any kind of law or threat despite the fancy gunslinging he'd shown off in the general store, "Lucky guess, really." Rick supplies.

It's a thin lie and one that the owner clearly doesn't believe from the sideways flash of his eyes. But he doesn't comment, choosing instead to down the second shot and slam the glass onto the table with a smack of his lips.

"A lucky guess?" he chuckles, "I'm a man who believes you make your own luck, son. If it were as simple as a lucky guess someone would have found the mine long before now."

The moment of clarity is sharp when it comes; so sharp that it takes effort not to let the surprise show on Rick's face. In their recounting of the discovery of a body on the ranch's property, they'd never discussed how it had been found in a mine. They had returned to the town, flagged down Grady and Daisy Mae who had called the sheriff.

"…I don't remember saying anything about a mine," Rick says, keeping his voice purposefully low even as his phone begins to vibrate in his pocket.

"That alcohol got to you already?" Grady lets out another barking laugh, "You must be a lightweight. Out there on the street your wife told us that you'd found a skeleton in a mine and…"

"Ryan!" his voice is unnaturally forced once he's fished his phone from the pocket of his pants, "They don't have phones in the Old West. You're killing the mood and my buzz," Rick adds a chuckle to the end, playing for time, hoping they can establish some sort of code. It's not that he can't likely handle Grady if it comes to that, but the man has a gun and he's seen how adept he is at using it.

"Castle, where is Beckett? She's not calling or answering her text messages," Ryan sounds equally worried and urgent, some note of color in his voice that usually pops up when they've gotten some unexpected information. The fear that spikes in Rick's brain isn't for himself then, but for the potential that she could be in some sort of danger. "But there is a third partner in this scheme between Clyde and Duke."

What if he's wrong about Grady? What if the Sheriff is in on it and he's unwittingly sent Kate off into a trap?

"She's on an ATV, probably can't hear her phone," he replies, proud of the lack of panic in his voice, "But the sheriff?" The last word does carry a shade of worry, Rick's baser instincts to protect his partner demanding that he bolt out the door and hunt Beckett down.

"No!" Ryan is even more urgent now, huffing out a breath of frustration, "It's a man named James Grady."

It's an odd sensation to feel more relief that Beckett isn't in danger than the absolute confirmation that he is sitting across from the man who killed Whitney and at least had a hand in killing her father. Rick doesn't get a chance to dwell on it, his phone tugged from his hand and tossed carelessly onto the floor.

Ryan is still chattering away when Grady's boot smashes into it; jagged fractures appearing in the glass of his iPhone. Between the clap of Grady's feet across the floor, he hears only silence from the phone. Not that it matters because the ranch owner is pulling at his jacket to expose the two six shooters that rest on either side of his hips, fingers wiggling with delight at the chance to pull the trigger.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye," the cowboy drawls, unhooking the clasps on the left holster.

"Grady, wait!" The sight of the gun snaps him from his shock and up onto his feet, eyes already darting around the room to catalogue potential places to hide. The wooden tables probably wouldn't stop a bullet, but they're the best option available until he reaches the bar and the cover that it would offer. "If you kill me that's just another murder you'll be answering for."

Terrible grammar, he knows, but if Rick is gonna find himself in a duel then he's determined to go out befitting the name of a cowboy.

Another one of those wheezing chuckles, this time accompanied by a smile, "Not if I make it to Mexico."

"Now, I can't let you do that," he replies, one hand looping across to unhook his own holster for easy access to the gun within. Beckett had poked fun at him when he'd bought them yesterday; presenting hers with a flourish outside the store with some line about being a wedding present.

She'd rolled her eyes at him, but he knew her tells. That shadow of a grin had been all he needed to know that she'd liked the gift.

Now, he's glad that he has his own. It might just save his life.

"And you're gonna stop me?" The man scoffs, fingers firm where they grip the butt of his gun, "Come on, son. Sit down, have a drink, think of your wife. It'd be a nice last thought, wouldn't it?"

"If I'm about to die there's something I think you need to know…." It's the dark outfit that catches his eye; Kate's lean form creeping behind the swinging doors. She's quick, stealthy from years with all her cop training, and across to the other side in the blink of an eye. But Rick still sees the move in the reflection of the tin at the top of the bar and some of the fear loosens in his chest.

If Kate is here, nothing will happen to him. She won't let it.

"And what is that?" Grady sighs, one small eye roll the assurance that the man is quickly growing impatient.

"She's not my wife," Rick says gun out of the holster and his finger on the trigger before he gets the words out. Still, its not quick enough for their killer who has his gun pointed and a bullet sparking out from the barrel before he can let his own fly. But Grady's shot goes wild, embedded somewhere in the ceiling above them as his gun skitters out of his hand.

When he turns towards the doors, Kate seems to glow in the light of the afternoon sun, her face hidden in the shadow of her hat bar the slow flash of white teeth. Her gun is still smoking at the end of the chamber as she saunters across the saloon, eyes radiating a heat that leave him a little weak kneed, "He's right," she adds once she's standing over Grady, "I'm his partner, not his wife."

"There's a difference?" Grady cuts in, eyes locked towards the business end of Kate's gun from his position on the floor.

"Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD. James Grady, you are under arrest for the murder of Whitney Williams," she replies with one of those patented eye rolls, twirling her gun around her index finger before it slots neatly back into the holster.

It's smooth. Smooth enough that Rick feels his eyes widen and his jaw go a little slack.

"You shot it out of his hand!" Rick hears how he sounds like a little kid, but he can't help it. "God, you're so hot."

"Castle," she's rolling her eyes at him again, leading him aside so that Sheriff Conklin can haul Grady up from the floor and slap a pair of handcuffs on him, "I leave you alone for five minutes and you end up in a showdown?"

"I didn't plan to?" he replies with a shrug, "But I totally had him, Beckett. If you'd given me two more seconds….."

"You'd have gotten yourself shot," Kate deadpans, leaning forward to brush a chaste kiss against his cheek that does help to lessen the sting of the probable truth. And watching her hips sway as she follows the Sheriff to the waiting police car. That definitely helps.

Manhattan feels like a foreign country when she steps into the terminal at John F. Kennedy airport. Screaming babies, voices intermingling in everything from cell phone conversations and intercom pages to the news anchors reading off the latest reports.

A glance up to the nearest flat screen tells Kate that the Metro newscast has picked up the news of Whitney's murder being solved. Whitney Williams is grinning on the screen, bright and happy with a cowboy hat on her head in the middle of a dusty street that Kate now knows well.

Daisy Mae had insisted she'd keep Diamondback open, encouraged both of them to return to stay at a hefty discount whenever they wanted as thanks for their work. She'd had no idea her husband was a cheat and a murderer, but the woman had absorbed the news with far more grace and strength that Kate would have.

Or even had. She'd broken down completely when her mother had died. Over a decade later, bits of her still haven't recovered.

"Another case closed, Detective," Castle's grinning at her as he wheels both of their suitcases over from baggage claim, "Maybe my favorite so far."

She's already laughing before he wiggles his eyebrows at her, her top teeth clamping down on her bottom lip to stifle the noise. Not that it matters in a bustling airport, no one is paying attention to them and it's not as if they have people waiting to escort them home.

Tom had texted her to ask if he should before they boarded in Phoenix. Her negative response had been immediate; no hesitation or guilt in the two letter answer she'd given.

I understand.

He'd been ready with his own answer, a quiet way to bow out of the competition in which he'd never stood much of a chance though she'd have been loathe to admit it a few days ago when her partner had hassled her into a trip with dirt, horses and cowboys. Now, standing in the middle of baggage claim, Kate can't think of another trip in her adult life that she's glad she's made.

"Yeah, you got to play cowboy for a couple days. It's every fantasy you've ever had coming true, Castle," she teases him gently, knocking her arm into his with a gentle chuckle that matches his own. It's not awkward standing like this, but there is something nerve wracking about not knowing what comes next. Diamondback seems ages ago, some break from reality and the lingering unspoken problems that are now crowding back in with the reappearance of a bustling city and millions of people who need to be protected or served justice when their life takes a premature end.

"Not every fantasy," he says quietly, voice pitched low for only Kate's ears. She expects some flash of lust and desire to be all over his face when she looks up, but there's only sincerity. It's what she feels when he reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, and what lingers in the smile he gives when Kate nestles her cheek against his palm.

"This could blow up in our faces….." Kate whispers it to him, suddenly realizing that the busy, nervous work of her hand is that of spinning her undercover wedding band round and round on her finger. Not only is she still wearing it, she's made a cross country trek without even realizing it. More than that, she can feel the cold imprint of Castle's matching one brushing along her cheek. It's not just her then.

It's still scary, making this decision, but the familiar weight of those rings gives her the confidence she needs.

"I'm terrible with relationships and you are going to get tired of my walls and…."

His lips are soft when they brush against her own, insistent and confident in a way that makes her melt a little. The endless circle of thoughts and objections dials down to white static that Kate forgets all about when she lists into the broadness of Castle's body and returns the kiss. It's as sweet as it is wanting, the sort of kiss that is meant to reassure and calm.

And it works. It works well enough that Kate holds on to him when they break apart, a silly smile threatening to make an appearance when his forehead brushes against her own, "A chance, Kate. All I want is a chance to show you how good we can be."

It's the same words that he told her in the bunkhouse, muttered with the same honest inflection that sends her heart stuttering in her chest. This close she can see how his eyes are a clear sky blue; open and reflecting back a bevy of emotion that is as thrilling as it is terrifying.

But if feels right. Standing in a crowded airport with a city of millions, or in a desolate Arizona dude ranch bunk house, Kate feels like she belongs with Richard Castle at her side.

So she leaps, tilting her head up to brush their mouths together one more time.

"We're gonna be great, Rick."

A/N: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed this little story. I'd also like to again thank Nadia for her encouragement and the awesome cover art, as well as G, Nadine, Cathey, Ashley and the countless others who become personal cheerleaders for this thing in the six months it took to write it.