Early November in the Blue Mountains found the outdoors getting ready for the coming of Winter. Most of the trees had turned on their fiery autumn colours which were now being tossed about on the chilly winds as the mountains prepared for the long seasonal sleep. Only the conifers, a mix of pines, fir, and junipers, kept their greenery. Around the area the harvest festivals, the halloween decorations, the myriad pumpkins, and cornstalks, old scarecrows, and the occasional left over ghost were giving way to the coming of Thanksgiving and Christmas. As the plants and trees went dormant, the area began to look bleak, a dull gray and tawny landscape where the bare hills and plains met the slopes leading into the mountains. Tumbleweeds rolled, the Chinook winds blew, and the wildlife prepared for the coming lean days. Hawks and eagles were numerous and common especially the little sparrow hawks easily spotted on the telephone wires avidly searching for mice or stray grasshoppers.
Ken Hutchinson watched it with an appreciative eye. Things were so different now. He reluctantly turned his gaze from the big window of the Willow Lake Sheriffs Office. Perched on the Lake's edge at the transition zone between the rolling wheat lands and the Blue Mountain range, Willow Lake catered to the tourist trade offering fishing and resorts. The area was largely supported by the farmers, and cattleman whose livestock ranged in the hills leading up into the mountains. Somehow Hutch had found his niche amongst them. He ran a thumb across his shoulder under the strap of his holster to undo a kink, then readjusted the collar on his black turtleneck.
At 6'1, he was lean and tall, blue eyed, blonde haired, older, more cynical, and hopefully a little wiser. He stroked at the ends of his moustache and smiled slightly. For the first time in eight years he was also relaxed and happy. He readjusted the Magnum under his arm, snagged a blue buffalo plaid shirt from the back of his desk chair and slipped it on, glancing at the clock. It was early, but he knew no one would mind. He still wondered about the people of the place he had called home for three years now. They had wanted him to be their sheriff, but he had flatly refused. So they arranged for him to be hired as Tucannon County's only detective, not that he had much to do. The area was full of Mormons, Adventists, Independent and German Baptists, decent law abiding folks for the most part. The tourists and some of the wilder "redneck" farmers and ranchers occasionally gave him a spot of trouble, but for the most part he was an adviser for the Sheriff and Deputies of Tucannon County. It wasn't what he wanted at first, but he grown into the job, and still had the time run his own small holding. How different that was from his days in LA.
The people of Willow Lake had been a little reserved at first but eventually welcomed him with open arms. His purchasing the tiny Ames Ranch had raised more than just a few eyebrows but the folks accepted him and, upon learning of his past law enforcement career, soon began to actively recruit him. He smiled wryly, his heart had always been in police type work even here in this out of the way corner of Washington State. He could never truly escape it, though he had tried.
It didn't seem to matter any more, now that she was with him, despite having to adjust to the damage to her head and it's long term effects. He had a phenomenal unlucky streak with the ladies in his life, Ali Hutchinson being no exception. Just when he had finally given up on ever finding his long missing fiance', Ali had reappeared, although the circumstances were far from ordinary. So when was it normal, especially with himself? Now however, Hutch smiled slightly, they had survived their first year of marriage. He wandered out of his office glancing at Carol, the current Sheriff's secretary.
"Leaving early are we, Hutch?" she joked looking away from her computer screen.
"Got to go the gift shop, anniversary is today," he replied flicking
his fingers through his slightly longish blonde hair. "Can you
believe it? It's been a year."
"Considering the circumstances, no!" the girl shot back, mischievous. "But then we're glad that it's working out. How is Ali anyway?"
"Fine, doing fine. Still antisocial though, but she's getting better about it."
"So what are you getting for her?"
"Roses, her favourite, and I'm making dinner. Just the two of us. Then we got to get things going for the drive. Time the bring the cattle down out of the range before winter sets in. Need to get Ted out to brand the new calves." Hutch smirked. "You know how it goes!"
"Roses and dinner for two..." Carol sighed. "You're killin' me, blondie, so traditional!"
"Yeah well..." he shrugged. "I'm still surprized I finally got to marry the girl."
"After seven years of engagement! I would be too!"
"Gotta run, Carol. Tell Doug I'll see him next week."
"Will do Hutch! Have fun." She called after him as he opened the door and strolled out.
Seven years of engagement. That's what these folks believed. But Hutch
and Ali knew it had been seven years of hell, for the both of them. And
it had cost far too much.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Somehow the past few years were never very far from either of their
minds. As bad as they had been. Only a select few people knew of Hutch's
past, and were understandably surprized when he had left abruptly from
town and returned with his wife a week later. Hutch sighed slightly as
he strolled down the main road. It was that or loose her altogether and
he had searched too long and too hard to find her before he would let her
slip from his hand again. True, the woman he had married was nearly a
stranger to the one he had met, and lost, twice, but she was alive, she
was with him and she was beginning to remember. That was what Hutch cherished
most. Those fragments of their past that Ali Hutchinson, remembered.
A gunshot wound to the head had ended the career of Detective Sargent Alane' "Ali" Coulter. It almost ended her life. To a lot of folks it had. Including herself. She had been newly engaged to the perennially single tall blonde detective of the Metro Division in LA. They had met shortly after Hutch's partner had been nearly eliminated by an assassin named Gunther. In the aftermath of that shooting, Hutch had been, albeit reluctantly, temporarily partnered with a transferred detective from Seattle. Everyone in the station had been aware of a new program going on where those who qualified would travel from city to city learning to work in various different organizations. Theirs had been the first division chosen and most had read up on the accomplishments of one, Alan Coulter.
A brown belt in aikido, expert marksman, with a cases solved track record a mile long. Imagine their surprize when a 5'6 inch woman arrived asking for Captain Dobey, and he introducing her as the transfer. She had barely made the height limit for the police academy, and looked even smaller for her slenderness. Her hair made Hutch's look dark. A white blonde, with ice blue eyes that could look straight through a person. The corners of her lips could curl slightly in a wry smile especially that first day in Metro when all the "Guys" were suddenly confronted with a girl. And then there was Hutch. He wasn't too happy being partnered with a transfer. Someone needing a fast and dirty introduction to the seamy steamy side of LA, ie babysitting. Yet Dobey knew his detective. Starsky's wounding and long term recovery was a constant in Ken Hutchinson's life at that time and he needed a challenge to keep him sane. Ali Coulter was a challenge all right, and then some! Her different perspective on the LA scene would turn out to be an enormous asset for the tall blonde as they began to wade into the back log of work that resulted from Starsky's near fatal shooting. She had a quiet reflective air about her that thinly covered a turbulent interior and when needed she could tap it for fast action.
Hutch would remark to Starsky on his constant visits, that she had the fastest reflexes of anyone he'd ever seen. He also had to admit she had a mind like a steel trap. Not a lot got past her. She finally earned his grudging respect one particular nasty night when Hutch had tried to break up an alley fight between a dealer and buyer. He had found himself abruptly being attacked by both, wielding knives. Ali Coulter calmly walked in, distracted them, and while Hutch went after one, she ruthlessly took out the other. There were no fancy moves to this girl, she knew she had the disadvantage in both weight and height, but her brown belt gave her the ability to use her attackers energy and momentum against them and woe be to the man whom she got to the ground first. She wasted no moves and could quickly, efficiently, disable them long enough to handcuff them and back away.
Hutch remembered that one night with a smile. He had his man down and handcuffed first and was about to go to her assistance when she lit into the guy like a small white tornado. Ali Coulter in action was something interesting to behold. He realized that night he wasn't dealing with just a transferred detective needing babysitting. Ali Coulter definitely could hold her own. Still, their partnership was strictly professional. For the most part, if it wasn't work, or work related, they rarely talked. He also remembered how cold he had been to her at the beginning, what with Starsky on the mend etc, etc, etc.
It was later, after their partnership had been disbanded with Starsky's return, that Hutch discovered the other side of her. He had stumbled across her, almost literally, one summer night when he had taken a late night jog down the beach. Deciding to walk back, he spotted what looked like a familiar white haired figure a little further down the coast line, wading. Curious he approached her. She had pulled that thick white hair back into a long ponytail, wore a sleeveless shirt and knee length, tattered jean shorts, and was happily letting her self get soaked by the surf. Strangely though she was facing inland and was peering downward with her head tipped to one side, looking askance across the berm line. In one hand she carried a baby food jar.
"Coulter?" he asked. She looked up at him in the moon light a little surprized and smiled, straightening. That was a first, Hutch thought to himself, she had a beautiful, dazzling smile.
"Hutch? What are you doing here?!"
"I could easily ask you the same thing," he replied.
"Jogging? At night? Less people, right?"
"Not usually, but it's late," he shrugged. She hadn't moved from her spot up to her knees in the surf and was being pushed gently around by the water.
"What are you doing?" he finally asked. She smiled mischievously, looking for all the world like a little girl and not the detective he had met.
"Catching sand dollars," she responded. Hutch tipped his head slightly, blinked twice, frowned, and said.
"What?"
"Catching sand dollars."
Beach combing was common but everyone knew it took a dedicated comber to find the good shells. And the rough surf action often resulted in fragmented broken shells, rarely giving up the whole ones. Sand dollars were even harder to find as they were extra brittle. Finding them whole was a rare accomplishment. Hutch had lived near that beach for some time and only had occasion to find two. Most of the time one could find a thriving colony in the sand flats at low tide, but taking live ones for their whole shells was frowned upon.
"See?" She held the jar out to him. Taking it, Hutch was surprized to see eight small whole shells inside. She smiled even more at his look of astonishment.
"Let me show you," she said and before he knew she had grabbed his hand and pulled him into the surf, shoes and all.
"Hey!" he protested, as she turned him around to face the shore.
"Relax, they're only shoes, they'll dry out, " she said. "Take a look down the shore line where the water is running back." She pointed under his chest down the beach.
"D'you hear the shells tumbling around one another? It's called a shell dump. The tide acts like a giant washing machine constantly tumbling the shells all around and breaking them up." She looked up at him, "Sand dollars don't stand a chance in that washing machine. They're lighter, they float on the surface, skim across the top of the sand and when the wave comes down." (she mimicked with her arm) "Wham! they get smashed. It's the same if you try to grab them from up above. The shell skims along and you come down on top of it and ninety percent of the time the shell is crushed."
"But!" She grinned at him."If you come at them from the surf side and scoop up from underneath them..." She held up the jar. "Voila, sand dollars!"
"Even in the dark?!" Hutch protested, still not quite believing he was doing this.
"Even in the dark! Just look sideways across the top of the wash and you'll see the shell glinting in the moonlight, reach down and scoop, you'll get it! I got eight tonight, last week it was fourteen."
"Fourteen!" he exclaimed. "I've lived here nearly nine years and I only have two!"
"That's because you don't know how to catch them!" she challenged. Hutch couldn't resist a challenge. Shaking his head ruefully he sighed.
"Why do I feel like I'm going to regret this?" he asked.
"Regret what?" she joked, "Even if you fall in, it's 88 degrees out tonight, the soaking will feel great!" Hutch just looked at this different Ali Coulter, shook his head and gave catching sand dollars a try. Within ten minutes he had one.
That night he realized he hadn't really gotten to know his temporary partner. Every spare minute he had he devoted to seeing his partner and best friend recuperate from his ordeal. At work he had been all professional, and somewhat cold towards this woman, who had responded in kind. All work and no play. They parted ways after their shifts and didn't see one another until the next day when the shift started. It had been that way for nearly six months. Now he found himself getting a glimpse at this person from a wholly unexpected angle.
Standing on the beach he watched, slightly amused, as she pursued another shell.
"Say Coulter..." he started. She looked up at him triumphant, holding up a dripping hand, sand dollar nestled in the palm.
"I'm off duty, Hutch. Please call me Ali, I occasionally like to hear my real name." she grinned wading out of the water, and unscrewing the lid off the jar. Hutch snorted slightly and smiled.
"All right. So long as you call me Ken."
"Everybody calls you Hutch." she smirked slightly. "Even Starsky."
"Everybody has since high school, but uh...." he unconsciously ran his hand down the back of his head, glancing down the beach. "I have a real name too." For a full second both just stared at one another, then they began to laugh.
As easy as that, the ice had broke. Over the next few months, Hutch began to notice more and more of these infrequent run ins with Ali Coulter. Mostly he'd see her on the beach, learning she had rented a tiny loft off of Pacific Ave and Hwy 1 near to Santa Monica State Park.
Expensive rent, way too expensive. Especially for detective. Feeling strangely defensive as they continued to meet in the most unexpected places, Hutch instigated a private investigation of the transfer from Seattle. With a little help from Dave Starsky, (hugely enjoying his friend's anxiety, and teasing him unmercifully) he uncovered a few surprising things about her that wasn't in the official files.
Ali Coulter was a widow. She also was the daughter of H.G. Morgenstern, a man renowned for his ability to implode buildings. He owned a world famous demolitions company and was easily worth several million dollars. That had left much speculation over the midnight Monopoly games. She had been married at a very young age, then two years later her husband, Jonas Coulter, had been killed in house burglary attempt. Ali Coulter responded to the grief by enrolling in the academy, much to her father's displeasure.
She owned stock in her father's company, using the money from it's proceeds to help rent the place on the beach. By now Hutch had convinced himself that somehow Ali Coulter was out to get him, in a marital type of way, but she never asked him a thing. They just seemed to keep running into one another. Finally, Starsky couldn't stand his partner's nervousness and the tension any longer and dared Hutch to ask Ali Coulter out for a date. At first Hutch refused, but then on one night when he was out cautiously jogging, somehow knowing he was going to run into her again, he spotted her coming from the opposite direction, at a full tilt gallop.
She had rented a big brown gelding from somewhere and was letting him stretch his long legs, pelting flat out along the surf, straight out of a romance movie. Hutch couldn't stand it. He just stood there and stared as she raced by him, slowed up, and reined the horse around.
Slowing to a walk, she was breathless with laughter as she rode up to him. They exchanged a little chatter then he gathered up his courage and invited her to dinner.
She told him no.
Hutch snorted softly, fondly recalling how David Starsky had seen him falling flat on his face for her and vice versa and how for months they would try to avoid each other, failing miserably. They just kept on bumping in to each other. At her refusal, his pride stung and from there on out he began active pursuit, with a little "help" from Starsk who was getting as much mileage from the teasing that ensued that he could get.
Finally, in desperation that Hutch was going to throw in the towel, Starsky cornered Ali and pleaded with her to accept his partners invitations if only to put him out of his misery. Reluctantly, Ali Coulter, agreed if only to spare Starsky any more "suffering"...
But one night out changed things, changed things in ways David Starsky, Ken Hutchinson, and Ali Coulter never expected.