OverTime 03: Slipping (First 70 Chapters)

Chapter 28: Choices (Garrison)

Burn his saddle?! What--

How--

Whoever heard of a woman threatening such a thing!

True, Garrison had threatened his wife's saddle first. But he'd bought her saddle. She had not bought his. Also, he needed his saddle to earn the livelihood that would feed and house them both, and the men he employed as well.

And he'd thought Lisle was mad, toward the end!

Unfortunately, in her threat, Elizabeth had not sounded the least bit insane. She had seemed clear-headed, even calculating, as if wives threatened their husbands' livelihoods every dang day. She'd even lectured him on how to give orders. She'd then debated under which conditions she would and would not stay safe.

And then she'd gone and complimented him. You are a wonderful husband.

Her turnabouts left him dizzy and dissatisfied.

Since it remained his job to protect her -- from herself, if need be -- he let his threat stand. He'd left her what he hoped was a sufficient distance from the stomping hooves and hooking horns of the round up. And he'd turned to his latest responsibility.

The other bosses.

Before long, Garrison felt half-tempted to summon Elizabeth among them. Handley and Pratchett could likely benefit from whatever it was she had managed that morning. But he would not retract his orders that she keep her distance. In any case, these men's disagreement was nobody's business but their own. Certainly his wife's, and not even his.

So why did they seem to think it was his?

"Garrison, tell him--"

"Garrison, ain't I right--"

Without Elizabeth's intervention, they got increasingly obstinate.

Finally Garrison said "I do not care," and turned to cutting cattle alongside the cowhands, just to avoid them.

Ask Elizabeth for help, he thought, at one point. But he did not like wherever that thought came from.

She had threatened to burn his saddle!

Not long after that, he glanced up the hillside yet again and he saw Cooper had returned--and sat his gelding right beside Elizabeth's blue roan. Not that this should bother Garrison. Elizabeth had been chatting with and giving water to the men the whole time. Lord knew she and Cooper could chat up a storm--and after the mission he'd been on, Cooper likely could use a drink.

To his deep relief, his partner signaled success.

Garrison rode back to the other two foremen.

"Weren't my cattle ruin't yer wagon!" Pratchett was insisting.

Handley countered with, "The least you can do--"

"Fare thee well, gentlemen," drawled Garrison. Normally he did not like to interrupt people, but he'd given them as much--or more--of this day as they deserved.

Professional courtesy only went so far.

Both of them gaped at him for a sweet, silent moment of peace. Then both launched into their own protests.

"If anybody goes ahead on this here trail--!" That was Handley.

"Our men and horses are exhausted!" That would be Pratchett.

"Trail's yours," he assured them. "Men are mine. Good day."

Handley opened his mouth to protest some more, but Garrison stared him into closing it again without a peep. Then he rode halfway up the hillside, put his fingers in his mouth, and whistled, sharp enough to get the attention of every man there. Without looking back, he swept his hat in a half-circle over his head, beckoning his men to follow, and rode the rest of the way to his wife and partner.

Elizabeth was holding a bunch of flowers, and Garrison eyed his pard, unhappy.

"They're still watchin' you," chuckled Cooper, like that had anything to do with anything.

"Which route is clear." He wasn't about to mention the flowers.

"If you want to keep through the Wildcat Hills, ain't no fences between us and Robidoux Pass," Cooper assured him.

"Are there wildcats?" asked Elizabeth, flowers forgotten in her hand as she looked between him and Cooper.

Garrison said, "And hills."

"And it's some miles south," said Cooper. "We'd lose at least a day afore we reach Fort Laramie, though we might gain it back just by being shed of that lot down there."

Garrison said, "River?"

Cooper grinned that special smile he had for the beginning of an adventure. Garrison both feared and appreciated that grin. It meant that whatever Cooper had set his mind on would result in either a spectacular success or a miserable failure.

"I do believe I found us a ford," his pard admitted. "Wouldn't cost us no time, since we would have to cross the river eventually, anyhow."

"We're crossing the Platte?" asked Shorty, as the men reached them. His voice came out higher than he likely would have preferred.

In a similar voice, Ropes asked, "This far east?"

Could be for the best, the men not having extra time to concern themselves before the crossing. But Garrison would not commit until he'd tested the river bottom himself. "Either way, we're movin' off trail. Jorge, Milton, with me. The rest of you, go eat and pack up camp."

Only as he rode off toward the river with Jorge, Milton, Cooper, and Elizabeth did Garrison realize that she had not counted herself among "the rest of you."

Had he? The idea of sending her off with Shorty, Swede, Ropes and the like didn't sit well with him. This was why she should have stayed in camp in the first place.

Too late now.

He looked over his shoulder at her, feeling sour until she smiled at him, all dimples and bright-eyed excitement. She did not seem to realize that she had no business riding side-saddle in her pretty frock amidst a cluster of old drovers at work. She did not even know enough to fear the river.

He hoped she felt the same, by nightfall.

He tried not to think of other matters they might get to, after nightfall.

He had to concentrate on choosing the best place to take his herd across the dangerously quicksandy North Platte.