OverTime 03: Slipping (First 70 Chapters)

Chapter 47: Footprints in the Frost (Lillabit)

From the furtive glances the boys exchanged, some aimed at me and Jacob, this turn of events was nowhere near as popular as getting to carry guns. For the pity's sake--we were just talking pants! I wasn't going to be prancing around naked.

"Boss is okay with that?" Milton asked Benj, as if Jacob and I weren't right there.

Jacob said, "I am."

"The Boss," clarified Benj, "wants the missus safe until we can send that Callahan feller to prison or a grave. If you waddies have a problem with any of this, now is the time to say so. "

I wasn't very surprised when Swede Jansen spoke up. Ever since my return as Mrs. Garrison, the newcomer had seemed less than pleased by my presence. More than once I'd caught him watching me, across the campfire or from horseback, with those pale, pale eyes of his. So I didn't know whether to believe him or not when he said, "Ain't no problem, Mr. Cooper. But when do you and the Boss figure this Callahan feller to show up?"

In the distraction of my grief--and my confidence in my protectors--I hadn't even thought to wonder that.

"Callahan had two day's start on me," figured Benj. "But I did some hard ridin', so he wouldn't of beat me back. If he's tryin' fer speed, he could be here any time."

It occurred to me that he and Jacob had choreographed this little announcement so that my back was to the chuck wagon, and the men crouched or stood in front of me in a way that was unlikely to give any sniper a clear shot. The night horse's picket line had been strung differently tonight, so as to provide some shelter for me, all the way to the tent.

Damn, my men were smart. Then again, they'd been to war.

Was this war?

Jacob said, "Won't try fer speed."

"I don't believe so, either," agreed Benj. "If this killer has any salt at all, he'll hold back a bit, wait 'til we get careless. So we won't get careless. That understood?"

Some of the men nodded and some said "Yessir."

All of them were risking their lives for me.

"Thank you," I told them, my eyes starting to burn with yet more tears. "Thank you for everything."

Shorty said, "We're sorry 'bout your friends, ma'am."

So was I.

Even more than I was afraid of Slade Callahan, I was sorry for my friends.

I wanted to pull Jacob away from camp, for a little privacy, but that would put us in the open. So instead I just put my hand on his chest and rose onto my toes, so he would bend closer over me, which he did.

"I'm sorry to cause all this trouble," I told him quietly. From the very beginning, he'd worried that I would cause trouble. Over and over, I'd proved him right.

"Callahan's doin', not yours," he assured me, in a tone that allowed no doubt. His gray gaze caressed my face in the firelight. Then he had to go and add, "This time."

Well, I'd always known he was honest.

The cowboys in this cattle drive had never resembled Western-movie stereotypes. They were more racially diverse than the black-and-white classics would have you believe, and they skewed a lot younger and skinnier. Some of their hats resembled fedoras or bowler hats more than standard Stetsons, and nobody wore jeans yet.

But now, for the first time since my arrival, every man in the outfit was armed like a movie cowboy, complete with six-shooters on their hips or rifles on their saddles... or both.