"Help?" The sheer joy that flooded me might also have been hormone-fueled, but I'd gladly take it. Jacob had been listening!
"He said you ain't nappin' and might want a companion."
Thud. Okay, so maybe my husband had been listening, but he hadn't understood. He was my time-repellent. He was the one who anchored me in 1878. "What does he think Amos is, chopped liver?"
"How's about you lie back and tell ol' Benj what's keepin' you from your rest? Used to be, you settled into the chuck wagon of an afternoon, comfy as a cat in sunshine."
Riiight. I did not lie back. I sat up, scootched backward, and leaned against the cart's wheel--with Lulu unharnessed, it wouldn't go anywhere. "Schmidty and I aren't exactly on the best of terms."
Amos, rubbing Lulu's coat with handfuls of dry grass, said, "You could nap right here in the shade, Mrs. Garrison. Mr. Cooper and me, we just give you some room. This mule won't have no trouble catchin' the chuck wagon later on."
Lulu even brayed her approval of the plan, shoving her head in the air and pulling her lips back from her teeth in a way that always made me laugh.
"Well don't that sound like a treat?" Benj knew why I should nap. He didn't know that I feared vanishing from their world forever.
I shook my head, and he tested, "Long, warm day."
"I don't want to nap!"
Both men leaned perceptibly away from me. Even Lulu retreated a heavy hoofed step. Stupid hormones. Stupid paranoia. Stupid afternoon sleepiness, muddling everything.
"I'm sorry." I heard my voice get thick, but didn't know what to do about it. "I didn't mean.... I just... I'm fine, okay? Jacob's allowed to tell me what to do, within reason, but not you guys."
Benj arched his brows at the first part of that, clearly surprised by my Victorian ways, but didn't comment on it right off. Instead, he said, "You do look tuckered out some."
Tuckered out? From him, the king of flattery, that probably meant I looked like the walking dead.
I blinked back tired, frustrated tears. Benj Cooper was calling me an ugly hag.
He leaned forward over his knee, put a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Mrs. Garrison--"
"Oh, call me Lillabit." I let my head fall back against the wheel rim. "What's it matter?"
"It matters if you say it matters. Somethin' is frettin' you, and I been led to believe it concerns your... future?"
Of course! God, I was so stupid. And maybe Jacob understood just enough, after all.
Benj had escorted me to Julesburg, had spent several days with the castaways. He'd conversed with Mitch and Ted when they, with limited success, tried to explain how time slipping worked. Either Benj fully accepted that we were from another time, or he was an even better poker player than I would have guessed.
I'd had someone I could have talked to, all along!
If only he hadn't punched my husband, maybe I would have thought of that sooner.
"You remember my friends in Colorado?" I prompted, and a mischievous smile played at his lips.
"Some more vividly than others." Right. Him and Maddie.
"They, um...." How much to say in front of Amos? "They had some interesting theories about the, uh, passage of time, don't you think?"
In this, we spoke the same language. "That they did. I ain't seen no cause to disbelieve them theories, nor yer own reminiscences."
In that moment, I truly did love Benj Cooper. He accepted the real me, on every crazy level, rather than some Victorian facsimile... I mean, goal. Rather than some Victorian ideal.
"Then maybe you could help me with something... timely." Except that he was supposed to be helping with the herd. "When you have the chance."
"Somethin' as important as your happiness and well-being, I ain't leavin' to chance," Benj assured me. "Amos? Would you mind givin' us some privacy while I talk over old times with Mrs. Garrison here?"
Amos hesitated, obviously torn... but Benj was part owner of the herd, and segundo. Jacob had sent him. So Amos nodded. "I'll jest hobble Lulu by that patch of wheatgrass yonder."
Yonder put him upwind of us. He wouldn't overhear our conversation but, despite the shelter of the cart, we would stay in sight of him, all the same.
Good man.
As soon as Amos had moved out of earshot, I sat up and said, "Some of the technical stuff may have gone past you, same as it did me, but... you remember how we talked about using meditation and visualization to time-slip home, right?"
My friend's handsome face went uncharacteristically expressionless. A moment later he swallowed hard enough that his Adam's apple bobbed and he said, carefully, "Still tryin' fer home, are you?"
At least he believed that I could.
"No! That's the problem exactly! I'm not trying to go home--I mean, back. I mean... forward. You know what I mean."
He rested his elbow on his knee and his scruffy, cleft chin on his hand, looking relieved. "Well, if I don't, you've sure got me fooled into thinkin' I do."
I managed a partial smile at that. How could I be so tired, after sleeping so deeply last night? Some of it had to be the baby... though some was the abbreviated nights everyone kept, reminding themselves to sleep come winter. "I'm trying to not go. I have no intention of leaving the here-and-now. Jacob and I took vows, and... and he's my husband...."
"And you're happy 'bout that?" Benj prodded.
I narrowed my eyes and growled, "Deliriously."
Perhaps not the best way to convince him. He reached for my hand and, when I hesitantly gave it, he spoke so quietly that I had to lean closer to hear him. "Now darlin', you tell me true. You didn't wed him jest to keep from having a baby in the bushes, did you? 'Cause fine a man though Jacob can be, there's other ways to deal with yer, uh, circumstances."
That surprised me. "Other ways? You can't mean...!"
This was 1878!
His eyes widened; he knew exactly what I was thinking, though neither of us said the "A" word. "I mean there's places you can go, homes for errant girls, folks who could care fer you until the time comes, then find a good family where nobody need--"
I snatched my hand away. "No! That's not the only reason I married him. I mean... yes, it's a reason. If this weren't...." And I dropped my voice too. "If this weren't Jacob's baby, maybe I would've chosen differently. Chosen my old life. But he is the father, and I--"
Love. The word is love, Elizabeth. I love him.
Jacob really should hear the words before Benj did.
"I wanted to marry him," I insisted instead. "I want be a wife and a mother, to do and be something good and important. I think... I hope he can be happy with me, too. I'm trying to be the kind of wife he needs." But without a Jacob Garrison owner's manual, who knew how I was doing?
"I'm glad to be married," I insisted again. "That's not the problem. The problem is that I've been dreaming. About my life... before."
He quirked a relieved smile. "Well now, dreams don't mean--"
"But that's just it; they aren't like normal dreams! They're like being there. I can see and hear and feel things there--" The smell of pool chlorine and sunscreen. The feel of an open freezer compartment on my face. The beat of dance music, thrumming through me--
I made myself focus on my reality. Wide open spaces. Rocks. Wind. And Benj, with his suntanned face and his dark sideburns.
"Sometimes when I nap, I forget what's real and what isn't, and when I wake up it's... for just a moment, it's like I'm deep, deep underwater, and trying to swim to the surface, but I'm all confused about which is the right direction. I get this feeling of being dizzy, insubstantial... of being in two places at once. And that's how the process works! Remember?
"If I believe my old world is real, I could end up there instead of here. And if I did, I might never be able to get back!"
Benj wasn't smiling anymore.
Now that I'd opened the gates, I couldn't seem to shut up.
"I know I need to stay rested, but I'm scared to nap anymore. Every time I do I'm afraid I'll wake up and the drive, the cows, him, you, maybe even the baby, everything will have become a dream itself. I can't get ripped away again, Benj! I can't just vanish on him. I promised him I wouldn't go anywhere, and I've got to keep that promise. I've got to stay--"
"Shhh!" He pushed forward onto his knees and took my shoulders in his hands, looking fairly stern... for Benj, anyway. "You hush. You hush right now."
"But--"
"Shhh!"
So I hushed, and tried to catch my breath.
"Ain't no good can come of you workin' yerself into a frazzle," he reminded me. "Especially in yer condition. Whatever's goin' on in that purdy head of your'n, you'll do a better job of corrallin' it without frettin'."
I nodded. "But I don't know how. And I get so tired during the day...."
"Well then, we'll fix that. You and me, and maybe my pard, need be. Agreed?"
I nodded, desperate for comfort.
"Now first off," he continued, settling closer to me to pat my shoulder while he thought out loud. "Ain't no cause fer you to be keepin' this fear to yerself. The good Lord didn't set you down in the midst of a whole passel of men who care fer you, and mean you to fret in silence."
"Except nobody else knows where I'm from or how I got here."
"Two of us do. What's yer husband think 'bout all this?"
"That's probably why he sent you. He won't--can't believe I'm from where I'm from."
"Or when you're from," agreed Benj, with full understanding. "I reckon it ain't a comfortable concept fer the man to wrap that plainspoken mind of his around, at that."
"And he said it doesn't matter who I was before, because now I'm Mrs. Garrison and I'm going to live in Wyoming." For what it's worth, he'd made that clear before I married him.
"Round these parts, a person's past ain't of no account next to who and what he is in the present. Fellers on this very drive got pasts what would surprise you. Reckon Jacob figures he's doin' you the same courtesy he affords them by not puttin' too much thought in it. But still." Something was bothering him. "He weren't never a heavy sleeper, and he is a noticer. Don't he ask about yer nightmares?"
"I don't have the dreams when he's there, or even once he leaves in the morning. Something about his presence anchors me here. He's, like... my talisman. I asked him to sit with me while I nap--if I nap--but he doesn't understand how important it is." Or he doesn't care....
Surely he cared. He'd sent Benj, hadn't he?
"Maybe it ain't just him. How about you let Amos give it a try?"
"I had a... a dream just yesterday, with Amos nearby. I don't know just how close he was to me. I don't think he wants to cause a scandal."
"Well I am much acquainted with scandals, and there ain't never been a one what could say boo to me. First thing is to get you rested up. How's about I sit with you, and you try that nap you need. If anythin' unusual starts, like you seem to take on a nightmare, or...."
"Or I start to vanish?"
"Or that," he agreed, not even blinking. "I could just--" he gently shook my shoulder-- "kind of catch yer attention, see. Grab you back. Would that help?"
Could it be that easy? I hesitated to risk it, but maybe if someone knew what to watch for and broke my concentration at the right moment....
I felt my eyes smarting with tears, at the mere hope of it as I nodded.
"Now tell me when these here false dreams started," Benj continued. "After Dodge City? After Seth turned on you?"
"No, they...." When exactly had they started? I'd dreamed about a boardroom on the train from Julesburg, but that had felt like a dream. My old colleague, Everett Heard, had been there as a ghost, mocking me for letting his killer, Slade Callahan, get away. No, the first unusually realistic dream had been... "The morning after my wedding."
Oh my. That had to be significant, didn't it? "You don't think I subconsciously want to escape my marriage, do you?"
Benj said, "Sub...?"
"Subconsciously. I mean, what if on the outside I'm determined to make my marriage work, but on the inside, I'm desperately unhappy and want to go home?"
"Thought you didn't want to go home," he said, obviously lost.
"So did I. But--oh my God--maybe I'm repressing what I really want, and just don't know it yet!"
I didn't like the wary, worried way he watched me now, like he wondered if I might pose a danger to myself. Oookay. So even with Benj, I might have to shelve one or two topics in order to fit in. Who was going to popularize the whole theory of the subconscious--Freud? Jung? When had they lived?
"Never mind." I sighed, discouraged and missing my Castaway friends.
He shook his head, as if to clear it. "So here's the plan. I'll unsaddle my pony while you lay back and get some rest--but I will stay right here," he promised, before panic could set in. "I'll sit with you and I'll let you know if... anythin' untoward occurs."
He waggled his eyebrows at that, to stress his naughty double-entendre, and I managed a weak laugh. It was worth a try, right? Except....
"Aren't you supposed to get back to the herd?"
"We're on a clear trail and already movin' too fast. If yer husband comes a'lookin' fer me, all the better. God gave the man shoulders fer a reason; he can just shoulder some of this himself." Except that Jacob really was busy, right? He had other important things to focus on. He'd wanted to leave me somewhere safe after the wedding, so he could focus on them and then send for me. I was the one who'd insisted on accompanying him.
Glad we had Amos chaperoning us, and afraid to hope, I lay back down onto the blanket. Remembering my bumped head from the day before, I chose the spot as far from the cart as I could get while still taking advantage of its thin strip of shade. The combination of unburdening myself, and Baby's usual demands on my afternoon strength, seduced me into at least trying.
"I am safe and happy in 1878," I reminded myself--but my whisper wavered. "I am safe and happy in 1878."
I closed my eyes simply to block out the sky...
The next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes with a satisfying sense of solidity and peace, to the cart's shade extending far beyond me...
And the sound of Benj singing quietly, like he'd sing to the cattle on night guard.
" Oh, my Clema, oh, my Clema
Oh, my darlin' Clementine.
You are gone and lost forever
I'm dreadful sorry, Clementine...."
Better than a clock radio. I closed my eyes and listened, wholly relaxed. Who knew that song had so many verses--or that it was so funny? Clementine drowns in the river because she trips on her big feet and her lover doesn't even try to save her ("but alas, I was no swimmer").
I felt relieved on a bone-deep, womb-deep level. Maybe I wouldn't stumble and slip on a piece of time, the way an old comedian might slip on a banana peel, and end up landing, butt-first, in the computer age.
Just maybe.
" How I missed her, how I missed her,
how I missed my Clementine,
'til I kissed her little sister
and forgot my Clementine."
I had to stifle a giggle at that, and Benj didn't start another song, so he surely knew I was awake.
I turned my head on the blanket and saw that he'd laid back, braced on both elbows. "Hi," I whispered, more grateful than I could say.
"Mornin', Glory," he greeted--and I sat up in a hurry, drawing my knees beneath me. Morning?!
"What?! It isn't!" But of course it wasn't--I knew that, even before he began to laugh his funny, cackling laugh. The heat was too heavy for morning, despite that the wind had picked up again, and the light slanted like late afternoon. "You ass! I mean... no. You know what? The heck with decency. I'm sticking with ass."
Around here it meant donkey instead of butt, anyway.
"Though I must say, Mrs. Garrison," the ass noted, once he'd gotten over his own joke, "the difference in you is that between night and day. Don't she appear renewed, Amos?"
"Yessir, that she does," agreed our chaperone, much closer than he'd been when I drifted off. Amos was partway through harnessing Lulu to the wife cart, so they must have decided I was rested enough to risk disturbing, even before I woke. "I hope she sleeps that good tomorrow, with me singin' to her."
Was it the singing? Or did Benj make as strong an anchor for me as Jacob did? I peeked back across the blanket toward him. Handsome Benj, who made time for me. Talkative Benj, who sang to me. Educated Benj, with whom I could be myself....
I decided, for once, to worry about those concerns later. For now, I would enjoy feeling great. I had hope for getting enough rest for me and Baby without risking a time-slip home!
"Thank you." I rubbed my face, brushed at my dress for wrinkles and dust, both. "Thank you both for being so patient with me and my stupid naps. Guys, this is above and beyond."
After they assured me it was their pleasure--a girl could get used to that!--Benj stood, helped me to my feet, and went to saddling his horse, humming happily.
I yawned, and stretched, and drank half a canteen full of water. Then I caught Benj and gave him a long hug before he could leave.
"Don't you dare ever fall in love with me, Benj Cooper," I warned him, cuddling into his easy embrace for maybe too long a moment. This was the first daylight hug I'd had since... the morning I left Ogallala. "It would be the rare woman who could resist a man like you."
"I fear it's too late for that," he teased, ducking his forehead over mine. "For Lillabit, you are indeed a rare woman."
Damn, but he was a sweetheart...
A sweetheart who didn't lean away from me right off. "Mrs. Garrison," he ventured, murmuring. "May I overstep the bounds of decency for a moment?"
No, screamed the part of me that had been trying to behave myself all week. Decency is important! If he meant to try something like, say, kissing me--just for the sake of kissing me, just because he wanted to...?
Then it would be nice to be wanted. But he wasn't the one I wanted to want me. It wasn't his ring I wore.
Still, my friend had just spent several hours proving just how deeply he cared for me and Jacob, both. So I took a deep breath and a gamble.
"I trust you," I told him, meeting his gaze--and it's hard to tell, with his tan, but I think he blushed. He also took a quick step back, so that he was only holding my hands, fingertips to fingertips.
"Afore your nap," he clarified. "You said my pard's allowed to boss you about, that you was tryin' to be what he needs in a wife."
Oh. Had I said that out loud? My inner feminist cringed--but I hadn't exactly lied. "I chose his world, Benj. So I'm the one who needs to start fitting in, don't I? Especially if my own--I mean, my previous life is trying to draw me back."
He considered that, clearly struggling with whether or not to say what he wanted to as a follow-up.
I made it easier on him by letting go of one hand and poking him in the tummy. "What is it? Spill!"
He laughed and danced out of reach. But he also 'fessed up. "Jacob Garrison tried marryin' hisself someone mannerly and proper, and it near 'bout kilt them both. He knew who you was--includin' your creative ways with rules--afore he spoke vows, and he still spoke 'em. So it seems to me...."
He backed away, ducked his head, then went with it.
"I am of the opinion, sweet Lillabit, that you might make a lot more progress lettin' him know what you need in a husband." He mounted his roan gelding, settled himself comfortably in the saddle, and tipped his hat.
"For what it's worth," he said, and shrugged one shoulder. "That and two bits'll buy you a drink."
* * *
Well there was some cryptic advice. I had already let Jacob know that I needed him when I napped, and he'd shot me down.
Then again, he'd sent Benj.
And when I asked Jacob not to just ride away without saying goodbye, he'd taken up the habit religiously. He always bid me farewell after stopping by the wife cart, during lunch. He even whispered goodbye in the deep, dark morning, often with a kiss--or two, or three--before he deserted me to go wake Schmidty. In fact, I was the one who'd ridden wordlessly away from him out by the big rocks last night, when he said he didn't care if I vanished.
I know, I know. He probably cared. He just didn't believe I could vanish. Not into thin air, anyway.
Maybe it was time to feel him out about some of my other wifely needs... like maybe renegotiating his dictate against marital relations while on the drive?
Why yes, my mind did go to sex. I was finally well rested--rested enough to get that tingly sense of big-date, anything-could-happen anticipation. And what could it hurt, to at least put my opinion into the mix? If nothing else, I would sure like to know why he was against it!
On the drive, I mean. He'd proven himself pretty pro-sex, otherwise.
Still, that conversation would have to wait until we had some privacy which, luckily, we soon would in our tent. And in the meantime?
In the meantime, some other kind of trouble was a'brewing.
My first hint of it came from Clayton, the youngest boy on the drive. As nighthawk, he watched the remuda all night and then slept out the morning, often doing some drag riding or joining the coosie as a cook's helper in the afternoon.
When I chirped a happy "Hello, Clayton!" on arriving at camp, his eyes got big. His freckles stood out on his pale face. He took off his hat, put on his hat, tried to say something, grimaced--and took off.
Oookay. This was not as unusual an occurrence as you might think. Cowboys aren't exactly ladies' women. Probably he'd realized I overheard them talking about my sex life, or lack thereof, this morning.
I'm hoping the next update will be a good one, Claytie.
Schmidty in a worse attitude than usual, although that's a pretty high bar to clear. Luckily, I'd gotten used to his dislike of me, over the last week. I'd apologized, more than once. I'd tried to explain. I had no intention of saying, "Hey, you're right, if I promised to leave the herd I should stay away, despite that I'm now married to its boss and planning a life with him. My major life decisions should be decided by you, Johann Schmidt!" So there was nothing left but to wait it out--and maybe kill him with kindness.
"Aw, Schmidty. You seem kind of stiff tonight. Can I help you with anything?"
He snarled something especially German in my direction, but this last week that just meant it was a day with a "y" in it.
Then there was Lee, a friend of Seth, the cowboy who'd attacked me. I tried not to blame Lee for that, but neither had our own friendship survived. He'd ridden drag again, being only maybe eighteen, so when he showed up at camp he was coated in dust so thick that if I hadn't known he was a redhead, I could never have guessed. Like anyone who rides drag, he looked like one of those living-statue performance artists.
In a cowboy hat.
Despite the Danger Zone that was Schmidty's realm, I liked the time of day when we set up camp. I liked being part of a group again, instead of on my own with Amos, great as Amos was. In my role as Wendy to these Lost Boys, I'd gotten in the habit of bringing the cowboys something to drink when they rode in, exhausted, to the chuck wagon before dinner. See, it was against the rules to ride within, say, four or five horse-lengths of the wagon--Schmidty didn't like excess dust in his cooking. With my help, they could get some relief before unsaddling their mounts and walking the rest of the way in.
It was my way of saying "thank you for doing the hard part." Often I brought the youngest cowboys, who rode behind the herd all day, damp cloths to wipe their faces. But tonight, when I brought Lee a dipper of water in one hand and wet rag in the other?
He didn't take them.
"I'll get my own," he drawled, almost primly, and literally shed dirt as he dismounted his dusty horse.
Oookay.
Hardly anyone else was there yet--except Schmidty, cooking, and Amos, fighting the wind to put up our tent. I hadn't seen Jacob all day. Benj and Shorty, as tonight's first guard, had ridden out to the bedding grounds after a quick snack, Benj with a conspiratorial wink in my direction. I'd nearly blown him a kiss, but my need to adapt stopped me in time. Instead, I'd just grinned further thanks.
Now, nearly alone with Lee, I shrugged. "Suit yourself." And I poured the water back into its pail.
As other cowboys rode in, they responded with their usual "thank you kindlys" and "much obligeds." So I just didn't see the pattern.
Dinner conversation that night focused on the incessant, dusty wind. It was making a distant howling noise, increasingly familiar to me. Amos had double-staked and anchored the tent with extra ropes.
"Is it going to storm again?" I asked, with a sick feeling. Lightning. Murphy....
The boys assured me that the air didn't smell like rain, and started telling funny stories about the ever-present Western wind, to make me smile.
Even some of the men who hadn't ridden drag were red-eyed from the dust facials they'd gotten--they'd pulled bandanas up over their noses and mouths, like bandits, but until the invention of safety glasses they could do little to protect their eyes. When I asked Juan, one of the older men, why his eyes weren't as badly irritated as the others, he smiled and said, "Kept my head down, ma'am."
Per the book of herbs and cures Dr. Maddie had sent with me, I used some of my precious Ogallala-bought tea to make an eye wash for those men willing to try it. Once it helped the first adventurous two, most of the others wanted some too. But not Lee. And not Swede Jansen, the pale-haired, ice-eyed newcomer.
That's what I was doing when Jacob finally showed up--I was blindfolding two more cowboys with tea-soaked rags. That's why I couldn't run over to him immediately, the way I wanted; my hands were full. But I began looking over at him every few seconds, ready to send a thanks-for-helping, welcome-home-honey smile as soon as he looked back.
He rode a fresh mare up to tonight's extra-long, already crowded picket rope--meaning he'd stopped by the remuda first and would soon be going back out again. Nothing new there.
He dismounted while Milton was saying, "You call this wind? Why, down in the Texas Panhandle once, the wind got so strong from the West, it kept the sun up two extra hours!"
While the other men guffawed, Jacob's eyes smiled tiredly at Milton's joke, though his dusty face didn't take it that far.
When his gray gaze touched on me, though, and I smiled my pleasure at his presence? All amusement drained from him.
I don't think I imagined it.
Why?
Modern me might, might have asked him right out, but I'd gotten a taste this morning of what gossips the cowboys could be. The 1870s model I'd been trying to live up to, which Benj had challenged this afternoon, probably would have me dropping everything to fetch his dinner, but I'm not sure I would have listened to her, even before my friend's advice.
So I just finished with the tea-soaked poultice on Romero's eyes and quietly advised him to keep it there for about fifteen minutes.
Jacob blinked, apparently taken aback to find two of his men ready to face a firing squad, then shook his head and went on to the cookpot.
He stopped, facing Schmidty.
Schmidty faced him right back, like some slow-motion game of chicken. Then the cook stepped out of my husband's way and turned back to the chuck box, snarling under his breath.
I thought I heard a couple of the men groan, like they anticipated some over- or undercooked food in the future. Even the boss wasn't supposed to mess with the cook. What was up?
"Wind?" protested Swede. "That's not wind. Here in Nebraska parts? Wind gets so bad, we hafta feed buckshot to the chickens jest to keep 'em from blowin' away!"
Jacob got his own dinner and sank into an unusually tense cowboy crouch nowhere near where I was working. He ate hungrily, his eyes on whoever happened to be speaking--until I called a deliberately happy, "Good evening, Mr. Garrison."
Then he nodded in my direction. Once.
Seriously? I wasn't imagining his cold-shoulder routine, was I?
I wondered if there was a proper Victorian way to ask who'd put a bug up his ass. Yes, I was happy that he'd sent Benj to help me with my nap. But that still wasn't the same as him helping me, and I didn't get this attitude.
I took a used rag from Ropes and dropped it in a can of boiling water, using a stick to fish out the rag already there to put into the cooling tea. Florence Nightingale I'm not, but some stuff just makes sense. The hardest part was using any portion of the fire without Schmidty kicking my work over.
"Hell," said Lee--and Garrison made a warning sound. He might be pretending I didn't exist, but God forbid anyone else forget enough to use such vile language as the old H-E-double hockey sticks.
"Pardon me, ma'am," the dusty redhead corrected himself. "I meant to say, heck." He cleared his throat and tried again. "Heck, down near San Antone, wind blew so hard once, I saw a chicken lay the same egg five times!"
Almost everyone hooted with laughter, although not all at once... some men took longer to get the joke than others, which was part of what made it so funny.
Jacob actually smiled, a momentary crescenting of his eyes and flash of teeth before he went back to eating, and I felt my own amusement at the joke fade. It would have taken so little for him to glance at me, for us to share just a smile.
Ropes said, "This close to the Trail Block K, wouldn't be surprised if their steers start blowing into our camp, plop plop plop, like tumbleweeds!"
Some of the men laughed, but not as many and definitely not my husband. It was a sore point among the crew, how slow the herds in front of us were moving and how bunched we were getting. Some of them thought we should just stop for a day, and let them put space between us again, but others warned that once cattle got used to walking every day, it wasn't good to stop them for very long.
Suddenly finished with dinner, Garrison put his plate into the wreck pan, stood, and snagged two biscuits, which were all that would fit in that big hand of his. The cowboy version of fast food, I guess. Then he started toward the picket line and his latest, saddled horse.
No goodbye. No nothing.
Even the cowboys noticed, sharing embarrassed glances but not meeting mine.
I stood up. "Mr. Garrison," I said.
And he kept walking!
Could he maybe not have heard me, over the wind? I swept my skirts out of the way of the campfire as I went after him. "Jacob?"
He held up one hand toward me, in a gesture I interpreted as Go away or Later. Then he freed his mare from the picket rope, put his hand on his saddle's pommel to mount.
So what the hell. Planting my hands on my hips, I shouted: "Jacob Francis Garrison!"
And his foot missed the stirrup.
It's the first time I've ever, ever seen him do anything clumsy around horses, which made it twice as shocking. One moment, he'd been about to gracefully levitate onto his mount's back. But at my call, his boot only grazed the stirrup and he dropped back down, knocking his hat back before landing on his feet in a stumbling two-step.
His mare danced back from his hold on her reins, tossing her head and rolling her eyes. Good girl, I thought at her, even as several of the other picketed horses pawed and snorted their own displeasure.
Oh, how the other cowboys laughed.
When he turned slowly back toward me, Jacob was not laughing. Well, I had his attention. His full, furious, force-of-nature attention.
The cowboys stopped laughing too. Mostly.
But trouble had arrived, in the form of a well-rested me. Me, with advice from Jacob's very best friend. Me, with a chance to be pro-active instead of re-active for once.
Sure, this was his world. We were on a cattle drive. But it felt like we'd never not be on a cattle drive.
I was ready to take a turn telling him how to be my husband.
E