OverTime 1 - Searching (Time Travel) (8 page)

The fantasy helped distract me from the incessant heat and the wind, drew me deeper into a protective sense of unreality.

It passed the time, anyway. Grass. Sky. You get the idea.

The herd, when we reached the immense cloud of dust it raised, disoriented me all over again, like something out of a... book? No, that wasn't quite what I was thinking, but
something
along those fictitious lines. We didn't ride too close, a fact I appreciated when the wind changed direction and I was introduced to full-strength, sinus-burning
eau de cow
. Even at a distance, squinting with watering eyes from under the insufficient shade of my floppy hat, I marveled at the sheer number of cows. We approached from the side, and I couldn't even take in the slow, almost endless river of cattle without turning my head from their start to their dust-billowed finish. That had to be at least a mile of animals!

I glanced at my escort who, big surprise, wasn
't paying me any attention. He wore an honest-to-gosh expression on his face for once, though:  pride. He
liked
the bovine array ahead of us. While I watched him, he leaned way off his horse, plucked a stalk of grass, rubbed it between his fingers and took a nibble. Then he nodded to himself, perhaps deeming it cow-worthy.

Job satisfaction.

What most caught my interest, in contrast, was the sight of
other people
. I could make out five cowboys on our side of the herd, apparently spotting the animals' moseying movements and discouraging any breaking of ranks. It seemed like very few men for that many cows, though there could have been even more hidden in all that dust they kicked up. But someone was also driving a high, old-fashioned horse wagon, pulled by four funny-looking horses, well ahead and to our side of the whole parade. Farther back and also to the side I could make out a large herd of horses, though they had nothing in number against those cows; I could only imagine someone was keeping the horses together too.

Considering the size of this operation, surely they had medical facilities and communication with the outside world! Whoever owned all these animals would insist on it. Imagine the liability issues otherwise!

When Garrison glanced briefly at me—probably an accident, I was just in the way of his view of the cows—I let my relief show in a smile. Victory! I
definitely
couldn't have done it without him!

He dodged my smile and slid off his horse to go untie the sack the Peaveses had traded him. Was he trying to look busy for one of the two riders who
'd broken from the parade to approach us? Of these, the good-looking, clean-shaven cowboy in his late thirties was probably in charge; he just had that public-relationsy kind of confidence about him, and though dressed like Garrison, he seemed somehow neater about it. Beneath an inevitable layer of dust, his coat looked to be of a finer fabric, and his boots seemed newer. The red kerchief he wore on his neck wasn't nearly as faded as the one I'd borrowed.

"Jacob, you old scamp," he greeted, gesturing broadly toward me and the extra horses while, sack in hand, Garrison vaulted easily back onto his own mount. The new man
's southern accent seemed somehow more refined, even when he then butchered his grammar—deliberately, I suspected—by adding, "You show up a day late, and this don't resemble Beauregard in the least. What'd you go and do, trade one of our hands at a profit?"

Garrison tolerated the teasing in exasperated silence.

The third man who'd approached us, round-faced and younger despite his long, droopy moustache, said, "I don't know how t'other boys'll take it, Boss, you hirin' a nester."

"Ain
't hired her," Garrison protested, sulky to even be having this discussion, and while I did a double-take at him—
Boss
?—the younger, round-faced guy did a double-take at
me
.

The friendly one just laughed a contagious, cackly laugh, so hard that our horses began to shift restlessly. "See now, Jacob, you
're workin' these boys too hard," he finally scolded, trying to catch his breath. He also managed to thumb his hat, with a nod of greeting, toward me. Very polite people around here. "Murphy here's done forgot what a female of his own durned species looks like!"

The round-faced one stared, appalled. "It
's a..." he stuttered. "She's a...." Then he yanked off his hat. He immediately dropped it, causing his horse to dance backwards and mine to jump straight up. I squeaked, grabbing frantically for my saddle horn before I could be flung right off the saddle.

Garrison snagged Boy
's bridle and held firm, which made a bigger difference. When the excitement abated and I glanced back at Murphy—Mr. Murphy, or Murphy Something-Else?—his face was maroon.

I suspected it had less to do with the handsome man
's mirth and more to do with the weight of Cowboy Garrison's disapproval.

Garrison, who was working these boys too hard.

"You're the boss?" I asked my cowboy companion, partly to draw his stern attention away from Murphy.

Boss Garrison glanced toward me with a matter-of-fact nod. If he knew I
'd expected someone more articulate, more charming or better dressed to hold that rank, he didn't show it. Or he didn't give a damn. He was too busy shifting his glare to the man I'd mistaken for the boss, the one who'd laughed.

On second thought, Garrison had such authority, how could I have thought he was anything but the Boss, with a capital
B
?

Momentarily reprieved, Murphy slid from his horse, retrieved the hat, and nodded bareheaded up to me. "Pleased to meet you,
miss. Forgive Benj's—Mr. Cooper's—poor manners."

His companion snorted good-naturedly. "I ain
't the one spooked her horse
nor
accused her of bein' a boy and a sodbuster at that, now am I?" But something in the man's voice, a twinkle in his blue eyes, hinted at a level of affection toward both men that allowed such teasing. When he yanked off a leather glove and extended his hand—acknowledged me as a real person—he won me over completely. "Benjamin Cooper, ma'am. Charmed to make your acquaintance."

"I—
" Wow, where to start? From the corner of my eye I noticed the slightest negative shake of Garrison's head, so I gave up on an explanation for now and simply moved to accept the handshake. Benjamin Cooper turned my hand and kissed the back of it instead. There went that weird tickle of unreality in my stomach, again.

Garrison looked away in disgust and all but thrust the little remuda
's lead rope at Murphy, who took it
while
he remounted. Did gravity work differently for cowboys than for me?

"Where
is
Beauregard, Boss?" the younger man asked, sneaking another peek at me.

"
Let him go," said Garrison.

"Where
'd you—" But Garrison was scowling again, or still, so Murphy nodded nervously and simply escaped, horses in tow. I felt suddenly sad to see our four-legged friends disappear toward the bigger remuda. One less piece of familiarity.

Unaffected, Garrison thrust the sack he held at Cooper—no, to
Benj
; this was a first-name kind of guy—who caught it one-handed. When the Boss headed toward the distant wagon at the front of the herd, both our horses followed. I think Benj had some say in his case, though.

"Now I know you
're just chompin' at the bit to tell me the whole story," Benj teased at Garrison's back, sharing the joke with a grin toward me as he balanced the sack on his knee. "Might as well stop holdin' back and let it spill out—thataways I can answer the boys' questions for you and let you save your breath for more weighty matters."

Garrison said nothing.

"Where in tarnation did you pick yerself up a girl? Or..." He glanced again toward me, clearly tickled by his train of thought. "Or did you up and elope?" Urging his mount forward, he reached across the space between their horses and slapped Garrison on the shoulder. Amazingly he didn't pull back a bloody stump. "I jest knew if you didn't cut loose sometime, you'd go and do somethin' loco."

Garrison glared at him.

"All right then," Benj supplied. "I reckon I'll have to guess. She was at the Harris residence."

Garrison shook his head.

"You and Beau did get to the Harris residence."

Garrison nodded, and Benj
's expression sobered. "How'd they take the news?"

Garrison shrugged. "They took it."

Curiosity got the better of me, and I asked, "What news?" Both men looked back at me as if I'd appeared
—*poof*
—out of mid-air.

Surprisingly, it was Garrison who answered. "Boy died."

"
Their
boy?"

He nodded.

"And you rode over to tell them."

"And bring the boy home," clarified Benjamin. Did he mean—bring the body home? On
horseback
?!

"I thought you
'd just gone to buy horses."

Garrison
gave me a
look
, as if I should know better, which of course I didn't.

"It
'd take more than a few mounts to pry this man away from his herd, darlin'. Especially on a dry run between the Cimarron and the Arkansas," Benj explained—sort of—before turning back to his friend. "Although his tale is missin' a few of its finer points. We expected you yesterday. Why did you fire Beauregard? And where did you get the horses and the gal?"

"Beauregard misbehaved," Garrison
explained with finality. I felt suddenly lucky to have gotten this far with him. "Harris family was low on cash, wouldn't take their boy's full pay for a half job, so I bought horses."

I found myself studying his harsh, whiskered profile a little closer. That sounded almost...
sweet. He noticed me staring and looked away.

"And this purdy little travellin
' companion?" Lord, but this Benj guy had the makings of a con artist. He almost made me forget Murphy had mistaken me for a boy.

"Found her," Garrison admitted.

"In a creek bed," I contributed. "I don
't know how I got there. I don't even know my own name."

"
Slowed me some," Garrison defended. "Couldn't leave her there."

"No, I don
't reckon you could—though I imagine you'd regret it. Poor little bit of a gal."

Little bit
. Something about those words struck me as familiar, and the sympathy eased over me like cool water. "I need to get in touch with some kind of authorities, so that they can help me find my home."

Benj whistled in appreciation. "Well if that ain
't a caution. So Jacob here got himself saddled with a sweet little thing he don't even appreciate, and our outfit is commencin' to get a whole lot more interestin'."

Garrison glared at him again. Apparently he didn
't like the idea of an interesting
outfit
at all. "Jest to Dodge."

"The Bibulous Babylon? Not particularly fittin
' for a young lady," Benj pointed out. That made two votes, his and Peaves', against the place.

"Better
'n a creek bed," noted Garrison, and looked back at me again as if he wanted to say something. We'd halved the distance to the horse-drawn wagon, which moved ahead of all those cows. By arriving at the herd, I realized, an uncertain intimacy between us was ending. Not that he would treasure fond memories of our quiet conversations and happier times. He was probably just relieved. So why was he looking...?

He let his horse fall back and reached toward me, as if to touch my face. I waited, curious, almost hoping he
wasn't
relieved by the loss of our time alone. My breath pulled short, expectant... and then he lifted my hat, Eb Peaves' hat, from my head. When my hair fell free to my shoulders, he put the hat back.

I caught his meaning:  Just to avoid any more mistakes like Murphy
's.

"Explain her," he told Benj firmly. "Won
't tolerate trouble."

"You won
't even know I'm here," I promised.

He snorted, wheeled his horse away and rode toward the herd proper.
His
herd. I watched how several cowboys rode forward to meet him, and I felt even more displaced.

"Now don
't you worry your purdy head," soothed his twinkle-eyed friend, clucking our horses back into motion. "We'll settle you in like you was meant to be here."

I smiled distracted thanks. Then I made myself stop being distracted. Tired or not, I didn
't want to settle in. I had things to do! "Can you help me contact someone?"

He arched a brow. "Depends on whom you
've a mind to contact."

Whom?
What a varied vocabulary Benj Cooper had.

"Authorities," I reminded him. "Someone who can find out where I
'm from."