OverTime 03: Slipping (First 70 Chapters)

Chapter 53: The Southern Strategy (Lillabit)

That was my first hint of how bad things were about to get: Jacob saying that ugly word, as if it meant nothing.

Jacob sending Lee back to the herd without censuring his behavior, which from the Boss was practically an attaboy.

Dirt never killed nobody.

At the time, I rationalized these things. Jacob was a product of this era, an era I'd chosen of my own free will. And maybe Amos didn't mind the n-word--words change their impact, over the decades. Maybe, to men who got regularly thrown, sunburnt, bug-bit, scratched, stomped, or even gouged? Maybe a face full of kicked dirt really didn't matter that much.

But it mattered to me.

In the meantime, I sensed that something had changed about my husband, something I couldn't understand, but felt.

For example, instead of riding back to the herd, he considered me for a long moment from his saddle--and then dismounted and drop-reined his mare.

Fearing I was the one in trouble, I went on the offensive. "I don't like you roping me."

"Don't like you whackin' my men with cooking implements."

That struck me as funny--so I could whack other people? Or I could hit his men, just not with items from the kitchen?

I got the strongest sense that he, too, recognized the humor of his statement--that he'd said it that way deliberately, despite his gruff expression and loose, looming posture.

When I grinned, his piercing eyes seemed to warm at me, easier than usual. Something had changed.

But when I rose onto my toes, to kiss him, he turned his face at the last minute so that I kissed his beard. Apparently I wasn't out of the woods quite yet.

"For what it's worth, I hit Lee in with my fist first," I informed him primly. Then I flexed my hand, because it sort of hurt. "Then I grabbed the ladle."

"Boss," interrupted Clayton. "Ain't there anythin' I can do other than just lie here next to this--next to Amos? I gotta do something!"

"Weapons got wet, you ain't caught that cart." My husband's eyes didn't warm at Clayton at all.

I said, "It's not his fault the--" But Jacob shut me up with a look.

Clayton said, "I'll get to cleanin' them, Boss. Obliged."

I grabbed Jacob's hand and drew him around to the front of the chuck wagon, where we could have a little privacy. "Lulu spooked at the gunshot, is all. Clayton almost drowned. You aren't blaming him for this afternoon, are you?"

Jacob said, "Nope."

I relaxed--but only marginally. "Are you going to tell him you don't blame him?"

"Nope."

I let go of his hand to fold my arms in protest.

"Had one job." He meant, spotting the downstream side of the wife cart. "Coulda had two deaths on his hands--maybe three."

"How three?"

Jacob stared at me long enough for me to piece it together.

"Me?! I wasn't even in the water yet."

"Hopped right in. Mule coulda dragged that cart over you."

"But she didn't. You caught her."

"Ain't as strong as no mule."