OverTime 03: Slipping (First 70 Chapters)

Chapter 60: Changeable (Garrison)

Some days, Garrison wished he could get satisfaction from cursing. The day he and his brother rode off to join the Confederate Army had been one of those days.

The day he and Cooper turned their back on their own cattle drive--their life savings, their future--for an obstinate female and a manipulative killer was another such day. But if Elizabeth was going, Garrison was going with her.

If Elizabeth was going....

She had called his bluff. He could not grab her, rope her, or "otherwise restrain her" this time, not and consider himself any kind of man. All he could do was ride along and keep her from getting her foolish self murdered.

He resented that.

Didn't matter to her that this meant him leaving his life's work in someone else's hands for days. Herds often got destroyed over minutes, not weeks, and he wouldn't be there if aught went wrong.

Didn't matter to her that he and Cooper were as likely to end up dead as she was, leaving his son orphaned or their partnership destroyed.

No. He'd married himself a foul-mouthed, mule-headed bride who didn't trust him to manage even the most basic aspects of her life, such as guarding her from an encroaching killer. She acted like he'd done something wrong, instead of something kind or even loving. Seemed she couldn't wait to desert him and hightail it off to the big city with his child and her ill-gotten wealth, and he had half a mind to wash his hands of her... except for the part where she meant to keep an "appointment" with a murderer.

If only she had not said that last part. But at least I'll die a free woman.

As if she weren't a free woman unless she had the right to treat her own life as cheaply as she liked. Strangely, that part almost made sense.

Almost.

Much as Garrison did not want it to.

Once she got her own way, Elizabeth's hostile attitude all but vanished. Garrison resented that, too. It made him feel downright manipulated.

But then she emerged from their tent for supper that night, wearin' the gray striped frock she'd worn for their wedding in Ogallala, her hair done up like a proper married woman. His innards swooped some, despite his resentment. He hadn't forgotten what a fine looking woman she was... but he appreciated the reminder of how well she wore a skirt.

"Thought you was in disguise," he challenged.

"Slade Callahan set up an appointment miles from here," she told him, sweeping to his side. "I doubt he's watching camp with a sniper rifle. He's probably not anywhere near here. I'll still wear the trousers for our trip," she added quickly. "But I thought I'd dress up for our last night. Our last night before we head out, I mean."

She even made something of a celebration of it, singing for the men over supper. When Milton got out his fiddle, she came to Garrison's side and asked, "Mr. Garrison, do you dance?"

She said his proper name soft again, like it meant something sweet to her.

"Not much." But when he saw the disappointment in her blue eyes, he heard himself changing his answer to, "Some."

"When we had dancing that last time, I didn't get to dance with you."

He wondered if she'd forgotten about her threat--the last time you are ever touching anything of mine, and yes, I mean that exactly the way you think I do--or if she'd merely changed her mind. If anybody could, it would be her.

He considered asking. Then he decided he would rather dance with his wife. They had not danced at their wedding. They should have. So he caught her hand in his, settled his other palm against her back, and looked to Milton.

Milton played something soft and slow, putting him in mind of a colored-folk lullaby.

Elizabeth leaned up against Garrison in a way she had not leaned against any of the other men, even dancing. She sighed happily as she moved with him to the music. She seemed strangely content and sad, at the same time. Mostly she lay her cheek on his chest. Sometimes she craned her neck back to look up at his face, her eyes shining.

Either way, she danced right fine.