OverTime 1 - Searching (Time Travel) (23 page)

The farmer nodded stiffly back, and his wife pretended we weren
't there. After we passed each other, though, I heard the woman murmur, "Don't stare!"

Where had
they
come from?

Garrison waited until they were out of hearing to ask, "Who hurt you?"

He remembered? I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. "Oh. That happened when the soldiers threw me into the cell."

I snuck another peek. His face began to look thunderous again.

"They probably would have been nicer if I hadn't been kicking by then," I pointed out quickly, lest he decide to go back and burn down Fort Dodge. Not that the idea wasn't flattering—but it shouldn't be. Garrison wasn't angry because they'd done anything to
me
. Just that they'd done something wrong in general. Jacob Garrison, defender of Truth, Justice, and Proper Language...if not the Racially Diverse or Youthfully Bovine.

"Kicking," he repeated, as if visualizing something truly unbelievable.

I couldn't help myself. I choked on a nervous giggle. "And I bit someone."

He did not appreciate the giggle; his eyes narrowed. "You just laugh," he chided, and that went one straw of propriety too far.

"Well it's either laugh or cry, isn't it? They threw me in that nasty place, and it smelled awful, and nobody knew me—not even
me
. Then they said I could only leave if I went with the other ladies'
landlord
, except that's a euphemism for what he really was, which go figure, I declined. And then it was dark, and I think there were rats. Or snakes, or spiders—things that crawled, anyway, but I didn't look. And they wouldn't
listen
—the soldiers, I mean. Mainly the major. I tried to explain but he wouldn't even
talk
to me, as if I'm not even a person unless I have—"
A dick
. At least I caught myself. "—Some man beside me! And then I'm still not a person, just something lucky enough to have the patronage of a real person, meaning a man. Do you have any idea how demeaning that is?"

He didn
't answer, but rode rigidly on. Um...Lillabit?

"Not that I wasn
't grateful to see you," I added weakly, reminding myself that whether or not it was fair, I
did
owe my deliverance to a member of the testosterone brigade.

This
member of the testosterone brigade.

"I did notice," he admitted, definitely not looking at me.

Oh. The hug. I wondered how long it had been since anyone had dared hug the Boss. I still couldn't get over how immensely huggable he'd been, too—strong, and solid, and so safe I still felt taken care of, even now that I was remembering I shouldn't
have
to be taken care of.

Imagine what he would be like if he ever hugged back!

Like that would happen in my lifetime.

Between my lack of sleep and those truly crazy thoughts, I was beginning to feel downright woozy. I didn
't look at him either. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you," I said. "I get kind of emotional at times."

"I did notice," he agreed dryly.

I heard something else unusual, this time from behind us, and twisted around to see riders approaching, fast. Soldiers, come to exact revenge? Hardly panicked, Garrison took Boy's bridle and eased us both out of the way while four or five men rode by at full, dusty gallop. Cowboys! But none of ours.

The Boss shook his head at their wild ways before riding on, as if it hadn
't even happened, but I'd figured something out.

"We aren
't going to the herd, are we?"

"Nope," he said. Right about then we topped another rise and our dirt road merged with a larger dirt road—one that paralleled an honest-to-gosh railroad track. With high poles and telephone—telegraph?—wire strung beside it! Now
this
was civilization. Sort of. Unfortunately, it was the civilization I'd been warned against.

We were going to Dodge City.

I
'd felt disoriented by the lack of doctors, and by drinking out of a stream. I'd been sure something was wrong when I saw the American flag, and how Belle and Dixie dressed. But that woozy sense of double-exposure
really
overwhelmed me as our dirt road became the dirt main street of Dodge City.

It was hugely wide, easily five or six times as wide as the track from the fort had been. And it had a railroad track running right down the middle of it, as if the town had grown up along the railroad. Which maybe it had.

At first there were small shacks and such, and wagons parked beside the train tracks, and big, piled hills of dark brown. They looked to be extra large heaps of dirt, until we rode closer and I realized they were huge pelts of thick, curly fur.

Just to disorient me further, the Boss not only noticed me staring but offered an explanation. "Hide yard."

"What kind of hides?" Why didn't I want to know? And if I didn't want to know, why did I ask? Morbid curiosity, I guess. Like slowing down to look at an... to look at...

That comparison vanished before I could capture it.

"Buffalo." Garrison pointed out more and larger mountains of white closer to town, though still along the railroad track. These piles seemed to go on for a mile. "Bones."

"
Buffalo
bones? Where from?"

He slid an exasperated look toward me, and I narrowed my eyes in challenge. "Don
't you
dare
say they're from buffaloes, Boss! I ain't stupid, remember?"

Did I detect a glimmer of humor as he looked away? "Bone pickers find
'em on the prairie where hunters left 'em. Sell 'em for money."

"What good are they?
" Obviously I wasn't the only person who found this curious. Three cowboys—again, not ours—stood by the tracks staring up at the long stacks of bones as if they were one of the seven wonders of the world.

"Buttons.
" He shrugged. "Knife handles."

That struck me as horribly sad, even more than seemed warranted. It also struck me as, well,
strange
. Not quite real. "Have you ever seen a buffalo? Wild? Around
here
?"

He nodded.

"We just missed them this time?"

"Southern herd
's 'bout hunted out, last year or two."

Considering the size of those mountains of buffalo products, I had to say it. "But that
's so sad."

"Progress." But at least he didn
't say it happily.

After the buffalo bones came a huge, divided corral, to the south, that seemed to go on forever. It was full of cows—cows going to market, I realized. Several of the people working the pens called to Garrison by name, and he nodded or raised his hand in return greeting, sometimes adding a name:  "Ed," or "George.
" George in particular looked very well-heeled, to be calling a friendly good-day to the Boss.

Garrison noticed me staring and said, "Buyers.
" Oh. He'd been a professional trail boss for some time, hadn't he? It was only a fluke that this particular herd was going on to Wyoming, instead of ending up in these very pens.

To the north of the huge main street, across the tracks from the cattle pens, stood a blacksmith shop. Then a surprisingly small, bright green building sporting the friendly word "Depot" stuck into the street, to sit flush against the tracks. And after the depot:  pow! Suddenly there were dozens of buildings on both sides of the road, built so close together that most of them shared walls. They were all wooden with what looked like false fronts, painted in different colors as brightly as the depot. They had names written on them, some in fancy lettering, some in block:  "Mueller
's Boot Shop," or "John Tyler's Tonsorial Parlor," which, FYI, looked to be a barber shop.

There were even smaller streets leading off at right angles—it really was a town! With people! Real people drove wagons, rode horses, walked along the wooden sidewalks. Men wore knee-length coats and boots; women wore long dresses and sunbonnets or perky hats. Some people carried parasols or canes. A few men seemed to be carrying guns.

A quick glance toward Garrison confirmed that he was not.

The battle between my senses, which perceived it all as real, and my dogged suspicion that it wasn
't, made me dizzy.

Garrison said, "Ho," and parked his horse at a hitching post that happened to be outside a saddle maker
's store. He dismounted, then glanced back at me and belatedly helped guide Valley Boy in off the street as well. While he hitched both animals to the rail, I grasped a handful of Boy's flaxen mane and slid to the ground. Touchdown! Time for another foray into a world that seemed less and less familiar to me.

What now?

I didn't even let go of Boy's mane, I was suddenly so afraid to try assimilating again. All these people...dozens of them...and I not only didn't know
them
, I wasn't even sure I understood their society! Look how badly I'd done last time.

As if to remind me that I knew at least two people in town, a woman across that vast width of a street—in front of what was labeled the Great Western Hotel—smiled and waved directly at me. Today Belle wore a deep red color that complemented her raven black hair. Symbolic or not, I still wouldn
't have guessed what she did for a living if I hadn't already known. Her occupation was something that other people said mattered, but what I most remembered was her talking to me, and holding me while I cried, and now sending a friendly smile, as if honestly glad I'd been sprung. I couldn't stop my own quick smile—
yes, it's me, I'm fine now
—but somehow, through some jolt of self preservation, I caught back my wave, so that my hand merely twitched.

Only then did I fully feel the disapproval pouring off my escort and realize what a close call I
'd just had. Belle's smile of greeting faltered into something more somber, but she nodded with understanding. I felt like complete scum, and ducked my head so I didn't have to see how I'd hurt her feelings. When I peeked back up, she was hurrying off down the street, and the people here were strangers again.

I risked a glance at the Boss and realized it hadn
't been merely the brevity of my own greeting that had chased Belle away. He'd gone into full glare mode.

Why did I want to cry? "Don
't embarrass her like that."

"Embarrasses herself," he noted in that cold, decisive way of his, still radiating contempt. Only the hurt I still felt from Belle—hurt I
'd helped cause, simply by trying to be what Garrison wanted me to be—could have egged me into braving that contempt.

Besides, righteous indignation felt better than guilt. "I know you don
't approve of what she does, but her values are her own business. She was kind to me. She doesn't deserve rudeness."

Now his contempt did focus on me—but instead of making an accusation, he asked a question. "What are your intentions in this town?"

My...? Then I placed his meaning. "You mean, if nobody knows who I am?" The possibility nauseated me. No memory. No family. No name or place in the world. And the only people who'd been kind to me were either social outcasts or heading to Wyoming.

He nodded, waiting, eyes still narrowed. I clearly hadn
't earned points by defending a soiled dove.

What choice would I have? "I suppose I
'll have to find a job."

He let out a breath, as if he
'd been holding it. "In what position?" he asked, gruff. He probably didn't mean for that to sound kinky.

"I don
't know. Anything, really."

He narrowed questioning eyes.

"Anything respectable," I clarified, annoyed at the assumption. "Look, I could have left the fort last night if I'd been willing to go with Belle and Dixie and some slimeball named Thompson, but I didn't. Apparently whoever I am, I have standards."

The Boss considered that, not quite looking at me, then nodded. "Best dress respectable, then," he said firmly, to a spot a foot or so from my head, and with a hand to the small of my back, he led me down the wooden sidewalk to a store called Morris Collar
's Dry Goods, then turned me through its open door.

Bless his anal-retentive, warped sense of duty; the man meant to clothe me. Again.

This, I thought in amazement, should prove interesting.

Chapter 11 – My Dress

Add a visit to Morris Collar's Dry Goods Store to my list of disorienting-for-no-good-reason experiences. I even
looked
for something out-of-the ordinary, something blatantly Not Right to explain why the place made me dizzy, but nooooo—it was so normal it practically screamed "General Store" at me. Deep and narrow, it had wall shelves to the ceiling, and counters on both sides, and it apparently sold everything from nails to shovels to dishes to linens... and a few things I didn't recognize.