The Talisman - Crisscross

by Shaunna Gonzales

Trish rode Yedi as she followed Quinn down the trail, a trail she couldn't see. The vast wilderness around them whispered of a simpler time without the distant whine of power lines or rumble of machines. The singing of birds filled the air with a wondrous cacophony of sound. A bluebird darted across their path while an angry squirrel lectured them. The morning light streamed through the trees, sprinkling the ground with a splattering of undefined patterns. A light breeze lifted leaves overhead, leaving a neighboring branch still.

  A twig snapped to Trish's left. She flinched, thinking Curly would burst from the forest cover. She split her attention between following Quinn, and the forest to their left, positive that danger lurked just out of sight.

  She nudged Yedi to catch up to Quinn and ride beside him.

  "Quinn?" Hearing the fear in her voice, she cringed.

  "Yup," he answered casually.

  "I think someone's following us."

  "Why?"

  "I heard something. I'm not sure what it was."

  "Ain't no one in this here canyon but us."

  "Are you sure?"

  Quinn pulled his horse to a halt. "Yar a skittery one this morning. Guess ya got a good reason. But there ain't no one in this canyon but us and God's creatures. If we mind our business, they'll mind theirs."

  "But I heard a branch break."

  "I ain't saying ya didn't, but if we start chasin' ghosts, we'll be a lot longer getting' ya to somewhere more civilized. And I'm guessin' that is what you are wanting more than anything else." A gentle nudge of his heel and his horse moved on.

  She urged Yedi forward, hoping to find a more agreeable type of adventure than the one she'd experienced yesterday. Her stomach rumbled. If only she had a good meal to satisfy her hunger, and a hot bath to rid her body of the dirt. She scratched her head, removing an irritating piece of dried mud from her hair. Oh, to enjoy the comforts of the civilization he spoke of, to be clean and to sleep in a soft bed.

  In spite of her discomfort and the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach from her memory of the previous day, she smiled at the scenery around her, looking ahead through the stand of lodge pole pines. The stand, in general, seemed familiar. Old Curly had probably brought her through here, somewhere.

  She watched Quinn ride in front of her. He sat his horse quite well. Legs secure yet relaxed against the animals back. Toes forward and heels down. Astride a horse, his back cut a magnificent "V" to his shoulders. Broad shoulders boasting of strength, remaining flat while his hips swayed with the horse's strides. A dirty hat that looked as if it had been trampled by a stampede hid most of a mass of hair. Quinn's pale-colored shirt had generous sleeves that hung from the neckline rather than a shoulder seam. He didn't wear a vest. He wore his shirt tucked into trousers of a soft yet sturdy dark gray cloth.

  The trees thinned as they descended. Quinn swiveled in his saddle. "Ya still comin'?"

  "Of course."

  He slowed his buckskin, waiting for her to catch up. "Don't figure we need to hide our numbers like the Indians do. 'Course bein'' a lady, ya ain't one to know that."

  "What makes you think I'm a lady?" Trish glanced down at her mediocre feminine shape under the mud-spattered green cowboy shirt and jeans. Even her Roper boots with their leather fringe looked out of place. She made a mental note to remove the fringe tongue.

  "Yar clothes, bit fancy for this side of Kansas."

  Trish didn't respond.

  "So where ya from?" Quinn asked.

  Trish couldn't tell him the truth, not that she felt she needed to. It would be better if they talked about something else. "Couldn't say. So are you going to tell me why we left the camp like we did?"

  "Ya did right good followin' me like ya did. Don't need any trails leadin' back to us. You finished a job I started. Best if no one puts the two of us and Curly together. Shouldn't be hard." Quinn's timbre had dropped for the last comment as if targeted at himself. He shifted in his saddle. "Leavin' Curly be, his mule tethered and the footprints muddied 'll keep folks from askin' questions. Old Curly don't have anythin' we need."

  "Some food would be nice." Her stomach growled again.

  His glance traveled from her face, down her leg and back again. "Too bad ya gone an' lost your memory. By your speakin' I'm guessin' ya'll be missed. By your clothes, I gotta think yar runnin' from somethin'. Maybe Albert and Lucinda will put you up for a time. Maybe they can find where you belong. Least ways you won't be takin' a stick to my head again."

  "I'm sorry about that. I thought you were on Curly's side."

  "That's another thing. You gotta watch yer words. Don't wanna get people askin' questions 'bout what went on up 'ere. You think you can keep quiet?"

  "Partners in crime, are we?" She glanced his direction. He kept his eyes on the trail. "I can keep a secret if that's what you're asking."

  He remained silent until they stopped to water the horses. The river rushed by, threatening its banks with the recently melted snow. She followed his example and dismounted.

  He watched the river for several minutes. The sound of the river drowned out the birds’ chirping. Quinn rubbed his rough beard. If they were in the twenty-first century and she knew him better, she'd try to convince him to keep it this length. With a trim he would look quite dashing.

  "With the wolves and this high run-off, this country ain't safe for a woman. We should make Albert's by nightfall. Any of this look familiar to ya?"

  "Not at all," Trish answered honestly. There were a lot more trees in the valley than she ever remembered. Most of the lodge pole pines would be harvested between now and her time, clearing the land for farming.

  "This should quiet your stomach." He handed her a piece of dried meat.

  "I thought you said there wasn't anything for breakfast," she accused, taking the meat.

  "Suns fully up. You chew on this for a while. Heard yer gut squealin' since we left the canyon. Here." He handed her his canteen. "Put some water down, then when you swallow that meat, it'll swell and fill you up."

  "You think? Why didn't you give this to me earlier?" Trish shook her head, mumbling in frustration. "He doesn't give a rat's butt for anyone but himself. Probably chewing a bit of jerky all morning long, but did he offer me any before now? Nooo."

  He waited for her to drink and return the canteen. After a long swig, he spoke again. "Daylight's burnin'. Yer welcome to stay put and fuss. Just watch for them wolves. They follow the scent of meat, even if it's dry."

  Quinn mounted and reined his horse around, pointing west. "Moore's place is that way." He swung his arm slightly to his left. "Albert's place is that way. Ya have to cross the river an' stay close. Watch for the fords, there's only two. The river's mighty high. Saloon's just downstream a bit. Get ridin' now, you should get there just after nightfall. You come with me, I'll take you there the way the eagle flies before sundown."

  "You're considering leaving me here?" She wasn't sure if she should be offended.

  "I'm movin' on. Yer welcome to come along or stay. I ain't one to hogtie a woman. But I ain't one to put up with a woman's fussin'." He put his heel to his horse and entered the river.

  Trish hurried to mount and follow him. Moore? Could that be the beginnings of the tiny town? Or just the name of a settler? She urged Yedi into the surging river. Quinn was astride his horse with the raging water above his knees. She pulled Yedi up.

  "Isn't there a ford where we can cross?" she called over the rushing river.

  Quinn made the far bank before he answered. "This is the ford. Come ahead right where I did. Give your horse his head and he'll get ya here."

  Trish kicked Yedi to get him to enter the deeper water. He turned back toward the bank as soon as she gave him his head and had to rein him completely around to head toward Quinn.

  "Make sure he thinks it's closer to this side than back to that bank before ya let him on his own."

  She wanted to swear at him. She was trying. What did he know? Just then, Yedi bucked uncharacteristically. Trish
hit the water chest first. Oh damn, this water is cold. She reached for the saddle horn and missed.

  "Keep a hold of the reins. Let 'im bring ya across. Kick your feet but…" Quinn yelled his instructions while climbing off his horse. His words were drowned out by the esurient water.

  Quinn charged into the icy water and reached out knowing if he didn't snag her with this one desperate grab, the river could carry her so far down stream that she would be lost forever. Trish's watery, vacant expression of horror spurned him to resurgence of effort. He lounged, grasping her arm. Quinn noticed her other hand gripping the wet leather with unyielding fingers. He stepped back toward the bank and at the same time pulled her to him.

  Slipping on the wet rocks and mud of the bank, Quinn fought with the tugging current to drag her to solid ground. Her horse stood, the bridle reins still locked in her icy fingers.

  "Woman," he heaved a great breath of relief. "That's twice. But who's counting?"

  Trish clambered to her hands and knees, sputtering river water. Quinn remained beside her as Trish scrambled to higher ground. She knelt there on all fours, panting like a dog.

  "Ya drink enough?" He couldn’t decide if he was more irritated by her lack of know-how or relieved to have rescued her. Women were always needing safeguarding and he didn't mind doing the rescuing when it wasn't icy cold, but there had to be a woman somewhere on God's green earth that didn't need constant protection. He set a hand on her shoulder and noticed the goose bumps on her skin. "It's a fine day for a swim, don't ya think?"

  "That wasn't a swim. That was an exercise in stupidity."

  "Glad we agree. I ain't got no whiskey to warm ya up. Planned to be home by now."

  "We're that close?" Trish shivered, balling her fists repeatedly in an effort to warm them.

  "Yup." Quinn mounted his buckskin. "Better get movin'. Those fancy clothes are gonna have to dry on your backside."

  Trish knew he was right and reluctantly obliged him. Wet jeans cut and sodden saddle leather squeaked as she mounted. The breeze chilled her through her soaked clothes, settling a layer of goose bumps form her scalp to her toes. She willed the sun to beat down hotter, craving its warmth. She tried to wiggle her toes unsuccessfully. Soaked as she was, she would have to wear her boots until completely dry so they wouldn't shrink. The bright side was that they would be very comfortable from here on out. She might even look back on her river dunking and be thankful. That thought she pushed aside for a warmer day.

  A pair of squirrels raced up and down the trunk of a tree, across the clearing and up another as they left the stand of trees. A pair of robins darted about overhead as if playing a game of "cat and mouse" before hurtling back to the trees.

  Trish stared at Quinn's back, wondering what he was thinking. Was he upset about having to rescue her? It wasn't her fault the river was so high. Nor did she make Yedi buck mid-stream. She shouldn't be surprised by Yedi's balk. She never took him in deep water and only across the river once. That day she had lifted her feet, sparing them from getting wet.

  "Had that stallion for long?" Quinn asked, riding a couple of yards to her side. He watched her and her horse intently.

  "Since he was a foal." She hoped his conversation reflected what he seemed to appraise.

  "Breed him much?"

  "Occasionally. Why?" Trish felt a wave of heat rush to her cheeks.

  "Need to educate him about crossing high water, but that's just him needin' experience. Don't care for the size of his feet, but that's a right fine animal."

  She knew the quality of the animal under her. The foal had been her uncle's pride just before he died. Uncle Hy had spent his whole life breeding horses. That love of horses is what united her and Vance's dream.

  Momentary melancholy enveloped her. Was Vance worried about her this morning? What would he do? She hoped he noticed with his heavy schedule this week, but she had made it clear that she would only help train horses, not attend sales, whether selling or buying. Of course, Yedi and the stud fees he would generate were all her responsibility. Yedi had proven himself up to the job this spring, according to Vance. Yedi had even jumped a fence or two to get to the mares. As a matter of fact, Trish had found Yedi and one of the mares "caught in the act" upon her return home last week. Embarrassment at remembering how she had gawked at the stud's genital length sent an aftershock of heat to her cheeks. Not an activity for the innocent to observe.

  She yanked her thoughts back to Quinn and glanced his direction, unintentionally letting her gaze drop to his groin. Yep. His pants were drying quite nicely and he was enjoying the ride. She felt a resurgence of heat to her cheeks.

  "It's too bad." Quinn finished.

  "What? What's too bad?" Trish stammered, wondering what she'd missed.

  "You okay? Lost ya there for a minute. It don't feel quite right talkin' to a woman 'bout it. But since ya own him, guess you are the one deciding. You wanna bring him to my place or should I be plannin' to bring the mare to you when she's in season?"

  It wasn't that Trish minded making business deals about breeding. She would be negotiating such several times in the future, but either her subconscious was working overtime or something Quinn had said while her thoughts were elsewhere made her uncomfortable. If they were going to talk to pass the time, she needed to change the subject.

  "Whatever is fine. So, tell me about Moore."

  Quinn didn't respond right away but at last answered, "Name sound familiar to ya does it? Moore runs a saloon up this way. Him and his wife. Never heard 'em mention a filly like yourself. But then I don't care for Moore's place myself. Always waterin' down his whiskey. Had a right nice brew a few years back. Ruined it by tryin' to make it stretch. Still remember that night," he chuckled.

  "A night worth remembering, was it?"

  "Only 'cause it was the last time I drank there."

  "So if the whiskey isn't strong enough you don't go back, is that it?"

  "Nope."

  She waited for him to elaborate. When he didn't, she tried to pry his reasoning from him. "No, to the whiskey not being strong enough? Or no, that isn't the reason you haven't been back?"

  "Just ain't to my likin'."

  Quinn nudged his horse to a fast trot.

  Trish watched his back for several moments before she urged Yedi to a canter to catch up. She settled into a posting trot beside him. He looked over at her.

  "Looks like that is fancy ridin'. Is that what they teach in those fancy girls’ schools back East? Sure a lot of work to just get down the trail."

  She smiled. Let him think she was from back East, maybe his questions would stop.

  "Maybe. I don't really remember. What do you know of schools back East?"

  "Enough to know it costs money no self-respecting rancher in these parts will pay."

  "Are you a rancher then?"

  "Nope."

  "Is Albert?" She fished for information.

  "Nope. Albert's a blacksmith. Runs a right successful business in these parts."

  "And you? What is it you do?" She expected him to puff out his chest and claim his position. He instead looked at her and answered softly.

  "I break horses and pick up some extra cash workin' cattle for a few ranchers east of here."

  "Honest work."

  "Mostly."

  "Mostly? Are you a rustler, too?"

  "I may have helped ya last night, but I ain't no low down rustler. You could say I ride the range to keep 'em out of business. Thing is, rustlers multiply like rabbits in these parts. Don't matter how many coyotes and wolves eat the varmints, there's always plenty more."

  "So we're better than rustlers even if a man is dead." She wondered if she could live with what she'd done. Quinn had buried a knife in his chest so it wasn't all her doing. She knew any defense she could muster in a court of law would boil down to self-defense on her part, but a good prosecuting attorney, the kind she wanted to become, would unravel the façade. She had intended to kill. That's why she had sw
ung more than once. Her intent was the key. The intent of any woman to defend herself from rape, physical abuse or emotional abuse wouldn't stand up in a court of this era. The shoe of guilt was on the other foot for the first time. Now she understood the motive. Could she prosecute such a trial? If she did, could she win, having an inkling to the motive? Maybe she'd have to rethink her profession.

 

  Chapter 8