A/N: Thank you for the follows and reviews! It was a very pleasant surprise. I hope you enjoy the update. =)
Chapter 3 – The Reason For Hands
...
"So the problem is there aren't enough hands that actually know how to drive cattle?" Quinn asked, leaned over on crossed arms atop the wooden fence at the Hummel ranch, surveying the herd.
"Yeap. Most of the few folk left here only know how to work with 'em in the pens. I do, of course, but damn old Hummel wouldn't believe me until yesterday," Santana smirked as she set her gloves on for the day.
"Why doesn't he teach anyone?"
"Damn fart's too old. And look around, Q. There ain't nobody to teach. The ones that can handle a horse are too chickenshit to deal with the open road – what, with them outlaws and natives running loose. And everyone else left for the rail yard down at El Paso. Pays better, I heard."
Quinn noticed a thin boy with thick brown hair parted to one side, dressed well in a crisp white shirt underneath a black buttoned vest, but wearing wide lips in a frown. He stormed out from the stables spinning a revolver in his fingers as he started off towards the shooting range.
"What about him?" Quinn pointed with her chin as she watched him take out canned targets, never wavering in focus.
"Kurt Hummel? I don't think so. Shame, he can actually hold a gun without shitting himself, but he'd rather sniff a book than get his underpants dirty taking over his father's business. It's like smacking sacks of flour at baby chickens with him and old Hummel," the Latina quirked. She then added, "Anyway, Pretty Pony's been looking to leave town. For school, or something. Everybody wants to be leaving McKinley..."
"So is there anybody we can teach?" Quinn tried optimistically as she strode into the pen.
Santana smiled knowingly, "Oh I know a few people good with their hands."
...
The lithe blonde dancer finished their number with a palm splayed out and resting on the rear of another, shorter, Asian dancer. Both flashed smiles onstage as the evening saloon crowd applauded.
"Santana, I don't think this is what I meant when we were talking about h—"
Quinn stopped as the same blonde dancer strutted over to their table and straddled herself onto the Latina's lap.
"Q, this is Brittany S. Pierce. Quick as a fox, dancer extraordinaire, and everything that's good in this miserable, stinking world," beamed Santana.
"I'm actually a ninja. And I tame unicorns," Brittany hushed to Quinn.
Quinn lifted an eyebrow at Santana, "We don't have any unicorns. Just cows."
Santana flashed her a steely glare before stating, "She's good with a lasso."
Quinn sighed, "Anybody else?"
"I want to learn how to herd cattle too!" piped a young voice.
Quinn turned to see a little girl with green eyes and blonde hair standing next to their table. It was the same little girl she saw among the crowd at the ranch the other day.
"Are you old enough to be here?" Quinn awkwardly smiled, recognizing her.
"No, she's not," said the bartender who appeared behind the little girl with hands on his hips. His hair was curly and much too shiny for evening purposes.
"Mr. Schuester, I just wanted to say howdy to Miss Fabray. She's the bravest person I ever met!" the little girl said cutely.
Quinn had to chuckle at the irony. Deep down she began to believe that an outlaw led a life of cowardice; not being brave enough to see through a proper hard day's work, never knowing what it might bring, and hiding behind the power of a gun instead. She regretted a lot of things recently, and it was only yesterday that she was beginning to make amends with herself.
"Lily! You should be home by now," scolded Rachel, who had just entered the saloon with Puck trailing and carrying a guitar, but her eyes were focused once again on Quinn. Quinn noticed her in a corset dress with hair swept up in a messy updo and curls brushing against her neck. This is different. She's actually… kind of pretty.
Puck set the guitar down and held out his arm, "C'mon Lily, I'll take ya home."
The little girl pouted as she was led away, but turned back one last time to wave at Quinn. Rachel saw the exchange and looked at Quinn sourly.
"I'll get the stage ready for you, Miss Berry," greeted Mr. Schuester before leaving the table.
Rachel didn't follow him. Instead, she abruptly pulled out the chair next to Quinn and sat down. Santana and Brittany looked at the two with caution.
"What are you still doing here?" spoke Rachel as she broke their silent stare-down.
"What are you doing inside a saloon dressed like that?" Quinn asked back.
"I asked you first."
Quinn saw fear in those brown eyes. It reminded her of her own that night in the jail.
"…I'm trying to do something different. For once," she quietly replied.
"That doesn't change the fact that you live on the wrong side of the gun," Rachel said with a quiver in her voice, because she remembered her own words. But the uncertainty in it was due to the fact that she didn't yet believe anyone could take a turnaround that fast. She could still hear shots firing in her head, as if she was still hiding in that office.
"Look. I'm sorry about what happened to your f—"
"Don't."
Rachel then took off as quickly as she appeared.
"She does that," Mr. Schuester reassured a confused Quinn as he came to collect the glasses, "Always was a bit dramatic if she didn't get her way as a young'un. I was looking forward to hearing her sing tonight though."
Brittany reassured him, "She'll come around, Mr. Schue. She just needs a good reason to sing again."
...
Brittany was a natural. She didn't have as much experience on a horse as the other two girls, but she learned quickly, maneuvering the mare she was on as if it was an extension of one of her flexible limbs. Her aim with a lasso helped round up the random cattle that would run loose from the points of the herd that Quinn or Santana couldn't cover. Maybe unicorns are real.
Quinn found Brittany's agility and strength in learning and on the job a pleasant surprise, considering her very light and whimsy demeanor. It was as if first impressions were always a test to see if one cared enough to see underneath the skin. Or that there were many sides to one thing and you just had to choose which one to face at a certain moment.
She finally herded in the last of the pack for the day as Santana and Brittany closed the gate. After returning her horse to the stables, she grabbed some water and joined the couple who were resting against the corral.
"I feel like pulling that stunt the other day didn't do anything to help move things along around here," Santana griped wearily, resting her head on Brittany's shoulder. It was a hot day and she was tired as hell.
"What do you mean?" Quinn asked, equally tired.
Santana made an exasperated motion to the expanse of the ranch, "No one else gives a damn when we're working out there, Q! It's like we're a plague or the Unholy Trinity or something. We're not the only ones with hands! It was a good thing we had Britt to help out today or we would've had to spend the rest of it looking for goddamn lost cows."
Brittany smiled back at her girlfriend and tied her pinky finger to the Latina's.
Quinn looked around at the others walking about the Hummel land. She remembered some of them cheering for her when they brought the cattle back. Now they barely acknowledged her existence and seemed to stay away from them.
"…They don't trust me. I'm still that outlaw girl," Quinn noted. What if people never end up caring about what's on the other side?
"Don't say that, Quinn," Brittany chirped, "People will trust you. I mean, San trusts you, and she barely trusts me with cats because she thinks I'll turn them into sexy stars."
Quinn sighed with a tip of her hat and started towards the stables.
"Oh, here's one right now! Q, looks like you got yourself a midgey sidekick!" Santana called after her.
She turned and saw the little girl named Lily trotting up towards her from the road.
"Will you teach me how to ride a horse, Miss Fabray?" Lily looked up expectantly.
"Uh," Quinn looked towards Santana and Brittany. She didn't know how to deal with children. Or people wanting anything as simple as that from her actually. The pair just looked back in amusement.
"Please? I wanna help too!" the little girl reasoned as she grabbed Quinn's hand, tugging on it.
Quinn couldn't help but grimace. She did not like physical contact. She only let the brunette clean her wounds that one time because she was too weak to say otherwise. Even if this was sweet and didn't sting like a punch, it made her feel awkward, and so she wriggled away.
Before Lily could become upset at her hero's rejection, her name was being called out. They all turned to see Rachel Berry on the road, back in a quaint dress, with hands on her hips. She emitted the aura of a force to be reckoned with until her expression softened as the little girl ran towards her. She hugged the child before sending her back into town, and then regained her look of reckoning as she made her way towards the group.
"Stay away from her, Fabray," Rachel commanded. At least she was referring to her by name now instead of as a criminal, Quinn thought.
"The kid just wants to help," Quinn replied, calm and recovered from the arm grab.
"She is too innocent to understand the difference between who and what's good for her and what's not. You're a danger to this entire town," Rachel completed, trying to punctuate her point with a squinty glare before storming away.
"Well, all that huffing and puffing is definitely not good for her," Santana finally commented.
...
"She's just trying to help," Lily replied to her when she admonished the little girl for being out at the ranch again with the older blonde. As much as Rachel disliked this Quinn Fabray she couldn't completely hate her anymore as the blonde reminded her of Lily, who she cared much for. And Quinn was apparently Lily's hero. And she did get the cattle back.
So Rachel bit her lip and didn't confront the cowgirl trio that evening when they came in the saloon once again for some refreshments and to see Brittany's performance. She can try too – she has been trying. She's back to try singing again for the first time since her father died.
After the dancers perform, she's introduced by Mr. Schuester, who has been doing his best to encourage her, and joins Puck on the stage, who is sitting with his guitar awaiting her signal. She picked a song she'd heard a couple of years back from settlers heading west that her father particularly liked, and had prepared her own rendition for him.
Give me a home, where the buffalo roam
And the deer and the antelope play
As the words flowed through her, she started remembering what home used to be like. It was of a man who was gentle with others but firm with himself. She remembered those sunny afternoons singing for angels. It was sweltering hot, but she was happy.
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
And the skies are not cloudy all day.
But then she remembered one day when the skies were gray. And she remembered why she began to fear the sun; because it was blinding and could not stop the shadows that appeared at night. Her voice began to break.
How often at night, when the heavens are bright
With the light of the twinkling stars
She remembers a night with coffee and biscuits, and a strong arm that kept her safe. But when she blinks, her guardian is no longer there and all that's left is just a shadow. By habit she glances to her side looking for him – but it's someone else behind the guitar. She panics as the guitar's instrumentals take over and scans the room, trying to hold on to a memory. She sees a blonde quietly looking at her and is reminded of jail cells and toy stars, and that reality's silence is deafening.
She leaves the stage before finishing the final chorus and finds herself at the bar. Mr. Schuester understands and gives her a shot of whiskey. Puck joins her and gives a reassuring pat on the shoulder. She looks up grimly at him and he orders another round of shots.
Near the end of the night, Puck has left to help with something and Mr. Schue is floating around cleaning the tables. She takes the whiskey bottle and clumsily pours herself two full shot glasses. She downs them in succession as Santana appears next to her looking for more liquor. She's looking for more as well. She reaches out to grab the bottle again, but Santana notices her flailing and calmly nudges it away.
"What the hell, Santana?" she growled, obviously drunk.
"Well, lookee here.. Someone took one too many shots! You never swear, Berry," Santana surmised.
"Too many shots?" she scowled. "I'm taking this!" She then grabbed the gun out of Santana's open holster, in surprisingly only one exaggerated motion, and stalked off towards a table.
"That is a new pistol…" Santana muttered as she grabbed the bottle of liquor and followed in pursuit.
Quinn turned her head at the sound of a click and found herself staring at the barrel of a pistol held shakily by one red Rachel Berry. She found Santana shrugging with a whiskey bottle off to the side. All eyes left in the saloon were now on her table with Brittany and Tina, the other dancer who had joined them tonight. She looked back up to the brunette holding the firearm and cautiously raised a quizzical brow.
"You!" Rachel sputtered, rattling the gun. "I told you not to come back!"
Quinn looked away but remained still. The others looked on quietly, wondering who would stop the drunken singer.
All of a sudden shots rang out and randomly placed holes were left on the wall adjacent to their table. Quinn, still sitting, looked back at Rachel whose face and body were frozen behind the smoke that exuded from the gun's barrel. There was a second of silence before a knife flew, disarming the gun from the brunette's grasp, and a flash of limbs before Brittany was holding Rachel back from unleashing a protest of fists.
"Hey! Let her go!" boomed Puck, who appeared and came to stand in front of Quinn, who had also stood up and was now blocking his path. Rachel had stilled, beginning to sober from the loudness of the shots she had fired, and immediately regretted the mess she started.
"This is all your doing. We should have hanged you when we had the chance!" Puck accused Quinn.
"Noah…" Rachel started, moving away from Brittany's hold.
When Quinn didn't flinch, Puck gritted his teeth and drew his arm back.
"Now hold up you young—" Mr. Schuester rushed in ill-timed and bore the brunt of the punch, falling backwards onto the floor.
"Puck, STOP! She didn't do anything. It was my fault.."
Puck saw Rachel's disappointed face and knew what he just did. She never called him Puck. The others were now at Mr. Schue's side, wiping a towel at his bleeding nose. Puck's knuckles hurt for all the wrong reasons. So he turned and ran out the swinging doors, guilty for hurting and letting down the people who actually cared about him.
Rachel looked on helplessly as her best friend ran away and Mr. Schue was being carried outside to the wagon that would take him to the doctor's clinic at the other end of town. She made a fool of herself, for tonight she was the one who didn't know what was good for her, or anyone else. Trying, by itself, wasn't enough when you didn't even know which way you were headed. She needed help too. She needed someone to be at her side to guide her, to protect whatever light she had left in the dark. To pick her up when she fell.
As she followed out to join Tina and Brittany in the wagon with Mr. Schue, she was not yet completely sobered and climbed the step with a slight loss of balance. A hand reached out to steady hers and she stabilized herself enough to sit.
The hand set hers inside, and she gazed up to see that the gentle but firm grip belonged to Quinn Fabray.