“I had to leave, ya know. Your daddy was fallin’ into hard times with the ranch, and that’s what cowboys do—they go where there’s work. I told ya that at the time. You’ll never know how many times since then I’ve wished I wouldn’ta left. How different my life…but I had to go. I didn’t want to cause a burden on your mama and daddy. And, anyway, I was startin’ to…” He paused and turned back toward her. His eyes narrowed; his expression was completely sincere. “You were the most adorable thing…do you know that?” He grinned slightly. “Funny too. Always findin’ yourself in some mess. Sweet as a sugar cookie on Sunday.” He sighed heavily and looked away. “And you were fourteen years old.” Looking back to her, he emphasized, “Fourteen!” He brushed at the water trickling down from his own wet hair onto his face and exclaimed, “For cryin’ in the bucket, Dusty! You were fourteen!”
Dusty thought, But I would’ve been fifteen. Then sixteen. I would’ve been seventeen if you’d waited.
“I had to leave,” he whispered. “Your daddy was havin’ trouble a-scroungin’ up money to feed his family. He couldn’t afford hands. And you were fourteen.”
He looked to her, and she knew by his expression he expected understanding—that he wanted her forgiveness somehow. He knew he’d hurt her. Probably he’d known it for the past five years—that he’d broken the heart of a young friend he’d cared for. And for the first time in five years, Dusty admitted to herself just how young fourteen had been. He’d been right to leave. He’d done the right thing—to the very end, the night before he’d left. He’d even tried, in their last moments together, to fulfill her dreams as much as he could when he was already a man—and she was still a child.
“I know,” she breathed, closing her eyes against the tears there and finally letting herself remember the night Ryder Maddox had said good-bye to the child that loved him.
Dusty had been crying off and on all day. Her mother was beside herself with concern and compassion for her daughter, and her father had explained several times why the ranch hands had to be let go. Becca cried too. She hated when Dusty was upset, and she knew why Dusty was so upset this time—even if she was only twelve.
Dusty Hunter was fourteen years old, and her world was shattering—or so it seemed to her. The droughts of the past two years had nearly ruined the Hunters’ chances of keeping the ranch, and there was no way her father could pay the cowboys and ranch hands. He’d told them all that morning he couldn’t keep them on; he could only afford to keep the top hand, Feller.
All day, Dusty had watched the cowboys ready themselves to leave. She’d watched Ryder Maddox—the best of them all, the handsomest of them all, the kindest, bravest, strongest, smartest of them all—watched him readying his saddle and bedroll to leave the next morning. Never again would she lie awake in the early, dark hours of the morning, listening to his low, soothing voice singing as he milked the cows, cleaned the stalls, and did other early-morning chores—other chores he’d volunteered to do because he liked to work in the early morning. Never again would she thrill when he flashed his dazzling smile at her or lifted her onto the fence to watch the men breaking horses or branding cattle. Never again would he cup her face in his rough hand and tell her not to worry about the other girls in town teasing her—tell her she was the prettiest girl in the country and they were just jealous.
That night Dusty sought him out. She’d been watching, waiting for him to leave the fire pit where all the hands were sitting—some lamenting their impending travels, some glad for the freedom. And when at last he did start toward the barn, she followed him—watched him from behind a tree as he entered the barn and some moments later came back out carrying his saddlebags. Then, mustering all the courage she could, she ran to him—scurrying along, trying to match his stride.
“Don’t go, Ryder,” she begged him in a whisper. “Daddy will keep you on! Mama’s so fond of you…and Daddy too! You don’t need to go!”
“It’s time I moved on, Dusty,” he’d told her—his voice not quite as deep as it would be someday, his shoulders not nearly as broad. “Gotta always be earnin’ my keep.”
“Ryder, please,” Dusty begged him. Tears started down her face again. She reached out and took hold of his arm, and he stopped—turned to look at her. “Please, find a way to stay here, Ryder. I—I can’t bear it if you go!”
The young man frowned and grinned at the same time. He reached out, cupping her face with one rough hand in his familiar manner, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “If you were a few years older, sugar…I’d move heaven and earth to find a way to stay ’round your daddy’s ranch.”
“I love you, Ryder,” she confessed with the honesty and ignorance to consequence of a young heart. “Don’t leave me.”
He winced as if she’d physically struck him. “I have to, Dusty. I-I can’t stay here. And anyway,” he continued, dropping his hand from her face, “you only think you love me, sugar. Someday when some good-lookin’ man comes along and steals your heart, you’ll look back and think, ‘That ol’ Ryder Maddox! What’d I ever see in him?’ ”
“No,” Dusty sobbed through her tears. “I’ll never think that.”
It was the first taste of the truth of life she remembered—that just because you confess your love for someone, it doesn’t mean they confess it back. It doesn’t mean they won’t ever leave you. Turning from him, she ran as fast as she could. She heard him calling after her—knew he’d chase her. He always went after her when she was upset. Yet darkness was on her side, and she was fast. Darting here and there, she managed to lose him, eventually finding herself at the old well house west of the barn. There she threw herself into the nearby straw pile and sobbed bitterly. For a long time she cried, until she felt too tired to cry anymore and she was able to calm her sobbing.
“There you are, you little cuss,” Ryder said, plopping down beside her—panting with the exertion of having hunted her down.
Dusty rolled to her other side in the straw pile, turning from him, too tired to run anymore—not wanting to face him with the shame she felt because of her confession and now her tears.
“I’m all right, Ryder. There’s nothing more you need to say to me,” she whimpered.
Ryder sat in silence for a few more moments. He took her shoulders and turned her to face him. “You’re the prettiest little girl I’ve ever seen,” he told her.
She winced at his words. It hurt her to be reminded of her youth. She’d never forget how handsome he’d been—lying there in the straw under the silver moonlight. Ryder’s eyes were the softest, warmest, most enticing shade of brown. His smile was bewitching and somehow made her mouth water for his kiss—even though she’d never been blessed with the feel of it.
“Still, I’m a mite older than you, Dusty,” he continued, “in case you hadn’t noticed. And I have to leave. I have to leave…more because of you than because of your daddy havin’ trouble with the ranch. Do ya understand?”
Dusty gazed into his eyes. She saw the sincerity obvious in their golden brown tone. “You’re just bein’ nice to me, Ryder. Ya don’t have to do that.” She was so deeply warmed by his concern for her.
“I ain’t just bein’ nice, Dusty,” he said, propping his head up on one hand and letting his other travel from her shoulder down over her arm, finally taking her hand in his. “I love that little wag ya do with your fanny when ya look at me over your shoulder and walk away.” Dusty’s eyes widened in astonishment at his revelation. “The way ya smile at me and wave from your bedroom window every mornin’. But you’re fourteen years old, sugar. Just a baby—and ya put my mind into thinkin’ about you…and…and I shouldn’t! Do ya understand what I’m tryin’ to say?”
“I’m nearly fifteen, and I wish you wouldn’t talk down to me!” she scolded him.
He looked away from her and shook his head. “That’s my point, Dusty. If you were older…you’d realize I ain’t talkin’ down to you. I’m tellin’ ya the truth of it. You’re a pretty baby. You make me l
augh. You’re smart, kind. And you’re too young for me, Angelina.”
Though she didn’t say it—couldn’t admit it to him—she did know it. He was a man. She was still a child. Though she would eventually grow up, he was much older, ready to live his life. It was wrong to make him feel guilty about anything concerning her. So moving toward him, she pulled her hand from his and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, hugging him warmly, nestling against him there in the straw. She inhaled deeply the scent of him, swearing to herself she would never forget the way he smelled—the warmth of his body—how firm his muscles were beneath his shirt.
“You’re right,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face again. “And thank you for treatin’ me so well…for puttin’ up with me, and for…” But her words were lost as she felt his arms go around her, returning her embrace. She felt him place a firm kiss to the top of her head, and she thought she might melt in a broth of pure delirium.
“I don’t suppose,” he mumbled, “that it would hurt for me to give you one little good-bye kiss, now would it?”
As she looked up into his mischievous grin, Dusty’s heart swelled with anticipation. She loved his grin—the soft smile that meant Ryder Maddox was up to no good.
“No. It wouldn’t hurt,” Dusty assured him. She didn’t understand—didn’t know—the innocence of youth didn’t warn her—warn her of how much it would indeed hurt her.
Taking her face between his strong hands, Ryder smiled at her and whispered, “You ever been kissed by a boy before, Miss Angelina?”
“Not yet,” she answered, mesmerized by his expression. She realized that, if he did kiss her, she still never would’ve been kissed…by a boy.
Ryder’s smile faded quickly as he caressed her lips softly with one thumb. He seemed to change his mind, for he bent toward her and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead. Disappointment washed over Dusty instantly. Yet a moment later, he mumbled something under his breath an instant before he pressed his lips to hers slowly, several times in succession—each time lingering just a little longer. The last time, his lips were slightly parted, and he seemed to be repressing something. Dusty fancied she might actually pass away from the intense delirium his kiss bathed her in. She’d never imagined—and she’d imagined a lot—never imagined that when he kissed her, it would be so perfect—so heavenly—so addicting! Dusty clutched Ryder’s wrists as he kissed her once more. He held her face for a moment, gazing at her with obvious regret.
“I do love you, ya know. You are the most delicious thing on earth to me,” he whispered, kissing her hard and quick—before yanking his wrists free of her grasp, rising to his feet, and walking away into the night.
Dusty buried her face in her hands and sobbed for a long time—sobbed until she heard her mother calling for her. She returned to the house to discover Ryder Maddox had ridden away into the night. He didn’t wait until morning to leave like the other hands. Ryder Maddox was gone.
“I know,” Dusty admitted again to the infinitely handsome man who stood beneath the waterfall with her. The expression of deep guilt was mingled with the brown sugar of his eyes. Ryder had done the only thing he could do—ridden away to look for work, letting the little girl who had touched his heart grow up for some other man to have.
Ryder breathed a heavy sigh. It was the breath of relief—the breath a soul exhales when someone they’ve wronged finally forgives them. He leaned back against the rock wall behind them.
“You know,” he chuckled, “I used to wonder what you’d look like all grown up.”
Dusty herself was feeling something besides resentment finally, and though she still wanted to lose herself in bitter sobbing over the loss of such a wonderful dream so many years ago, she smiled back at him. “Am I what ya thought?”
“No,” he answered. The familiar grin of mischief toyed at the corners of his mouth. Dusty felt the flutter in her heart at his familiar, beloved expression and fought wildly to suppress it.
“No?” she repeated. “What did you think I’d look like?”
“I don’t know. I thought you’d look exactly the same…only in long skirts.”
“And I don’t?” she asked—for now she was curious. How did she appear to him?
“No.” His grin broadened then. “But I’d be willin’ to bet you don’t need no handkerchiefs to fill out your dress now.”
Dusty smiled for a moment—almost giggled. Yet melancholy triumphed again. “No. I don’t use my daddy’s hankies anymore.” Then, in an attempt to lighten her own mood, she confessed, “I wondered what became of you. Did life treat ya well after ya left?” She didn’t tell him she had wondered over him nearly every moment of her life.
Ryder’s smile quickly faded, and she wished she hadn’t asked—even though it seemed a natural enough question to ask in light of the conversation.
“Well enough. I worked hard and…got what I deserved, I suppose.”
Dusty frowned. Had he been unhappy—as unhappy as she had been?
He tipped his head and studied her. “Now,” he began, “how am I gonna get you to quit this fist thing ya always do?” Dusty looked down to see that indeed her hands were clenched tightly once again. “Though two more as tight as yours mighta helped me out today in town.”
“Thank you for that, by the way,” Dusty mumbled, ashamed. “I…I meant to say that before. I just…” She startled when he reached out and took her fists in his strong hands. She tried to pull away, but he held fast. “I…I can’t help it. I didn’t even know I…” she stammered.
The grin of naughtiness and the twinkle in his eyes alerted her to his mischief. “Ya know…I always wanted to come back…find ya all grown up…and kiss ya right,” he confessed unexpectedly.
“Ryder…I don’t have hard feelings toward you,” she told him, thinking he still didn’t feel forgiven somehow. “You don’t have to try to heal me. I know it’s me. It’s not you or Cash or anyone else. Ya don’t have to—”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Miss Britches,” he whispered. “I owned a lot of guilt where you’re concerned…but I’m just talkin’ lighthearted to ya now. I always did want to kiss you again when it was more…proper. What do ya say? For old times’ sake? To close the book on all those years ago?”
Dusty stepped back from him, yet he held her fists tightly. Her heart hammered within her bosom. She couldn’t! She couldn’t kiss him. She’d die if she did—drop dead right there behind the waterfall, if not from a broken heart that never mended, then from pure ecstasy! “I don’t think here…with me half-dressed and you…”
“Let me kiss you, Dusty,” he mumbled. “For old times’ sake. Just once…to close that ol’ creakin’ door and heal the wounds. All right?” His voice had a dreamy, low, provocative tone.
Dusty shook her head—felt the warm moisture welling in her eyes. She couldn’t! She couldn’t endure the pain of it, the longing, the hurt it would leave.
“We used to be friends, me and you. Old friends…that’s what we are. Old friends that left scars on each other. Let me kiss you…and not good-bye this time. Just…I’m sorry, old friend.”
He stroked her cheek softly with the back of his hand. He took her face between his hands, caressing her lip softly with his thumb. Immediately Dusty’s heart ached with longing, loss, hurt, fear. Her hands went to his wrists as she tried to pull away. “Ryder, please,” she begged him, a tear trickling down her face. “I can’t let…”
“Let me close it, Dusty,” he whispered. “We both need that.”
But I don’t want you to close it, she thought. She watched, completely unable to move as he moistened his lips with his tongue. He moved his body closer to hers. Her hands reached out, pushing gently at his chest to keep him at bay a moment longer. She could still taste his kiss—still smell the scent of him from all those years ago. After so long, she still could feel his arms around her, feel how badly it had hurt to lose him—to never have had him.
“Ryder,” Dusty whispered. She would
beg him next—beg him to stop. Yet with every fiber of her body and soul, she wanted him to kiss her—wanted to be held in his arms, kissed, even ravaged by him! She wanted that fourteen-year-old girl who had lost her heart so long ago to suddenly grow up into a woman and be able to win her cowboy.
“I’m sorry, Dusty,” he whispered softly. “I never wanted to hurt you.” His lips touched hers tentatively. She couldn’t breathe! She thought she’d die for want of being able to embrace him—hold him—taste his kiss again. “I never, never, never wanted to hurt that little girl,” he added.
“I know,” she whispered.
His mouth was fully on her own—warm, moist, lingering, and much, much more firmly than it had been five years before. With each successive kiss, his mouth endeavored to coax her into joining him—into participating in the delirious physical dialogue. Dusty felt her hands relax and move down to his waist. He broke from her for a moment—a roguish twinkle in his eye as he whispered, “Maybe that little girl never did grow up.”
It was a challenge, and it upset Dusty—caused her hands to fist once more. Only this time, they fisted at the waist of his blue jeans—clutching the fabric of his pants in her palms—and she reflexively tugged on his clothing, causing him to stumble and bump her back against the rock behind her.
“Did she?” he whispered, letting one hand leave her face and go to her waist, pulling her body flush with his own.
“Yes,” she affirmed, and this time when his lips parted against her own, she tried to breathe calmly—let her mind float away in the dream.
Dusty endeavored to let Ryder kiss her, even attempted to return his kiss, though the trembling wracking her entire body made it difficult to do so. As his arms tightened around her, pulling her against him—as his kiss coaxed her and his mouth toyed with hers—she felt her body relax against his. Soon his proficient, demanding kiss rained the warmth of passion over her completely, beginning to rinse away so many years of hardness or heartlessness. It was as if she stood beneath the waterfall, its liquid elements having been changed to that of a warm, sweet drink. As the kisses between them intensified, his hands left her body, going to where hers still clutched the waist of his pants. Still intent on kissing her, he took her hands in his, pressing them against his chest until they relaxed. Placing his arms around her waist, he pulled her to him.
Dusty Britches Page 13
