His kiss was entirely beguiling—powerful, irresistible, and fantastically passionate! The sure knowledge, I was too young! traveled quickly through Dusty’s mind. Fourteen! Never would she have understood a man at that young age. Never could she have been a woman for a man while still a child.
Then, as if an evil entity had entered their hidden escape, she thought of how she had never allowed Cash to kiss her like this. Never had she wanted him to. And the moment was lost to her—for heartache, loss, and betrayal had reentered her thoughts. She pulled her face from Ryder’s, putting a hand to her mouth to keep from returning to him.
“Please, don’t,” she whispered. “Ryder, please.”
He frowned down at her—brushed a lock of hair from her cheek.
“You did grow up, didn’t you?” he mumbled. “And you got all the weight of experience on your shoulders that goes along with it, don’t you?” Sighing heavily, he took her fisted hands in his once more and forced them open. “Thank you, Dusty,” he mumbled. “I needed to be forgiven.” He took a step back from her and added, “And you need to forgive. You’ll never get beyond it if ya don’t.” Raising her hands, he kissed each upturned palm. “You know…you were the sweetest thing on earth to me.” Then he turned from her—and in a moment was gone.
Immediately, Dusty’s hands went to her face in an effort to cool the blush borne of passion blazing radiant on her cheeks. Her mind whirled, her heart beat frantically, and her arms and legs were so atingle they felt numb. What had she done? In forgiving him—in letting him kiss her—she had cursed her soul to endless, eternal heartache! His kiss had confirmed what she had already known: she would love him forever! She could never go on and lead a normal life now. Not ever! Not without him.
Hours later, Dusty returned to the house, wet, wrung out, and defeated. As she tried to slip into her room quietly, Becca stepped into the hallway.
“Are you all right?” her sweet, concerned sister asked in a whisper.
“I’m fine,” Dusty lied.
“Do…do you need anything?” Becca ventured. “Do you need to talk?”
“No,” Dusty told her, closing her bedroom door behind her. She didn’t need to talk. She needed to love—to love and be loved. Yet that need would never be fulfilled—because the only man who could fulfill it wouldn’t. She slept hard and awoke feeling more tired than she had before.
Chapter Seven
Dusty was quiet for days, hardly saying a word to anyone, even when spoken to. She answered questions in short, quiet responses. Yet the spirit of resentment and hardness about her had begun to dissipate somewhat. For that reason, Becca decided not to push her sister to talk. Becca sensed something about Dusty had changed—for the better. It was so hard not to ask what had happened with Ryder the night Dusty had come home so late—especially when Becca knew her sister had been with Ryder. She’d seen Ryder come home sometime before Dusty, completely drenched from the waist up. She had seen Dusty come home drenched from head to toe, and she knew Dusty’s favorite private escape was the old waterfall. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. Furthermore, there was the change in Dusty’s countenance. Healing had begun—Becca was certain of it. While it delighted her to near elation, Becca’s own affairs of the heart, or lack thereof, tainted her happiness in her sister’s healing.
Becca stepped up onto the bottom rung of the hog fence and poured the contents of the slop bucket into the trough. She thought of her own heartache—her own very deep heartache. It seemed to Becca her own heartache was even more impossible to heal than Dusty’s, though she was certain her big sister would disagree wholeheartedly.
Suddenly, the top rung of the fence against which Becca leaned began to give way, the crackling sound of splitting wood reaching Becca’s ears the next moment. Dropping the bucket into the mess of mud and manure in the pen, Becca grabbed at the fencepost, hoping to stop herself from following the bucket into the mess. Yet her feet were so firmly rooted on the bottom fence rung—her knees locked against the next rung up—that she couldn’t get a good grip. A split second before she would have gone toppling forward and into another round of bathing with the hogs, she felt someone pull on the back of her skirts. Falling backward, Becca Hunter found herself cradled in the arms of Feller Lance.
“You’re just bound and determined to waller around with them hogs, ain’t ya?” he grouched at her, though his smile revealed her predicament amused him. Becca was stunned at his rescuing her. He was holding her in just the same manner as he had many years before, when he’d carried her home at age twelve after she’d banged herself up falling out of an apple tree. Becca couldn’t speak, rendered silent by surprise—and delight.
In a moment her wits were about her again, however, and Becca explained, “You said to feed ’em over the fence! Last time I fell in, you laughed at me and asked why I never fed them over the fence. So I was feedin’ them over the fence.”
Feller chuckled and let Becca’s feet fall to the ground. As she stood, blushing furiously and straightening her skirts, he told her, “I said feed ’em over the fence, girl. Not on the fence.”
“Well, maybe you should just build a better fence next time,” Becca scolded, still blushing. She hated the way she blushed so easily in front of Feller.
“Maybe I should,” he surrendered with a handsome and alluring smile.
Becca straightened her back and walked away. Oh, how wonderful Feller was! How fantastically perfect, she thought as she walked back to the house. But her heart sank to the pit of her stomach in the next moment. How fantastically perfect—and how completely out of reach of a young, silly girl like herself.
Dusty shook her head and smiled as she watched Becca walking back toward the house. She’d seen Becca almost plunge headfirst into the hog pen again. If it hadn’t been for Feller, she would’ve been covered in pig manure. Picking up the bowl of strawberry stems, Dusty left the house by way of the kitchen door and headed out toward the garden. She sloshed the stems out of the tub and into a pile her daddy or one of the hands would turn under for next year’s garden spot and then turned and hurried back toward the house. There were still the supper dishes left in the sink. When she looked up to see Ryder striding toward her, she began to tremble.
Dusty’s heart had begun to change that night under the waterfall. She’d done a lot of soul-searching once Ryder had left her with the taste of his kiss still burning on her lips. The things Becca and her father had said to her came to mind often, but it was Ryder who had given her more to think about. Silently, she could admit to feeling less hateful—more compassionate and concerned about others. It seemed to her the change had begun after her conversation with Ryder. Had the hard to hear yet kindhearted things said to her by Ryder and everyone else begun the change? Or had it simply been Ryder—his words, his admissions, his kiss—that had changed her? She wasn’t certain. She did know that since meeting him behind the waterfall, she had not talked with him. With the exception of casual conversation with others present during meals, she had not spoken to him. Now he strode toward her intent, it seemed—intent on something.
“Berries, huh,” Ryder stated as he looked at the empty tub.
“Pies for supper tomorrow,” she told him. It was light, trivial conversation. Still, at least she hadn’t snapped at him, scowling like she’d done before.
“’Member how much time me and you used to spend talkin’?” he asked, reaching down and yanking a foxtail out of the ground. He put it between his teeth and began to chew on it a little. Dusty nodded but remained silent. “Near to every night after supper we’d sit out there by the pit with your mama and daddy and the other hands and talk about…whatever there was to talk about.” Still she was quiet and looked away when he looked to her for response. “You ever spend much time talkin’ anymore?” Without waiting for an answer, he added, “You used to talk the hind leg off a horse.” He smiled. “Sometimes I wondered how ya didn’t pass out cold…’cause ya hardly ever stopped for a breat
h. Remember?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “I rambled on for days at a time. I really did.” She smiled and laughed a little. “How’d ya ever tolerate me?”
He chuckled. “But it was always so interestin’…whatever you were goin’ on about.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t!” she argued. “You were just nicer than everybody else and tolerated me more.”
He grinned down at her, still chewing on the foxtail stem. “Bet it was hard on your daddy when your mama died,” he sighed. He turned and began walking toward the house.
Dusty fell into step behind him. She nodded.
“I really wondered if he’d make it without followin’ close behind her. I couldn’t believe how lost he was. Mama was everything to him.”
“Yep. I remember how he doted on her. Course, she couldn’ta been everything. He had you and Becca. That probably kept him goin’, I’d imagine.” Ryder looked up into the sky. He frowned and mumbled, “She was a wonderful woman.”
Their conversation was light—nothing intimate about it. It was conversation he’d made with her because somehow he’d found himself talking to her. Still, she wasn’t ready to leave him, and when they reached the back porch, she sat down instead of entering the house. She hoped he would join her—and he did. His voice was soothing, comforting. She remembered so many nights spent in conversation around the fire. They had been wonderful, some of her warmest, fondest memories.
“Did ya ever find your aunt?” Dusty asked him. She’d suddenly remembered his having an aunt somewhere—that he’d spoken of trying to find her. “The one ya lost track of?”
Ryder’s parents had died of the fever when he was thirteen. That’s how he’d started cowboying—out of necessity for survival. He didn’t have any brothers or sisters, and the only family he had known was an aunt.
“My Aunt Milly?” he asked. “Oh, yeah! I tracked her down right after I left here. Found her over in Flagstaff, Arizona…if you can believe it. She died about a year back.” He was pensive for a moment and mumbled, “She was a good ol’ gal. I really miss her.”
Dusty felt suddenly empty herself—sad for him and horribly lonely. How odd it must be not to have any family. How terrible! She felt rather depressed in the moment, wishing she were still that Dusty Hunter from years ago—the Dusty Hunter who would’ve hugged him with reassurance. Instead, she clutched her hands together in her lap and stared out at the horizon.
The silence hung too heavy in the air between them, and Ryder finally said, “Well, I guess you’ll wanna be gettin’ in to finish up.”
Dusty craved his attention, and desperation drove her to keep their conversation going—by any means she could think of. She was nearly as surprised as Ryder looked when she blurted out, “What did that drifter say about the family that made you light into him?”
“What?” Ryder asked. His expression was of utter confusion—and well it should’ve been, for he had no way of knowing what memories she’d been dwelling on of late.
“That time ya beat the sauce out of—what was his name?—Larry. Larry Williams. Remember? You beat him up, and Daddy sent him packin’?”
“Oh, yeah!” he chuckled. “Where the heck did that come from?”
Dusty shrugged. “I don’t know. I was just thinkin’ about it the other day. Mama and Daddy never would tell us girls what it was all about. All I knew was it had to be bad for Daddy to let you stay after brawlin’ and yet send him away.”
“It was bad,” Ryder mumbled. He covered his mouth as a yawn overtook him. “That boy was a snake in the grass, I’ll tell ya that.”
“What did he say?” Dusty sensed he was avoiding giving her an answer. He’d avoided giving difficult answers all the time when she was younger. He was always leery of telling her things he wasn’t sure she should know. Yet when she was younger, she wouldn’t let him squirm away without an answer—and she surely wouldn’t now. “Tell me. You do remember?”
“Well, yeah,” he confessed, shifting his broad shoulders. He seemed unsettled. “But I don’t know if I should…”
“Oh, come on. Tell me.”
Ryder looked at Dusty—seemed to study her for a long moment. It was obvious he didn’t want to tell her—that whatever Larry Williams had said made him uncomfortable. Still, as he ever had in the past whenever Dusty pressed him, he relented. “He said…he told some of the other hands that…that…”
“That…” she prodded.
“That your mama was a-hankerin’ after me…if you want the ugly truth of it.”
Dusty’s mouth gaped open in astonishment. “What?”
Ryder sighed and shifted, his discomfort obvious. “He was sayin’ she treated me different than the other hands…that I was her favorite. And—and he was tellin’ the other boys that she wanted to…to…that she had a hankerin’ for me but that I wasn’t interested in the mama for bein’ hot after her little girl.” He grimaced and nearly whined, “For Pete’s sake, what does it matter now, Dusty?”
“You gotta be lyin’ to me!” Dusty exclaimed. She was oddly delighted—as if some lewd secret had just been revealed to her. In truth, it had! Someone had noticed her mother’s favoritism toward Ryder and his toward herself? “Why would he say somethin’ like that?”
“Your mama sorta took me under her wing. I guess that ol’ boy didn’t like it. I’ll tell you what,” he continued, “if Feller hadn’t been in town that day, I wouldn’ta been the only one to whup up on that idiot! And I know your daddy would just as soon a shot him than let him go. As far as the other goes…” He looked at her and lowered his voice. “If nothin’ else…he was too right on where my feelin’s about you were concerned for me to let it go. You know what I’m sayin’?”
Dusty looked away from him for a moment, embarrassed somehow. Yet the fact someone would accuse her mother of anything wrong tweaked her temper. “You earned your place as Mama’s favorite,” Dusty told him. “You worked hard. And you were always the one who helped her out with things, regardless of the fact you were keeping me out of trouble all the time.”
“That ol’ boy was a weasel,” he mumbled. “I woulda like to have beat on him a little longer, but your daddy came upon it and made me stop.” He shook his head and chuckled. “Boy! Did I have a temper back then or what?”
“Yeah,” Dusty giggled. “Mama used to worry you’d get your head beat in one day.”
Dusty looked to Ryder when he didn’t respond. He was staring out at the horizon. She could tell by the look on his face that something she’d said had bothered him profoundly. He seemed to shake it off after a few moments, however, and turned back to her.
“Your mama was a wise woman,” he said with meaning—though Dusty couldn’t quite understand what the meaning was. “She treated me like her own boy. She treated all of us hands like her own boys. Never worked for another rancher with a wife like that.” He smiled at her as he stood. “Well, I’m anxious for them pies tomorrow. You make ’em as good as your mama ever did.”
“Thank you,” she said, standing and smiling at him.
He winked at her, delighting her completely. She watched him saunter away, rubbing one shoulder as he went. She wanted to run after him—beg him to stay with her—but no sooner had he disappeared around the side of the house than Becca appeared at Dusty’s side.
“That was the most pitiful excuse for a conversation I ever heard, Dusty Hunter!” she scolded. “Couldn’t you at least make him think you were interested in talkin’ with him?”
“Eavesdroppin’ is a sin, Becca!” Dusty spat at her. “Go find somethin’ to do. It’s late.” She started to walk away.
“Be my sister again, Dusty,” Becca pleaded in a whisper. “Please! I need you! I need someone to talk to! I…I’m so lonely all the time. I have so much I wanna say to somebody. I…”
A longing—a regret so intense she felt she might suddenly fly apart—washed over Dusty. Turning quickly to Becca, she took hold of her hands, pulling her down to sit next to her on the porc
h steps. “Help me, Becca! I don’t know where I am. I don’t know which way to turn or what to say! I don’t know how to be a sister anymore.”
Becca’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m startin’ to feel that way too…like I’m losing me, Dusty. I can’t hardly hang on anymore.”
“So,” Dusty whispered, “where do we go from here?”
Becca smiled and brushed tears from her eyes. “Where we used to go when we knew ourselves and shared secrets we didn’t speak to anybody else.”
Sitting across from Becca, Dusty gazed at her beautiful little sister. What fun they’d had there as children! What secrets they’d shared! What days of make-believe and joy! Now, though Becca didn’t know it, this place held even more magic for Dusty. This was the place where she and Ryder had begun making their peace with the past. As Dusty and Becca sat in the hidden alcove, the cool water cascaded over the falls, creating a tranquil peace as only Mother Nature could create in the evening.
“Pretend it all never happened, Dusty,” Becca said. Her voice was soft and soothing. “Pretend you were never burned by Cash’s low character…that you never even considered him. Pretend Ryder never left and that Mama is still alive.”
“Pretend that I’m still the me I used to be, Becca,” Dusty whispered.
It was a game they used to play as children. Pretend I’m a princess and you are too. Pretend the alcove is our castle. It had been different so long ago. Dusty knew Becca knew it had been different too. Still, Dusty also knew she needed to heal, and sometimes going back to the beginning helped a person to sort things out. Maybe it would help her find the Dusty who had been lost along the way. “Pretend you can tell me anything, and I can tell you anything, and everything in life is as beautiful and as sweet as Christmas.”
Dusty Britches Page 14
