Dusty Britches

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  Putting an index finger to his lips he mouthed, Ssshhh.

  Dusty looked around her to make certain none of the other men were awake. She tried to pull her wrist from his grasp, but before she could move to escape him, he was pulling her down onto the floor next to him.

  Sshhhh! he mouthed again, frowning at her and then grinning mischievously.

  In one swift move, Dusty found herself lying on her back on the floor, one of Ryder’s powerful legs across her own. He threw his blanket over their bodies as he leaned over her, gazing down into her face.

  “What’re you doin’?” she scolded in a whisper.

  “Shh! You’ll wake ’em all up!” he whispered.

  “Get off me!” she ordered quietly. “Let me go!”

  Ryder grinned. “No,” he told her. The expression on his face comprised pure mischief.

  “Let me go, Ryder!” she ordered in a whisper.

  Kiss me, he mouthed.

  Her eyes widened with astonishment at his demand. No! she mouthed back to him.

  “Why not?” he teased.

  Dusty rolled her eyes and shook her head in disapproval. She was thankful for the loud snoring of several of the sleeping men so her voice wasn’t the only sound in the room. Had their flirtatious banter been the only sound, it surely would’ve awakened the others. She whispered, “Everyone will hear!”

  Ryder raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Really?” he whispered. “It’s gonna be that good, huh?”

  “Ryder!” Dusty whispered between clenched teeth. “Let me go.”

  She was completely delighted! His playful manner was beginning to penetrate her guarded shell more and more each time he used it. Still, she must be proper. To lie on the floor smooching with him among the other men littered hither and yon—it was unthinkable!

  With a shake of his head, Ryder suddenly rose to his feet, pulling Dusty to hers. Wincing only slightly from the pain caused by his injuries, he lifted her quickly, cradling her in his still-able arms, and made his way to the front parlor. With each step he took, very adeptly walking over the sleeping cowboys, Dusty’s heart began to pound more furiously. What if someone was awake? What if someone was watching Ryder carry Dusty, him only in his trousers and her in her nightdress, to another part of the house? What would they think? Then she looked at Ryder, his face so close to hers, his body warm as he carried her, the mischief apparent on his face—a promise of a dream about to be fulfilled. It had to stop, she thought to herself, these secretive flirtations with Ryder. Yet it could stop tomorrow—couldn’t it?

  When they reached the kitchen, Ryder let her feet drop to the floor yet still held her tightly against him. She let her hands rest against the strength of his chest, trying to push him away, but not trying as hard as she should have.

  “What is wrong with you?” she whispered as his eyes narrowed.

  He studied her face intently. “Got a bit of devil in me tonight, I suppose,” he answered.

  “Apparently,” she confirmed. “Now…let me go.”

  “Hm? Let me think,” he hummed, frowning as if he were contemplating a large decision. Then, smiling, he shook his head. Dusty held her breath and struggled to resist him as he bent and placed a lingering, moist kiss on her neck.

  “Why do you do this?” she asked in a whisper. Her desire to let herself be comfortable in loving fought with her fear in letting her heart surrender to him.

  “’Cause I like to,” he told her. “And ’cause you want me to.” The tone in his voice was low, affecting her like an intoxicating liquid.

  “I don’t,” she lied in a whisper as a thrill traveled through her body when he kissed her neck again.

  “Don’t lie to me like that, sugar,” he chuckled. He took her face between his hands and whispered, “Don’t lie to me…and don’t lie to yourself anymore.”

  “Stop,” she demanded then, taking his face in her hands.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because I want to say something to you,” she whispered.

  “Really?” he teased. “You say things to me all the time.”

  “Be serious,” she told him.

  “I was. But you said, ‘Stop. I want to say something to you,’ so I—” he teased again.

  “I know why my mama favored you so,” she whispered to him. Desperate to distract him, she said the first thing that had come into her mind.

  Indeed he was silent for a moment, having been surprised by what she’d said. “What do you mean?”

  “You were savin’ my bacon every time she turned around, weren’t you?” she asked him. “Every time I got myself in a fix, there ya were to bail me out.” Dusty swallowed the emotion rising in her throat. Ryder was apparently uncomfortable enough with her remarks that he was hushed into silence. “I heard her call you my guardian angel once. Do ya remember that?”

  Ryder cleared his throat and looked away for a moment. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “You got in more fixes than a kitten in a string factory.” He smiled at her for a moment.

  “I did. I did,” Dusty agreed, smiling back. “She talked about you the day she died, ya know,” she told him softly. She saw the emotion wash over his face and his jaw clench, signaling his discomfort.

  “What’d she say?” he asked, and the moisture in his eyes betrayed the deep feelings he’d had for Elly Hunter.

  Dusty knew she could never tell him everything her mother had said pertaining to Ryder Maddox the day she died. She could never tell him she’d sat next to her mother’s bed, holding her hand as her mother told her to never, never marry someone unless his character was as magnificent as Ryder Maddox’s had been. That her mother told her, in fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if Ryder returned one day when Dusty was older to pick up where he’d left off protecting her and caring for her. She couldn’t tell him all of it—but she would tell him the rest.

  “She said,” Dusty began in a whisper, “that Ryder Maddox was as fine a young man as was ever born on earth.” Dusty’s heart ached for his in that moment. The tears in his eyes told her the fine young man of so long ago had carried her mother in a special place in his heart as well. “She said she missed you and would’ve liked to have had you with her before she went.” Ryder looked away for a moment, brushing angrily at a tear that escaped and traveled to his chin. “And I know that she’d be disappointed in me if I didn’t thank you for not letting me burn alive the night Grandpa’s barn burned.”

  He released a nervous chuckle and looked back to her, whispering, “You already thanked me. That night—remember?”

  “Yes, but…I want to thank you now. For every time you pulled me out of a tight spot,” she told him.

  He smiled. “I drug you in here to pull you into a tight spot…and look where it got me. All mushed up like some—”

  “Then go ahead,” Dusty interrupted him.

  Her heart began to pound wildly. What was she doing? What was she saying? Resisting him would be her only survival! Had she suddenly become completely bent on self-destruction?

  “Go ahead and what?” he asked, frowning his familiar puzzled frown.

  “Pull me into a tight spot,” she mumbled, casting her gaze down suddenly—humiliated at her brazen flirting.

  He quirked an eyebrow. “You tellin’ me you’re gonna let—”

  “Not if you’re gonna keep talkin’ about it,” she grumbled, as her grip on a thread of courage and hope began to slip away.

  “Then let’s stop talkin’, sugar.”

  The familiar grin of mischief spread across his lips. As he cupped her chin tenderly in his capable hand, Dusty held her breath. Oh, how she loved the way he held her face for a moment as he began kissing her! The way he’d take her face between his hands and caress her cheek or cup her chin the way he was doing now, always, always letting his hand travel down over her throat as he deepened the kiss before taking her in his arms. As his kiss intensified, his arms encircling her body and pulling her close, Dusty could not keep an audible sigh of delight from es
caping her lungs—let her own tentative pair of hands rest on his stomach. He broke their kiss for a moment, and she felt his smile against her mouth.

  “I like that,” he whispered, “when ya touch me.”

  An instant before Dusty’s resolve to resist him could take control of her again, Dusty leaned forward and captured his mouth, kissing him almost fully—almost the way she’d always dreamed of having the courage to kiss him. His response was immediate. He embraced her even more tightly and rather fell back against the wall behind him as the passion detonating between them rose to a fury—a fury that almost scared Dusty. Her skin tingled at his touch, for she’d never been lost in his embrace while wearing such thin clothing. The absence of her corset allowed her to feel more definitely the warmth and strength of his arms and hands as he held her. She could not pull herself from him! Why should she? It was where she wanted to be—locked in his arms, melting in the heat radiated by his powerful body—delirious from his impeccable kiss! Then she grimaced, gasped slightly, and pulled away from him as the vision of being fourteen and seeing him for the last time—the pain of that moment—stabbed at her heart again, intruding like a violent and rapidly spreading disease.

  Ryder knew her well. It was all too evident by the way he closed his eyes, clenched his jaw tightly shut for a moment, and then sighed with disappointment. “Don’t,” he breathed.

  She squirmed out of his arms, but he did not force her to stay—simply kept hold of one of her hands.

  “It’s late,” she mumbled, looking about nervously.

  “Don’t do this, Dusty,” he whispered.

  “I’ve got to get to bed. I’m done in,” she told him, smiling and pulling her hand from his. “This can’t happen again,” she told him. Turning, she hurried down the hallway toward her room.

  Escape! It was her only hope! She’d gone too far—let herself feel too much—let her guard against him down. Now she wondered if it weren’t, indeed, too late to save herself. As she crawled into her bed, her body still tingling with having been in his arms, her lips still moist with their kisses, she tried desperately to cling to her broken heart. Yet it was leaving her. In a moment of panic, she realized it was leaving her. She must hang onto it! She must! It was the only way to save it from happening again!

  Ryder inhaled and let out a long, frustrated breath to try to calm his varying emotions. Turning, he walked back into the room where the floor was lined with his snoring, worn-out fellow cowboys. He held his breath for a moment and then sighed and smiled with relief as he saw it was Feller who stood leaning against the wall on one shoulder—a knowing grin on his face as he stood there in nothing but his soot-covered trousers.

  “What ya been up to, boy?” Feller asked quietly.

  “No good, as usual,” Ryder chuckled, running his fingers through his smoke-scented hair.

  “Oh, I think you’re doin’ fine,” Feller grinned.

  Ryder raised an eyebrow and grinned proudly. “Think so?”

  “Oh, yeah!” Then Feller chuckled. “But you’re a mighty brave boy to be corruptin’ the boss’s daughter under his own roof!”

  “You oughta try it sometime, Feller,” Ryder whispered. “You’d be surprised how much more their kisses confess to you in such circumstances.” Ryder winked at his friend, though Feller’s smile faded instantly. He walked back to his place on the floor and settled in for the short time of rest remaining.

  

  Dusty stood at the sink peeling apples for breakfast. The sun was just coming over the eastern horizon, spilling saffron warmth over the fields. Dusty loved mornings! She decided that the morning following a night part of which was spent in Ryder’s arms was the loveliest of all. Still, her hands began to tremble nervously at the thought of her own unguarded behavior with Ryder the night before. She’d spent most of the remaining hours before dawn rebuilding her resolve to resist him—reminding herself he would be leaving at some point, that she could not endure her heart breaking for him again. Yet even for the hours spent in trying to dredge up resentment and fortitude, her heart fluttered at the thought of his holding her—at the memory of their sweet, tender conversation beforehand and at the lingering feel of his kiss. She was dangerously close to the brink of losing her self-control, of opening up the most tender and vulnerable part of her heart—dangerously close.

  She was startled from her thoughts as two arms slid around her waist. A warm kiss savored her neck from behind. Trembling, she dropped the apple and knife. She knew Ryder’s touch—the feel of his breath on her neck. Struggling in his arms, she turned to face him.

  “What are you doing?” she scolded in a whisper.

  Ryder released her, smiling down at her with amusement as he reached behind her and retrieved the apple. “Good mornin’ to you too,” he chuckled, taking a bite out of the apple. Dusty couldn’t help but smile. She bit her lip and placed her hand over her mouth as she studied his tousled hair.

  “I’ve always wanted to do that, you know,” he said, leaning forward. He placed a hand on either side of her, meeting her nose-to-nose as he chewed the bite of apple in his mouth.

  “Do what?” she asked, still smiling at his boyish appearance—boyish, that was, except for the fully matured, muscular nature of his bare chest and arms.

  “That,” he repeated. “What I just did.” With a mischievous grin and another bite of the apple, he turned and went out the kitchen door and onto the porch. He paused, standing next to Hank as he surveyed the damage from the fire.

  It must be the kitchen, Dusty thought. Why did she so often find herself at his whim in the kitchen? Yet as she watched him talking with her father—as she dreamed of how wonderful it would be to see them talking like that forever—the blackness in her heart began to spread again. She tried to fight it off—to tell herself and her will she didn’t want it there anymore. She tried to force her mind to let go of the hurt of heartache and loss, of resentment. Still—it triumphed. After nurturing it for so long, intentionally seeking it out in her soul, the darkness and the fear won out, and Dusty felt the door slam shut on her heart. Ryder would hurt her again. He would. Even if he didn’t intend to, fate would lead him to do it. And if it happened—when it happened—she would die. This time her heart would stop, shatter into pieces. And so there, at the kitchen window, watching him walk away with her father and toward the smoldering pile that was once the bunkhouse, Dusty ended her dream. After trying so hard and so long to live it, she decided it must end—before it killed her.

  

  Dusty waited until after breakfast, when the other hands were about their work and she had seen Ryder go into the barn to saddle up. Quickly, she rushed out of the house and over to the barn. As she entered and saw him, still wearing his soot-covered pants, having borrowed a shirt from her father, her heart fluttered, and she almost changed her mind. Yet when he turned around and looked at her, the dazzle of his smile and the twinkle in his eyes threatening to seduce her from her intent, she plunged forward.

  “Don’t do this to me anymore, Ryder,” she said, turning away from him. If she looked at him, she would be in his arms in the next minute. She knew she would. She wanted to be there now, and it was why it was so necessary for her to tell him what she must.

  “Don’t do what? I’m puttin’ on a bridle,” he told her, obviously puzzled.

  “Don’t tease me. D-don’t make me think that…don’t try to…”

  “What?” he asked. He seemed completely naive. As she turned and looked back to him, she saw understanding dawning on his face. “You tryin’ to tell me not to…” he began.

  “Yes!” she stated emphatically. If she even heard him utter the word kiss again, her resolve would be lost! If he said anything clever to her at that moment, she would be undone.

  He didn’t say anything at first. Then he spoke, and the sound of his voice was like glimpsing heaven—yet his words were a slice of hell. “All right. If that’s what you think you want.”

  Then she turned to fac
e him. “It has to be that way.”

  “Why?”

  His question was so simple, but the answer was so complicated! “Because…because…” she stammered.

  “Why?” he repeated angrily, frowning as he studied her.

  “Because…because…”

  “Because you don’t trust me. And ya don’t think you can take heartbreak again. Am I right?” he demanded.

  She couldn’t answer him—only stood drenched in heartache, longing, regret, and fear.

  Suddenly, he was furious. “You’re not the only one who’s had a long road of it, Dusty! But I’m here! And I’m here for my own reasons. So you either get on with me…or get over me, sugar!”

  Dusty knew he was right, but to admit it would be to fail completely.

  “Who do you think you are?” she nearly shouted at him. “I am over you! I’ve been over you since—”

  “Don’t lie to me either!” he growled, his frown deepening. Reaching out, Ryder took hold of her chin firmly. “Now, I won’t play with you anymore…since you think that’s what I’m doin’. I won’t play if that’s what you’re wantin’. But it’s up to you to burn the book this time…or open it. It’s up to you.” He paused and then added, “And we’ll leave it at that…for the time bein’.” He released her face, turned, and checked the cinch on his saddle before mounting. Straddling his horse’s back, he looked down at her angrily, shook an index finger, and said, “Anytime you’re ready. Use me, abuse me, or whatever you want. You walk right up to me, give me the word, and I’ll kiss you in a way you never dreamed of! And that goes for anything else.” He took the reins in hand and growled, “That offer stands…for now. But it’s up to you, girl!”

  He left the barn at a full gallop, and she watched him go. What had she done? Her heart screamed for her to call after him, but she didn’t. She clenched her teeth tightly and watched him go. He’d be going again and again and again—perpetually riding away from her. And one day…one day, he wouldn’t come back for supper.

  Turning back toward the house, willing her eyes to stay dry, she was mortified to see Feller step out from behind the barn, his arms folded disapprovingly across his chest.