Dusty Britches

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  “What’s wrong?” Dusty asked, though she already suspected what it was. Actually, she knew. Becca looked up at Dusty, and her eyes made a quick appraisal of her from head to toe.

  “What’s wrong is…I never come back from a walk with Feller lookin’ the way you do after a walk with Ryder!” Becca told her simply.

  “What are you talkin’ about?” Dusty turned away shyly for a moment.

  “He’s gonna marry you, Dusty. Ryder’s gonna marry you and give you babies and make you happy, and he’s gonna spend the rest of his life kissin’ you out in the barn or under the waterfall.”

  Immediately the fear and doubt began to chill Dusty. “Don’t Becca. Don’t say that! You’ll—”

  “My sayin’ it ain’t gonna make it not happen, Dusty. I caught him, you know.”

  “What? Caught him what?”

  “I caught Ryder the other night…standin’ in the doorway of your bedroom watchin’ you sleep. Just standin’ there with that deep ol’ frown on his face, just watchin’ you sleep.” Dusty shook her head, unable to believe it. “I’ve seen you too. Standin’ in the parlor, watchin’ him. Truth be told, there were moments that I thought the bunkhouse fire may end up causin’ a shotgun weddin’ between you and Ryder.”

  “For cryin’ out loud, Becca! How you do go on!” Dusty scolded, although her heart was beating frantically at the thought of Ryder so close to her when she was unaware. Hadn’t he only just told her, that very night—hadn’t he just told her there had been moments when he’d thought of her bed? “Anyhow…I saw ya dancin’ with Feller tonight. You—”

  “The flea-swap, ya mean?” Becca shook her head. “Well, that was the beginnin’ and the end of me havin’ his attention tonight!”

  “You mean he didn’t even…”

  “Know why I caught you and Ryder a-starin’ off at each other in the dark?” Dusty shook her head. “Because after the two of you would finally settle down every night…it was my turn to dream over a sleepin’ man.” Becca rose and, with tears in her eyes, went to her room.

  “Feller Lance, you coward!” Dusty whispered angrily. Immediately, however, she repented. Who was the biggest coward of all on the Hunter ranch? It wasn’t Feller Lance or Becca or even her father. It was Dusty—it was still her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next morning, after feeding the chickens, Dusty sought out Feller. She found him saddling up his horse. She knew he, Ryder, and Ruff were going into town to pick up supplies, and she’d made up her mind to talk to him before they left.

  “Feller,” Dusty began.

  “Mmm hmm,” Feller mumbled as he worked.

  “Do ya…do ya fancy Becca?”

  Feller seemed to nearly choke—dropped the horse’s hoof, causing the animal to step directly on his own foot. “Dang!” he exclaimed, slapping the animal’s flank. The horse lifted its foot, and Feller stepped back. He looked up to Dusty, his expression revealing his sudden anxiety.

  Dusty secretly delighted in the way the color completely drained from his face. He deserved to feel uncomfortable after not having asked Becca to dance again the night before.

  “Well, do ya?” she prodded.

  “Do I what?” he asked with irritation, feigning ignorance.

  “Do ya fancy my sister? Are ya sweet on her? Do ya like her, Feller?” Dusty was amused, watching him angrily grab a currycomb and begin roughly brushing the horse’s neck.

  “You beat all. What kind of a question is that? I got things to do,” Feller mumbled.

  Dusty had known Feller almost all her life. She knew him well enough to know that the only time he tried to get someone to leave him alone by saying he had things to do was when he was uncomfortable.

  “Well? Do ya?” she asked again.

  “Of course I fancy her! I’ve known her since she was in diapers almost. She’s a fine girl. I fancy you too. What’s all this about?”

  “But…do ya like her, Feller? Do ya more than like her?”

  Feller quit brushing the animal for a minute. He looked to Dusty. “She’s seventeen, Dusty. She’s got her whole life ahead of her. She’s young.”

  “When I was seventeen, I was engaged to be married, Feller,” Dusty reminded him.

  “And Cash was twenty-one, Dusty. Not thirty.” He went back to brushing. “Besides…weren’t that almost the biggest mistake of your life?”

  “Yes. Because if I had married him, it would’ve been dishonest…to him and myself. Because…I think ya already know, Feller…I never loved him like I should’ve,” she confessed.

  Feller only continued to brush the horse.

  “Why don’t ya let Becca know how ya feel?” she asked.

  “There ain’t nothin’ to let her know.”

  “Don’t do it, Feller. Don’t waste your life for fear of rejection.”

  “You’re the one to be tellin’ me that, huh?” he growled at her. He turned to her. Dusty could see the pain in his eyes. It was unnerving—for never had she remembered seeing such hurt in Feller Lance’s eyes before. “What about you? Huh? Who are you to be tellin’ me what to be afraid of?” He threw the curry brush to the ground, took his gloves from their place in his back pocket, and angrily began pulling them on. “She’s a girl, Dusty. Seventeen! I’m thirty years old. Heck, I’m only twelve years behind your daddy!”

  “You go on like you’re a hundred, Feller!” Dusty felt the tears leave her eyes and travel down her cheeks. “Don’t let happen to her what happened to me. Please!”

  “You said it yourself. Cash woulda been the biggest mistake—”

  “I wasn’t talking about Cash, and you know it.” Tears flooded her cheeks then. “Nothin’ on this earth coulda kept me from tryin’ my best to win Ryder if I’d been seventeen when he was here instead of fourteen. Nothin’!” Her voice cracked with emotion, and she brushed the tears from her face. “Don’t break Becca’s heart any longer, Feller. I swear I’ll hate you forever if you keep doin’ it!”

  He was silent for a moment, his jaw clenching and unclenching with anger and frustration. “What do ya want me to do, Dusty? Huh? Waltz up to her and—”

  “Yes,” Dusty answered without letting him finish. “Walk up to her, and tell her how ya feel. Kiss her mouth raw! Kidnap a preacher, and marry her. I don’t care! Just quit lettin’ her think ya don’t care.” Dusty smiled for a moment through her tears—shook her head at the irony. “To think of all the times…all the sermons you’ve given me over the past years. I never knew what a hypocrite you really are.”

  Feller tightened the saddle cinch and pressed his forehead against the saddle for a moment. “I ain’t even fit to touch her…let alone kiss her mouth raw, as you put it.”

  “Why not?” Dusty whispered, afraid for a moment that maybe there was really some reason Feller wasn’t worthy of her sister. Maybe some secret criminal act or…

  “Because she’s perfect and I’m a scroungy ol’ cowboy.” Mounting quickly, he rode out at a mad pace—as if hell itself were nipping at his heels.

  Dusty’s heart ached for Becca. All day while the men were gone to town or out working in the pastures, Dusty’s heart ached for someone other than herself. Becca was becoming quiet, withdrawn, unfriendly—not so unlike Dusty had been. It couldn’t happen to her Becca. It couldn’t! Not heartache, fear, and hate!

  

  It was almost suppertime when the hands rode in from their various endeavors. Ruff drove the wagon and team, and Dusty watched from the kitchen window as Ryder and Feller unloaded the rest of the supplies. Twice Ryder’s eyes were drawn to the house. She could’ve sworn that he saw her, but he looked away—almost guiltily. And then, very unexpectedly, he didn’t even come in for supper. Dusty’s fears began to grow, her imagination running toward wild venues. He’d changed his mind about her—felt ridiculous for saying the things he had said to her the night before!

  When the dishes were done, the evening talk quieted, and the men bunked down in the parlor, Ryder still had not come in. P
erhaps it wasn’t that he’d changed his mind. He seemed to be in the same defeated mood he’d been in after receiving that danged newspaper! Perhaps something happened in town, she mused. Fortunately, Feller wandered into the kitchen in search of a cup of water.

  “Feller, I’m sorry for earlier today! I just…I just…” Dusty stammered.

  Feller nodded and held up a hand for her to stop her apology. “There was a woman in town today, Dusty.”

  Immediately, Dusty began to feel sick. A woman? Ryder’s black mood? She nodded and listened as Feller continued in a hushed voice.

  “I ain’t never seen her before. I didn’t hear what she said to him, or him to her for that matter…but she’s stayin’ at the Richins’ boardin’ house, and when she and Ryder met up…well, she was a-bawlin’ like anythin’ when they finished arguin’, and Ryder’s been madder’n a hornet ever since.”

  Dusty began wringing the fabric of her dress, tears brimming in her eyes.

  “I ain’t tellin’ you this to upset ya, girl. Somethin’s wrong, and you need to help him through it. He ain’t told me what…but I’ve been in mind of somethin’ since the day he rode in here. Five years is a long time and—”

  “Maybe she’s his wife! Maybe he got married while he was gone and…” Dusty sobbed in a whisper.

  “No, no, no, sweet pea!” Feller reassured her, taking hold of her shoulders. “It ain’t nothin’ like that, I’m sure. But…but I think he’s carryin’ around some deep scars and—”

  “I’ve seen them,” Dusty blurted out. “On his back! He—”

  “I’ve seen ’em too, Dusty. But that ain’t what I mean. If everythin’ is ever gonna be right between you two, ya need to help him now.” Then he turned away—simply retired to the parlor.

  Dusty was in a state of panic. A woman! Her worst fear! Yes, it had always been her worst fear—to find out maybe some other woman had been held in Ryder’s arms, caressed, and kissed behind a waterfall or in a barn.

  Still, Ryder was nowhere to be found. When she looked in the barn, at the creek, even at the waterfall, he was nowhere. Had he abandoned her again? Had he ridden off, breaking her—destroying her completely?

  Even as Dusty lay in bed listening for every sound that might signal his return, his very presence, she cried. He was lost to her! Ryder would never be hers! The dreams had been only that—dreams.

  

  She awoke slowly, comforted a bit by the night breeze breathing through the windows, softly billowing the curtains into the room as it whispered with the fragrance of honeysuckle and ripening apples from the orchard. The quiet midnight lowing of the cattle in the fields brought her mind out of sleep and into consciousness. Her body was tired—ached from the strenuous emotions still lacing through her. As her head lay on the comfortable, down-filled pillow, she wondered if merely the single hour of rest would give her back the strength she had lost.

  Closing her eyes, Dusty listened again for some sound that would tell her Ryder was there—that he hadn’t left but had merely gone for a late, late, very long walk to ease his mind about whatever the woman in town had said to him—or meant to him. The air was still warm from the lingering heat of the late summer day, and the crickets still chirped their lullabies of the night.

  Her senses were suddenly alerted by a noise. She opened her eyes again, looking toward the open window. It took her anguished mind a moment to realize that something besides a summer breeze was entering her room by way of it. She startled, all at once fully awake when she realized Ryder was climbing into her room through the window.

  “What on earth are you doin’?” Dusty asked, gloriously relieved to see him there—hopeful! Still, propriety demanded she act appalled. Didn’t it? “What on earth…” she began again, sitting upright in her bed.

  “Ssshhh,” Ryder shushed her firmly, a deep scowl puckering his brow as he stepped into the room and began striding toward her.

  “Don’t you dare to shush me,” she scolded. Obediently, however, she’d lowered her voice to a whisper.

  He looked angry. He’d looked angry and determined even before he had completely entered the room. Before Dusty could act in any manner, let alone decide what manner to act in—for she was in rather a state of shock—Ryder Maddox had stripped off his boots, quietly gone and closed the door leading from her room to the house, and now sauntered toward her bed.

  “What are you doin’ in here?” she asked him. Her senses were completely alive!

  In the very next moment and fully clothed, he slipped beneath the covers of Dusty’s bed. Stretching out next to her, he propped his head on his hand, his elbow planted firmly on the mattress, as he stared at her—almost furiously.

  “Excuse me? Are you listenin’ to me? What are you doin’?” she asked, looking down at him—silently giving up prayers of thanks for his very presence.

  Ryder gave no explanation. He simply reached out, took her chin firmly in his strong, callused hand, and forced her head back down to her pillow. She now lay looking directly up at him. Dusty was dumbfounded—completely mute with shock—delirious with delight! She could say nothing. She couldn’t move. All she could do was lie there—in bed, for pity’s sake—staring at the man who had her completely under his control!

  “Is this my place?” he asked through clenched teeth. His jaw was so tightened Dusty could hear his teeth grinding with agitation. She knew he was angry—but at what? She knew it wasn’t directed at her. What then? The woman in town?

  “Is it?” he demanded in a booming whisper.

  “Wh-what?” she stammered, still unable to comprehend the entire situation—let alone his reasons for placing her in it and the meaning of his question.

  “Here!” he stated, releasing her chin and literally pounding his index finger on the mattress on which they lay. “In bed…next to you…every night! Is this my place?”

  “Ryder…I—I don’t…” What did he mean to ask? Where had the question suddenly come from? It was madness!

  Again he took her chin in his hand and leaned over her, his face so close she could feel the warmth and moisture of his breath on her lips as he spoke. “I should leave,” he said. “Now! Tonight! If I had any brains a-rattlin’ around in my fool head…I’d leave! And I will…if this ain’t gonna be where I find myself one day soon.”

  Dusty still didn’t understand what he was trying to convey to her, but she had heard him say that he should leave. He couldn’t leave! She would die if he left! Where had this come from? Why was he wanting to leave so soon?

  “What do you mean, you’re leaving? You can’t leave me—I mean…you can’t leave!” she exclaimed. “There’s too much to be done, and…you said ya weren’t gonna—”

  “Shut up, Dusty!” he commanded through clenched teeth. “Shut your delicious little mouth and listen to me!”

  Oh, how she wanted him to hold her—wanted to hold him! To kiss him! He was so close. His beloved face, unshaven and handsome as it was—the smell of straw and lye soap and leather about him—his body pressed warmly against her own. And yet his words were causing panic to overtake her.

  “I should leave, Dusty. I know ya don’t understand why. I can’t tell ya why. Not now. Not yet. But I…if ya tell me that someday you’re gonna come outta this…if you can tell me now, tonight, that if I stay, someday you’re gonna let me take you into my bed…our bed…that somehow you’re gonna give up your fool pride and give yourself to me completely…then I’ll stay. If not…” He looked away for a moment. “If not…”

  “You’re telling me that either I—I…let you…sacrifice my virtue for you…or you’ll…” she stammered. How could she do it? Yet the thought of losing him was intolerable, unthinkable, murdering to her soul!

  “For Pete’s sake, Dusty!” He closed his eyes tightly for a moment and drew in a deep, calming breath before looking down at her again.

  Dusty allowed her mind to ponder on what she felt her heart knew he was saying. He wasn’t asking her to sacrifice her virt
ue. He was asking—could it be that he was asking if someday she’d marry him?

  “Stay or go, Dusty?” he asked. “Understand this. If I stay, it could be the last decision I ever make. If I go…”

  “If you go…I’ll die, Ryder!” It was that simple.

  Dusty sniffled as tears began running from the corners of her eyes down her temples. She had read his spirit. He was asking if she loved him still—enough to marry him. Could it be possible he was truly unaware that she did? She’d answered him truthfully—as truthfully as she could. In that moment, she’d risked everything: her heart, her pride, her sanity—her life! He had to know it. He had to! He couldn’t press her further, not yet, or she would crumble. He exhaled heavily, proving he’d received the answer to his question.

  “So it’s down to which one of us dies first, huh?” he whispered, grinning somewhat regretfully at her. “That’s an easy enough choice for me then.” Cupping her face in his hands, he searched her eyes, his lips hovering only a breath from hers. “Say it to me,” he mumbled. “Why can’t ya just say it to me?”

  Dusty opened her mouth to speak. She told her throat to utter the words, but the sharp pain in her chest, the fear of rejection even though he was lying in her bed, telling her he would stay for her no matter what—fear kept her from confessing to him. He hadn’t spoken the words to her. How could he expect her to admit something he himself had not said?

  He sighed, a hint of disappointment in his expression as he half-grinned at her. “Don’t hurt yourself with talkin’ if it’s that hard, sugar. Just show me.”

  Her lips were still parted, trying to force the words from her throat. His open mouth, hot and demanding, seized hers in one of his passionate, rapturous kisses. There was no pause in her reflex. Her arms went around his powerful body, endeavoring to hold him closer to her. His hands left her face as the fierce, impassioned exchange between them continued, his arms striving to embrace her—caress her—hold her. His kiss was nearly suffocating in its euphoric power! He kissed her fiercely, as if it were impossible to kiss her long enough—deeply enough! As if he…as if they both were unable to satisfy an infinite craving and, yet at the same time, as if their kiss were the only thing on earth to give them happiness, security, and fulfillment. Finally, with one last powerfully driven kiss bruising Dusty’s tender lips, he broke from her, caressing her face with his hand as he gazed into her eyes.