Dusty Britches

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  “You see how much warmer you’d be in the winter with me in here ’stead of out in the parlor or the bunkhouse?” he teased.

  She couldn’t help but smile at him. “Don’t leave me, Ryder,” she whispered as he bent, kissing her neck just below her ear once more. “I…I can’t lose you again.”

  Ryder chuckled warmly. Then, tossing back the covers and quickly climbing out of the bed, he strode to the window. “If I don’t leave ya now, your daddy’ll have my hide!”

  “No,” she explained quietly. “Don’t abandon me. I promise that…” But she was unable to speak what her heart wanted to tell him.

  Smiling with understanding, he raised an index finger to her as his eyebrows arched with warning. “Don’t abandon me, Angelina,” he said.

  He picked up his boots and climbed out through the window—into the soft summer night. She heard his footsteps on the porch and then in the kitchen as he made his way to the parlor—heard a deep voice raised in question and Ryder’s answer.

  Dusty lay in her bed in stunned euphoria for a moment. He loved her? After all this time, he loved her! He hadn’t said it, granted. But to imply that he wanted her to be his wife—surely he had to love her. There entered into the blissful knowledge a tiny seed of fear. Why had he thought of leaving? Why had his question about whether she wanted him to stay been so mysterious? Did it have to do with the woman in town, the woman Feller had spoken of earlier? Who was she to him? Why a sudden urgency about whether he would stay or go? But Dusty pushed the jealous, frightened thoughts aside and dwelt only on the feel of being in his arms. She was warm with relief and hope at having, in part, admitted her love for him—her incredible desire for him never to leave her.

  There came a breeze through the window—a wiff of honeysuckle nectar and warm, ripening fruit. Ryder wouldn’t leave her again! He’d said as much, and she knew it was true. He would never leave her again. The sure knowledge was the last piece of the puzzle she needed—the last piece to fit into place in order to make her whole. Her heart was light; her body and mind were warmed. She felt momentarily void of fear. She was completely excited by life—by the prospect of belonging to Ryder Maddox—by the feel in the night air signaling the imminent ending of summer. The thought came to her that she would have a mother. Somehow she would have Feller Lance for a brother-in-law. And someday—someday, somehow, she would be the one to wake up Ryder Maddox each morning—send him from their bed out to whistle a tune in the barn.

  In the morning she would say it to him—tell him what she knew he needed to hear her say. She was whole again! Here was the Dusty that had been! And in the morning she would tell him.

  

  Dusty listened to Ryder whistling—singing as he clanged around in the barn early in the morning. She caught his eye several times during breakfast and gifted him with her own mischievous smile—caused his eyebrows to rise inquisitively. Her father had sent the hands to ride the range that morning and get an idea where the cattle had wandered during the summer. It would be lunch before she would have the chance to talk to Ryder—maybe supper. But she would! She would tell him, and things would be different. Dusty had it all planned out. She would lure him to the waterfall. Yes! That’s where she must tell him—in her own magical place, with no one else around.

  The hands had been out most of the morning. Becca and Dusty worked together making apple pies for supper that evening.

  “Do ya think…” Becca began, pausing in crimping the edge of a freshly rolled piecrust.

  “Do I think what?” Dusty prodded.

  “Oh, nothing,” Becca sighed. She continued to shape the edges of the crust along the edge of the tin pie pan.

  “Yes. I think he does.” Dusty giggled, having read her sister’s thoughts.

  “What do you mean by that?” Becca asked, blushing.

  “Yes, I think Feller loves you! I’ve told you that a million times, Becca,” Dusty reminded her. “He’s…he’s uncertain…lacks confidence. But he’ll find his way to tellin’ ya sooner or later.”

  “I can’t wait any longer for later, Dusty! I mean…I think he…” Becca sighed heavily again. “Nevermind. And anyway…” She glanced out the kitchen window. “Here comes somebody from town. Can’t quite make out who it is yet.”

  Dusty followed her sister’s gaze through the window to where a buggy with one passenger, a woman, approached. Dusty’s neck prickled as she watched the woman stop the buggy near the back porch. She watched the graceful stranger step down from the buggy and look about. She appeared to be disoriented.

  “Well?” Becca asked. “Are we gonna stand here a-gawkin’ at her?” She dried her hands on her apron and walked out onto the porch.

  “Hello!” Dusty heard Becca greet the woman as she slowly followed her sister. “What can we do for ya?”

  Dusty stepped out onto the porch next to Becca. The young woman’s eyes locked with Dusty’s an instant. She studied Dusty from head to toe.

  “Uh, yes,” the young woman answered Becca, still looking at Dusty. “I’m…uh…is this the Hunter ranch?” she asked.

  “Well, yes it is,” Becca answered when Dusty didn’t.

  Dusty’s stomach churned with fear. This must be the woman Feller had seen Ryder talking to in town the day before. And now she’d come here! Who was she to Ryder? Even with no true knowledge of her beyond the fact Feller had seen her talking to Ryder in town, Dusty knew this woman was no friend to her.

  “Are you…are you Dusty?” the woman asked, still staring at Dusty.

  “Yes,” Dusty answered shortly. “And you are?”

  “Rose Montgomery,” the woman answered. Dusty stood speechless.

  The name was unknown to her and yet somehow familiar. Then, like a horrible glimpse into a suffocating nightmare, Dusty remembered the newspaper. She remembered with perfectly terrible clarity the name of the girl in Abilene who had died—the name of the family in the newspaper article Ryder had received in the mail. Lillian Montgomery had been the name of the girl who had passed away—the name of the girl whose death had so unsettled Ryder.

  “From Abilene?” Dusty asked.

  The young woman frowned, obviously astonished Dusty knew of her. “Yes.”

  Becca frowned and looked from the woman to Dusty and back.

  “Ryder isn’t here. He’s out in the pastures,” Dusty curtly informed Rose Montgomery.

  This girl was beautiful—long auburn hair pinned up to perfection. This was a young woman who would never be caught dead wearing her daddy’s old shirts—as Becca and Dusty did at that very moment. Her eyes were as green as emeralds, her skin as fair as porcelain. She was rosy-cheeked.

  “I-I came to talk to you,” Rose Montgomery said then.

  “Dusty?” Becca asked in a whisper. From the pale look on her face, it was apparent Becca too felt impending doom.

  “Run on in and work on the apples, Becca,” Dusty ordered. “It’ll be all right.”

  It would be. It had to be! The night before Dusty had put the pieces of her soul in order. Nothing would take Ryder Maddox from her now—nothing and no one! She would have him. No one else!

  Without another word, Becca went back in the house. Dusty descended the porch steps—soon stood face-to-face with the woman.

  “Ryder has told you about Lilly then?” Rose asked forthrightly.

  “No.” Dusty’s answer was impolitely blunt. “I know she was a young woman who died in Abilene recently. That’s all.”

  Dusty could see the sudden excess moisture in the young woman’s eyes, but she seemed to blink back the tears—inhaled a deep breath.

  She studied Dusty for a long moment and then, smiling kindly, said, “I knew you’d be beautiful.”

  Dusty frowned, completely confused and taken back by the woman’s remark. She shook her head.

  The woman continued, “He told us stories about you…all the time. He described you perfectly—from the way your eyes flash with emotion to the perfect shape of you.”


  “What are you talkin’ about?” Dusty asked. She felt frightened. This woman was there to destroy her happiness, and she knew it. So why didn’t she just get on with it?

  “Ryder,” the woman answered. “It’s why he came back here. He couldn’t keep away. I knew he’d end up back here one day…for you.”

  “I’m sorry for my lack of…of…for being rude, Miss Montgomery,” Dusty told her, anger and fear apparent in her voice. “I know your comin’ here upset Ryder…and I can’t really believe that you bring good news with ya. Just say what you came to say to me, and let’s get it over with.”

  Rose dropped her gaze to the ground for a moment. Looking up to Dusty with pure defiance, she demanded, “You can’t have him! He can’t stay here. If he stays here with you, he’ll die!”

  Dusty hadn’t expected threats. A jealous woman maybe—a woman grieving of a broken heart even. But not threats against Ryder’s life!

  “Who do you think you are comin’ in here and threatenin’ my sister like that?” Becca growled as she once again came out of the house and onto the porch.

  “I’m not threatening,” Rose stated calmly. “It’s the truth. There are men…dangerous men looking for Ryder. They mean to kill him. And they are close to finding out that he’s here. I only came to warn him.” She stepped toward Dusty, and Dusty could see the pleading in her eyes. “They will find him here. They’ve found him before and…”

  A vision flashed before Dusty’s eyes—the painful vision of Ryder’s scarred back—the story he had told her of the way he’d sustained them. The torture he’d endured!

  “Why are they lookin’ for him? Who are you that you would know?” Dusty cried out, stepping forward and taking the woman’s shoulders in her hands. “What did he do to cause them to come after him?”

  Tears streamed over Rose’s cheeks as she sobbed, “They blame him for Lillian’s death. At least one of them does.”

  “Why?” Dusty forced her. “Why do they blame him? Was it his fault?” She shook the young woman slightly to try to bring her back to attention. “Tell me! You come ridin’ up here and tell me that I can’t have the only thing I’ve ever wanted in my entire life! I want to know why! Why are these men after him?”

  Dusty felt Becca’s arms at her own shoulders, and she drew in a calming breath. “No one will take him from me. Do you understand?” Dusty mumbled. Dusty Hunter was healed. She was back. And no one would take her happiness, her very soul away from her!

  “There…there was an accident. About two and a half years ago. A stampede. Lilly was caught in the midst of it…and…and Ryder rode in to try to help her. B-but she was thrown from her horse. He reached down and took her hand…but she slipped and fell. She pulled him off his own horse. He was able to remount, but by the time he got to her, she’d…she’d been kicked in the head, and…and she…she woke up a week later. Her mind was gone. She just…she could eat and stare out into…into nothing. But she was gone. Her mind was gone.” Dusty listened as Rose continued, “For two and a half years, our family tended to her like that. Then she died…this summer.” Rose pulled a handkerchief from the sleeve of her dress and dabbed at her tears.

  “That wasn’t his fault. No one could possibly fault him for that,” Dusty mumbled.

  “I know. I know,” Rose agreed. “But Wesley blamed him. He was so heartbroken. He accused Ryder of…of not trying hard enough to save her.”

  “Who’s Wesley?” Becca asked.

  “Wesley was Lilly’s fiancé.”

  “Is Wesley the man huntin’ Ryder?” Dusty asked bluntly.

  Rose nodded. “He rides with two other men…men I don’t know. I don’t know where he met them or how. And he hired a criminal…an Indian man…a one-time warrior who had broken the laws of his tribe and been cast out. He’s a butcher! He’s hired him to kill Ryder!” Dusty closed her eyes for a moment, trying again to block the vision of the scars on Ryder’s back from her mind. “He’ll kill him! And they’re close.” Rose dropped her voice as if she expected them to hear somehow. “I know they’re close. Wesley wrote to me from Santa Fe. I know they’re closer than that by now.”

  “How do you know?” Dusty asked. “How could you possibly know where they are? And why does he write to you? Are you in it with him?”

  “No! No! I would never hurt anyone—especially Ryder! I loved him as much as anybody! I don’t want him hurt. But Wesley writes to me. I…I don’t even know why! I do know that he’s close. Wesley has Ryder’s dog Dusty with him. Ryder had to leave her behind when he left our place. Wesley’s usin’ the dog to help him find Ryder.”

  Dusty felt as if she might faint of the sickened, anxious state of her mind and body. I named me a dog Dusty once, Ryder’s voice echoed through her mind.

  “His dog’s name is Dusty?” Becca asked in a whisper.

  Rose nodded. “The dog is very unusual. It looks like a wolf and has one blue eye and one brown eye. It’s easy to identify, and when I was in Alamosa, the storekeeper there said she saw four men, one of them an Indian, and a dog like that. She heard one of the men call the dog Dusty.” Rose reached out, taking Dusty’s hand. “Ryder told me in town yesterday that he won’t leave you, Miss Hunter.” Rose’s tears were streaming down her cheeks as she pleaded with Dusty. “I begged him! I told him they’re on their way. But he’s blinded by loving you! He told me he wouldn’t leave you. He said he’d rather die facing the past than lose you now. But you have to let him go! You have to make him go!”

  It’s down to which one of us dies first, he’d said to her. As he’d lain next to her in bed last night, he’d said it. Tears streamed down Dusty’s face, mirroring those Rose cried.

  She shook her head and mumbled, “I won’t let him go! And I won’t let him be hurt!”

  Rose attempted to calm herself slightly. “He used to tell us about you. Tell us stories of things you did as a little girl. Tell us that he knew you’d grown up to be beautiful. He told us this was the best place on earth to him…for so many reasons…but truly because of you. But you can’t let him be butchered like a penned-up pig! He’ll be hurt…he’ll be killed if you don’t let him go!” Rose cried.

  “They’ll have to kill me to get to him and—” Dusty began.

  “They will!” Rose cried. “Wesley doesn’t care who gets in his way! Nobody…nobody matters to him anymore!” Rose squeezed Dusty’s hand pleadingly. “He has to leave here! They will come for him!”

  “You leave!” Becca shouted. “You leave now! You’ve warned us. Now get out!”

  “Listen to me!” Rose pleaded. “Just—”

  “You heard my sister,” Dusty growled. “Leave now.”

  Rose Montgomery’s beautiful, sad, emerald eyes implored Dusty still. But she was met with only cold denial. And she left.

  “Dusty…Ryder will tell you the truth. Don’t despair until he gets in from the pastures. He—” Becca told her.

  “I won’t wait for him to come in from the pastures!” Throwing her apron to the ground, she set out toward the barn. “Becca…where’s Daddy?” she asked.

  “Over at Miss Raynetta’s.”

  “Go bring him home please.”

  Becca nodded and threw her own apron to the ground.

  

  Becca arrived at Miss Raynetta’s to find their father and Miss Raynetta were off picnicking somewhere. She returned home to discover Dusty had been unable to find Ryder or the other hands. So after hours of searching and waiting, all there was left to do was to wait. And wait. And wait.

  Becca was near to wringing her hands raw as she sat on the porch with Dusty—waiting. Her sister’s nerves only served to further strain her own, so Dusty suggested Becca finish the pies they’d started that morning—the pies they’d started before Rose had appeared like the angel of death to ruin Dusty’s dreams. Dusty knew Rose felt for her—that somehow Rose understood and ached for Dusty and her love of Ryder. Had it been Rose who had loved Ryder? Did she still love him? She’d admitted as much—said th
at she loved him. But was there more? Was she in love with Ryder?

  Back and forth, back and forth—the porch swing rocked for an hour as Dusty struggled to hang onto a shred of sanity as she waited and waited. She heard a horse approaching then. Standing up, she shaded her eyes from the sun and looked toward the rider in the distance. It was Feller. Her heart sank, and yet there was hope. He might know where Ryder was.

  Dusty had spent hours in contemplation. Her decision was made. Though she was disgusted to admit it, Rose Montgomery was right. She couldn’t keep Ryder in danger. He had to leave. And she couldn’t go with him. She’d be a hindrance—slow him down, distract him, and trip him up. She may already have! So as she approached Feller, as he unsaddled his mount, her determination changed. Her happiness and her dreams had been dashed to death. But she was whole now—the Dusty she had been born to be, the Dusty who had been lost for some time. And not everyone had to live in eternal misery. Not everyone—certainly not her family. Dusty’s pain was so excruciating, yet her tears had ceased. There was no question. She would have to give Ryder up to save him. And she would save him—and there were others to save along the way.

  Feller came out of the barn and tossed his saddle onto the fence, as was his habit when he meant to clean it. He didn’t seem to see Dusty at first, but when he glanced over and saw the look of despair, of utter surrender to despair, on her face, he stopped. Dusty walked over to him—stood before him in silence for a moment.