Dusty Britches Page 5

  And I’ll hold you real tight in my arms.

  And if you’re thinkin’ that my kisses…aren’t really who I am,

  I’m not pretendin’, little girl,

  A dream unendin’, little girl,

  No more pretendin’, little girl…

  I’m your man.

  Oh, how she’d adored the song as a child! How she’d awakened every morning long before the sun just to lie awake in her bed or sit by her open window and listen to Ryder’s deep, masculine voice as he sang during morning chores. His voice owned a richness it lacked all those years back—its intonation all the more dreamy! As she saw him come out of the barn, she stepped back so he could not see her watching him from the window. He set down two buckets of milk and closed the barn doors behind him, whistling the tune instead of singing it this time and heading for the back porch. There he’d set the milk buckets down outside the back door and cover them with the old dishcloth Becca had left out the night before.

  For a moment, it was as if nothing had changed. Yet making busy to dispel any further sentimental reminiscing, Dusty dressed and went to the kitchen to start breakfast. By the time Becca came rushing into the kitchen, Dusty had all but finished the flapjacks and bacon.

  “I’m so sorry, Dust. I-I really thought I was gettin’ up early enough,” the girl apologized sincerely.

  “It’s fine, Becca,” Dusty assured her with a kind smile—an apologetic smile. “I was up earlier than usual and thought I’d just get it done.”

  “I’m—I’m sorry for last night, Dust. I was so cruel to you,” Becca told her.

  “It was me, Becca, not you. How well you must know that by now.” Dusty hugged her sister tightly. It had been so long, far too long, since she’d hugged her little sister. “I did want to ask ya about something you said though,” Dusty ventured. “About me not bein’ the only one who—”

  “Good mornin’, my sugar lumps!” Hank greeted as he entered the kitchen, stretching his suspenders up over his shoulders.

  “Oh, Daddy!” Becca whined delightedly. “Sugar lumps?”

  “Yes, Daddy! Please! I certainly hope we’re not lumpy yet,” Dusty teased. She returned her father’s morning kiss as he paused in passing her.

  “Them hands up yet?” he asked as he sat down at the table.

  “Well, I saw Ryder millin’ around out there while I was gettin’ dressed,” Becca offered.

  “Yep! That boy’s still got a mighty fine voice in his gullet, don’t he?” Hank yawned and stretched again. “But Feller oughta have them other boys up by now.”

  “It was a long day, Daddy. I’m sure they’re wrung out,” Dusty defended. The silence was deafening, so she turned to see both her daddy and Becca staring at her with raised eyebrows. “What?” she asked.

  “Well, if you’ll pardon my sayin’ it, Dust,” Becca ventured, “you’re nearly harder on ’em about gettin’ up early than Daddy is.”

  Dusty’s initial reaction was to get angry with her sister. Of course she was hard on them all! She was the one who had to prepare their meals most of the time, and it was a lot of work. Why shouldn’t she expect them to be prompt? But her musings of the night before gave her reason to pause. She was mean, and she was trying to change that now. “I am, aren’t I,” she stated rather than asked. Her daddy, obviously not wanting to say anything unkind, simply rubbed at his whiskery chin and looked away.

  “Mornin’, all,” Ryder said as he entered the kitchen through the open back door. For a moment, his eyes met Dusty’s, and he grinned. She smiled slightly at him but looked away quickly. How was she going to live through this? How could she endure having him so close—so wonderful—so untouchable?

  Feller was right at his heels and said, “Mornin’.”

  “Mornin’, boys! And ain’t it a beauty?” Hank greeted.

  “It is that, sir,” Ryder agreed, taking a seat at the table.

  “What’s on the list today, boss?” Feller asked, taking a seat next to Ryder.

  “Mornin’,” Ruff mumbled as he entered, followed by several others.

  Hank nodded at each man as he entered, answering Feller’s question at the same time. “Figure after everyone who’s leavin’ has rode out, we’ll get to brandin’. Might as well get it out of the way.”

  Dusty dropped the spoon she was using, and it clattered to the floor. Her breath had stopped, and there was a terrible constricting pain in her chest. She hadn’t thought of it before now. What if Ryder were drifting? What if he hadn’t planned to stay on? What if he’d only joined the drive out of loyalty to her father and now planned to leave with the others who were moving on?

  “You all right?” Becca asked, her expression that of true concern.

  “What’s the racket, Dusty?” her father exclaimed. “’Bout to give a man a heart attack.”

  “Sorry, Daddy,” Dusty mumbled.

  “Anyhow,” Hank continued, “we need to get them cattle branded today and look ’em all over good so we can get on with the regular work tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir,” Feller agreed.

  The talk turned to low, mumbling, man kind of things. Dusty and Becca sat down together to eat their breakfast at the small drop leaf in one corner of the kitchen.

  “You’re as white as snow, Dusty,” Becca whispered. “What’s the matter? You feelin’ all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Dusty told her, trying not to speak in her usual short, irritated manner.

  “Well, all I know is you and I are gonna find ourselves doin’ more chores ’round here, since Ryder’s the only one of the drive cowboys who’s stayin’ on. The rest are leavin’. That leaves only Daddy, Feller, Guthrie, Titch, Ruff, and Ryder to run the cattle and everythin’ else!”

  “Who told ya that? That Ryder was the only one stayin’ on?” Trying to cover her obvious interest, Dusty added, “At least four stayed on after the last drive, and Daddy didn’t bring all that many cattle home last time.”

  “Ryder told me last night. Said the others didn’t want to stay…that he was the only one stayin’ on,” Becca said as she concentrated on eating her eggs.

  A wave of anxious relief washed over Dusty, and although it was merely first thing in the morning, she felt tired—drained already as if she’d worked all day.

  “I saw this dress in Miss Raynetta’s dress shop window, Dusty!” Becca began, lowering her voice excitedly. “It’s all yellows and greens! Do you think I might talk Daddy into letting me have it for the Fourth of July picnic in town?”

  Dusty smiled. Becca’s eyes were lit up like train lanterns. “I’m sure ya can, Becca,” Dusty answered. “He never says no to you, now does he?”

  “He never says no to you either, Dusty,” Becca reminded with a smile.

  “That’s ’cause we’re good girls. We never ask for more than we should.”

  

  Breakfast went along, the men having their own conversation at the big table, Dusty and Becca listening most of the time. At last, Dusty finished off her biscuit and stood. Placing her plate in the sink, she watched as her daddy and each hand, in turn, put his plate in the sink, snatched his hat off the rack by the door, and left with a, “Thank you, Miss Dusty.”

  Ryder was the last one to leave the table. As he approached the sink where Dusty still stood, she felt as if a blazing, fiery torch were moving toward her. With each stride he made toward her, she began to feel hot and uncomfortable. He deposited his plate in the sink, and as he took his hat from the rack, he said, “Your mama never did better, Dust—Miss Dusty. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she managed to reply, trying to sound unaffected by his presence and compliment.

  “Miss Becca,” he nodded to Becca before leaving.

  Becca rose from her seat and joined Dusty at the sink. “You’re gonna have to love him, ya know,” she whispered.

  “Rebecca!” Dusty scolded. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Nothin’. I’ve just decided I’m not gonna let you ruin your
life or anybody else’s anymore. It was fate that brought him back here…fate or a greater power. And I ain’t gonna let you ruin it!” Becca told her.

  “Becca…stop it now. I don’t want yo—” Dusty began.

  “Nope. You ain’t gonna bully me about this one, Dusty. Now let’s get these dishes done up. I got other things I wanna get done today.”

  “Do ’em yourself,” Dusty spat. “I did the cookin’! Remember?” And throwing her apron into a nearby chair, Dusty stormed off—all determination to be kinder and more understanding to her sister completely obliterated.

  She had meant to go down to the pond and pout. It was, after all, her favorite pouting place. But no sooner had she left the back porch than she heard her daddy call to her.

  “Dusty. Dusty! Run in the barn and get that smaller brand for these heifers.”

  Sighing heavily and with irritation—for her self-centered pouting session had been interrupted—she stomped to the barn and retrieved the brand.

  “He’s got two thousand hands out there just a-standin’ around waitin’ to be paid! You’d think one of ’em could come in here and find the small iron!”

  Angrily, she walked back to where her father stood paying the cowboys who were leaving and thanking them for their help. Feller already had the fire going, and Guthrie and Ruff had several head waiting nearby ready for branding. Dusty glanced over to where Ryder stood near Feller. She knew Ryder would do most of the wrestling. He always had. She remembered he could take a cow down faster than any hand they’d had before or since. Dusty used to love to sit on the fence and watch him help in the branding. It was always so impressive when she was a young girl to watch his strength and dexterity—the way he’d throw a heifer or steer to the ground like the easiest thing in the world. So without being conscious of what she was doing, she leaned back against the fence and watched as Ruff sent a heifer toward the fire. In a split second, Ryder grabbed the heifer’s head, twisted her neck, and forced her to the ground. Feller was just as fast with putting the iron to her. Dusty wrinkled her nose at the familiar yet dreadful stench of burning hair and hide.

  The cowboys making ready to leave joined Ruff, Guthrie, and Titch in hollering and whistling with admiration. Ryder simply released the cow, stood up, and rubbed his hands back and forth in anticipation of the challenge. “Bring ’em on! We’ll have this done ’fore lunch!” he said.

  Dusty, totally unaware of the broad smile that was now part of her expression, continued to watch the men brand. Before long, the cowboys who were drifting were gone, and her father was branding the smaller heifers and steers while Ruff and Titch took turns wrestling. Guthrie was bringing the big ones in, and Ryder took down two or three to the other men’s one.

  Dusty stood watching for a long time before Becca finally joined her. “I’ve finished the dishes,” Becca stated rather resentfully.

  “Thank you, Becca,” Dusty said. “I’m sorry, Becca. I—I shouldn’t be so cross. It’s just that—”

  “I know, I know. Let’s not talk about it anymore.” Becca stepped up onto the lowest fence rung to watch the men work. “Ryder’s still the fastest I ever saw,” she commented.

  Dusty remained silent. They watched as Guthrie led an enormous cow in on a rope.

  “She’s huge!” Becca exclaimed. “She’s gotta be near half a ton!”

  “She’s still got her horns too. I bet she’s ornery,” Dusty added.

  “Think he can get her down?”

  “Naw. She’s too big. Daddy’ll just butcher her early.” Dusty watched as Guthrie nodded toward Ryder and Feller.

  “Find any elephants to bring in for us, Guthrie?” Feller chuckled.

  “What you boys think I am?” Ryder asked, sizing up the cow and rolling up his shirtsleeves.

  “Stinkin’ immortal!” Ruff shouted with a chuckle.

  Everyone stopped to watch and see whether Ryder could take the monstrosity of a beef down for branding.

  “I’ll wager you, boy!” Hank shouted. “You get her down, and I’ll give ya the whole day off week from Friday!”

  “You’re on!” Ryder laughed, pointing at Dusty’s daddy. “She’s gonna break my dang legs though!”

  “Then I’ll give ya two days off!” Hank chuckled.

  “That’s a big beef,” Dusty mumbled. “He shouldn’t try her.” She looked at Becca, who nodded, her eyes widening in agreement. “Daddy!” Dusty shouted. “Shame on you!”

  “Ah, don’t ya worry, punkin!” Hank shouted. “Ain’t yet seen a cow that Ryder can’t lay down!”

  But Dusty felt more than frightened. This cow had enormous horns! She watched, helpless, as Ryder nodded his head at Guthrie to let his rope go. Ryder stepped up behind the mammoth animal, put his arms under her horns, and started twisting. He twisted her fast enough she couldn’t run from him or get away, but she didn’t go down immediately. She was big and strong and heavy, and her neck was nearly as thick as the rest of her. But after a few long seconds, she started to lean toward the cowboy, and maneuvering his body carefully, Ryder managed to get his legs out of the way, falling back to the ground and pinning her head as she hit the dirt with an earthshaking surrender. Feller wasted no time in branding her, even though all the other men stood around clapping and shouting with admiration.

  “He did it!” Becca squealed, clapping wildly.

  Dusty stood completely upset and frightened. “He’s gotta let her up now,” she mumbled. Instinctively, as Dusty watched the cow’s eyes wide with fear and seeming indignation, she stepped behind the fence. She knew what a big, angry cow could do. Sure enough, as Ryder let her go and she got to her feet, she immediately turned on him.

  “Oh, she’s mad now!” Hank chuckled.

  Ryder eluded the angry bovine as she charged him several times. Hank, Feller, and the others stood laughing as they remained aware the cow might turn on any one of them next.

  Ryder hollered, “Look out!” and made straight for the fence behind which Dusty and Becca stood. In one clean, very impressive leap, Ryder cleared the fence. Turning he grabbed the girls’ waistbands, yanking them safely away from danger a second before the angry cow ran headlong into the fence—her long, sharp horns plunging through the rails like two spears.

  With a triumphant grin, Ryder shouted to Hank, “Week from Friday?”

  Hank chuckled and conceded, “Week from Friday!” All the ranch hands roared with amusement as the giant critter turned and took out after Feller. Dusty watched as all the hands and her father, save Guthrie, who was still mounted on a horse, ran this way and that, leaping fences to avoid impalement.

  Becca squealed with delight. Dusty wanted to enjoy the merriment, but the danger of it all was still far too apparent.

  “I knew she couldn’t best you, Ryder,” Becca giggled.

  “No, ma’am,” he answered with a smile.

  “You all are actin’ like a bunch of children,” Dusty grumbled as she turned to walk away. Her attempt at departure was short-lived. The tug at her waist indicated, without question, that Ryder still held her by the skirt. Slapping awkwardly at his hand, she turned to find him grinning mischievously down at her.

  “Let go!” she demanded.

  “Can’t,” he teased. “That cow scared the tar outta me, and I can’t unclench my fist.”

  “Let me go,” she snapped.

  With a disapproving and disgusted frown, he growled, “Ease up, Miss Hunter.”

  “Grow up, Mr. Maddox,” she spat at him, yanking her skirt waist from his grasp and storming back toward the house.

  “She ain’t nothin’ like I remember her,” Ryder mumbled.

  “Yes, she is,” Becca assured him. “She’s just—just lost. That’s all. She’s lost herself.” Becca paused and then said, “You can find her.”

  Ryder smiled affectionately, cupping Becca’s cheek with his hand. “You can’t help nobody home if you ain’t there yourself, sweet thing,” he said solemnly. He turned and jumped the fence again. Guthrie had bro
ught in another heifer; there was work to do.

  As she reached the back porch, Dusty turned to look back. Already she was regretting her lack of lightheartedness, but when she turned to see Ryder looking down adoringly at Becca, his hand affectionately on her cheek, all regret hardened into stone. Oh, how well she remembered the effect Ryder had on girls and women! Every female in the county used to take to swooning when he walked by. They used to rain pies and cakes on him, trying, no doubt, to impress him with their culinary prowess—to remind him that a good cook made a good wife.

  She wouldn’t care that he was back. Truly! All an interest in Ryder Maddox gave a person was grief. She’d learned that. She didn’t need to learn it again. And thus, as was the case anytime Dusty found herself in a fit of weakness—almost becoming a caring, loving, normal woman again—she dug up the hurt and resentment that had kept her sane since Cash Richardson entered and exited her life. She could be nicer to her sister, kinder to her father, but she would not soften up where Ryder Maddox was concerned.

  As the sun rose higher in the sky, Dusty kept herself busy with hard work. She quickly finished her outside chores and then moved into the house. She worked furiously even though the house didn’t need such fiery attention. The lunch hour arrived far too soon. She didn’t realize how occupied she’d kept herself until she heard the men filing in for their meal. Since Becca took care of the noon meal, Dusty had kept right on working. She soon heard the deep voices of men raised in conversation—her father calling her to join them.

  Upon entering the kitchen, her gaze fell to Ryder—though she had sworn to herself to ignore him. He smiled and nodded. She nodded in return without cracking even a polite grin. She became angry, for at the mere sight of him, her heart fluttered, and her stomach seemed to flip, stirring up a sensation of elation she hadn’t felt for years. Stop it! she thought. But then Ryder picked up his fork, spinning it around in his fingers twice, as had always been his manner before plunging into his meal. The familiarity of the habit further fed the response of warm melancholy in Dusty, and she winced.

  “These here boys got the whole herd branded ’fore lunch, girls!” Hank boasted. “Whatcha say to that?”