Dusty Britches Read online

  Dusty stood silent. Becca jumped in to fill the obvious void. “Was there ever any doubt about it?”

  “Nope! Don’t suppose there was,” her father chuckled. “I forgot to ask ya, Dusty,” he began, “did ol’ Leroy come by while I was away to pick up that beef I offered him?”

  “Um…” Dusty stammered. Ryder again captured her gaze, winking and causing her to lose her train of thought. “Um…yes. Yes, he did. He said to thank you kindly, and he left off a couple of hams in exchange.” She looked away quickly. Becca stared at her with a knowing smile. Dusty frowned at her sister and went about fixing herself a plate of food.

  “Now, I told that old boy he didn’t need to do anythin’ in return,” Hank grumbled.

  “You know how ol’ Leroy is, Daddy,” Dusty reminded him, sitting down at the small drop leaf nearby. “He won’t take anythin’ without a swap.”

  “Ol’ Leroy’s a fine feller,” Ruff commented.

  “Yep,” Feller agreed. “Ol’ Leroy gave me my first horse.”

  “Really?” Becca asked.

  “Yep. I was eight years old and worked for him all summer one year a-helpin’ to butcher hogs. He gave me a little bay mare and paid me a right good wage on top of it too.” Feller paused to chew and swallow a bite of food.

  “I can see that,” Ryder mumbled.

  “Yeah,” Feller agreed. “He’s a good ol’ boy.”

  “Well, that he is…but I meant I can see you at eight a-ridin’ the range, causin’ trouble and givin’ your mama fits.”

  Everyone chuckled. Hank reached over and tousled Feller’s hair affectionately.

  “Now, go on,” Feller grumbled, completely embarrassed.

  “I ’member that bay,” Hank sighed. “You rode that poor ol’ girl into the ground near to every day.” Everyone ate and waited for the boss to continue telling tales on the top hand—who was so often serious and solemn. “What was her name?”

  “Daisy,” Feller mumbled.

  “Yep, Daisy. You and ol’ Daisy really used to tear up the town!” Dusty watched her father chuckle, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes borne of so many years of merry living—so familiar—so endearing.

  “Come on now, boss,” Ryder coaxed. “Give us a tale on ol’ Feller here!”

  “Ain’t no tales to tell, boys,” Feller said, smiling and shaking his head.

  “You ’member the time you was playin’ Paul Revere and got the tale mixed up with that Lady Godiva story?” Dusty’s father offered.

  Feller immediately began shaking his head as Ryder asked, “Ain’t that the woman rode through town buck naked ’cause…”

  “Ol’ Feller…he comes a-ridin’ through town one Saturday night.” Hank paused to swallow a bite of food. No doubt he feared choking were he to start into chuckling as he told the story.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Feller grumbled. “No need to bring that up.”

  “What, Daddy? Tell us!” Becca demanded. She was entirely intrigued and delighted.

  “Hold on! I heard this one!” Ruff interjected. “You mean to be tellin’ me that it was Feller done that?”

  Hank chuckled and nodded. “There we all were, all us cowhands. Let’s see, I was…oh, ’bout nineteen, I suppose. Been cowboyin’ for a rancher in the county. Anyhow, there we all was, a-sittin’ out on the porch in front of the old general store…and here come Daisy! She’s a-trottin’ down the middle a town like nobody’s business…and sittin’ there as tall in the saddle as an eight-year-old boy can…was Feller Lance, buck neked as the day he was born and a-hollerin’, ‘The redcoats is comin’! The redcoats is comin’!’ ”

  Becca and the men burst into laughter, and even Dusty couldn’t restrain a smile. She glanced at Ryder, who was looking at Feller as he laughed. Ryder always drew people out—always got her father to talking and telling stories somehow. He made people feel important. He made them feel happy. Except for her, she reminded herself. She was beginning to feel too warm and cheered within. He wouldn’t pull it on her! No, indeed!

  “Feller! Really?” Becca squealed.

  “I was eight, Miss Becca. Had myself thinkin’ that I’d stir up the town by hollerin’ like ol’ Paul,” Feller explained.

  “Yep! You stirred up the town all right!” Hank laughed. He sighed heavily as his chuckling subsided. “Them were some fun days, weren’t they, Feller?”

  Feller nodded, and gradually the conversation turned to matters of running the ranch. Dusty helped Becca clean up as the men finished. For the remainder of the meal, she’d kept her gaze away from Ryder—though her thoughts lingered on him constantly. Every time she heard his voice, her skin tingled, and her mind whispered, It must be a dream! He can’t really be here!

  Her undoing came as she stood at the sink, working the pump to fill the washtub with water. Ryder rose from the table and brought his plate to her. His arm brushed hers, causing goose bumps to break out over her arms and legs like yeast brewing in warm milk.

  “Thank you, ladies! It was a fine meal,” he sighed, putting a hand to his stomach in satisfaction.

  “You’re welcome, Ryder!” Becca said, smiling.

  When Dusty did not respond or acknowledge him in any way, he reached out. Taking her chin firmly in one hand and turning her face to his, he asked, “Did you dump all your manners in the slop bucket too?” Surprised, Dusty could only stare at him indignantly. “I said thank you,” he repeated.

  “You’re welcome,” she growled through clenched teeth.

  He smiled sarcastically and whispered, “Now, that’s the way your mama taught you.” Releasing her face and taking his hat from the hook near the door, he left.

  Dusty looked over to her father for support. Surely he wouldn’t let any man, any ranch hand or cowboy, even Ryder Maddox, treat her so rudely! Her father only raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders, signaling his agreement with Ryder’s actions.

  “Daddy?” Dusty whined.

  “Boy’s right, darlin’,” her father mumbled. Rising from his place at the table, he walked to her and kissed her warmly on the forehead. “Ain’t many excuses for bad manners,” and he left too.

  Shaking her head in disbelief, Dusty watched her father walk across the yard toward the barn. Was the whole world going to turn against her in favor of Ryder? Ryder Maddox has always been too big for his britches! she thought angrily. Plunging the plate he’d handed her into the water, she tried to think angry thoughts about him. Some men were too good-looking for their own good—thought they could boss others around just because they had charisma!

  “Remember how Ryder used to stay and help Mama and us do the dishes after supper sometimes, Dusty?” Becca asked quietly.

  “Ryder was always tryin’ to be Mama’s favorite,” Dusty grumbled.

  “Ryder didn’t have to try,” Becca reminded her. “He helped Mama ’cause he felt she deserved it after cookin’ for that big bunch of men.” Dusty scrubbed furiously at the plate, trying to ignore Becca as she continued to list the virtues of Ryder Maddox. “Remember how he used to help us with our arithmetic? Even after the other hands were asleep, him and Feller would be up helpin’ Daddy finish up chores or helpin’ us with our schoolwork.”

  “Some friend he is to Feller, anyhow!” Dusty interrupted. “Gettin’ Daddy to tell that old tale on Feller!”

  “Feller needs to have the attention, Dusty. It helps everyone else respect him more and understand him better if they know he’s human!” The scolding strength in Becca’s voice was so unfamiliar that Dusty turned to look at her. “The hands always liked Ryder ’cause he made them feel important! He respected and admired Mama and treated Daddy like he was the greatest rancher in the world!” Becca threw the dishtowel onto the table. “And he’s scarin’ you! You still love him, Dusty, and—”

  “You don’t know me, Becca! Don’t tell me what I feel and what I don’t!” Dusty argued angrily.

  “You do! You do love him!” It was obvious Becca would not be bullied this time. “
I seen it in your eyes ever since he got back yesterday. But he won’t love you back, Dusty—not when you’re so hateful and selfish!”

  Dusty couldn’t say anything to her sister that wouldn’t be angry and cruel. So, whirling around, she fled from the house. Her eyes fell upon none other than Ryder watering his horse at the windmill trough before riding out to check stock. It was too perfect! He was bent over, leaning on the edge of the trough looking down into the water as his horse drank. Motivated by anger and humiliation, Dusty walked up behind him. Lifting her skirts and placing her foot squarely into the seat of his pants, with one good shove, she sent Ryder tumbling over into the trough with a splash.

  “I am not a child anymore, Ryder!” she shouted at him. “What gives you the right to stand in there and correct me like I was a—”

  “What’s wrong with you?” he shouted as he stood up, brushing the water from his face. “I got work to do! I don’t have time to be foolin’ around with your tantrums!”

  Ryder’s face was tight with irritation. He reached out, taking hold of Dusty’s arm. Tucking his hand into the waist of her skirt, he pulled her into the trough with him.

  “Ain’t nothin’ gonna get done on this ranch with them two goin’ at it all the time,” Hank mumbled under his breath to Feller. The smile on his face told the top hand that the boss favored his daughter getting a talking-to from somebody other than her father for once.

  “Ryder won’t put up with her poutin’ the way the rest of us do,” Feller told him. “Wisest investment you ever made was payin’ that boy to cowboy for you again.” Mounting up, they rode away to leave Dusty to fend for herself in her battle with Ryder.

  Dusty stood up, coughing and sputtering. Wiping at the water in her eyes, she met Ryder’s angry glare with one of her own. “You!” was all she could exclaim.

  “Now, listen here, sugar,” Ryder began, pointing an index finger in her face. “I know I’ve been gone a long time and that you want my attention—”

  “What?” Dusty shouted, completely in awe at his conceited remark.

  “But your daddy’s payin’ me good money to work for him, and you know that when I take a man’s money, I work hard! There’s plenty of time for your horsin’ around when the day’s through. You wanna play with me, Dusty? Then you wait ’til my workday is done—just like it used to be.” Dusty could only stand panting with fury and indignation. “I’m glad we agree,” he muttered, nodding triumphantly.

  Dusty’s vexation was at an explosive level. She raised her hand to slap him for teasing her, but he caught her hand and grabbed the other. Holding them at her back, he pulled her body to his. Instantly, Dusty felt the anger draining from her to be replaced by a thrill she hadn’t experienced since…

  “Don’t you raise your hand to me, girl,” he exclaimed. She saw a hint of mischief flash in his eyes as he attempted to frown—but an amused grin spread across his face. “I can take you on anytime.” He gently pushed her backward. Losing her balance, she sunk into the water once more. “Now, you sit there and cool off. Your temper’s even worse than I remember.” Stepping out of the trough, he took his horse by the bit and sloshed off toward the bunkhouse.

  “Never turn your back on a woman, boy,” he chuckled as he left Dusty sitting in the trough.

  Looking around to see if anyone witnessed her impetuous and now humiliating act of vengeance toward Ryder, Dusty rose from the trough, lifted her heavy skirts, and climbed out. She continued wringing the water out of her skirts and petticoats and tried to ignore Becca casually walking toward her on her way to the chicken house.

  “And to think,” Becca muttered as she passed her sister, “he ain’t even been here one whole day!”

  Dusty was furious. She was also delighted. No! She was furious! Reaching down and unlacing her boots, she tossed them aside and stripped off her stockings as well. She was so determined to remain angry she didn’t care who saw her strip off her stockings. Reaching up and pulling the pin from her hair, she gave it reprieve from the tightly wound knot. Running her fingers through her hair, she relished the feel of the morning breeze as she fairly ran away from the house and toward the waterfall feeding the creek some distance off.

  She hadn’t been to the pond and falls for ages. It was about time she took a moment for herself. Angrily, she plodded along, trying to think of every unlikable character flaw possessed by Ryder Maddox. To think she’d cried tender tears over him the night before! She growled to herself as she let her skirt and petticoats drop to the ground near the falls. After all, she reminded herself, she was already soaked and wet. What did it matter if she went wading now?

  Sitting down next to the cool pool of water fed by the waterfall, she let her feet slip beneath the water’s surface. “Ahhh,” she sighed, closing her eyes. She opened them immediately when the first vision to pass before them was that of Ryder and his mischievous grin. She hated that grin—that triumphant, “I-got-the-better-of-you” grin. He’d grinned it forever. For as long as she could remember, that teasing, adorable, infuriating grin had always existed. And yet, as she thought of their proximity in the trough, as she contemplated how exhilarating it had been to have him holding her against him as he bound her hands at her back, she began to give in.

  There was no fighting it. There was no fighting the reality that the man was fantastic—even more magnificent than he’d been five years ago! She would have to accept and learn to live with it—learn to live with him! Undoubtedly, he would winter at the ranch. He’d already told her father so; she’d heard him that morning during branding. And if she were going to survive—if she were going to be able to soften herself toward her father and sister as she’d promised herself—then she was going to have to come to terms with the fact that the perfect, wonderful man who had been so out of reach to her before was going to be near to her every day, a painful reminder of what she still could never have.

  She let herself fall backward into the cool grasses lining the banks of the pond. She breathed deeply of their green fragrance and the warmth of the day. Though her mind fought surrender for several moments, she finally allowed memory to flood her mind. From the moment she’d turned to see Ryder standing behind her the day before, they’d called to her. There were so many memories—too many to count, too many to recall. And they were, all of them, good—almost.

  “Mama, I can’t do this! I tell you, I can’t!” Dusty whined. Putting her head down on the table, she dramatically banged her fist on the top of it. “Mrs. Fitzpatrick is a demon of torture, Mama! This arithmetic is far too hard. I can’t do it. I can’t!”

  Dusty heard her mother’s impatient sigh. Still, she spoke rather calmly, considering how long Dusty had spent whining about her schoolwork instead of doing it. “She wouldn’t give you that assignment if she didn’t think you were capable of figurin’ it out, Dusty!” Elly Hunter untied her apron and folded it, laying it on the counter. “Now, I’ve done all I can to encourage you. I’m worn out. I’m goin’ in the other room to do some readin’ of my own, and when I come back in thirty minutes…I want that assignment finished and you ready to turn in. You hear me?”

  “But I can’t!” Dusty sobbed. “It’s too hard and—”

  “Angelina Hunter! I’ve had it!” Her mother left the room, shaking her head.

  It wasn’t more than a few moments before Dusty heard the door to the kitchen open. Assuming it was her father coming in for the night, she sniffled, wiped her tears, and straightened in her chair. There would be heck to pay if her father found out how she’d been whining at her mother.

  “I can hear you whinin’ all the way out to the corral,” Ryder whispered. Dusty turned to see Ryder walk quietly into the room.

  “I thought you boys were all in bed,” Dusty sniffled.

  “With you yowlin’ like a hung cat?” he chuckled quietly. “What’s ol’ Mrs. Fitzpatrick torturin’ you with tonight, Britches?” he asked.

  Ryder always came to her rescue. Always.

  Dusty smi
led. He had helped her through all of Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s awful arithmetic assignments. It was fairly often he’d come sneaking into the kitchen well past his own bedtime to help Dusty and Becca with their schoolwork—patient as ever in spite of being completely wrung out from a hard day’s work. Dusty’s heart twinged as she thought of her mother. No doubt her mother had been wise to it the entire time. Looking back, it was too coincidental that her mother would disappear each time there was a dramatic schoolwork complaint, only to suddenly reappear the moment Ryder walked out the door.

  If you wanna play with me, Ryder had said, looking down at her in the trough that afternoon. Ryder’s voice echoed through her mind. He had played with her when she was younger. They’d played marbles and kick the stick. He’d been the one to teach her to waltz, for pity’s sake. She and Becca had even talked him into being their patient on occasion when they wanted to play nurses and hospital. Sometimes Feller could be talked into it too—on a hot afternoon when the work was done early. Both men would always end up lying under a tree by the creek, wrapped up like mummies in bandages the girls had made out of scraps of any kind of fabric they could find. Eventually, Becca and Dusty would get tired of their drifting in and out of sleep and leave them to nap—pink calico bandages around their heads and all.

  In fact, when Ryder first arrived, he’d been more like a novelty cousin or something to Dusty. But things changed as she grew older—as he grew older and more comparable to a knight in shining armor than a friend.

  He is beautiful, she thought with a sigh, her body finally relaxing. A beautiful dream that I’m living again. But dreams end. They always do.

  Sleep was peaceful by the pond, and she accepted it gratefully.

  

  It was that sense of someone watching her that woke her. Even before she opened her eyes, she knew who it was—for the air around her was charged with his presence.

  “You sure have a lot of time on your hands for braggin’ about what a hard worker you are,” she grumbled as she opened her eyes to see Ryder was indeed hunkered down beside her, chewing on a blade of grass—a mischievous grin plastered across his face.