Dusty Britches

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  “After you,” he ordered. “I don’t want to be accused of not bein’ a gentleman.”

  “Now stop that, Ryder Maddox!” Miss Raynetta scolded, smacking Ryder hard enough on the back of the head that he mouthed, Ow! “What do you want the girl to do?” she continued. “Drown herself in the pond over guilt?”

  Ryder smiled at Miss Raynetta. “Thank you, Miss McCarthy,” he said. Reaching out and taking hold of Dusty’s elbow, he forced her out the door ahead of him. Dusty looked back over her shoulder to see Miss Raynetta wink encouragingly.

  You thank him, Miss Raynetta mouthed authoritatively. He deserves it. With another wink, she waved to the others as they mounted their horses or climbed into the wagon.

  “You all right, honey?” Dusty’s father asked as Dusty settled down next to him on the seat. When she didn’t answer right away, he took her chin in one roughened hand and forced her to look at him. “I mean, really? You all right?”

  Dusty nodded and fought the urge to shrug off her sister’s comforting arm around her shoulders.

  The wagon ride home seemed long and tiring. Periodically the hands would burst into laughter, and Dusty caught bits of their conversation.

  “He’ll have a shiner for weeks!” Guthrie chuckled.

  “I hope so,” Ryder said. “’Cause I sure as heck’ll look like somethin’ the dog upchucked for at least that long.”

  “Ah, come on now!” Feller added. “You see the way them town women was a-swoonin’ every which way when you come a-walkin’ into the dress shop after the go-’round? They’ll be a-swoonin’ still come the Fourth.”

  “That Miss Raynetta,” Dusty’s father mumbled unexpectedly, “she’s a pistol, ain’t she?”

  “Well,” Becca began, “I don’t know if I’d call her a pistol exactly, Daddy…but she’s a dear, dear soul. I wonder why she never married.”

  Hank shrugged his shoulders, and Dusty didn’t hear any of the conversation her sister and father shared on the way home from town. All she could think about was suppressing the morbid delight rising in her each time she thought of Ryder hitting Cash—laying him out on the ground.

  The rest of the late afternoon and suppertime were pretty solemn around the ranch. Dusty felt very uncomfortable when Ryder, sitting down for his evening meal, unconsciously let a groan slip from his throat. The grimace on his handsome face reminded her, yet again, what physical discomfort he had endured on her behalf—was still enduring. Not that she needed reminding—it was all she could think about. For every moment of that day following the incident in town, she thought of nothing else—repulsion at the thought of those terrible men and their intentions toward her—irritation at Cash Richardson’s cowardice and having ever been mildly attracted to him. Still, it was the guilt mingled with delight she felt each time her mind reviewed Ryder’s coming to her rescue, so powerfully and without pause, that confused her most. What an odd sensation it was—to feel completely guilty that the man she…that a man she was attracted to, and the others, would sacrifice their physical health for the sake of her honor and safety. Ryder had always been that way—Feller too. Her father as well, for that matter. But her father and Feller were more inclined to try talking first, as opposed to using intimidation and threats.

  So as she went out to the chicken house to gather the eggs, she considered her feelings—the emotions so boiled together within her—and she thought about Ryder. She could still hear her mother—almost hear her mother’s voice giving Ryder a talking-to about his quick temper and flying fists, where wrong and right were concerned.

  “Ryder,” Elly Hunter began, “you are gonna have to learn when to jump right in with fists a-flyin’ and when not to!” Dusty noticed the way her mother shook her head as she held a cool cloth to Ryder’s blackened eye. “Ya can’t go a-punchin’ everybody in the nose all the time. Ya gotta learn to try some other methods!”

  Dusty and Becca sat on the kitchen floor, their legs folded, their chins resting snugly on their fists as they watched their mama clean up the cuts and bruises on Ryder’s face. One of the drifters her daddy had hired to help bring in the field crops had said something disloyal about Dusty’s family. After telling the man to “take it back” and being met with firm belligerence, Ryder had jumped on the man, both fists flying, and taken some hard hits himself before finally beating the man enough that Feller jumped in and pulled Ryder off him. Of course, Hank and Elly Hunter didn’t allow fighting among their hands, but when Ryder told Hank what the man had said, the drifter was sent to drifting, and Ryder got off with only a firm reprimand from Dusty’s father.

  “I know it, Mrs. Hunter,” Ryder mumbled as Dusty’s mama dabbed at his bleeding lip with a wet cloth. “I tried talkin’ to him. I did! But he just made me so darn mad that I—”

  “I understand, Ryder,” Elly said, smiling. “And, in reality, I should thank you for defendin’ us the way ya did.”

  “What did he say, Mama?” Dusty asked. Her curiosity burned so hot that she could hardly stand it.

  “Nothin’ that you’re old enough to be hearin’,” her mother told her.

  She knew that would be the end of it.

  It was obvious from Ryder’s behavior in town he still battled a temper easily provoked when someone was treated badly. She smiled, recognizing something else about him that hadn’t changed much in five years. Still, Ryder had taken her mother’s advice and worked on other ways of defending truth and right.

  As she left the chicken house, she headed toward the barn to put the eggs in the egg bin. She smiled, remembering the first time Ryder had tried something other than fighting and how well it had worked—that Fourth of July picnic when she’d been fourteen and worn the new dress her mother had made for her but never altered. Her mother hadn’t had time to alter the one flaw in the blue calico dress—the dress Dusty Hunter would never forget!

  The Fourth of July picnic almost five years ago—nope, Dusty would never forget that night! Yet as her mind began to travel back again, she stepped out of the barn hearing voices—voices that made her stop dead in her tracks. Stepping back into the barn, she hid in the darkness as Ryder, her father, and the other hands stood just outside talking.

  “Miss Dusty looked ’bout like she wanted to shrivel up and die today in town,” Ruff noted.

  “She don’t take to bein’ noticed,” her father told them. “And, boy, oh boy, did she get noticed today.”

  There was a low round of amused chuckles. Dusty was surprised when no indignant anger rose in her bosom as it usually did when she came across herself as the subject of conversation.

  “You old boys got Miss Dusty all wrong,” Ryder assured them. “She’s as much a girl as any female. And she wasn’t always wantin’ to stay unnoticed. Fact is, I think Becca probably learned mosta what she knows from her older sister. Ain’t that right, boss?”

  “I’d say you ’bout pegged it there, Ryder,” Hank chuckled.

  “What about that there Fourth of July picnic dance some years back, Ryder?” Feller offered.

  Dusty could not believe what she was overhearing! It was uncanny! She wasn’t sure at first that she’d heard correctly. Was Ryder actually about to tell the same story that had begun to bang around in her own mind? The picnic dance five years ago and the blue dress that hadn’t fit right?

  “There you go!” Ryder exclaimed.

  “I hope Dusty ain’t in earshot,” Hank chuckled.

  Dusty smiled at the irony.

  “Dusty was, what…fourteen? Was she fourteen yet, Feller?” Ryder asked.

  “More’n likely. I’d say she’d be that in order to be dancin’ with the older people and…uh…wearin’ a dress like that,” Feller confirmed.

  “Anyway,” Ryder continued, “Dusty was fourteen, and her mama had made her this new dress. Sky blue…ya know, Dusty insisted that it be blue and all. So her Mama makes her this dress—ya know when a girl’s fourteen and folks think they’re old enough for a party dress with no collar and such. And someh
ow the top part…ya know right here…”

  Dusty peeked around the corner to see Ryder indicate his chest, holding his hands out from his body where a woman’s bosom would be. She was mortified.

  “Somehow,” he continued, “that dress didn’t fit just right. It was a little…too big at the top here. And bein’ as Mrs. Hunter didn’t have time left to fix it, Dusty stuffed a couple a Mr. Hunter’s old handkerchiefs in there…ya know…to fill the dress out and all.”

  Dusty began blushing when she heard the low, amused chuckles of the hands, including Feller and her daddy—even though she knew the men were completely unaware of her. Try as she might to stop it at the memory of the tale, she felt a smile spread slowly across her face—like the warm embrace of an old friend.

  “I knew she’d done it when she come out to get in the wagon to leave that night. I knew she hadn’t popped out overnight like that,” Hank chuckled. “But what’s a daddy to say?”

  There was more chuckling from the group of men.

  “So we all meet in town for the Fourth. And life’s a-goin’ merrily along and all. Ya never saw a fourteen-year-old girl get so much attention from hands and boys in town! And I mean even without them hankies!” Ryder told them, chuckling again, only louder.

  “No doubt,” Feller added. “Fact was, Miss Dusty got more attention anyhow. She was quite the fine piece a pie…even at fourteen.”

  “Mighty fine for fourteen!” Ryder affirmed. “All day them hankies stayed put. Don’t ask me how…but they done it. All day…all through supper…and then the dance starts. Well, ’bout halfway through the dancin’,” he continued, “I look over, and I see little Miss Britches a-dancin’ with some cowboy…can’t remember who.”

  Ryder paused, and Feller offered, “Brown Morrow. It were that boy who worked over on the Maxwell place. ’Member?”

  “Oh, yeah, “Ryder agreed. “Dusty was a-waltzin’ away with ol’ Brown when I notice that he’s a-lookin’ down at her…at her…ya know…her…”

  “Bosom,” Hank finished.

  “Thank you. He’s a-lookin’ straight down at her…bosom…and I see that one of them hankies she tucked in there is a-givin’ her away…’cause it’s slippin’ up out the top of her dress, you see.”

  All the men burst into laughter. Dusty stifled her own giggle. It all seemed so clear. She could see it all over again—Brown Morrow looking down at her bosom, her father’s handkerchief slipping up and giving away the secret she’d tried to slide past everyone. The fact was, she’d stuffed the top of her dress in order to capture the attention of none other than Ryder Maddox. And capture it she had!

  “That’s terrible!” Ruff chuckled. “Poor thing. Havin’ her bosoms…or the lack of ’em revealed to everybody there.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. Good ol’ Prince Charmin’ here came to the rescue,” Hank assured them, nodding toward Ryder as Feller slapped him on the back proudly.

  “What’d you do, boy?” Guthrie asked.

  “Well…I couldn’t let Miss Britches lose her self-respect and good reputation there,” Ryder explained. “Imagine what would’ve been goin’ ’round town the rest of her entire life had Brown said something to her…or to anybody else.”

  “And so ya went at him, fists a-flyin’ and…” Titch coaxed.

  “Nope,” Ryder corrected. “I grabbed little Alice Maxwell there…and we waltz on over near to Brown and Dusty. I fake a sneeze and say to Dusty, ‘Hey there, Miss Hunter. You still got that hanky I gave ya to keep for me?’ ”

  All the hands and Dusty’s daddy burst into laughter.

  When they’d finally settled themselves again, Ryder continued, “So bein’ that Miss Britches is as smart as a whip…she reaches down the front of her dress and yanks me out a hanky or two. I let go another sneeze for good measure and blew my nose, then tucked the darn things in my pocket.”

  The hands hooted and hollered and laughed until they were complaining about their sides aching.

  Ruff sighed. “I can’t imagine it! Miss Dusty, a girl a fourteen and stuffin’ her dress to go to a social!”

  “Well, she don’t need no extra stuffin’ these days!” Titch said. “Ain’t that right, Ryder?”

  Ryder chuckled. “No, siree! She didn’t need much stuffin’ then neither.”

  “You hold on there. That’s my daughter you all are talkin’ about, boys,” Hank reprimanded teasingly. Then, wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes, he added, “That Dusty was a character all right. The things she used to get into!”

  Dusty didn’t hear the rest of their conversation. Her mind was lingering back on that night so long ago. There had been a lot more to that night than Ryder had told the hands—a lot he probably wasn’t even aware of. But she was. She remembered it all—how she’d panicked when she’d looked down to see why Brown Morrow was staring at her chest. What would she do? How could she possibly explain the handkerchiefs in her bodice without completely humiliating herself? Then Ryder had danced up with Alice and saved her life. She’d loved him all the more for being her hero that night. He was her hero all the time! She couldn’t even remember or begin to count all the times he’d saved her. But she did remember that he’d danced with her after her dance with Brown Morrow that night. She remembered the feel of dancing with him—the strength of his arms about her—his mischievous grin as he pulled the infamous handkerchiefs from his pocket, sniffling into them and teasing her.

  “You and me,” he’d whispered to her during their waltz, “we’re on far too intimate a terms now, ya know. Me a-usin’ your…hankies on my nose and all.”

  Dusty glared at him gratefully for a moment before smiling and whispering, “You saved my life, Ryder Maddox.”

  “Oh, I did, did I?” he had chuckled.

  Their dance had ended. Yet Dusty had waltzed with Ryder Maddox, and it had caused quite a stir among the other girls in town—the ones Dusty’s own age and the ones older who’d all been trying to catch his attention all night. Alice could gloat too—for though his reasons for dancing with her may have been a bit desperate, no one else knew it! So Ryder had made Dusty and Alice the girls to be jealous of that Fourth of July—and Dusty had reveled in it. Even now, she felt the same silly schoolgirl pride welling up within her at the memory.

  The men were settling their laughter now, and Hank sighed, “Well, let’s get these chores finished up, boys. Daylight’s gone, but it comes too early in the mornin’.”

  Dusty stayed in the barn for a while longer until she was certain everyone was gone and wouldn’t see her coming out of the barn. It had been fun overhearing the conversation. It had taken her back in time to when things in life weren’t so serious—when her heart was young and untainted and hopeful—when she’d still been that impetuous, wild girl always finding herself in a fix.

  Finally, Dusty figured the hands and her daddy were busy enough not to notice her leaving the barn, and she started back toward the house. The sky was so clear that night. It seemed as if every star twinkled far more brightly than usual. Dusty paused and looked toward the north. The air was still warm, even though the sun had been down for a while, and Dusty inhaled deeply. Even for the cooler temperature of the evening, it was hot. A swim would be nice, she thought to herself. Yet she was weary from the trip into town and the events there. So, with a heavy sigh, she resolved to simply retire for the night. Turning back toward the house, she nearly ran headlong into Ryder, however. He had obviously been standing directly behind her. For how long, she could only wonder.

  “Excuse me,” she mumbled. Her heart had begun to pound furiously at the sight of him. She felt the need to escape at once. Had he seen her leave the barn? Had he figured she’d been there during the conversation he’d had with the other men?

  “Hey there,” he said, quickly reaching out and taking her arm. “Why don’t you and me go for a little walk, Miss Dusty?”

  Dusty clenched her teeth tightly together—conflicting emotions of elation at his invitation and trepidation as to
the reason for it battling within her. She wanted to snap back at him a defensive, Why? and erect the wall of stone between her heart and the fabulous man—but she didn’t. For some reason, she simply took a deep breath, turned, and began walking beside him—listening to the way the handle of the unlit lantern he carried squeaked rhythmically with his stride.

  “Sorry if I seemed a little…grouchy today in town. Just let my temper get the better of me,” he began in a mumbly sort of manner. “Never did ask ya if you were all right. Them fellas upset you too bad?”

  Dusty could only shake her head, affirming the men hadn’t done permanent damage to her. Why couldn’t she talk? she wondered. It was as if her voice were lost to her. She could only walk beside him, as she’d done all those years ago—listening to his voice—hanging on his every word as if it were the very nectar of life.

  They walked in silence for a while, until the light of the house was dim in the distance. Ryder stopped and drew a match from his pocket, running it quickly along his pant leg. The match ignited, and he lit the lantern. Setting it at their feet, he turned to face Dusty. Looking down at her—an expression of concern on his handsome face—he asked, “Do you have somethin’ ya wanna say to me?”

  Yes! Dusty’s mind shouted. Yes! Thank you for coming to my rescue today! Thank you for being born so beautiful and perfect! Thank you for coming back to my father’s ranch so that I could have you near me again! Yet the words actually escaping her lips surprised her.

  “Why did you leave?” Dusty knew she didn’t have to explain to him what she meant. He knew what she meant—rather, when she meant. Even though it was unspoken, he knew it.

  Ryder paused for a moment, looking away from her, shrugging his shoulders. He didn’t try to avoid an answer—didn’t even seem surprised that particular question was the one she asked.

  “I guess…guess ’cause I started thinkin’ that maybe I was some sorta twisted…I started thinkin’ somethin’ was wrong with me,” he stated finally.

  “What?” Dusty exclaimed in a whisper. The question, in her mind, had been simple enough to deserve a serious answer. Was he teasing her? “What kind of an answer is that?” she asked him.