Dusty Britches

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  Becca paused for a moment—bit her lip as if considering whether she could say any more. Then quietly she spoke, “Pretend that I’m in love, Dusty.” Dusty felt her heart begin to ache for her sister—for something in her knew Becca was not pretending but spoke the truth. “Not in love like—like a crush…really in love. I’ve been in love for a long time…and I’ve had to hide it away.”

  “With who?” Dusty asked in a whisper.

  “Pretend I’m not ready to tell ya who yet. But I am in love,” Becca admitted, tears filling her eyes. “But pretend you’re able to tell me anything. Do you love someone, Dusty?”

  Dusty paused. She nearly began to build up the internal stone wall—the one preventing anyone from getting too close to her. Yet would she go forward instead, try to find herself again—the self she and everyone else had been happy to know? Or would she remain a selfish, hurt, emotional hermit heaping discomfort and pain on everyone around her? In an instant, she’d made her decision, the decision that had to be made—the right decision.

  “Yes,” Dusty cried in a whisper. Tears burst from her eyes, and she buried her face in her hands for a moment. Sniffling hard, she looked back to Becca, tears streaming down her face as well. Still, it was all she could confess.

  “I have dreams, ya know,” Becca offered. She closed her eyes for a moment, tears trickling over her lovely cheeks like tiny rivulets of emotion. “Someday, he’ll walk up to me, take me in his arms, and tell me that he loves me…that he can’t live another day without me. He’ll kiss me, and his kiss will be the most wonderful thing in the world! And then…then I’ll be able to kiss him whenever I want to…to be held by him, talk with him, laugh with him, and—”

  “You will,” Dusty told her softly. “Does…does he love you yet?”

  Becca sobbed for a moment, trying to do so quietly. She simply shook her head. “No. No, he…he doesn’t even notice me.”

  “That can’t be true, Becca,” Dusty argued. “He has to notice you. Everyone notices you.”

  “He notices me, I’m sure…whenever I do something silly. But not—not like I notice him.”

  “But, Becca—” Dusty began.

  “It’s Ryder you love, Dusty,” Becca interrupted. “It’s always been Ryder.”

  Dusty knew Becca did not want to dwell on her own pain anymore. Here was the test. Could she confide in her sister the way she used to? Could she find the courage and the humility to do so?

  “I do love him, Becca,” she answered in a sobbing whisper. Still, when she saw the delight and hope in Becca’s eyes, she hurried on. “But only wait. He…he doesn’t like who I’ve become. He…I think he’s lived a lot of life since he left here and…and…”

  “Has he spoken to you about…about when he left before? Does he know how much it hurt you?” Becca interrupted.

  Dusty nodded. “Oh, he knows. He feels, or at least felt, a heavy guilt about it. But…but I never stopped loving him, Becca!”

  “I know,” Becca said, tears still streaming down her face. “I never understood why you accepted Cash when you had never given up Ryder in your heart.”

  “What else could I have done? I knew Ryder could never come back…though I watched for him every day. Every time I watched a new cowboy ride in each fall or spring, I prayed it would be Ryder.”

  “Why did ya stop?” Becca cried out.

  “I…I don’t know exactly,” Dusty admitted. “I used to dream he’d come riding in…arrive just as Cash and I were exchangin’ vows and carry me off into the sunset. I don’t think I ever stopped watchin’ for him…prayin’ he would come back someday, wishin’ he would remember me as more than a little girl he once owned affection for a long time ago.”

  Becca smiled through her tears. Reaching out, she took Dusty’s hands in her own. “But don’t ya see, Dusty?” she whispered. “He did come back.”

  “But I gave up, Becca. The day I found Cash with that girl,” Dusty confessed, only just realizing it herself. “I gave up that day—on Ryder, on love, on dreams. That was my heartbreak…givin’ up the dream of Ryder.” She sighed, looking through the waterfall and into the sky. “I still caught myself lookin’ to the horizon most days…more out of habit than anything else. And I realized…I didn’t really care that I wasn’t marryin’ Cash. I had never really wanted to in the first place. I just kept thinkin’ my dreams would actually come true.”

  “But he’s back now,” Becca reminded her. “He’s back. He’s still not married, and he’s here!”

  “And he’s beautiful, and he’s still a dream,” Dusty told her. “He would never want what I’ve become.”

  “He wants you,” Becca assured her. “He would never have come back here if he didn’t. Think about it. You’re still you, Dusty! The part of you that makes ya you is still there inside! This hard, ol’, crusty shell will melt away easily enough if you let it. You can have him. I know ya can!”

  Dusty glanced around the alcove—at the warm sun shining through the water and lighting the shadows for them. “He kissed me here, ya know,” she whispered.

  Becca gasped. “When?”

  “The day of the fight in town. He said he was sorry for breakin’ my heart all those years ago…and he kissed me. He said we needed to close that old book. He ended it. He doesn’t want me, Becca. He needed to know he could be forgiven for somethin’ he shouldn’t even feel guilty about.”

  Becca was silent for a moment before commenting, “He closed that old book, Dusty. What about the new one? Do ya really think he’d be here now if there wasn’t a first page to a new book?”

  Dusty smiled. Reaching out, she cupped Becca’s face lovingly in her hand. “Who’s this man who’s stolen your heart, Becca?”

  Becca’s eyes were filled with moisture again. “A wonderful man who deserves as much happiness as life can bring. A wonderful man who I’ve loved as long as I can remember…just like you.” Dusty knew Becca didn’t want to say his name—knew she was frightened that in saying the name of the man she loved, he might be lost to her forever somehow. “Remember who I’ve always loved, Dusty?”

  There had to be no more than that. With a smile and a nod of encouragement, Dusty leaned back against the alcove wall. “Let’s listen to the water, Becca,” she whispered. “Can ya hear that…the locust in the trees…and the calves a-bawlin’ in the corral?”

  Becca closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall too. “I can.”

  

  In three weeks time, the fourth day of July dawned bright, hot, and filled with excitement. Becca had been buzzing around in a bee-frenzy for two days prior to its arrival. A glimmer of the excitement even spilled over onto Dusty—something akin to the way she used to feel in years so long gone by.

  In the days since Ryder had made his peace with her, in the days since she’d opened the door to healing her relationship with her sister, Dusty had changed. Not completely, for she still battled fear. The ever-present fear of heartache and disappointment still wound itself around her heart. Yet she had begun to change. She found herself smiling during the course of any given day—found herself viewing Becca in a more understanding and sympathetic light. Dusty now saw Becca as an ally—someone who was frightened and hurt herself instead of the naive, innocent, perpetually blissful antagonist she’d come to think her to be.

  As for Ryder—Dusty’s heart hammered all the more whenever he was near. Her body tingled at the brush of his arm or the sight of his mischievous grin. Now she had something else to motivate her: hope. Becca’s assurances the night at the waterfall had spurred her on—as did the memory of Ryder’s kiss. Surely a man could not kiss a woman in such a manner if he did not feel something besides mere friendship toward her.

  And there it began. In the days leading up to the picnic, the smallest, tiniest pearl of hope bloomed in Dusty Hunter’s soul. Perhaps—just maybe—if she could find the self she lost so long ago, maybe Ryder would…it was only a maybe. Still, it was enough to give her cause to want to try. So
she had. She had tried. In trying, she found that indeed it was easier to be kind than continually cross—that a smile did feel better on her face than a frown—that having Ryder there, whether his heart belonged to her or not, was better than when he had not been there. So it was Dusty found herself looking forward to the picnic instead of dreading it.

  Becca was near to exploding with excitement. Sitting between Dusty and her father on the buckboard, she reached over and squeezed Dusty’s arm. “I love the Fourth picnic!” she squealed. “All day long, from mornin’ ’til midnight! I love it!”

  Dusty, for all her trying to remain calm in appearance, couldn’t help but smile. She’d been infected with a bit of Becca’s contagious delirium. After all, she had always loved the Fourth of July picnic too. Everyone left their ranches and farms and shops in town, even all the hands and cowboys about. Everyone headed out to old man Leroy’s enormous, ancient barn. Abandoned but in good repair, it stood in the middle of what was once a cornfield. Old man Leroy was too old to farm anymore. Both his sons had been killed in the war, and he’d sold off some of his land to another farmer. Yet the house, most of the pastures and fields, and the old barn were still his. Ancient trees extended quite a ways out from the north side of the barn, providing shade so desperately needed for the elderly folks and babies during the heat of the summer day.

  Everyone in the county attended, bringing ham, chickens, turkey, beef, pies, cakes and cookies, butter and breads, potatoes, and greens—all manner of delicious food. There were tables and tables laden with good things to eat, stretching out the entire length of the barn. The barn itself was always decorated with pretty paper ribbons. Lanterns were hung here and there or set about in order to provide light for the dancing, which would begin in the early evening and continue until the fireworks were ignited in the field at about ten o’clock. It was indeed the most wonderful day spent outside all year long! Dusty felt the warm bubble of excitement well up in her bosom—threaten to burst from her and win over her indifference of the past few years.

  She glanced over her shoulder. Feller and Ryder rode side by side, followed by the other ranch hands. Ryder winked at her and smiled. She turned away quickly, angry at the heated blush rising to her cheeks.

  It had been during the Fourth of July picnic five years ago—the day Ryder had saved her reputation by asking for the hanky peeking out of the bodice of her dress. Still, she smiled at the memory—wondered if he too were thinking about that incident.

  Becca glanced back at the riders for a moment as well. She leaned over to Dusty and whispered, “Doesn’t Feller look just adorable today?”

  Dusty couldn’t help but smile. She quirked an eyebrow and asked, “Adorable?” She’d never imagined Feller Lance as being adorable. Still, it was true. Oftentimes—now that she contemplated it—Feller could indeed appear adorable.

  “Adorable!” Becca repeated with excitement.

  Dusty sighed, relieved to be leaving the ranch and responsibility behind for a day. Today she would try—truly make the grandest effort ever to enjoy herself—to fend off the feelings of annoyance and hatred that usually were her safeguard. Today she would try again to be the Dusty Hunter she was born to be.

  Hank Hunter tied the team to a post under one of the big trees and helped Becca and Dusty down. The ranch hands chuckled and mumbled with rare excitement as they too secured their horses. Dusty realized just how thoroughly everyone needed a break from the arduous labor of the ranch.

  “Come on, girls,” Hank Hunter chuckled. He crooked both his arms, inviting his daughters to be escorted. “I can smell Miss Raynetta’s rhubarb pie from here!”

  They fell into step behind the ranch hands all shined up in their best blue jeans and cleanest shirts. Dusty gasped quietly when she realized she was intently watching Ryder’s saunter in front of her. Alice’s words about his pants fitting nicely echoed through her mind, and she knew her cheeks were rosy. She heard Becca giggle and looked to see her sister bite her lip with understanding. She raised her eyebrows in delighted approval. Dusty shook her head to cool her blush, smiling as her attention was drawn to the eccentric woman walking toward them—her own familiar little wiggle and brilliant purple dress further endearing Miss Raynetta to anyone already admiring her.

  “You look like somethin’ that just walked out of a fairy tale, Miss Raynetta,” Ryder greeted.

  Miss Raynetta stopped, placing her hands on her hips. She tipped her head to one side, smiled, and offered him a flirtatious wink in return. “You’ll go places with talk like that, Ryder,” she said. Reaching out, she took hold of his shirt collar and pulled him toward her, placing her cheek to his for a moment in thanks for the compliment. In the next moment, her attention turned to Dusty. “I love it! I love it, I love it! I told ya it would become ya, didn’t I now?” she chimed, taking Dusty’s hands in her own and studying the dress she’d made—and the girl in it. “And you’re wearin’ your hair down these days,” she commented. Leaning toward Dusty, she whispered in her ear, “Men like it when they can get to your hair and run their fingers through it.”

  “Miss Raynetta,” Dusty scolded.

  Turning her attention to Becca, Raynetta exclaimed, “And look at you! I never saw cream butter as soft as that yella!” She sighed, dramatically placing a hand to her bosom. “Only other woman that could wear that soft yella was your mama, child!” She looked to Hank, and Dusty was sure her voice broke with restrained emotion as she said, “Beautiful girls, Hank! Just beautiful!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Hank agreed, releasing his girls and offering his arm to Miss Raynetta.

  Dusty was pleased with the woman’s reaction to her father’s offer of escort. Miss Raynetta blushed. She put her hand to her own cheek with obvious delight a moment before placing one small hand in the crook of Hank’s arm.

  “I’m hopin’ for that rhubarb pie of yours, Miss Raynetta,” Hank chuckled.

  “I only brung three this year, Hank…so ya better be quick about it,” Miss Raynetta giggled.

  “Becca! Dusty!”

  Maudie Phillips was quickly approaching, and Dusty sighed. “Oh, help us all,” she mumbled.

  Jabbing an elbow at her rib cage, Becca whispered, “Hush, Dusty! She’ll be gone soon enough. She just has to act like she’s glad to see us so she can move on.”

  “You look like two angels a-standin’ there,” Maudie chirped as she approached. Dusty recognized the all too familiar syrupy tone in her voice—a tone that really meant, I can’t abide it when someone might look good enough to take any man’s attention away from me!

  “And blue has always been your best color,” Dusty said, forcing a smile. It was an honest compliment. Blue had always looked good on Maudie—dang it all!

  “Well, with that Ryder Maddox back workin’ for your daddy,” Maudie began, dropping her voice, “I’m determined to catch his eye today!”

  “Well, that blue should do it,” Becca said. Smiling, she took hold of Dusty’s hand, pulling her in the direction of the tables.

  “Have fun, girls,” Maudie called after them. Dusty frowned as she watched Maudie toss her golden locks as she turned.

  “She makes me wanta smash her face in a cowpie!” Becca growled.

  It was then Dusty remembered that, for the past several years, Maudie had been sweet on Feller Lance. Maudie followed him around mercilessly at every town social there was. Dusty figured Becca’s irritation with Maudie was more in regard to Feller than to the fact she’d revealed she’d set her sights on Ryder.

  As they approached the crowd gathered outside the barn and around the tables, old Leroy swaggered toward them.

  “My, my, my,” he mumbled through his gums—he only had six teeth left in his head. “If you Hunter girls ain’t just about ripe for the pickin’s!”

  “Mr. Leroy,” Dusty greeted. She was determined to overlook the rather inappropriate comment. It could be construed as lewd—if it hadn’t been for the fact Mr. Leroy had been known as a man without tact for ove
r fifty years. “Thank you for having us out.”

  “My pleasure, girls!” He winked at Becca and then hollered, “Hank!” Old Leroy offered his hand to Hank in greeting. “I was just tellin’ your girls here…”

  Becca and Dusty took the opportunity to escape the sweet old man’s ramblings. With old Leroy involved in conversation with their father, they were quickly off in search of other entertainment.

  “Lookie there, Dusty!” Becca exclaimed. She nodded toward a large oak tree nearby. A group of women were gathered beneath it. “They’re quiltin’ under the big tree. Who’s it for? Have you heard?”

  Dusty shook her head. She hadn’t heard of anyone in town announcing a marriage. Usually a bee under the big oaks at the Fourth picnic was held to quilt for a young bride-to-be.

  “Oh my heck!” Becca exclaimed, nodding in another direction. “Look at that! Maudie’s all over Ryder…just like butter on bread! How can you stand there and let her go on, Dusty?”

  “What can I do?” Dusty asked. What right did she have to be jealous? What could she do to acquire Ryder’s attention—without looking as silly as Maudie did hovering over him like a fly to maple syrup?

  “You can go over there and join in the conversation for one!” Becca told her, irritated at her sister’s lack of fighting spirit. “He’ll turn to you in a second! And probably be forever in your debt for savin’ him from a fate worse than death…that being Miss Maudie Phillips!”

  Dusty was silent. All she could do was watch Maudie flirting with Ryder—feel helpless, frightened, and angry enough to claw the girl’s eyes out.

  It was Cash who interrupted her thoughts.

  “Excuse me…Dusty?” he asked.

  Dusty turned to find Cash standing just behind her. He owned the same demeanor as a whipped dog. She sighed, recognizing his expression at once. It was the, I’m so humble in asking your forgiveness look in his eyes.