Dusty Britches

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  “You know I’d love it,” she told him, linking her arm through his.

  He led her to the floor, joining the others in the reel. Dusty thought, I’d forgotten how much fun it could be. As the dancers wove in and out, Dusty was delighted when Feller smiled at her and winked, obviously enjoying himself. Ryder too was there and winked as they passed. Miss Raynetta was his partner and was obviously delighted with his company.

  The dancing continued for nearly two hours. Dusty found herself dancing with Cash, and not a harsh word or irritation rose within her. She danced with Feller and all the other hands including Ryder, though he never asked her to dance a waltz. It disappointed her that he never asked her during a slower, more intimate dance. He waltzed a great deal with Miss Raynetta and several of the elderly ladies in the county. Dusty watched, amazed when she realized this handsome bachelor—the man all the girls so obviously mooned after—saved his waltzes for those who needed the most attention. It was another testament to his good character.

  “Are ya havin’ fun, Dust?” Becca asked, smiling as she stood next to Dusty watching the others dance.

  “Of course,” Dusty assured her.

  “No. I mean, really.” Becca was uncertain of the truthfulness of Dusty’s answer. And why shouldn’t she be? For the past two Fourth of July picnics, Dusty had spent most of her time sitting in the wagon or working on the quilts outside—in no way involved with the socializing and dancing.

  “I’m truly having fun, Beck,” Dusty told her. There were hard moments she didn’t mention to her sister. For example, every time Ryder led a woman other than herself to dance, whether young or old. Still, she wouldn’t spoil her sister’s good spirits.

  All of a sudden, there arose a hollering and whooping. Becca and Dusty whirled about to join the others in looking toward the dance floor.

  “Oh, Dusty! Remember?” Becca squealed as she began clapping her hands in time to the music. Ryder and Feller began a stomp. They were astoundingly agile! Dusty too laughed as she remembered the two men entertaining her family long ago at the ranch with their stomp routines. Becca squealed with delight in unison with several other females as Ryder and Feller ignited the crowd’s admiration by leaping into the air. Dropping smoothly to the floor to balance, stretched out, on their hands and toes, they pushed to their feet and continued with very impressive, fancy, masculinely awkward footwork.

  Dusty was completely mesmerized by the smiles emblazoned on the men’s faces. She was so intent on watching them, listening to the rhythmic stomping of a barn full of boots, that she didn’t hear a fiddler shout, “ ‘Turkey in the Straw,’ boys! Give us that one!”

  Feller and Ryder stopped dancing as the familiar tune began. Bent over and resting their hands on their knees, they panted and shook their heads. Feller waved off the pleas of the fiddlers, but when the crowd roared with approval, moving aside to clear a path between Feller and Ryder, Becca and Dusty, Becca took Dusty’s hand and pulled her toward them.

  “Oh, no!” Dusty breathed.

  “Oh, come on, Dusty!” Becca pleaded. “Remember what fun it was?”

  “No, I can’t!” Dusty breathed, horrified at what was happening—frightened into planting her feet firmly where she stopped. No sooner had Becca turned to her—her bright eyes pleading with desperation, filled with disappointment—than Feller and Ryder were upon them.

  Becca squealed as Feller took her hand and pulled her to the center of the room where the crowd now cheered. Ryder reached out and took Dusty’s hand.

  “I can’t—I can’t remember,” she stammered. She was lying, of course—looking for any reason to avoid being involved.

  Ryder quirked a suspicious eyebrow and grinned down at her. “Come on now! It’ll be fun!”

  “Get that girl a-twirlin’!” the lead fiddler shouted.

  Before Dusty knew his intent, Ryder pulled her arm over his head and hoisted her onto his shoulder. He carried her to where Feller and Becca waited, the crowd cheering them on all the while. He dropped her to her feet next to Feller and Becca. Dusty knew it was either perform or be eternally humiliated before every soul in the county.

  “I’m not fourteen years old anymore, Ryder!” she scolded.

  Still breathing hard from the jig, he smiled, taking her left hand in his right and saying, “And I ain’t twenty!”

  The lead fiddler drew his bow slowly over the strings twice. Speeding up the tempo with the following four singular notes, he and the other fiddlers burst into a rousing rendition of “Turkey in the Straw.” Dusty hitched up her skirts and petticoats with her free hand. She felt as if something other than her own consciousness seemed to be telling her feet what to do. Indeed, she was matching Ryder step for step—just as she had as a young girl around the fire pit years ago. She glanced over to see Becca looking at her—delirious with exhilaration. Dusty couldn’t help but smile. The crowd clapped out the beat of the tune, men hollered, and women squealed with encouragement as the two couples performed a series of quick turns and steps—just as they had years before on the same occasion.

  I’ll never remember it, Dusty thought as Ryder passed her to Feller, taking Becca in hand. “I can’t keep this up!” Dusty panted as Feller took her waist and turned her around, pushing her out in front of him as the next series of quick clogging steps began.

  His only response was a loud, “Ye-ha!” as she and Becca matched steps.

  Ryder and Feller would change places behind them, she knew—and when she turned around it was Ryder who put his arm around her waist. Becca was now on her other side and Feller at the far end. They all four stomped out a beat on the barn floor while the music stopped for a moment to emphasize their steps. Boom—boom—boom ba ba boom! Ba ba boom—boom—boom ba ba boom! Dusty thought in her head as the sound echoed in her ears several times before the fiddlers joined in with the final chorus of the song. Ryder twirled Dusty under his arm, rotating himself as he did so, dropping to one knee, and pulling her to sit on his other knee as the music ended. The crowd erupted into shouts, whistles, and compliments. Dusty saw Ryder smiling at her as he brushed a bead of perspiration from his forehead.

  “See?” he panted. “Ya didn’t miss a step.”

  Dusty knew her cheeks too were glistening with extra moisture. Still, she returned the smile as he took her hand and helped her to stand. The feel of his hand gripping hers was so beloved—so familiar—it made her uncomfortable, and she needed to look away. Her gaze fell to Feller. She heard Becca squeal with delight and then throw her arms around his neck—as was her manner when someone pleased her. Dusty noted the way Feller’s face paled—the way his hands did not linger a moment too long at her waist. Was it true? she wondered then. Could it be that Feller still saw Becca as no more than the boss’s little daughter? Dusty’s heart ached for Becca as she obviously sensed Feller’s discomfort. Her arms fell away from him; a humiliated blush tinted her already rosy cheeks. Dusty and Becca had each hugged Feller enough times to know he was more than a bit uncomfortable in showing affection. Yet apparently having it flung on him in front of everyone in the county was nearly more than he could bear. Or was there some other reason? If there was, Dusty was unable to discern it just then.

  Dusty felt Ryder drop her hand. He strode past her and directly to Becca, taking her in waltz position as the fiddlers began again. It was in that moment Dusty remembered why she’d decided to close herself off. What was the end result of fun and pleasure, the end result of falling in love? The heartache on her sister’s face reminded her. Yet something again plucked a chord of gladness in her at Ryder’s recognizing Becca’s need to be rescued. He also leaned over and whispered something to Feller; both men’s smiles faded. Still, when Ryder looked back to sweet Rebecca, a friendly grin spread across his face.

  Dusty followed Feller toward the barn door leading outside. Before he could entirely flee, she caught hold of his sleeve. He turned to face her, his expression that of stone.

  Yet she ventured, “I’d forgotte
n how fun that is.”

  “Yep,” Feller mumbled. She saw his eyes glance up and toward the dance floor—to Ryder and Becca. “But I’m gettin’ too old for this kind of horse sh—manure,” he growled.

  “That’s a barrel of bull, Feller,” Dusty reprimanded. “I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re poutin’, and I’m—”

  “I ain’t poutin’, Dusty,” he interrupted, irritated.

  “You’re poutin’!” Dusty stated. “And if you were me…you’d be tellin’ me to buck up and quit feelin’ sorry for myself.”

  Dusty could see Feller’s jaw clenching and unclenching with frustration. Still, he nodded and simply walked a ways away. He leaned back against one wall, watching the waltzing couples gathered in the center of the room.

  Dusty turned her attention to the waltzing couples too. She smiled at Ryder and Becca together. Yet the little imp of jealousy that resides in every female heart plucked at her brain.

  “That was simply astoundin’!” Miss Raynetta sang as she floated toward Dusty, her brilliant purple dress glowing in the lamplight, a black ribbon with a cameo hanging about her throat. “I can’t believe you children still remember them dances you all used to do together!”

  “I wasn’t sure I would,” Dusty confessed. “It’s been so long!”

  “Hasn’t been all that long in the way of things, sweetheart.”

  “Maybe not,” Dusty admitted.

  “And,” Miss Raynetta dropped her voice to a whisper, “you know…I’ve always wanted a man to throw me over his shoulders like a sack of flour the way Ryder done you!” Dusty stared at the woman, her mouth again agape with astonishment. “Well, it’s the truth of it, pumpkin!” Miss Raynetta affirmed.

  They were silent for a moment, but only a moment, before Miss Raynetta led Dusty closer to the barn door—and privacy. There she continued with her predictable yet charming chatter.

  “Mind a little advice from a voice of experience?” Miss Raynetta asked.

  Dusty sighed. Still, she smiled at the woman. “I suppose you’re gonna give it to me no matter what. Right, Miss Raynetta?”

  “Don’t waste your life. I seen your eyes light up when that Ryder Maddox walks through a door.”

  “What? That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever—” Dusty began to argue.

  “Now, don’t give me that. I can see it. That don’t mean everybody can. What I’m tryin’ to say is don’t let havin’ your pride hurt and your heart broken strip ya of your life’s happiness with a good, lovin’ man, babies runnin’ around, and all the joy they bring ya.” Miss Raynetta smiled with an expression of incredible understanding. Dusty was astonished as she continued, “Believe me, honey…you’re talkin’ to somebody who knows what a waste it is.”

  Dusty stood silent—simply stared at the woman in wonder. She looked to the dance floor where Ryder and Becca had finished their waltz and now stood applauding the musicians.

  “And wipe that thinkin’ out of your mind. There ain’t nothin’ to be jealous of where your sister is concerned.”

  “I wasn’t thinkin’ that at all,” Dusty began to argue. “I was—”

  “Oh, yes, ya were. Any excuse to harden your heart against that cowboy. You’re lookin’ for any reason ya can to convince yourself ya don’t want him,” Miss Raynetta said.

  “I don’t want him! I…” Dusty insisted.

  “Yes, ya do.” Miss Raynetta’s eyes misted. Her expression fought the natural frown accompanying tears as her chin quivered. “And don’t give up. Once you’re able to draw yourself outta that hole you’ve dug…don’t let him go.”

  Dusty cast her gaze down for a moment, greatly unsettled by the normally jolly woman’s obvious despair.

  “I loved a cowboy once myself, Angelina,” Miss Raynetta whispered. Dusty saw tears trickling down Miss Raynetta’s lovely face—accompanied by a sad, sentimental smile. The sweet woman daintily brushed at the tears. “I was young…too young for him, I thought. I figured if I confessed to him how I felt, I’d just have to listen to him tell me what I already knew. But now…I’ve lived twenty years of my life wonderin’ what would’ve happened if I’d have told him how I felt. He was a kind man. He wouldn’t have made fun of me—I know it. Though I know it probably wouldn’t have changed anything, because he really loved the girl he married, still…I shoulda tried.”

  Dusty felt tears escape her own eyes. She quickly brushed them from her cheeks as the woman continued, “So…I never married. I couldn’t get that man outta my soul. Because, ya see, Dusty…whether or not he loved the girl he married…I never found anybody that I could love like I loved him.” Miss Raynetta discreetly pulled a handkerchief from inside the bosom of her dress and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Sniffling and forcing a smile, she continued, “So you tell that boy how you feel. ’Cause ya ain’t a little girl no more. You can love him legal and all you want. Don’t drive him away and ruin your life.” She paused and embraced Dusty warmly for a long moment. “You hang onto that man come hell or high water. You hear me?”

  Dusty could only fight her tears. Her heart was pounding furiously. How could she? How could she overcome what even Miss Raynetta McCarthy hadn’t been able to overcome? How could she confess her feelings to the man she so desperately loved?

  “Now, I’m gonna go on over and freshen up that punch bowl,” Miss Raynetta said, puffing up the sleeves of her royal-plum dress. “You run out and find that boy and give him a reason to hang around. You hear me?”

  As Miss Raynetta turned to leave, Dusty asked, “Miss Raynetta?” The woman turned and looked at Dusty. “What…whatever happened to that cowboy you loved?”

  Again heavy moisture filled the woman’s eyes. Her forced smile faded, and she did not answer directly. She seemed to be deciding whether she should explain. Then she forced a smile somehow; another tear traveled down her cheek.

  “He married the girl he loved, and she made him very happy. One horrible, sad day, she passed on without him. She was too young to die…far too young. But together they’d had a wonderful life.” She paused, moved back to Dusty, and whispered in her ear, “And two beautiful little girls…named Angelina and Rebecca.” Then she turned and hurried from the barn.

  “Daddy?” Dusty spoke unconsciously in a whisper. Her own daddy was the cowboy Miss Raynetta had loved as a girl?

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Dusty,” Feller said, stepping up from behind her.

  Instantly Dusty turned to face him, accusing, “You never told me it was Daddy that Miss Raynetta…”

  Feller looked shaken and angry. “Wasn’t my place to tell you,” he nearly snapped back. “I probably shouldn’ta told you nothin’ at all about it!” He started to turn to leave. Dusty reached out, took hold of his arm, and stopped him—though his expression was of anger and secreted guilt.

  “Please don’t be angry with me, Feller,” Dusty begged. “I had no right to scold you before. As far as Miss Raynetta is concerned…it was just such a surprise! I didn’t know. I never even suspected!”

  “People don’t want everybody to know when they’re hurtin’, darlin’,” he told her purposefully. “Ain’t that right?”

  Then something else occurred to Dusty. This man, her daddy’s top hand—how often had she seen him courting a girl in recent years? She could remember several years ago when Feller had been quite the attraction to all the women in town. In fact, he’d been out nearly every Saturday night when she was younger. Yet about the time everything with Cash came crumbling down, he’d quit. She couldn’t think of one solitary Saturday night in recent years when Feller had gone to town by himself. Always it was with the family to the town socials. He hadn’t courted a girl in years. Dusty closed her eyes as tears threatened to stream down her face. How selfish she’d been—how completely wrapped up in self-pity! She hadn’t sensed Miss Raynetta’s pain or Feller’s or Becca’s or anyone else’s for that matter. Had she been so blind as all that? Did Feller actually care for Becca deeply? Had
he cared for her deeply for two long years? Perhaps waiting for her to grow up—to be old enough to have? Why then didn’t he reach out and take what was standing so willing and ready before him? Was there more to Feller Lance’s profound, insightful understanding of Dusty’s broken heart? Was it wisdom borne of experience? And was that what kept him from Becca?

  “Have you ever been hurt, Feller?” she whispered.

  “All the time. Got bucked off’n ol’ Red just last week, and my tailbone is still achin’,” he mumbled.

  “No,” Dusty interrupted, irritated. “You know what I mean.”

  Feller looked up to where folks were beginning to dance to another tune. “Like I said, people don’t want folks knowin’ ’bout their heartaches.” He exhaled a heavy sigh and forced a smile. “You better swaller them tears, Dusty. Here comes your sister.”

  “Oh, Dusty!” Becca exclaimed, arriving on the arm of Ryder. “You’ve just gotta go dancin’! How can you and Feller just stand here, stiff as posts, when the music is goin’?” she asked.

  “Well, Becca,” Dusty began in her older-sister-who-knows-everything tone, “there’s some things that…” But when Feller jabbed her in the rib cage, quite uncharacteristically, she stopped talking and looked to him, astonished.

  “Some ol’ cowboy has to ask you in order for you to go dancin’,” Feller answered Becca. “Ain’t that right, Ryder?”

  Dusty looked to Ryder when he chuckled—the mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Dang right. Would you like to do me the honor, Miss Britches?” he asked Dusty.

  Dusty felt sick and nervous inside—elated and enraptured at the same time. Why was this affecting her so? Hadn’t she just danced with him several tunes before? Taking his arm, for she was determined to change—to find the Dusty that used to be—she allowed him to lead her to the floor.

  “Grab that girl and come on, Feller,” Ryder called over his shoulder.

  It was a waltz. Of course it would be a waltz—considering Dusty was already thinking she might faint. Her nerves made breathing difficult. Her knees were trembling something fierce. When Ryder put a hand at her waist, lifted one of her hands to his shoulder, and took her other in his own, she noted how violently her hands were trembling.