Dusty Britches

by McClure, Marcia Lynn

  “What do you think you’re doin’, girl?” he growled at her.

  “Protecting myself,” she spat at him.

  Feller shook his head, his jaw tight with withheld anger. “You know…I almost thought you’d given up that selfish way you found a few years back. I was startin’ to hope in ya. But now…now you’ve gone and let the devil win, Dusty. It ain’t God a-tellin’ you to turn that man away!”

  Dusty couldn’t stop the tears, and they streamed freely down her face. Still, she remained strong—strong, indignant, and hateful. “And who’s tellin’ you, Feller? Who’s tellin’ you to bury your heart from Becca?”

  She saw the fire leap to his eyes. For all the hard feelings she was trying to brandish, she felt guilty and disgusted with herself for hurting him. Still, he only shook his head and said, “You worry about yourself, little girl…’fore you start gettin’ so big for your britches as to be tellin’ me what to do!” Turning from her, he strode away.

  After watching him go, Dusty glanced up to see Becca looking at her from the kitchen window. Who did they all think they were? She’d tried to dig out of the grave of heartbreak she’d buried herself in. She had! She thought she could! But to dig out only to be murdered again? And yet her inner voice broke through the door to her heart and screamed at her, You selfish coward! You’ve lost your mind as well as your heart! Dusty knew then she deserved heartache. She deserved loneliness. She wasn’t like Miss Raynetta, who’d remained a good person having lost her only love—for Miss Raynetta had no choice, but Dusty had. And she’d pushed it away. Looking in the direction Ryder had ridden, she secretly wished, Please let him leave before I have to see him with someone else. Having to watch Ryder rain his affections on another woman—that truly would take her life.

  Chapter Twelve

  Days passed. The tension between Dusty and Ryder grew for a time, yet it was Ryder who seemed to settle down first. His smile returned, and Dusty fancied he hadn’t cared for her so much after all. He seemed to be faring far better than her tear-saturated pillow was!

  One morning nearly a week later, Dusty dried her hands on her apron, left the kitchen, and stepped out onto the porch. As she did, she saw Miss Raynetta riding up astride her black mare, wearing a fiery red dress.

  “I picked up your family’s post while I was in town,” she said, reining in next to the porch. The pleasant woman handed a large handful of letters and small parcels to Dusty. “Looks like Ryder Maddox even has somethin’ today.”

  “Really?” Dusty said as she glanced through the post.

  “I gotta get on home, hon,” Miss Raynetta apologized as she turned the mare. “Wish I could stay and visit. Come out to my place soon! We need a long talk.”

  “All right,” Dusty said, waving. “Thank you for bringing the post.”

  Miss Raynetta returned Dusty’s wave, and Dusty watched her ride away. Returning her attention to the post, she thought it odd—odd that someone would send Ryder a rolled-up newspaper tied with twine and nothing else. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and without thinking, she untied the twine and unfolded the paper.

  “Abilene Times,” she read aloud. “So…have you been in Abilene all this time, Ryder?” she mumbled to herself. Then she began reading the titles of the articles, “Cattle Prices Soar…Mayor’s Daughter to Wed.” She opened the paper, and her eyes fell to a small article on the right-hand bottom corner of the paper. Someone had circled the article in black. “Miss Lillian Montgomery Dies.” A frown puckered Dusty’s brow as she read the article aloud to herself. “Lillian Montgomery, daughter of Kirk and Emily Montgomery, who own the Montgomery Cattle Ranch south of Abilene, died yesterday. Miss Montgomery would’ve been nineteen next month. The community joins the Montgomery family in their sorrow at the loss of their beloved daughter after such a long ordeal. The Abilene Times says, ‘May she finally rest in peace, safe in the warmth and beauty of heaven.’ ”

  The tiny hairs on Dusty’s arms prickled; the hair on the back of her neck stood so on end she had to reach back and rub at it. Carefully, she folded the paper, returning it to its original shape and tying it with the twine once more.

  Her mind was simply swimming in thoughts, ideas, and possibilities for explanation. The girl who died must’ve been someone Ryder knew. After all, it said in the article her father was a rancher. It made sense Ryder would’ve ended up in Abilene at some point, working cattle for a rancher there. But the girl—she was nineteen, Dusty’s own age, a ripe age to have captured Ryder’s attentions. Shaking her head, she tried to dispel the thoughts of Ryder even knowing another woman. It was simply informative—simply someone letting Ryder know a member of the family of a man for whom he’d run cattle had died. But what if there were more? And if there were, Dusty had no right to know, especially now.

  For days, she’d been trying to find a way out of the mess she’d gotten herself in. Almost instantly after sending an angry Ryder off, her heart had softened—broken the darkness within once more. But now, now she’d pushed him too far. She knew it. He would go on. After all, he’d done what he’d come to do—several times!

  “After such a long ordeal,” she repeated out loud. “Serves me right for reading other people’s post,” she grumbled, heading into the house. She simply tossed the handful of assortments onto the table—paper for Ryder Maddox and all.

  Still, try as she might, Dusty couldn’t quiet her curiosity about the paper. It ate at her for the rest of the day. Something told her it wasn’t as simple as it appeared. Had Ryder been close to the girl? Had this Lillian been the woman he’d kissed differently than he kissed Dusty? Had he even been in love with her? The thought caused Dusty’s bosom to ache with insufferable pain. It caused her throat to constrict; she had trouble drawing breath on occasion. She found it nearly impossible not to cry. Yet she swallowed it—all of it—as his words echoed through her mind again. Anytime you’re ready. Use me, abuse me, or whatever you want. You walk right up to me, give me the word, and I’ll kiss you in a way you never dreamed of! And that goes for anything else. That offer stands…for now. But it’s up to you, girl!

  He’d said it—but had he truly meant it? Had he truly understood, as he always seemed to, that Dusty would leave that black moment, regret it, and need a window left open to reach for him through? He’d been patient, hadn’t he? Understanding? Surely he would give her another chance. Was there hope? Or had she put the final nail in the coffin of her true and only love?

  After supper, when the hands were sitting around the fire outside, Dusty approached Ryder. Each step she took toward him felt as if she were pacing toward the hanging tree.

  “Mighty fine supper, Miss Dusty,” Ruff offered as she approached.

  “Thank you, Ruff,” she accepted, pausing to study the worn-out men. “You all look positively wrung out!”

  They all only nodded, their fatigue too great to offer a spoken answer. A few rather grunted in confirmation. She walked up to Ryder, his smile broadening mischievously as she approached. She was encouraged. It seemed the anger was gone from him. Had he forgiven her?

  “Miss Raynetta went to town today,” she told him.

  “Did she?” he asked, grinning up at her from where he sat on one of the old logs.

  “She picked up our post for us and…” Her words were lost in her throat as instantly his smile faded. The color drained from his handsome face, and he looked as if she’d just told him someone in his family had died. And now she wondered—had she?

  Without another word, he held his hand out to her. Slowly, she placed the paper in his strong hand. Somehow she wanted to snatch it back from him, wishing she’d never told him that Miss Raynetta had gotten the post. She saw his jaw tighten as he looked at the paper’s title—his eyes closing for a moment as if something he’d only experienced in nightmares was about to come true. Without looking at her again, he opened the paper, and just as Dusty’s had been, his attention was drawn to the circled article. She watched him as his eyes tra
veled left to right, left to right, and left to right again as he read. When he finished, he sighed heavily, dropping his head and closing his eyes tightly as if trying to dispel a terrible vision in his mind. He seemed completely overwhelmed, burying his face in one hand for a moment as if struggling to control his emotions. All at once, he fairly leapt to his feet, threw the paper into the fire with the force of a man possessed of grief and anger, and, without looking at anyone, stormed away into the darkness of the night.

  “For Pete’s sake, Dusty,” Feller exclaimed. “What did ya do now?” It was the first thing Feller had said to her for days—since she’d hurt him too.

  “I-I just gave him some post that came for him today,” she stammered.

  “Well,” Feller said, standing beside her and staring out into the darkness after Ryder, “you’d best go apologize then.”

  Dusty frowned and looked at Feller. Apologize for giving him his post? she thought. Feller winked at her, and she understood. Now was the time—the time to give back to Ryder in some small amount what he’d given to her. Without hesitation, she followed him into the darkness—this time to perhaps be forgiven.

  “Ryder?” she called after him. “Ryder?” She found him in the barn, his hands pressing against one wall, his head hanging forward as he violently kicked an old leather horse collar with one foot. “Ryder?” she ventured.

  “You don’t wanna go down this road with me, Dusty,” he growled, and she did not miss the crack of emotion in his voice. She wanted to shout, I’d go down any road with you. But she just stood quietly for a moment when he again repeated, “You don’t wanna go down it.”

  “Who is she?” she asked, stepping onto the path.

  He looked at her, frowning and angry. “You read my post?” he growled.

  “I…I thought it would be…” she stammered, searching for a good excuse—knowing there was none.

  He shook his head and repeated, “Who was she?”

  “Yes. You’re obviously very upset and—”

  “She’s a girl. She was a girl,” he answered bluntly.

  “Did you love her?” she asked quietly. Already the tears were heavy in her eyes as she anticipated the dreadful answer.

  He chuckled with a sort of grief-stricken hysteria. “Did I love her?” he repeated. “I don’t know if that’s really any of your business, now is it?” His manner was so uncharacteristically cruel that it seemed to answer the question itself. It was a manner provoked of great pain. He added with defeat, “No, I didn’t love her.”

  Momentary relief washed over Dusty so strongly she thought she might faint. “Well then, why—” she began.

  “You want me to trust you, is that it?” he asked, turning to her—fury evident on his handsome face. “You want to know why I’m so upset by that paper?” His voice cracked with emotion. “You can’t even find the smallest reason to trust me. Why do ya think I should trust you?”

  “Ryder, I…” She reached out, taking hold of his arm in a gesture of support, but he yanked his arm free of her grasp.

  “Don’t touch me right now.” His usually warm eyes were ablaze with anger. “I’m mad at you.”

  Dusty felt as if someone had shoved her heart into a cider press and was grinding. “Me? Because I read the paper? I’m sorry, Ryder. I know I shouldn’t have! I just—”

  “No,” he countered, wrinkling his nose and shaking his head. “I don’t care that you read the dang paper. I’m mad because…I need to tell you about this, and I can’t.”

  “You can tell me anything! We’ve always talked about everything. Just because I said somethin’ stupid…because I was afraid and I…just because I won’t let myself…does that mean you’ll never be my…my…” she stammered.

  “Your what, Dusty?” he growled. “Your what?”

  “M-m-m-my…my…” she struggled for the word that wouldn’t betray what she really wanted him to be to her. All she could utter was, “My friend.”

  “Ah, but you’re wrong on both counts, sugar,” Ryder countered, shaking his head. “I am your…friend.” He said the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth to do so. “And we don’t tell each other everything. Now do we?”

  He was right. As she stood, face drenched in tears before him, trembling in the presence of his pain and anger, she knew he was right. She hadn’t told him everything. She hadn’t told him how much she dreamed of him, longed for his kiss, desired to be the cause of his smiles and happiness. She hadn’t told him everything. She hadn’t told him she loved him so desperately in spite of her efforts not to. And what hadn’t he told her? That there had been a woman in his life since he left so long ago? That she’d scarred him, maybe far worse than the scars he now wore on his back?

  “No,” she admitted in a whisper, “we don’t.” Then a panic gripped her, prompting her next unexpected question. “Will this…be what makes you leave?”

  “No,” he confirmed in a low, much calmer, and somehow humbled voice. He looked to her, his eyes seeming so far beyond sad and discouraged that her tears increased. “The only thing that would make me leave…” He paused, and Dusty thought her heart might beat free of her chest so viciously did it pound as she waited for him to continue. “If it happened…it wouldn’t matter to you if I left or not.”

  Dusty buried her face in her hands and sobbed, “How can you say that? How can you, when ya know…” When she raised her eyes to him again, there slowly crossed his face an expression of horrified enlightenment.

  “You’re thinkin’ I’m gonna leave again. Is that it?” he asked. “All this time…you’ve been buildin’ up this wall against me because…”

  “Did you love that girl, Ryder?” Dusty finally cried out as the pain of jealousy and heartache silently but vigorously insisted on another confirmation. She had to know! She had to know his kisses had been sincere—that he did mean to kiss her, wanted to hold her in his arms—that he hadn’t been pretending it was a girl in Abilene he couldn’t have anymore for whatever reason.

  “Why, Dusty? Why does it matter to you? Tell me!” he demanded. “Tell me everything!”

  Dusty cupped her hand over her mouth for fear she might indeed confess to him her life had become whatever and whoever and wherever he was.

  He seemed to take pity on her and sighed. “No. I told you I didn’t love that poor girl. And she died.” It seemed an odd way to put it—but it did calm her somehow.

  Dusty instinctively leaned toward him, but he held up a hand. “I’m not mad at you,” he whispered, “for readin’ the paper.” A heavy sigh escaped his lungs. “I’m just…worn out. I’m turnin’ in. Good night.” It was so plain and final.

  All she could say in response was, “Good night.”

  All night she worried about him—wondered if he had lain in his bunk for long hours in turmoil—if he would even be in his bunk come morning—if his horse and his bedroll would be anywhere to be found. But when the rooster crowed and she heard him clanging around in the barn, grumpily cussing at the milk stool, she cried her last fearful tear and drifted to sleep. It was almost an hour later when Becca, having already finished feeding the men, came in to check on her sister, finally waking her up.

  “What in tarnation is the matter with Ryder?” Becca asked when Dusty entered the kitchen after having hurried to dress.

  “What do you mean?” Dusty asked. She knew, of course, about the newspaper he’d received. But Ryder was usually so adept at pasting on a happy face that she was curious about Becca’s experience.

  “He stormed in here and ate his breakfast like he’d knock you flat if you even talked to him!” Becca shook her head. “Somethin’s eatin’ at him.”

  Dusty paused. Should she confide in her sister? She wanted to—desperately! But should she? “He got some post yesterday. Someone died. That’s all I know. It upset him so badly that I—”

  “Who?” Becca interrupted. “Who died?”

  Dusty swallowed hard and continued. “A girl. A girl in Abilene.”

>   “A—a girl? A little girl, like nine or ten? Or a big girl, like—”

  “A big girl, like nineteen.”

  Becca sighed heavily and then began her own explanation. “Dusty…I’m sure she was just an acquaintance. I’m sure she didn’t mean anything to him and that—”

  “If she didn’t mean anything to him, Becca…then why is he so upset?” Dusty burst into tears. She burst into a quick confession of what she’d told Ryder days before in the barn.

  “Dusty!” Becca scolded, horrified. “You didn’t!”

  “I did! I swear I’ve never been so stupid!” Dusty cried.

  “Well, you got that right,” Becca agreed. Dusty wiped angrily at her eyes. “But,” Becca continued, “even if this girl was something to him, she’s dead now and—”

  Dusty shook her head. “That’s not the point! He should’ve loved me, Becca! He should never have left. And even then…he should’ve come back for me!” Dusty sank into a chair and sobbed into her hands.

  “Dusty,” Becca began, kneeling before her, “he—”

  “You should’ve seen him yesterday, Becca!” Dusty screamed in a whisper. “I’ve never seen him like that! He was…that girl was somebody to him!”

  “Maybe like Cash was somebody to you,” her sister offered softly.

  “No! No, it was different,” Dusty insisted. “H-he…oh my heck, Becca,” Dusty sobbed. “When I think of him with her…I—”

  “Stop it!” Becca stood up and covered her ears for a moment in frustration. “You have to take control of yourself, Dusty! Look at you! One minute you’re tellin’ him never to touch you again, and the next you’re ready to tear his eyes out because he might have—”

  “Don’t say it! I don’t want to hear that!” Dusty cried.

  Becca bent and took Dusty by the shoulders, shaking her to rationality. “Listen to me! Just let it go, once and for all! Just let go of everything that’s holding you back. This isn’t you! Back and forth, back and forth! Angelina Hunter is a strong, persistent, confident woman. You love Ryder. Quit pushin’ him away! If you keep doin’ it—keep kissin’ him one minute and slappin’ him the next—if you keep doin’ that to him…then, Dusty…he will leave you again.”