Dusty Britches (2 page)

What a sight Becca had been! Dusty smiled broadly, feeling a little less dismal, as she
continued to pull
weeds.

Her knees were sore from kneeling on the moist ground and her fingers stiff from ripping up
unwanted roots. Yet she smiled when she looked up to see Becca approaching
at almost a dead run
a
few minutes later.

“
Dusty! Guthrie
’
s seen Daddy!
”
Becca called
,
stopping a few steps from the tomato plants Dusty was tending. Becca placed a dainty hand to her panting bosom.
“
They
’
ll be comin
’
in any minute!
”

Dusty’s heart felt almost happy for a moment—
as though some
thing had just
filled her body with a warm, sweet liquid. It had been weeks since their fath
er left! Dusty had missed him terribly.
She pulled off her gloves
,
tossing them into the bucket of weeds as she stood.

Bru
shing off the seat of her skirt
and smiling warmly at her sister, she said,
“
Well…let
’
s go then! I love to watch them bring
in’
the cattle in.
”

Becca smiled. Taking her sister
’
s hand, they both hurried off toward the corral. Sure enough, just as they approached the south fence of the corral, they saw a cloud of dust in the distance. Dusty smiled
and sighed with delight
when she heard t
he soft bawling of the cattle—
the whistles and shouts of her father and the men
on the drive
.

“
I love this,
”
Becca sighed, smiling lovingly at her sister.

“Me
too,
”
Dusty agreed,
returning her loving smile
.

Rebecca Hunter had always secretly envied her sister. She loved Dusty like she loved no one else on earth. Still, it had been
difficult—
being Dusty Hunter
’
s little sister.
Dusty was intelligent, strong, witty
,
and beautiful
!
Even now, after
Dusty had
harden
ed
her heart toward people and life
for years
,
her
dark eyes, shaded by long, thick lashes, sparkled with strength.
She was an inch or two shorter than Becca wit
h a smile that lit up any room—when she chose to smile anyway,
which wasn
’
t very often—nearly never
now. Her skin was unblemished, her figure flawlessly curved,
her hair the most absolute shade of chestnut brown ever given a woman. Becca wrinkled her nose
a little—
completely disappointed in that moment at the way Dusty had taken to pulling her lovely hair back into a tight, spinsterly knot on the crown of her h
ead. To Becca, Dusty was ideal—
except for the blackened heart she now carried about in her bosom.

“
Quit starin
’
at me, Becca!
”
Dusty demanded.

Still, even Becca
’
s disapproving eyes c
ould not dampen Dusty’s spirits. S
ince
she was
a little girl,
Dusty
had loved to hear the approach of a cattle drive. Even in the fall when her father and the
cowboys
started bringing the cattle in to winter close
by, she loved the sound of it—
hundreds of hooves
approaching,
the snap of the whip
some cowboys used to turn them,
the soft bawling
of younger heifers and steers,
the whistles and shouts of her father and the
cowboys who rode for him
.

Her mind wandered back for a moment to the year she was fourteen. She
’d
st
ood just where she was now—
perched upon the south fence of the corral watching the
cowboys
bringing in the cattle for fall. There had been one particular
cowboy
she
’d
favored. Actually, she
’
d been in love with him! Becca was always in love with one ranch hand or
cowboy,
it seemed. But it hadn
’
t been so with Dusty. She had her varying crushes as a young girl, but her feelings for this one particular
cowboy
went far beyond a
little girl’s crush. He had seemed so mature to her—so handsome and strong—
though he was only twenty at the time. Dusty remembered the way he rode, the
snap of his bull
whip as he drove cattle. There had been several
cowboys
that
had
carried a whip since, but none had been as skilled as that young cowboy years ago. He could crack it so
perfectly
she could hear him coming long before the sounds of the cattle were audible. In that very moment, Dusty fancied she
nearly
hear
d
the
crack
of his whip
—
remembered how excited she would be
in
knowing he was bringing in the cattle and would be home in time for supper at the ranch house with the family. Shaking her head, she scolded herself for dwelling on such sap as being melancholy over a cow
boy
from years back
. She re
turned her attention to the approaching cattle.

“
Oh, surely Daddy
’
s bought more than a hundred head, Dust!
”
Becca remarked.
“
Look how many!
”

“
Maybe he decided to be safe. Last time he lost so many on the drive,
”
Dusty said
,
realizing the snap of a whip echoing in the distance must have been what sparked the never-forgotten memory.

“
Listen there, Dusty. Daddy
’
s hired a cowboy with a whip,
”
Becca noted, also having heard the echo of the crack.
“
It always puts me in mind of…
”

“
Yes, I remember.
”
Dusty fought to keep her thoughts from floating back
through
time again.

Her father came into view, riding in front and to the right of the herd. She and Becca waved excitedly
,
and Dusty felt warmed as he waved back.

“
He
’
ll water
’
em at the creek and come on up,
”
Feller Lance chuckled as he appeared from behind
them
and joined them
at
the fence.
“
Your daddy
’
s come home to y
a
, my girls!
”

Ruff, Guthrie
,
and Titch arrived, hopped up onto the fence
,
and began whistling and waving their arms in greeting.
Dusty
smiled at the three hands. They’d
stayed on the ranch for near to three years now. All of them were
local
boys who wanted to cowboy but had no desire to roam the country
far and wide
.

Ruff was a handsom
e enough fellow with green eyes and sandy-
colored
hair. He was short and squatty
but strong as a bull. Guthrie and Titch were brothers, sons of a farme
r in a neighboring county
. Both were tall with black hair and eyes as gray as rain. All three hands were hard workers and good men. Dusty thought how lucky her daddy had been to keep them on.

Looking on as the cattle were allowed to head toward the creek, Dusty waited impatiently as her daddy spurred his horse into a gallop and rode to them.

“
Whoa, boy,
”
he mumbled, reining in his h
orse and leaping off like he were
no more than a boy.
“
Sugar plums!
”
he called, chuckling as he
swaggered toward his daughters,
weathered cowboy legs bowed and
strong
arms outstretched.

“
Daddy!
”
Becca exclaimed
,
rushing forward.

Dusty was as excited as her sister, but as tears of joy and relief welled in her eyes
,
she swallowed them, not wanting to cry in front of everyone. She reached him soon enough and found herself melting in his fatherly embrace.

“
Did y
a
take care of my girls while I was g
one, Feller?” Hank Hunter asked, winking at the weathered cowboy
.

“
They look right as rain to me, Hank,
”
Feller chuckled.

Hank kissed Becca square on the forehead. After doing the same to Dusty, he took her face in his hands.
“
And did y
a
soften ol
’
Dusty up a mite…I hope?
”

“
A mite,
”
Feller chuckled again.

Dusty smiled happily up at her father.

“
Well, my girls,
”
Hank began. He tucked a daughter under each arm, squeezing them tightly, and began walking toward the house. With each step he took
,
dust and dirt from the drive lifted into the air like smoke curling out of a chimney. His normally black hair was more a
plain old dirt
color and matched his dust-covered skin.
“
I got us some good stock. Yep. Some good stock! Cattle
and
cowboys. Got me a fair price, a new pair of britches
,
and a back that
’
s aching like it ain
’
t laid down for a year!
”

“
You needed the britches more than anythin
’
, Daddy,
”
Dusty assured him, smiling.

“
Don
’
t I know it! And I might have to have you and little sis patch them new boys
’ britches up a bit
too! They
’
re all as hard on
’
em as me,
”
he chuckled.

Dusty coul
d hear the shouts of relief,
the splashing noises made by the cow
boys as they quickly re
freshed themselves in the creek. She smiled, relishing the sounds and knowledge of tradition. The cow
boys
would no doubt be stripped down
to nothing in a moment or two—
washing the layers of trail dust from their bodies before they came to the house for the big meal her daddy always insisted on after a drive.

“
Get that fire pit goin
’
, Feller!
”
Hank hollered over his shoulder.
“
I brung home a starvin
’
mob.
”

Becca and Dusty watched,
giggling happily as their charmingly bowlegged daddy released them. Whooping and hollering, he stripped his shirt off over his head and climbed awkwardly into the big watering trough under the windmill.

“
Boots and all, Daddy? For Pete
’
s sake, you
’
ll slop for a week!
”
Dusty called after him through her laughter.

Hank spit water from his mouth like a cherub fountain as he sat on the bottom of the trough
,
enjoying its cool refreshment. It was good to see her daddy happy. Losing her mother several years back nearly killed him. It was months and months and months
following
her mother
’
s death before he even sm
iled, let alone spoke to anyone—
unless it was absolutely necessary. It was good to see him happy.