Dusty Britches (3 page)

“
Bring some wood from the shed, Titch,
”
Feller ordered.
“And, Ruff,
you get th
at beef out we done yesterday…’fore t
hem boys
start into eatin’ that
herd they just
brung
in.
”

“
Come here, my girls!
”
Hank called. Dusty and Becca rushed to where he sat in the trough.
“
Did you miss me?
”
he asked with a knowing grin on his face.

“
That
’
s the silliest question you ever did ask, Daddy,
” Becca said. B
oth girls leaned on the trough
’
s edge.

“
Well, I
’
ll tell you what,
”
Hank began, lowering his voice and reaching out and taking a hand of each daughter in his own.
“
I missed you girls somethin
’
awful. If it weren
’
t that you were ladies now…needin
’
comfort, privacy
,
and a soft bed…I
’
da brung y
a
right along,
’
cause missin
’
you is too hard on me these days.
”

Dusty smiled lovingly at her daddy. Then, as the all-too-familiar expression of mischief crossed his face, she sensed his intentions and tried to pull her hand from his grasp.

“
Daddy!
”
she warned.
“
Don
’
t you dare!
”

But it was too late. In an instant, s
he found herself sitting next to him in the trough, having been pulled in headfirst. She heard Becca
’
s delighted shriek a second later, followed by a splash to match the one she
’
d just created. Looking over, she erupted into giggles at the sight of her sister sitting on the other side of her father
,
completely drenched.

“
Now you girls stop your foolin
’
around!
”
Feller shouted.
“
I
’
m gonna need some help sloppin
’
this mob.
”
He stood chuckling, amused at the sight before him.

“
Daddy!
”
Becca exclaimed in a horrified whisper.
“
Look at me! And all the new cowboys are walkin
’
this way!
”
She pointed in the direction of the creek. Dusty saw four or five men, themselves dripping wet, some fully clothed, others missing shirts, walking toward them.

“
For Pete
’
s sake, Daddy!
”
Dusty exclaimed.
“
I
’
m wearin
’
a white blouse! It
’
ll be plum see-through from bein
’
wet.
”
She made her way awkwardly out of the trough, pleased by her father
’
s laughter, and ran to the house
,
not waiting for Becca to catch up.

Dusty entered the house not a second before her sister.

“
Daddy
’
s the devil of a stinker,
”
Becca giggled, heading toward her room.

“
Wait, wait, wait!
”
Dusty exclaimed.
“
You
’
ll soak the floor.
” Becca paused, and b
oth girls unfastened their skirts, dropping piles of petticoats with them where they stood.
“
He
’
s a fool. That
’
s why we love him,
”
she giggled as she unbuttoned her shirtwaist
,
tossing it on the heap of clothing at their feet.

Her smile faded, however, when Becca asked quietly,
“
You ever gonna love anybody else, Dust
y
?
”

Dusty looked at her sister, fro
wning with irritation. “I love you—
you and Daddy, and that
’
s all I need.
”
Becca looked away,
obviously
wishing she had never asked. Trying to ease her sister
’
s discomfort, for she knew Becca meant well, Dusty added,
“And Feller. I love Feller
too. How could anyone not love ol
’
Feller?
”

“
He is a loveable ol
’
mutt, ain
’
t he?
”
Becca whispered, smiling.

“
Yeah.
”
Dusty offered a forgiving smile.
“
And he makes a dang good
roasted beef
.
”

“
Come on!
”
Becca squealed, grabbing Dusty
’
s hand.
“
I gotta get cleaned up. There
’
s a whole new crop of cowboys out there we gotta look over.
”

Changing into dry clothing, Dusty listened to the low hu
m of masculine voices—
the good-natured chuckling and conversation floating from the
roasting
pit through her bedroom window as the new hands talked with Feller and the others. Times were she would
’
ve been as excited about the new hands as Becca. Sever
al years ago, before…and
she would
’
ve bathed in that excitement exactly as Becca did now. However, experience had taught Dusty Hunter
there was more to life—s
o many things to be taken far more seriously than flirting and love, sparking under the hay wagon
,
and dancing at the town socials. There was work to be done. Hard work! The garden, the
house, the meals, the mending—t
hat
’
s w
hat life was all about. That
and tending to her father and his needs since her mother had died.

Still, deep down inside, somewhere in the pit of her stomach, somewhere in the aching of her heart
,
burned a tiny resentment as she heard Becca leave the house and greet each new
cowboy in turn—
her silky, soft voice no doubt mesmerizing them all instantly. To all those tough men that had been riding a dusty cattle trail for so many weeks without the sight of a woman, Becca was an
a
ngel of
h
eaven personified. Her daddy would pay them all just after breakfast tomorr
ow morning, and most would leave,
not wanting to tarry
. O
ne or
two others would perhaps
be hired on for a while. Becca would probably have her heartstrings plucked before the winter was over. But not Dusty! She
’
d stopped falling in love with
ranch
hands
and cowboys when she was fourteen years old—
the f
irst time her heart was broken—
shattered by an intriguing, hand
some, capable young cowboy. But
it was the second man who hammered the final nail in her coffin of romance and love. And since then, she
’
d had no use for matters of the heart.

Dusty dressed, and
as she smoothed back a str
ay hair, she watched the goings-
on at the
roasting
pit from her window. Feller was busy talking to several new hands as he tended the meat on the skewer. Dusty
’
s heart panged a twinge when she saw the bullwhip strapped to the saddle of one of the horses tied to the corral
fence.
Why today
? s
he wondered
.
Why
was her memory tarrying on the
young cow
boy
from five years ago?

Becca had the complete attention of three or four men as she smiled and sweetly tossed her head in conversation. Her daddy, dried off some and sitting on the old tree stump with Guthrie, Ruff
,
and Titch, was no doubt
telling them details
of the drive. As she quickly straightened her skirt, Dusty noted that several of the drive hands were quite
tall, a couple with dark hair,
a few with blond. One had hair as black as night like Guthrie and Titch.
As
the scent of the beef beginning to cook reached her, she turned and left the room, intent on helping Feller with the meal.

Oh, how she hated the
porch door
—the way it always slammed
shut! Why had she let
go of it so easily—let
it slam? Instantly, every set of eyes at the pit turned to
look at her—
watch her approach. There was nothing to do but walk quickly toward them and wave a greeting.

“
That there
’
s my daughter Angelina,
”
she heard her father announce. She felt her face turn crimson. She was…uncomfortable with her first name. She hadn
’
t gone by Angelina since she was about ten years old.
Dusty
,
she corrected him silently in her mind.
Dusty!

As she reached them, all the
cowboys
nodded in turn. She found herself unable to meet any of them eye-to-eye. Her father
’
s a
nnouncing her by her given name
was humiliating. It seemed so…too…familiar. Only her father and sister called her Angelina
—and only
on occasion. She focused on Feller, who grinned
with understanding
.

“
What do you need me to do, Feller?
”
she asked.

“
I need y
a
to help Miss Becca keep all these young pups occupied while I fix some supper,
”
he chuckled, knowing full well it was the last thing on earth she wanted to do.

“
Well…now,
”
a deep, masculine voice said from behind her,
“
if it ain
’
t Miss Dusty Britches.
”

Dusty felt the warmth and color fade from her face. Her very
blood seemed to drain from the rest of her body and puddle in her feet. She was dizzy and nauseated all at once. She looked again to Feller
,
who raised his eyebrows and
grinned a knowing grin
.

“
I think your daddy picked himself out a cowboy that
’
s crossed your path before, Dusty,
”
Feller said quietly.

There was no need for him to have spoken this information aloud. She already knew. Only one person on the whole of the earth had ever called her
“
Dusty Britches.
”
That was the cowboy who had given her the nickname in the first place. Feeling she might die of shock, of…of something, Dusty slowly turned to see standing before her a man whose eyes were those of a boy she
’d once known—
a boy who grew into a man. A man who…

Ryder Maddox
’
s broad smile was even more captivating than Dusty remembered.
“
You remember me, don
’
t y
a,
Dusty…uh…Miss Hunter?
”
he asked in a voice heartbreakingly familiar, yet deeper than she remembered.

“Of—
of course,
”
Dusty stammered. She stood in awe of his height and staggeringly handsome face and form.

He
’
d g
rown! A
t least three or four inches by the look of him. His shoulders were broader than when he
’
d been twenty and worked for her father those many years ago. His upper torso, arms
,
and legs were thick and firm with the muscular development of a fully
matured man. Had it not been for his eyes
—
those oddly tinted, brown
-
sugar-colored ey
es, accented by dark eyelashes—
she would not have known him. His face was much broader, his jaw chiseled and squared, his h
air darker than she remembered—
almost a cedar-bark brown. He had grown to be a very, very
, very attractive man!