Dusty Britches (45 page)

She nodded. It had been. For as tired as she felt,
it had been a welcome day—a
welcome memory. He leaned toward her, to kiss her again, but she turned her head, unable to endure kissing him again
—
knowing that it was only in fun. He grinned understandingly.

“
You work on your sister, Britches. I
’
ll work on Feller,
”
he told her.
“
Surely we can stay out of trouble doin
’
that…and somebody in this world deserves somethin
’
go
od. Don’t they?” He walked away. Dusty watched as he caught
up to ol
d
Leroy, throwing an arm around the man
’
s shoulders and smiling down at him.

Dusty watched him go, her mind and spirit in complete turmoil. The night…the day…the entire day
and night had been so wonderful—
so hurtful
.
Her mind was tired. As she watched the last few colorful explosions light up the night sky, she was tired. It had been a d
ay filled with too many things—
too many confusing emotions for her mind and body to handle. Suddenly, all she wa
nted was what Becca had wanted—
to go home.

T
here was
a mountain of
work to be done on the ranch t
o prepare for the coming autumn and winter. T
he days turned quickly into weeks. Even as summer was still heating the earth, July was filled with haying, canning, field crops, branding
,
and more.

Hank had the hands in the fields from before sunup to way beyond sundown every day
.
Dusty and Becca
found
the
three weeks
following the Fourth of July
picnic
in town to be
a lonely time. On occasion, Miss Raynetta visited
,
and ther
e
was a stormy day when rain beat down so heavily the hands were forced in from the fields.
Yet
most of the time the men
were so beaten and tired after the day’s work, they
dropped down in whatever
pasture they found themselves, sleeping
out under the stars
.
Feller cook
ed their meals over an open fire, and
Dusty and Becca were left
at the ranch house
to their
own tasks
—gardening, preserving food, milking the
milk
cow, making butter, tending the chickens
,
and more. Their hearts
’
desires were nowhere near.
All this meant long, hot days with little diversion.

Dusty spent days upon
days
mulling over in her mind every moment spent and every conversation she
’
d had with Ryder since his return. At times, she felt hope rise within her
. If
s
he were able to soften herself—to find her real self again—maybe,
just maybe
,
he would be interested in knowing her
again
. And yet self
-
doubt and the lack of his flirtatious presence caused a gray cloud to hang over her wishes and dreams.

T
hey’d never spoken of it again—
his out
rageous conduct at the picnic,
her all too accepting behavior. They
’
d both let it remain an unspoken, uncertain past.
Yet
Dusty wanted despe
rately to ask him why—
why had he treated her so adoringly? Why had he felt such a need to kiss her so recurrently and with such extreme emotion? But they
’
d arrived home so late
from town that evening—
and immediately after her father had the men out to tent under the stars,
mend fences and windbreaks, count and tend the herd—
there hadn
’
t
been a moment to talk with him,
even if she
’
d had the courage.

Dusty could also see her sister
’
s misery. It was obvious Becca was
truly and thoroughly in love with Feller. S
he was miserable without him and even more miserable for lack of her love being returned. And there was Miss Raynetta. Dusty was convinced Miss Raynetta was as in love with her father as
ever
she had been twenty years ago!
Her own heart ached for Miss Raynetta’s
.
After all, s
he knew how agonizing it was to have the man you loved
standing
right in front of you and not be able to call him your own, draw from him your strength, sleep in the comfort of his arms
,
and bask in the bathing ecstasy of his kisses. All these thoughts Dusty pondered for days upon days upon days,
until her mind was so tired
she thought she could not rise another day.

August did arrive
,
and with it the mending of windbreaks and fences was finished.
Hank Hunter
and
the rest of
the men came home. They slept long and late the first day back in their bunks
.
Dusty left muffins, butter
,
and ham out for them when she left the house one late morning to enjoy the summer day while it still tarried. It was, in fact, almost noon when she decided to refresh herself with a wade in the pond. The waterfall looked cool and refreshing as she approached
,
and she q
uickly unlaced her boots. Tossing
them under the big willow, she gasped with horror as they almost conked Ryder squarely on the head. He was
stretched out beneath the tree—
o
bviously sleeping quite soundly, for
Dusty
’
s boots landing nearby did not startle him in the least.

Quietly, Dusty moved toward him.
S
tanding over him, she simply stared down
, studying
him at her leisure. He lay stretched out on his stomach, wearing only his trousers. She detected a slight snore. As a young girl, she had simply adored coming upon
Ryder
asleep in the ba
rn or the field and staring at him—
marveling at his attractive face and well-formed body.

Suddenly, as her eyes traveled from his feet toward his head, she noticed for the first time the deep and painful-looking scars he bore on his back across his shoulders. Never before had she
seen
them! She was certain they had not been there before he
’
d left the ranch
years before
.
She studied the scars intently, for
they were strange. There was one very long horizontal scar, perhaps eight inches in length
,
lying just above and parallel to hi
s left shoulder blade. Two more
converged on either side of this scar and traveled vertically downward perhaps four inches. Multiple smaller scars were here and there surrounding the longer wounds. Dusty assumed these were from stitches
having
held together the once
-
maimed flesh. The scars looked unend
urably painful! They were thick—
very thick, raised
,
and still very purple. Still, Dusty could not begin to guess what had caused them. They did not look like anything she had seen before. One was perfectly straight
,
as if it had been made by a knife. The others looke
d more as if the flesh had been…
torn. They were deep
,
and what else could have made such deep scars but a thick blade?

These scars on Ryder
’
s back had
definitely been acquired since he
’
d left five years ago. Dusty was certain she would have remembered seeing such awful wounds before. After all, many had been the times she
’
d stood just as she did now, studying him in secret as he slept. As she stepped toward him to investigate the wounds further, her foot snapped a twig. Ryder did not awaken slowly as she would have expected. Rather, his eyes popped open instantly
. H
e flipped like a hotc
ake from his stomach to his back, seeming
very reli
eved to see her standing there—
almost as if he had expected something much worse.

“
You scared the waddin
’
out
t
a me, girl!
”
Ryder grumbled as he sat up and buttoned up his britches.

“
I
’
m sorry,
”
Dusty apologized.
“
I didn
’
t mean to…I just…I just…
”
she stammered. It was startling to catch him so
unguarded. He seemed nervous—
as if her surprising him w
ere
far more unsettling that it should’ve been
.

“
I know, I know,
”
he apologized.
“
It
’
s your favorite spot
,
and now I
’
ve trodden on holy ground
,
so to speak.
”
He remained sitting on the grass, bootless, sockless, and shirtless. It was obvious he
’
d been sleeping deeply, for he wore a frown and groggy expression.

“
No, it
’
s not th
at. I…everyone can come swimmin’ here. I—
I…
”
Her eyes fell to the scars.

Instantly, hi
s expression was that of anger—yet
al
so
disgrace
. He rubbed at his shoulder and
quickly retrieved his shirt, putting it on and leaving it unbuttoned
and
hanging open.
“
Pretty gruesome, huh?
”
he mumbled as he roll
ed
up his sleeves.

“
No,
”
she answered honestly.
“
Just…I don
’
t remember…
”

“
That
’
s
’
cause they weren
’
t there before,
”
he growled.
“
You want a closer look?
”
he asked angrily
.
He pulled the shirt down over one shoulder and turned his back to her.
“
Come on now, Dusty. Why don
’
t y
a
take a good, long look
?
Wouldn
’
t want y
a
to miss anything.
”

It was obvious he was very self-conscious about the scars—that they provoked a deep anger
in
him. Yet she knew it wasn
’
t vanity stirring his anger. He
’
d run around plenty without
his shirt since he
’
d come back. It was something much deeper.

“
Look here,
”
he said, looking over his shoulder at her. He motioned to his back, just above his left shoulder blade.
“
You tell me, Miss Dusty…what do you think made them scars? What do you think happened to me to put scars like that on my back?
”

“I—don’
t know. I…
”
She couldn
’
t fathom how she
’
d come from simply walking to the pond intent on a refreshing swim to having infuriated Ryder so completely.

“
Come on now! Make a guess!
”
he demanded.

“
Ryder…it isn
’
t any of my business. It
’
s not important if
—”

“
It ain
’
t important to you?
”
he almost shouted, jumping to his feet.
“
What do y
a
mean by that?
”