Dusty Britches (9 page)

She remembered the first time she
’
d ever seen Ryder Maddox. At first she fought the memory overtaking her mind and senses. But the
n, as she always inevitably did,
she let it wash over her like a warm summer rain. Closing her eyes and trying to control her tears and
quickened
breath, she remembered it all.

She had been ten years old that spring. Ten. Becca was eight. They had been playing down by the creek
,
and Angelina Hunter, in her infinite ability to stumble into a mess, had fallen in the water and soaked her dress. Well, naturally, she simply took it off and hung it over a tree branch while they continued their play. It had been such a fun day. Angelina and Becca had hauled their small tea table out to the creek. Their daddy had made the little table and matching chairs for them for Christmas several years before so they could have their imaginary tea parties together. That day the table was set under the big willow
growing
on
the
bank of the
creek, and Angelina and Becca had spent all afternoon
“
entertaining
”
imaginary guests. Oh, the fun they
’
d had pretending buttercups were corn freshly cut off the cob, that willow
leaves were greens! And they’
d made the most marvelous mud pies that da
y;
they
’
d flopped out of the tiny pie tins holding their shape perfectly.
Furthermore
, the girls had been set upon by imaginary renegade Indians. Of course, their imaginary cowbo
y beaus had saved their lives! All too soon,
the sun was telling Angelina it was late afternoon, nearly time for the hands to be coming in for supper.

“
I don
’
t want to drag the table all the way back to the house, Angelina,
”
Becca whined.

“
But we can
’
t leave it out, Becca! It might rain tonight
,
and then it would be ruined,
”
Angelina explained.

“
I
’
ll take the chairs if you drag the table,
”
Becca offered finally.

“
Becca! You
’
re such a baby!
”
Angelina took hold of the table, pulling it along behind her as she walked toward the house. In her irritation with having to go in for the evening and having no help dragging the tea table home, Angelin
a had completely forgotten she’
d left her dress and petticoats behind.
The mirth was blatantly evident on her daddy
’
s face as she and Becca approached looking like something the cat dragged in.

“
Well! You girls been havin
’
tea today?
”
Hank Hunter asked.

“
Oh, Daddy!
”
Becca exclaimed.
“
We
’
ve been havin
’
all kinds a stories!
”

“
And now Becca made me drag the table home all on my own!
”
Angelina complained.

At that moment, one of the table legs bumped into an old tree root sticking out of the ground. Irritated, Angelina turned around and pulled hard on the table. It bumped up over the tree root and gave a bit but caught immediately on another exposed root. The sudden jerk of the table stopping cold after she
’
d pulled so hard caused Angelina to lose her grip and sit down flat in the dirt.

Of course, her father, Feller Lance
,
and several other hands burst into laughter as Angelina stood up and dusted the seat of her bloomers, only then realizing
she’d
forgotten to put her dress back on. Now she stood for all the world to
see in just her underthings
.

“
Humph!
”
Angelina breathed as she haughtily stood up and tugged on the table again. But again the table leg cleared the tree root only to hook itself on another, and Angelina was again rear
-
end down in the dirt.

“
Well, now, little Miss Dusty Britches,
”
someone said. And Angelina looked up into the face of the handsomest boy she
’
d ever laid eyes on.
“
Looks to me like you could use a hand,
”
he said, grinning mischievously at her.
He offered his hand to her.

Tentatively, Angelina placed her hand in his. He pulled her to her feet and dusted off the seat of her bloomers. Reaching down and picking up the table, he carried it toward the house.

Angelina ran to catch up with him.
“
You
’
re new,
”
she stated.

“
Yes, I am. Come in just this afternoon
,
and your daddy hired me on. My name
’
s Ryder Maddox,
”
he said. He set the small table down on the back porch and offered her his hand again.

“
Angelina Hunter,
”
Angelina said, taking his hand and shaking it firmly.

“
Really?
”
the young cowboy chuckled, bending over and kissing the back of Angelina
’
s hand quickly with a wink.
“
I thought your name was Dusty Britches.
”

Ryder had taken to calling her
Dusty Britches
from the very first moment they met. It caught on like a house afire
,
and it wasn
’
t more than a few days until even her mama was calling her Dusty. And now, resenting the fact that insipid tears had soaked her pillowcase, Dusty turned
over
and stared out the window
. She watched t
he breeze bil
low
the light curtains into her room. What a day that had bee
n. Such fun she and Becca had—a
nd her life had changed forever
!
She hadn
’
t known
it at the time, b
ut that had been the
most pivotal
day
of
her life.
Ryder
was
a gold-strike of a boy! Tall, handsome as heaven, smart, a har
d worker, witty, kind, polite—t
here had been nothing like him to be seen before or since.

Dusty remembered how all the girls from town would find excuses to follow her home from school every
day that next fall. The older girls
in town were complete ninnies—
fawning all over Ryder at every social he
attended—b
ut he
’
d always been Dusty
’
s boy. He
’d do anything she asked, within reason, a
nd some things without. Like the time she begged him to help her
know
what it was like to f
ly—
Ryder had helped Dusty with the rigging
in the hayloft. What a fit her m
ama had when she came home from town
to find Dusty swinging
this way and that—in
and out of the hayloft—swinging
from a harness and some ropes
Dusty
and Ryder had rigged. And who was it
that
always wiped her t
ears,
when he
’
d find her out by the creek crying about something someone had said to tease her or some other thing that had made her sad? And when she was thirteen and at the harvest social in town, who was it that had asked her for a dance when no one else
would? Ryder Maddox, of course—l
ike some
handsome p
rince in an old fairy tale book.

She remembered how heartbroken she was at finding Ryder and Jenny Morris flirting on the porch swing of the Morris
’s
house at Jenny
’
s sister
’
s wedding. But even then, when Dusty had fled the scene in tears, Ryder left Jenny on the porch swing to seek
out
Dusty and reassure her that someday
,
when she
’
d grown up
,
he
’
d catch her out by the old creek and spark with her a bit. He, in his masculine naivety, hadn
’
t realized she
’d believed him—
hadn
’
t realized she
’
d dreamed it would
really
happen. Then came the droughts
,
and the ranch began failing.

Sighing heavily, Dusty closed her eyes and let the low hum of the cowboys
’
voices in the bunkhouse drift in, comforting her somewhat. Oh, how she hoped Becca would never fall for a cowboy
—r
eally fall for one. Becca flir
ted mercilessly with them all—e
njoyed far
too much attention from every ranch
hand in the county. But she
’
d never fallen in love, and Dusty hoped when sh
e did—for it was destined to happen—Dusty hoped Becca
wouldn
’
t be hurt like
she
had been.

Poor, sweet Becca. Guilt washed over Dusty and caused her to
weep all the more
. She
’
d treated her sister so miserably all day long! Dusty covered her face with her hands to silence her crying. She only cried in bed now. For so long she
’
d cried when anyone even looked at her. Now her tears
were few and very far between, b
ut Becca hadn
’
t deserved the treatment Dusty had handed down to her a short time before.

“
What is wrong with me?
”
she cried out in a whisper.
“
I
’
m mean, cold…selfish!
”
A vision of Becca
’
s face, hurt and rejected in expression, printed itself in her mind.
“
Please, God,
”
Dusty prayed in a whisper.
“
I don
’
t want to be like this. Help me! Heal me!
”
And then she added,
“
Why did you lead him back here?
”

That night even the low hum of the
cowboys and ranch
hands settling into the bunkhouse couldn
’t comfort her—for,
above all the rest, one very familiar, very beloved voice was all she could hear. She finally fell asleep with an ache in her heart that seemed more unendurable than ever before.

It
was still dark when Dusty awoke. It was
a bit earlier than she
’
d planned to start the day, even for her.
Still,
something had awakened her
,
and she knew herself well enough to admit she
’
d never get back to sleep. Even if she did, she
’
d feel worse getting up in half an hour after dozing again. She
pushed
the covers aside
and stretched for long moments. B
reathing deeply of the morning air
, she relished the smell
of dust, the creek, the trees,
and
pasture grasses.
H
er eyes
widened, however,
when she realized just what had awakened her.

“
Are you pretendin
’
tonight, little darlin
’
,”
came the first line of the familiar tune. Frantically, Dusty
kicked the rest of her covers off, leaping
out of bed
and racing
to the window
. She
looked out into the darkness of early morning. There was a lantern on in the barn. She could see its glow through the open door.

Pretendin
’
I
’
m your Prince Charmin
’,