Dusty Britches
By Marcia Lynn McClure
Copyright 2003

To Rhonda….
For never having too many red sweaters!
For basking in the autumn-ness of being brunette!
And for being the perfect answer to my prayers…
With a flying package of paper plates!

CHAPTER ONE

Dusty Hunter looked up into nature's painted splendor of heavenly blue sky. Raising one hand to shade her eyes from the intensity of the late spring sun, she paused for a moment in her laborious efforts to rid the vegetable garden of weeds. As she marveled at the soothing beauty of immense, velvet clouds wandering slowly across the canvas of sapphire, their tranquil grace gave her cause to smile, and somehow the task at hand didn't seem quite so tedious anymore. Inhaling deeply of the dry western air she wondered at how incredibly long the day seemed to be. She had been weeding the garden since the first rays of morning broke over the mountains. In addition to all the ugly weeds which met her that morning, some rotten little varmint had nibbled the leaves of her cabbage plants during the night. She wasn't sure she could even save them now.

"Rotten ol' skunks," Dusty mumbled, resting her hands on her hips and looking down to the seemingly endless task at hand. Tossing a handful of ragweed into a nearby weathered wooden bucket, she removed her well-worn leather gloves and carefully inspected the blisters in her palms. They weren't as sore today as they had been yesterday, but sore enough all the same. Pulling the gloves back on and sighing heavily, she dropped to her knees and returned to the monotony of maintaining the garden.

Dusty's father, Hank Hunter, had been on a cattle drive for weeks. It was a long way from Texas to the Hunter ranch. Hank had lost nearly all of his calves during the early spring calving season. Mother Nature had been brutal and even though several calves had been saved by bringing them right into the house at night, most were lost because their mothers suffocated from snow and ice obstructing their nostrils, or died simply from cold and exposure. Now, new cattle had to be purchased in Texas.

Dusty found herself glancing up from her labors and toward the south. She knew that at any moment her father, whatever cowboys he'd hired to drive the cattle home and at least one hundred head of cattle would be arriving in a cloud of Colorado dust.

"They'll never get that fence done in time," Dusty said out loud. Feller Lance, her daddy's top hand, and the rest of the ranch hands were working from sunup to sundown on the new fence and windbreaks needed before the cattle arrived.

Wiping at the perspiration on her brow, Dusty furiously yanked weeds out of the ground. She wished she hadn't sent Becca to gather the eggs. Company would have been nice. Yet the useful slice of the idea was immediately cast aside as she reminded herself that Becca would just ramble on endlessly--on and on and on. Dusty had no patience for, and definitely no interest in, hearing about the seemingly shallow affairs of Becca's young heart. Dusty had no heart. Long ago it had been stomped on and ground into the dust by the boot heel of a man, and Dusty Hunter had no interest in repeating such an experience. Therefore, she couldn't see why any woman would trust any man, or find anything attractive or redeeming about one. Her sister's young, naive, lighthearted ways only served to irritate her most of the time. After thinking about it again, Dusty was, as usual, content in her lone misery.

Becca would've complained anyway. Dusty guessed the temperature must be in the high eighties, Becca would only tell her she shouldn't be out working in the heat. She would claim “heatstroke” and go in to sit in the rocker with a nice glass of water.

Not Dusty. Hard work was good for the body and soul. And the mind! It kept one occupied and unable to linger on…on frivolous things that most young women thought about far too much during the day. Besides, Dusty knew her limits. She'd only fainted from the heat once before and that was last year. Becca was just…just…Dusty sighed and smiled at the thought of her sister. Becca was just…a very normal, very sweet, very pretty young girl. The little blue-eyed blonde of the family. The jewel! With personality befitting a jewel, too. No wonder all the hands liked her. She was kind to them, witty and didn't mind someone finding humor in her misfortunes.

Dusty reflected on the day only a week before when Becca had been slopping the hogs. There she had been…treading awkwardly through the muck in the pen…never mind that she could've gone around the outside of the pen and slung the slop into the trough that way. No! Becca had put on her daddy's boots, hitched up her skirts and petticoats, tucked the front firmly in her waistband, and gone treaded out, a bucket in each hand, to feed the hogs. Naturally, anyone with any sense could see what was going to happen. Dusty herself had been watching from the back porch. She saw all the hands pause in their usual chores to watch what promised to be no less than a mildly hysterical exhibition by Becca Hunter.

Sure enough, Becca had no sooner entered the pen than the hungry hogs began snorting around her feet. "Now, you all hogs…you leave me be!" Becca ordered in her strongest voice. Becca's strongest voice more resembled that of a scullery maid trying to timidly whisper an order to her mistress. But the hogs, in their impatience to eat, began bumping against her legs and before she could act…before anyone could act, Becca lost her footing. The two buckets she was carrying flew into the air, emptying their contents the length of Becca from the newest hair of her head to the tip of her biggest toe. She found herself firmly, and not very gently, sitting squarely in the mud and muck of the hog pen.

The way every hired hand in the county, it seemed, flung himself into the pen to assist her caused Dusty to think for a moment that perhaps her sister's dramatic 'accident' actually had been intended. The thought was only fleeting for Dusty knew Becca hated nothing more than getting “dirty.” And slop and hog manure surely were in the “drty” category. Still, as Dusty found herself chuckling at her sister's predicament, she noted Becca managed to laugh at herself as several of the men helped her escape her snorting captors.
What a sight Becca had been! Dusty smiled broadly, feeling a little less dismal, as she returned to yanking out the weeds.

Her knees were sore from kneeling on the moist ground and her fingers stiff from ripping up weeds and roots when Becca approached at almost a dead run some 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 someone filled her body with a warm, sweet liquid. It had been weeks since their father left. Dusty had missed him terribly! She pulled off her gloves tossing them into the bucket of weeds as she stood. Brushing off the seat of her skirts and smiling warmly at her sister, she said, "Well…let's go then! I love to watch them bring 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 when she heard the soft bawling of the cattle and the whistles and shouts of her father and the men driving them in.
"I love this," Becca sighed, smiling lovingly at her sister.
"Me, too," Dusty agreed, smiling in return.

Rebecca Hunter had always secretly envied her sister. She loved Dusty like she loved no one else on earth. Still, it had been hard being Dusty Hunter's little sister. Dusty was intelligent, strong, witty and beautiful! Even now, after years of hardening her heart toward people and life, Dusty's dark eyes, shaded by long, thick lashes, sparkled with strength. She was an inch or two shorter than Becca with a smile that lit up any room, when she chose to smile, 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 slightly, 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 head. 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 could not dampen Dusty's spirits; since a little girl, she had loved to hear the approach of a cattle drive. Even in the fall when her father and the ranch hands 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 hands used to guide them, the soft bawling of younger heifers and steers; the whistles and shouts of her father and the hands.

Her mind wandered back for a moment to the year she was fourteen. She stood just where she was now perched upon the south fence of the corral watching the hands bringing in the cattle for fall. There had been one particular hand she favored. Actually, she'd been in love with him! Becca was always in love with one ranch hand or another 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 hand went far beyond a schoolgirl's crush. And, 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 way he snapped his bull whip as he drove in the cattle. There had been several hands who carried a whip since, but none had been as skilled as was that young cowboy years ago. He could crack it so she could hear him coming long before the sounds of the cattle were audible. In that very moment, Dusty fancied she could almost hear the snap of his whip in her mind, remembered how excited she would be 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 cowhand from years back and again 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 that 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 in 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 and joined them on the fence. "Your daddy's come home to you, 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 who had stayed on the ranch for near to three years now. All of them were county boys who wanted to cowboy but had no desire to roam the country leaving family behind.

Ruff was a handsome 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 farmer on the other side of town. 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 horse and leaping off like he was no more than a boy. "Sugar plums!" he called, chuckling as he swaggered toward his daughters, weathered cowboy legs bowed and 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 you take care of my girls while I was gone, Feller?" Hank Hunter asked his top hand.
"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 you 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 sand 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 could hear the shouts of relief and the splashing noises made by the cowhands as they quickly refreshed themselves in the creek. She smiled, relishing the sounds and knowledge of tradition. The cowhands 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 had nearly killed him. It was months and months and months after her mother's death before he even smiled, let alone spoke to anyone unless it was absolutely necessary. It was good to see him happy.

"Bring some wood from the shed, Titch," Feller ordered. "And, Ruff…you get that beef out we done yesterday. Them boys will be ready to eat that herd they just drove 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 as both 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 you 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. She 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." Both 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?"
Dusty looked at her sister, frowning irritatedly. "I love you--you and Daddy, and that's all I need." Becca looked away, 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 barbecue.”
"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 hum of masculine voices, the good-natured chuckling and conversation floating from the barbecue pit through her bedroom window as the new hands talked with Feller and the others. Times were when she would've been as excited about the new hands as Becca. Several years ago, before…and she would've bathed in that excitement exactly as Becca did now. However, experience had taught Dusty Hunter that there was more to life--so 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. That's what 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 hand 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 Angel of Heaven personified. Her daddy would pay them all just after breakfast tomorrow morning and most would leave, not wanting to tarry while one 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 hands when she was fourteen years old…the first time her heart was broken, shattered by an intriguing, handsome, 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 stray hair, she watched the goings on at the barbecue 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? she wondered. Why was her memory tarrying on that young cowhand 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 filling them in on the exciting 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 blonde. One had hair as black as night like Guthrie and Titch. And 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 that porch door slamming shut! Why had she let it slam? Instantly, every set of eyes at the pit turned to look and 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 hands nodded in turn. She found herself unable to meet any of them eye-to-eye. Her father’s announcing her by her given name, was humiliating. It seemed so…too…familiar. Only her father and sister called her Angelina on occasion. She focused on Feller, who grinned understandingly.

"What do you need me to do, Feller?" she asked.
"I need you 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."
The color drained from Dusty’s face. The 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 knowingly.

"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 you…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 grown! At 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, his 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 eyes, accented by dark eyelashes--she would not have known him. His face was much broader, his jaw chiseled and squared, his hair darker than she remembered, almost a cedar-bark brown. He had grown to be a very, very attractive man.

"Um…Ryder Maddox," Dusty added, realizing that she'd been standing in awed silence for several moments.
"Yep," he confirmed. His smile broadened. He chuckled as he studied her from head to toe. "You done some growin' since I last saw you, Miss Britches."
Dusty blushed from the top of her scalp to the bottoms of her feet. The sensation quite unnerved her, for it had been years, literally, since she'd experienced it. Miss Britches. She'd almost forgotten he called her that. How divine it was to hear him say it again! And then, Dusty Hunter, the woman…no longer the fourteen year old girl prone to matters of the heart…pulled her thoughts, feelings and self up short. Stone cold. No feeling. Only irritation.
"Yes. It happens to us all," she stated flatly, forcing a friendly smile. "I'd say you're a mite taller, yourself."

Ryder's brow puckered, but only for a moment before he said, "I guess so."
He seemed to study her intently for a moment, especially her eyes. It made her uncomfortable. He'd always made her uncomfortable. Now that wasn't true, she admitted somewhere deep, deep down inside her soul.

"We met up with old Ryder in Tucumcari," her father interjected. "He'd just finished a drive and was hangin' 'round the yards. I talked him into comin' on home with me."
Dusty looked to her father as he slapped the man on the back. Hank's smile was wide, and his eyes had an odd, delighted twinkle. Dusty remembered how fond her mother had been of Ryder Maddox. Elly Hunter always said that if she'd had a son, Ryder Maddox would've been the spittin’ image of him! If her mother had favored the man, it stood to reason her father had, too.
"Well, welcome back to the ranch, Mr. Maddox," Dusty said. "If you'll excuse me…I must get to helpin' Feller." Turning away from her father and Ryder, she walked to where Feller was spooning his special barbecue sauce over the skewered beef.

She felt the unfamiliar, yet all too familiar, sting of tears rising in her eyes. He was perfect! More perfect than she even remembered. And she wasn't. There she stood before him, having just been wrung out of trough water, hair wet, simple brown skirt and calico shirtwaist. Even more infuriating and upsetting was that she cared!

"Smoke gettin' to you, Dusty?" Feller inquired innocently noticing the moisture in her eyes. Afterall, Dusty Hunter didn't cry anymore. Ever.

"A bit, Feller," she lied. "I'm all right. Here…let me do that," she said, smiling and taking the large spoon and pail full of sauce from him. Feller stepped back as Dusty continued to baste the meat.
"What do you think of that, Dusty?" he asked quietly.

"Think of what?" she asked, though she knew full well what.
"'Bout your daddy pickin' up Ryder Maddox along the way home? Small world, ain't it?"
Dusty knew Feller was all too aware of her past concerning Ryder Maddox, but she played the innocent anyway. "Yep. Small world."

Feller Lance decided not to push his young friend about the matter. His eyes narrowed as he watched her nervously basting the beef. She was a complete emotional mess. He knew her all too well. That handsome cowboy who arrived with her daddy had looped her rope entirely. And Feller loved it. It was about time Dusty…the real Dusty climbed out of the deep, dark hole she'd sunk in two years before when Cash Richardson did her heart in. And Feller knew that if there was a man on earth to dig her out, it was Ryder Maddox.
?
Feller and Dusty's heads both popped around when they heard Becca exclaim suddenly, "Oh, my heck! Ryder Maddox!" Dusty fought the painful twinge of regret and jealousy that pricked her heart as she watched her little sister throw her arms around the handsome cowboy's neck in a warm and welcoming hug. It should've been her place…in his arms. Afterall, she thought, watching Ryder hugging Becca in return, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her off the ground, it had been her place before. Becca giggled as her feet swayed back and forth like the clapper of a bell. When they finally ended their rather long greeting embrace, Becca sighed, "Ryder Maddox! Where on earth did Daddy dig you up?"
"Tucumcari, New Mexico, sweet thing," the man chuckled in his warm, deep voice.
"You got so big," Becca said.
"And old," Ryder added.
"And handsome," Becca corrected. Dusty flinched at her sister's innocent flirtatious honesty, though somewhere in her mind she knew where her sister had learned it and tried to forget. Then she wanted to crawl into the barbecue pit with the intended supper when Becca added, "Did you see Dusty? She's grown up, too, since last time we saw you."
"Oh, yeah," Ryder agreed. "Both you girls have…changed," he admitted, drawing out the last word for emphasis. "Makes me feel like an old man."
"Think on how it makes me feel," Hank chuckled.
“Old.” The word echoed through Dusty's mind hauntingly. She did feel old--like she'd lived for more than nineteen short years on this green earth. And Ryder? He would be what…twenty-five by now? A true man, in years; a man who'd most likely lived a lot of life; a man who'd undoubtedly had women in that life. Dusty shook her head, turned and handed the sauce pail back to Feller.

"We'll be needin' more forks," she mumbled. She left quickly and nearly ran toward the shelter of the house. Once inside she said out loud, "Stop! Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop!" She had to quit thinking of him; had to block those memories of her youth and Ryder Maddox. She had to remind her heart what a man could do to your life--what he’d done to her life! And with new resolve she went to the silver drawer to get more forks.

But as she rummaged through the drawer that held all manner of eating utensils, she could not keep her thoughts away from him. Everything…every moment of those days so long ago seemed to be rushing back into her mind. There were too many things to remember all at once--visions of him snapping his whip as he herded cattle; images of his walking toward her, smiling that mischievous smile that he owned. Sounds echoed through her mind--the low intonation of his chuckle, his voice. She fancied she could actually hear him singing in the barn as he tended the milk cows during the dark morning hours. She could almost, not quite but almost, smell the scent of soap and saddle leather that clung to him. It was incredible! For just an instant…for just a breath of time, she closed her eyes and was fourteen years old again; fourteen years old and untainted by the disappointments of life. Fourteen years old and completely in love with her daddy's favorite cowhand.

Forcing her eyes open, she remembered the rest. She felt her eyebrows pucker into a frown as the familiar painful twinge pricked her heart, reminding her how it had ended and of what had gone on years afterward. Grabbing a fistful of forks, she slammed the drawer shut, spun around and stormed out of the house. As she stomped her way toward the barbecue pit, her mind filled with angry, hateful thoughts—any thoughts that would harden her heart and stop her confounded memories from being so sentimental and sappy. Because she was being hateful and determinedly unhappy, she didn't hear the wild drumming of out-of-control hooves. She was so set on mounting her defenses against anyone's offer of kindness that she didn't hear her daddy shouting, "Dusty! Watch out!"

It wasn't until she looked up and saw Ryder Maddox in a dead run toward her with her daddy and several other hands at his heels that she stopped dead in her tracks. Only then did she hear the approach of a runaway team and a woman screaming. It seemed to happen slowly, and yet it took no more than a few seconds. Dusty looked to her left to see a team and a wagon, out of control and heading straight for her. In those few seconds Dusty noted Miss Raynetta McCarthy bouncing about on the wagon’s seat like a cricket in a frying pan, holding on for dear life now and again when she could and screeching for help at the top of her lungs.

Suddenly, Dusty's breath was violently driven from her. For a moment, every inch of her body throbbed with pain as she was thrown backwards to land hard on the ground.
The horrible panic and pain of not being able to inhale a breath kept her silent. Ryder Maddox raised himself from on top of her and mumbled, "Who saved your bacon when I wasn't around anymore?" Dusty watched in painful, breathless silence as he stood. He turned to watch Dusty's father and several hands struggling to settle down the team some distance away. Then, turning back to her, he smiled, offered a hand to assist her to her feet and said, "I see Miss Raynetta is still a wild hare."

Without thinking, Dusty placed her hand in Ryder's and he pulled her to her feet. But in the next instant her wits were returning and she rather rudely yanked her hand from his. The cowboy responded with a puzzled frown as Dusty was finally able to draw a breath and stammered, "Thank you, Mr. Maddox. I should pay more attention to where I'm goin'."

Her chest hurt from lacking breath. Though her body still ached as well, it was her pride that was most damaged. How humiliating that she had been so distracted she hadn't heard the danger. Further humiliating still, was Ryder Maddox had been the one to save her! And…how completely mortifying that he'd saved her by coming in a dead run, grabbing her body and lifting her out of the way as they sailed through the air together landing in heap in the dirt! At least she hadn’t dropped the handful of forks still held tightly in her fist.

"You're welcome, I guess…Miss Hunter," he told her awkwardly, the puzzled frown on his face deeper than before.
Dusty didn't like the way he studied her disapprovingly. She could almost hear his thoughts. What have you become? she felt him thinking. She thought back at him, the end result of what you began! With a scowl, she turned from him and headed toward the wagon where her father and several hands were dealing with the team and an hysterical Miss Raynetta McCarthy.
"Oh, good gravy, Hank!" Miss Raynetta exclaimed breathlessly. She pressed her hand to her chest dramatically after Hank Hunter helped her down from the wagon. "I thought I was goin'! I just thought I was plum a goin' up to gossip with the geese there for a moment!"
"Now settle down there, Miss Raynetta," Hank chuckled. He nodded at Feller in a gesture that he should tend the team.

Miss Raynetta shook her head, fanning her face with one tiny hand. "Truly, Hank!" she assured him emphatically. "I seen it all!" She opened her hands and stretched her palms toward the sky. "My whole life a flashin' before my eyes like lightnin' in the heavens!" Dusty watched as her daddy looked to Ruff and smiled knowingly and completely amused. "There I was," Miss Raynetta continued in an awed whisper, "there I was when I was eight, a stealin' molasses from my mama's cupboard." She looked to Hank and shook her head. "Truth be told, Hank. Everythin' I ever done wrong! Just a flashin' in front of me like judgment day!"

"Well, if stealin' molasses was the worst thing you ever done, Miss Raynetta…" Hank began, taking her arm and leading her toward the barbecue pit. Dusty followed then, all too aware of Ryder Maddox following her in ponderous silence.

"Oh! But it weren't the worst of it!" Miss Raynetta exclaimed, intent on proving her villainy. "I dare not tell you the rest, Hank! You'll send me down to the devil yourself!"
Dusty's father chuckled and even for her angry, dark mood Dusty couldn't help the smile that spread across her face as she watched the eccentric woman. Miss Raynetta was the county character. Everybody thought so. She was thirty-five years old and had never married. She always wore the brightest colored dresses anyone had ever seen. Purple and red were her favorite colors, and that alone gave birth to many a raised eyebrow. Dusty had never been able to understand why Miss Raynetta had never married. Oh, it was true that she was someone who you had to learn to understand, but she was adorable all the same. She was tiny, not quite five feet, with dark brown hair and big brown eyes. She unknowingly boasted the complexion of an angel—soft, smooth skin that was never marred by the tiniest of a freckle or blemish. Her smile and laughter were a pure remedy for anything that would have caused anyone else to frown. All she had to do was enter a room and the air of eccentricity, wit, and curiosity that was her aura immediately set even the grouchiest of souls to grinning. Sometimes, over the past five years, Dusty had wondered if perhaps Miss Raynetta McCarthy had been a victim left in the path of a masculine wake as she herself was.

"You all right?" Ryder asked from behind her, diverting Dusty's attention from Miss Raynetta's confessions of sin to her father.
"I'm fine," she stated, not looking back to him. "My pride seems to be the only bruise that'll linger."

"That and the dirt mark on the back a your…skirt," he mumbled.
Dusty stopped cold in her tracks whirling around to glare at him. He stood grinning mischievously and Dusty fought the instinct to be moved to emotion by the familiar expression. "It might be best if you were to go before me then, Mr. Maddox," she spat at him.
His grin broadened and he nodded to her. As he strode past her, he lowered his voice and said, "All righty then. But it ain't like I haven't dusted off the seat of your britches before."
Dusty's mouth gaped open in astonishment at his remark. It was unbelievable! Completely improper! She answered, "You haven't changed a bit!"

He paused and looked back at her. His expression changed. His eyes narrowed, a frown puckering his brow, and he almost glared at her. "You have," he said. He turned from her. Catching up to Hank and Raynetta, he offered his arm to the tiny female eccentric.
"Well! Bless my soul!" Dusty heard Raynetta exclaim. "I'd know you anywhere! Mr. Ryder Maddox. Hank Hunter, where'd you dig this boy up from?"

But Dusty was hateful in spirit and didn't want to be cheered up by Ryder Maddox, her father or Miss Raynetta McCarthy. So she turned away and began walking in the opposite direction.
"You wanna help me with this team, Dusty?" Feller asked as she passed him. She didn't want to help, but she knew Feller was trying to distract her. She nodded, dropped the forks into her apron pocket and silently matched his stride as he led the team back to the barn.
"Ain't like you to nearly be run over by a team of horses, Dusty," Feller noted when they'd reached the barn. He began checking the harnesses, and then the horses' hooves for thrown shoes. "Well, it ain't like you…anymore," he added when she remained silent.
Dusty had no desire to hear one of Feller's sneaky sermons on the evils of how she'd changed, so she offered, "Miss Raynetta gets in more fixes than anyone I've ever known."
Feller chuckled. "Yep. She's somethin' else. But…it's her love for livin' that gets her through…makes her somebody that people like to be around."

"You know everythin’, Feller," Dusty ventured as she watched him. She stroked the velvety nose of one of the horses and then the other. Feller did know everything. Dusty believed that to be a fact. He knew everything that was important anyway. She looked to him, wondering why such a good-looking cowboy as Feller Lance never settled down. Feller was tall, slim, with dark hair and light colored eyes. She'd seen many a girl in town pine away after him. "Why didn't Miss Raynetta ever get married?"

He was silent for a long time. Then he said, "I…uh…I'm not certain." Dusty frowned. He was lying to her. She could sense it. He knew why.
"You do too know. Why don't you want to tell me?" she asked. "Is it as lewd a story as all that?" Her curiosity was truly piqued.
"Ain't lewd at all. Just…just a little too close to home," the weathered cowboy mumbled.
"Tell it to me, Feller," Dusty begged. "I wanna know."
It seemed odd to Dusty in that moment that Feller should know so much about life. The way he talked and the knowledge he owned made him seem so much older than his mere thirty years. As a child she had asked Feller why he had never married and had a family. He always just told her that he hadn't found anyone that could love him. It had forever saddened Dusty. She had loved him, once. Followed him around like a lovesick kitten. But then she'd fallen in love with Ryder Maddox and left Feller for young Becca to fawn over for years and years. Sometimes Dusty fancied that, even now, Becca's eyes twinkled when she listened to Feller telling stories around the fire at night.

"Miss Raynetta fell for a cowboy…long while back. 'Fore you were born. But…she was young…and he was older…and he hitched up with somebody else 'fore she was old enough really to have a chance to catch him."
There was a long silence. Dusty turned and looked to where Miss Raynetta sat next to Becca, both of them surrounded by adoring hands. Miss Raynetta was magic! She had a way of drawing people to her like bees to honey. And yet…
"She seems happy enough," Dusty mumbled. If Miss Raynetta could be happy without a man in her life then…
"Fact was…the man didn't even know how she felt. He went off and married his darlin' not even knowin' that he'd broke some other little girl's heart." Dusty watched Feller as he now inspected the wagon for something that might have caused the team to bolt. "Took her so long to quit hurtin' and not wantin’ any other man that come along…that by the time she was over it…she'd missed the best years of her life. Them carefree, flirtin', courtin', sparkin'-on-the-porch-swing years." Now Dusty was irritated. Somehow Feller always managed to work in a sermon to her.
"And she seems fine for havin’ the wisdom to avoid it all," she grumbled.
"Seemin' and bein' are tricks of the trade, Dusty," he told her frankly. "Never had her own children or a husband to keep her warm and safe…to laugh with and work along side of."
"And how is it that you know so much about her?" Dusty asked a bit too sharply.

"Me an ol' Willy McCarthy used to be good friends. Willy's Miss Raynetta's little brother was the same age as me…we started cowboyin' together for Miss Raynetta's daddy. We had a lot of time to talk…he told me." Then he looked up at her and reminded, "You asked me about it, Dusty. Remember that."
"Yes, I asked you," Dusty whined, "but you always turn it into a sermon. I'm fine where I am, Feller. I'm fine and happy. I tried the 'lovin' a man' part of life once…and once was enough for me."
"You tried it twice, Dusty," he corrected her. "Then you tucked tail and ran."
Dusty couldn't be angry with him. He was right on both counts! She knew it. So she tightened her jaw and stroked a horse's nose.
"How are you feelin' just now, darlin'?" he asked unexpectedly. "Ol' Ryder Maddox rides in after five years a lookin' as big and strong as anythin'…and I ain't much of a judge when it comes to good lookin' or ain't…but I suspect he's the handsomest boy any female ever laid eyes on. And…I'm a wonderin' how you're feelin' about now."

Dusty stared at the horse in front of her, never seeing it. "I feel like I've been thrown to the ground and trampled until I can't breathe…or get up…or go on. I hate him. I hate him more than I did five years ago." She walked away with loathed moisture in her eyes, a pounding in her head, and hatred in her heart like even she'd never imagined.

Feller sighed heavily and shook his head. That little girl concerned him more than she'd ever know. And that Raynetta McCarthy…he'd told Dusty more than he planned. But he hadn't told her all of it.
"Sure you hate him, girl," he said to himself. "If you hated him…you wouldn't be so miserable."
?
Miss Raynetta had been saved, Feller had finished up the cooking, and now everyone sat enjoying the cool of the evening and a good meal.
"That Becca," Ryder chuckled as he sat with Feller enjoying his food. "She ain't changed a lick…'cept in growin' up a mite."
"And that Dusty has, you mean to be sayin'," Feller stated with the awareness given an experienced man.
Ryder nodded and smiled at his friend's insight. "Yep." He paused a moment before going on. "Ol' Hank…he told me how he lost Mrs. Hunter. She was the finest woman I ever knew."
"Amen," Feller whispered in emphatic, reverent agreement.
"But…I reckon there's somethin' he ain't told me about Dusty." Ryder let the comment hang in the air, knowing that Feller Lance would tell him what he wanted to know if he felt it was the right thing to do. And, he wouldn't if he didn't.

Feller chewed and swallowed a bit of beef, then inhaled deeply and began. "Well…I'll tell you honest, boy…I don't usual take it as my place to tell anybody nothin' where Dusty is concerned but…I think since you might a had somethin' to do with it…that you oughta know."
Ryder looked down at his plate rather guiltily for a moment. "She was fourteen years old, Feller. You know that."
"I know it, boy. I ain't blamin' you. I just said when it comes to the heart of Miss Angelina Hunter…you were the first one there. That's all."
Ryder nodded and Feller knew he'd made his point. "Well, boy…you remember the Richardsons in town? Man who owned the bank?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I do."
"You remember their son, Cash?" Feller asked.
"Yep. Little wormy, pampered kid…didn't know how to get his hands dirty," Ryder answered.
"That'd be the one. Well…he took a likin' to Dusty a year or so after you left. When she was…oh, 'bout fifteen he started really payin' her court. Not official, mind you. But, he rode out here a lot…danced with her a bunch at all the socials in town, sent her little love notes and all that." Feller noticed the disapproving frown on Ryder's face and the way he wrinkled up his nose in distaste, so he added, "Now mind you, Ryder…that boy filled out. And fast! He's a big ol' boy now. Not a hair under you and purty handsome for a town boy. Weren't a girl for two counties wasn't plum gone on that boy. Oh, and let me tell you…he was a charmer. Charmed every female in the county clear down to her toes. And he took to our little Dusty like kittens to cream."
Feller watched as Ryder looked up to where Dusty sat alone eating her barbecue. He knew the cowboy had his own guilt where Miss Angelina Hunter was concerned. "Anyway," he continued, "for two years that boy charmed, courted and coaxed that girl. Treated her good…I can't deny that. And she fell for him. As much as a girl can fall when someone else is always a lurkin' in the back of her mind."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Ryder grumbled. "You done made your point, Feller."
Feller chuckled and slapped the man on the back. "Anyway…'bout six months after Dusty turned seventeen, ol' Cash proposed marriage."
"Really?" Ryder seemed surprised. "And she said…" he coaxed.
"She said…she'd think about it, as I recall. Seemed she wanted to talk it over with her daddy, bein' that her mama had just passed about a year or so before and all. So, our little Dusty…and she's a good gal…she wouldn't even consider it 'less she was really lovin' that man in some way…I assure you of that. Anyhow…she decides some young cowhand she had her heart set on has grown up and got hisself married somewhere…"
"Ah, now come on, Feller! Cut me some rope here…" Ryder chuckled.
Feller smiled. "All right, boy. All right. So Dusty…she decides to marry Cash. He gives her a ring…big ol' rock of a diamond and gold band…he gives her a ring and they set a date. Then one day…Dusty goes into town to surprise him with a birthday cake she made for his twentieth. Walks up to the Richardson house…knocks…no answer. She hears somethin' comin' from their barn…walks over, opens the barn door…and sees Mr. Cash Richardson hisself a smoochin' and rompin' in the hay with one of them loose girls from the saloon."

"Ouch," Ryder sighed, rubbing at the whiskers on his chin, frowning and shaking his head.
"Oh, the smelly dog begged and groveled, sent her gifts, cried…did everything…but you know Dusty. She's got a good head on her shoulders and she wouldn't have nothin' to do with him. Bad thing is," Feller added, lowering his voice, "she wouldn't have nothin' to do with nobody. Not for the longest time. She still ain't got no use for men other than her daddy and…I'm proud to say, me. Don't trust 'em."
"Betray a woman's trust and you murder her soul," Ryder mumbled, looking up to where Dusty sat having been joined by her father.

"Yep." Feller looked up to Dusty, too. His own heart ached for the suffering endured by a young woman he loved like a little sister. "She cried and cried and cried off and on for weeks. And she ain't shed a tear…that I seen, anyway…since. She's hard, Ryder. Hard as stone. Works herself like a mule, won't let nobody close…'cept Alice. You remember Alice Maxwell?"
"Oh, yeah. They were friends when I was here," Ryder recalled aloud.
"But…Alice got married and has two babies and her husband to care for now. So she don't get over much."
"Banker's son. Dirty yeller dog," Ryder mumbled, shaking his head as he watched Dusty talking with her father and now Becca.
"Yep. Wanted to shoot him myself. I think ol' Hank had a hard time not beatin' the waddin' out of him," Feller told the man.
"Why don't you heal her heart, Feller?" Ryder asked, an unreadable expression on his face. "You said yourself, she still takes to you?"
Feller couldn't really tell whether the man was in jest or not. "Tarnation, boy! Even if I had the inclination…which I don't… you think she'd fall for another cowboy?" Then pure determination drove him to his next statement. "I figure…that's what the Lord, fate, or her daddy brung you back for."

Ryder chuckled, shook his head and took a swig of water out of his beat up old tin cup. "That girl don't need the likes a me. I been around and back since I was last here, Feller. One thing a broken-hearted woman don't need…it's a man with a yoke 'round his neck hitched up to a wagon and a haulin' bricks." Feller watched as Ryder Maddox inhaled a deep and grievous breath, exhaling long and hard. "But…I will say that this here's the best meat I ever tasted!" He smiled and stood up. "Since I left here five years ago, that is. I'm thinkin' I need a bite more." He walked away to where Becca was now serving up seconds.

Feller watched him go. "Yep. Fate or Heaven." Then he looked to where Becca was feeding the men. He didn't even realize a smile had crossed his face as he watched her fumbling around while she tried to serve. Wasn't even conscious of the wink he gave her when she looked over at him and sighed in frustration. He simply stood up and went to her rescue.
?
All evening Dusty had been quiet. She hadn't felt like talking. Her conversation with Feller had squelched any desire she might have had to socialize. He is such a nag sometimes, she thought to herself. But she loved him all the same. She had a powerful twinge of regret at the thought of him ever leaving the ranch.

"Oh, Dusty!" Miss Raynetta exclaimed as she plopped herself down on the bench next to Dusty. One thing about Miss Raynetta, she didn't sit down…she plopped. Dusty forced a smile, not really feeling like a chat with Miss Raynetta, mostly because Miss Raynetta always had a way of making her feel better, and Dusty wanted to wallow in her misery. It was how she stayed guarded.

"Oh, Dusty! I am so sorry that I nearly ran right over you with the team! I can't even think on it! I just start to feelin' like I'm gonna upchuck right here and now!"
Dusty smiled. The woman was an angel. Her sincere dramatics were also far too amusing not to smile at them. "I know it wasn't your fault, Miss Raynetta. I shouldn't a been daydreamin'."
Raynetta McCarthy smiled. "Well…if'n I was nineteen and Ryder Maddox came a ridin' up again one warm May afternoon with my daddy…I'd a been daydreamin', too!" She winked and Dusty shook her head, delightedly irritated. "Actually, even now if Ryder Maddox came a ridin' up…I'd be a daydreamin'!"

"Now…Miss Raynetta…you know I don't…" Dusty began.
"I know, I know," the woman sighed. Then tactfully, Raynetta changed the subject. "I thought I was gonna meet the Maker, Dusty. Right here on your daddy's ranch. My heart's a beatin' like a hammer on a nail just thinkin' about it!"
"But Daddy saved you," Dusty reminded her in an effort to calm her down once more.
Instead, Miss Raynetta's excitement and smile disappeared in one breath as she said, "Yes. He did."
Dusty frowned. The woman seemed oddly void of her usual zest. "What's the matter, Miss Raynetta?" Dusty was genuinely concerned. It was unlike this woman to be so…so…defeated.
But Raynetta just shook her head, "I'm just weary, sweet thing. Just weary. I been in town most all the day and then comin' home the team got away from me. Your daddy's always tellin' me that I should stop in and get one of the boys that works here to take me in to town…but…I don't need that, Dusty. Now do I?"

Dusty smiled. Here was a true kindred spirit! A woman who understood what a man could do to a woman's life!
"No you don't!" Dusty agreed wholeheartedly, somehow strengthened in her resolve. Raynetta smiled understandingly at the girl, yet Dusty did not favor the look of pity that accompanied her smile.
"You best be gettin' on, Miss Raynetta," Hank said as he approached. "That team may be a bit skiddish yet and I think somebody oughta go with you…make sure you get there safe."
"All right, Hank. I'd appreciate it," Miss Raynetta agreed.
Dusty frowned and looked to Miss Raynetta, puzzled. Hadn't she just said she didn't need a man's help?
"Ryder says he'd be more'n happy to see you home," Hank offered.
"Oh. Okay."
Miss Raynetta seemed disappointed. Dusty wondered how she could possibly be disappointed that it was Ryder who was going to go with her. After all, she'd implied that she found him attractive.
"Ryder," her father shouted, "take ol' Red with you outta the corral. He ain't been ridden much since I've been gone I figure."
"Yes, sir," Ryder called, rising from his place near the fire and heading toward the corral.
Dusty watched him go--watched him walk, noticed the way his shoulders moved in rhythm with the rest of his body. Ryder Maddox didn't walk, she remembered then. He swaggered. And as her mind began to linger…began to drift back to the days when life was happy, full of adventure and flirting and dreams…she stood up.

"I'm done in, Daddy," she managed to stammer. "I have to turn in if I'm gonna be up to feed this bunch breakfast in the mornin'."
"All right, darlin'," Hank said, hugging his daughter and kissing her adoringly on the cheek.
"Goodnight, Miss Raynetta," Dusty offered a second before she fled.

Hank watched his daughter walk away, the ache in his heart over her own pain almost unendurable.

"You done good by that girl in bringin' that boy back, Hank," Raynetta told him. "She needs to close that book and start over."
"I know," Hank admitted. "I just worry that…that the book is too good…too interesting…too perfect for her to be able to put it down."
"Closin' a book…don't mean you burn it, Hank. It just means you can start readin' it again…that's all."
Hank smiled down at Raynetta. "You're a wise woman, Miss Raynetta McCarthy. A wise woman, indeed."

Raynetta smiled up at him. "You'd be surprised at how unwise I truly am, Hank," she told him.
Hank shook his head. "I doubt that. But it is unwise for you to keep yourself out this late. You make sure Ryder gets you home safe, and don't stay away so long this time. You're welcome here any minute of the day."
"Thank you, Hank," Raynetta mumbled.

Hank Hunter watched the wagon leave, Ryder at the lines and Raynetta at his side in her racy purple dress. She was a beauty, that Raynetta McCarthy. As cute as she'd always been. Didn't look all that much different from when he'd been a young cowhand himself on her daddy's farm. Hank stood watching them go, wondering why a little gal as pretty as Raynetta had never married. Then he looked back toward the house. He watched as the light in Dusty's room got brighter, indicating that she'd lit her lamp and turned it up. His heart ached for her. And yet, at the same time, he was angry with her. Why had she let life beat her down so? It never truly seemed to be part of her nature. That yeller Cash Richardson! He'd like to wring that boy's neck! It hadn't been the same with Ryder. Dusty was fourteen and the ranch was in trouble. But Cash! Hank turned back to the pit. Feller was still cleaning up with Becca alongside him as ever. The other hands all looked done in.

"You boys get bunked in for the night. It's been a long, long day and tomorrow ain't gonna be any shorter," he announced. "Leave that for tomorrow, Feller," he said. "It ain't gonna run away while we sleep."

Becca walked to him, smiling as ever, and threw her arms around his waist. "I'm so glad you're back, Daddy," she said as she leaned up, kissing him soundly on the cheek.
"Me, too, darlin'," he chuckled. "Now you get to bed. It's late. Dusty'll need some help with breakfast in the mornin'."

"Yes, Daddy," she said, releasing him and heading toward the house.
Hank looked up long and hard into the night sky. There were a million stars winking back at him and he inhaled deeply of the clear night air. "What more could a man ask for, Feller?" he sighed as Feller approached and stood next to him enjoying the same fresh air and dazzling sky. "Two purty daughters, hard work, land, air, and the sky. What more could a man want?"
"Love of a good woman, maybe?" Feller mumbled.
Hank looked to Feller, puzzled. "Already had that myself, boy. I figure it's way past your turn though."

Feller chuckled. "Yep. I guess I ain't the lovable kind." Feller looked to Hank and added, "But you…ain't nothin' that would please Elly more than to be up there in Heaven and a lookin' down to see you havin' someone to love again, Hank."
Hank smiled at the memory of his little wife. He'd loved her more than life itself, and it had nearly killed him to lose her. He often wondered if it hadn't been for his girls if he would've just shriveled up and died.

"You're a fine one to talk, Feller. Got all the advice in the world for everybody but yourself, don't you?"
"Yep," Feller admitted.
Hank watched the stars twinkling. He liked knowing that Elly was safe with the angels. And the thought struck him again that Raynetta McCarthy was a sweet lookin' little gal.
?
Dusty sat on the bed brushing out her hair when Becca knocked on the door. "Can I come in, Dust?" she asked, entering without waiting for a response.
"Becca, what’re you knockin' for?" Dusty asked, trying to sound irritated. "You're gonna come in anyway, whether or not I'm buck naked!"
Instantly Becca was sitting on the bed next to Dusty, here eyes as wide as supper dishes and as curious as any old maid gossip. "How do you feel, Dust?" she asked.
"What are you talkin' about, Becca? I swear you send me into fits." Dusty knew darn well what Becca was talking about. But the fact was, she didn't want to talk about it.
"I nearly fainted dead away when he turned around and I saw who it was! How can you be so calm? He's…he's fantastic! More fantastic than he was when he was here before! How can you sit there so calmly and…"

"Because I am calm," Dusty lied. "That was so long ago, Becca…I can hardly remember what all went on."
Becca's smile, her excitement, were squelched--completely. She stood up slowly, hurt and disappointment evident on her face. "Why do you lie?" she asked. "Why do you shut me out? You're my sister! My only sister and the only person I can talk to! And you slam the door on me at every turn."
"Becca, I'm sorry," Dusty began. She had been cold. Unfeeling. Rude. She regretted it…as she always did when she always did it.
"No," Becca whispered. "Never mind. I'm tired of tryin', Dusty. I'm tired of never havin' anybody to talk to."
"You talk all the time, Becca. You got every hand on the ranch eatin' outta your hand. What do you need me for?" Dusty was building up the wall again. That strong impenetrable wall. That wall that kept her from feeling.
"What do I need you for?" Becca asked completely dejected. "After all, you ain't Mama. You don't have to listen to my concerns, my fears…my heartache. Now do you?" She turned and began to leave.
"What could you possibly know about heartache?" Dusty asked, emotion causing her voice to falter, betraying her feelings.
Becca turned and looked back at her, the all too familiar tears already streaming down her face. "A lot more than you think, Dusty. Don't think you own the only broken heart in the world." She left, slamming the door behind her.

Dusty sighed heavily and fought back her own tears. Then, shaking her head discouragedly, she blew out the flame in her lamp and crawled into bed. The night was unusually warm and she felt uncomfortable even with the lightness of the cotton nightgown she wore. She closed her eyes, intent on sleep. It had been a long day and breakfast came early.

But as she lay in her bed, all she could see in her mind's eye was that danged Ryder Maddox. The way he smiled, the way he walked, the smooth, deep intonation of his voice. The way he put his hat on, the way he rolled up his shirtsleeves. The boy had become a man, but the man had retained so many things that belonged to the boy. He's beautiful, she thought, angrily turning to her side and hugging her pillow. She tried to force her mind onto other roads of contemplation. Miss Raynetta's purple dress had been quite lovely. What a sight she had been, screeching at the top of her lungs atop her runaway wagon! Dusty smiled at the thought and scolded herself for finding any amusement in the woman's misfortune. And then the memory of Ryder Maddox "saving" Dusty's own "bacon" as he had put it snuck in. In that brief moment when he'd grabbed her and thrown her out of harm's way, her heart had leapt with delight at his touch! And then he'd remarked about the dirt mark on the back of her skirts. How dare he! she thought. He most definitely must've been looking at her seat in order to notice such a thing.
She remembered the first time she'd ever seen Ryder Maddox. At first she fought the memory that was overtaking her mind and senses. But then, 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 breathing, 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 that grew by the creek, and Angelina and Becca had spent all afternoon "entertaining" imaginary guests. Oh, the fun they'd had pretending that buttercups were corn freshly cut off the cob, that willow leaves were greens! And they had made the most marvelous mud pies that day…they'd flopped out of the tiny pie tins holding their shape perfectly. And, the girls had been set upon by imaginary renegade Indians. Of course, their imaginary cowboy beaus had saved their lives! Now the sun was telling Angelina that 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, Angelina had completely forgotten she had 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 hard and 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 that she had forgotten to put her dress back on. Now she stood for all the world to see in her just 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 that 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 to her other side and stared out the window as the breeze billowed the light curtains into her room. What a day that had been. Such fun she and Becca had! And her life had changed forever that same day. She hadn't known how much at the time. But that had been the day that was pivotal in her life. He had been a gold-strike of a boy! Tall, handsome as heaven, smart, a hard worker, witty, kind, polite. There 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 everyday that next fall. The older girls in town were complete ninnies, fawning all over Ryder at every social he ever attended. But he’d always been Dusty's boy. He'd do anything she asked within reason. And some things without. Like the time she begged him to help her feel what it was like to fly. Ryder had helped Dusty with the rigging out of the hayloft. What a fit Mama had when she came home from town that day to find Dusty swinging this way and that from a harness and some ropes she and Ryder had rigged. And who was it who always wiped her tears 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--like some Prince Charming 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' house at Jenny's sister's wedding. But even then, when Dusty had fled the scene in tears, Ryder had left Jenny on the porch swing to seek Dusty out 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 that she'd believed him; hadn't realized she'd really dreamed it would 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! Really fall for one. Becca flirted mercilessly with them all. Enjoyed far too much attention from every cowhand in the county. But she'd never fallen in love, and Dusty hoped that when she did…for it was destined to happen…she wouldn't be hurt like Dusty had been.
Poor, sweet Becca. Guilt washed over Dusty and caused her to cry again. She'd treated her sister so miserably almost 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. But 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 hands settling into the bunkhouse couldn't comfort her. Because, 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.