Free Dusty Britches by Marcia Lynn McClure Page B

herself, she was already soaked and wet. What did it matter if she went wading now?
    Sitting down next to the cool pool of water fed by the waterfall, she let her feet slip beneath the water ’ s surface. “ Ahhh, ” she sighed, closing her eyes. She opened them immediately when the first vision to pass before them was that of Ryder and his mischie vous grin. She hated that grin—that triumphant, “ I-got-the-better-of-you ” grin. He ’ d grinned it forever. For as long as she could remember, that teasing, adorable, infuriating grin had always existed. And yet, as she thought of their proximity in the trough, as she contemplated how exhilarating it had been to have him holding her against him as he bound her hands at her back, she began to give in.
    There was no fighting it. There was no fighting the reality that the man was fantastic— even more magnificent than he ’ d been five years ago! She would have to ac cept and learn to live with it— learn to live with him! Undoubtedly, he would winter at the ranch. H e’d already told her father so; she ’ d heard him that morning during branding. And if she were going to survive— if she w ere going to be able to soften herself toward her father and si ster as she’d promised herself—then she was going to have to come to terms with the fact that the perfect, wonderful man who had been so out of reach to her before was going to be near to her every day, a painful reminder of what she still could never have.
    She let herself fall backward into the cool grasses lining the banks of the pond. She breathed deeply of their green fragrance and the warmth of the day. Though her mind fought surrender for several moments, she finally allowed memory to flood her mind . From the moment she ’ d turned to see Ryder standing behind her the day before, they’d called to her. There were so many memories— too ma ny to count, too many to recall. A nd they were , all of them, good—a lmost.
     
    “ Mama , I can ’ t do this! I te ll you, I can’t!” Dusty whined. P ut ting her head down on the table, she dramaticall y bang ed her fist on the to p of it . “ Mrs . Fitzpatrick is a demon of torture, Mama! This arithmetic is far too hard . I can ’ t do it . I can ’ t! ”
    Dusty he ard her mother’s impatient sigh. Still, she spoke rather calmly, considering how long Dusty had spent whining about her schoolwork instead of doing it. “ She wouldn ’ t give you that assignment if she didn ’ t think you were capable of figurin ’ it out, Dusty! ” Elly Hunter untied her apron and folded it, laying it on the counter. “ Now, I ’ ve done all I can to encourage you. I ’ m worn out. I ’ m goin ’ in the other room to do some readin ’ of my own , and when I come back in thirty minutes…I want that assignment finished and you ready to turn in. You hear me? ”
    “ But I can ’ t! ” Dusty sobbed. “ It ’ s too hard and —”
    “ Angelina Hunter! I ’ ve had it! ” Her mother left the room, shaking her head .
    It wasn ’ t more than a few moments before Dusty heard the door to the kitchen open. Assuming it was her father coming in for the night, she sniffled, wiped her tears , and straightened in her chair. There would be heck to pay if her father found out how she ’ d been whining at her mother.
    “ I can hear you whinin ’ all the way out to the corral, ” Ryder whispered. Dusty turned to see Ryder walk quietly into the room.
    “ I thought you boys were all in bed, ” Dusty sniffled.
    “ With you yowlin ’ like a hung cat? ” he chuckled quietly. “ What ’ s ol ’ Mrs. Fitzpatrick torturin ’ you with tonight, Britches? ” he asked.
    Ryder always came to her rescue. Always.
     
    Dusty smiled. He had helped her through all of Mrs. Fitzpatrick ’ s awful arithmetic assignments. It was fairly often he ’ d come sneaking into the kitchen well past his own bedtime to help Dusty a nd Becca with their schoolwork— patient as ever in spite