Greetings, fellow pioneers! Is anyone else getting the urge to give Betsy a good shake? Betsy- it's Dusty. D.U.S.T.Y.
He's harmless!
Spev- the Save The Texas Prairie Chicken Campaign continues...
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Betsy lay under her blanket inside the covered wagon, unable to sleep. It was late, drawing near to the witching hour. She knew that Dusty would be out there by the dwindling campfire, sitting on a log or propped up against the stagecoach wheel trying to keep his eyes open in case they got attacked by bears or coyotes or rattlesnakes or even a Texas prairie chicken for all he knew. At first she had heard muted voices, one of them being Mr. Callahan's, but now there was just quiet, the occasional sound of Mr. Brookhaven snoring- even his snoring sounds like he paid money for it, Mr. Callahan had said, once- and a lone owl that murmured plaintively from time to time in a nearby tree.
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"We should go back and finish our supper," Betsy whispered, lifting her head from Dusty's shoulder. "Lulu will wonder why it's taking me so long just to have a word with you."
"Tell her you made a mistake," he whispered back. "Tell her it wasn't just one word after all, it was a lot of words, and big ones, too, like 'prehistoric' and 'sarsaparilla' and it took you a long time to say 'em."
She smiled, toying with the collar of his shirt. The material was rough, but at the same time it felt nice- probably only because Dusty was wearing it. "That's funny, Dusty, but Lulu's no fool. She'll guess that something's going on."
Dusty relaxed his arms around her. "I wasn't trying to be funny," he whispered. "Besides, I don't see why you're so worried about Lulu anyway."
"She's going to know we're out here kissing in the dark behind the covered wagon." She said it lightheartedly, but Dusty's reaction took her by surprise.
"Well,Betsy, you were the one who came out here to start with. And second of all if you're mad at me for kissing you, you should just say it."
Betsy blinked at his sudden assertiveness. "No, Dusty, I'm not mad at you, not at all! But it must be obvious what we're out here doing."
"I thought you liked it," Dusty looked puzzled.
"Dusty, I did like it. I did! It was just a little...unexpected, that's all."
"Gee, I wish I hadn't done it now," he lamented, letting indignation settle firmly on his features. "One minute you act as if you like me, and the next minute you..."
"Dusty! I do like you! You know I do." Betsy shook him gently by the shoulders because his whispers were getting a little loud, but when it looked like he was warming to his theme and wasn't going to shut up anytime soon there was only one thing left to do. Betsy put her hand on the back of his neck and stopped his protests with another kiss, catching him off-guard the way he had caught her off-guard. This time it was Dusty who felt himself stumbling backwards until he was pressed up against the tree with Betsy's mouth clamped firmly to his, one arm around his neck and the other wrapped tightly around his waist.
"Mmm," Dusty mumbled, clearly confused now. His arms went around her, loosely at first, but as the kiss went on and on he started to experimentally caress her shoulders, then tentatively moved his hands down over her ribcage, where he hesitated for a moment before taking a chance on moving them just a little bit further down to her waist, in that soft, narrow bit where the bodice of her dress joined the flare of her skirts.
Feeling the warmth of his hands there, Betsy squirmed and disengaged her lips from his. "Dusty," she murmured, reaching for his hands.
He leaned forward, searching for her mouth. "Betsy," he whispered, "Why are we stopping?"
"Because we can't...I mean, we shouldn't..." She laced her fingers through his, brought his hands up where she could see them.
Dusty blinked, his face a mass of contradiction. "We shouldn't what?" he whispered.
"We shouldn't...we can't go any further."
"Go any further where? Behind this tree?"
"No, Dusty, we can't go any further with...with, you know."
He shook his head. "No, I don't know! See, Betsy? You're doing it again. You like me, then you don't like me, then you like me, then you don't like me, then you like me, then you..."
"Shhh, Dusty." Betsy put her hand lightly over his mouth. "I do like you. I like you more than I like anyone else here. You're my best friend and you look out for me, and you're kind and sweet and, yes, you're even handsome in your own way." She ignored his muffled protestations and his indignant blinking and went on. "But, Dusty, kissing you is all very new, and I don't want to rush things. I need time to get used to all these new feelings that mean more to me than just friendship." She removed her hand from his mouth, hoping that he wouldn't start talking at her non-stop the way it looked like he was gearing up to do. But he didn't.
"I don't understand, Betsy, and I'll gladly admit it." Dusty said quietly. "I'm not trying to go any further. Besides, you were the one who kissed me that time."
Betsy dropped her gaze, embarrassed that he'd caught her out. "I know," she murmured. Because she couldn't think of anything else to say.
Dusty pushed himself away from the tree. He straightened his shirt collar and britches, readjusted the battered old hat on his head and shoved the hair out of his eyes. "Betsy, I need to go back and finish my supper," he said. Because he couldn't think of anything else to say.
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Noises drifted into the periphery of Betsy's consciousness. She opened her eyes slowly to find that it was daylight, or at least early dawn. She didn't remember falling asleep, but then, nobody ever remembered falling asleep. It just happened, and you didn't realise it until you'd woken up.
She rolled over under the blanket hoping for a few extra minutes of snooze time, but someone outside was banging pots and pans ready for storage. The more she lay there the lazier she felt, so she sighed and pushed herself upright, hiking her tangled hair out of her face and looking across at Lulu who never had any trouble sleeping through the morning's hustle and bustle.
Betsy threw the blanket aside and got to her feet with a ladylike yawn. She collected her bag of toiletries, which admittedly paled in comparison to the amount of gunk and creams and beautifiers that Lulu kept. She smoothed down her demure, ankle-length night dress and took a deep breath knowing she looked anything but presentable. Finally she eased herself carefully through the rear flap of tarpaulin into the cool morning air and carefully descended the small set of wooden steps to the ground, taking a moment to compose herself before the short walk to the creek. Just as she was standing there minding her own business and breathing in the brand new day, Dusty came charging around the corner and barrelled straight into her. His arms were laden with kitchen utensils which he promptly dropped in a clattering pile on the floor and then tripped over.
"Betsy!" he yelled out a warning, way too late.
"Dusty! What the...?" Betsy staggered backwards, arms flailing. She tried to grab hold of the wagon for support but the impetus of a falling Dusty was no match for her. She landed flat on her back and Dusty landed flat on his front on top of her with an "oof!" and there they stayed, collapsed in the dirt, dazed and somewhat disorientated, surrounded by a mess of pots, pans, rattling tin cups and cutlery.
"What in all tarnation?" came Lulu's sleepy yell from inside the wagon. A moment later, her blonde head appeared through the tarpaulin and she peered down at the spectacle in front of her. There was her prim friend Betsy, lying on her back in a state of disarray with Dusty spreadeagled on top of her, his elbows on the ground either side of Betsy's ribcage and his face about three millimeters away from hers. "Well," the showgirl said with a definite leer, "it sure looks cosy down there."
"Sorry, Lulu," Dusty apologised. He wriggled on top of Betsy and twisted himself round to look up at the woman who was grinning down at him with a look of undisguised delight. "I didn't mean to make all that noise."
Lulu primped her hair and winked at him. "S'what they all say," she drawled, chuckling at her own heavily laden innuendo.
"What about me, Dusty?" squeaked Betsy breathlessly, firmly pinned beneath Dusty's weight. "Aren't you sorry to me too?" She was getting ready to give him a piece of her mind but she faltered when he turned his attention back to her and she realised just how close their faces were. Not just that- the position they were in, why...it was positively indecent! At that realisation, Betsy's mind went completely blank and there wasn't a coherent piece of it left to give to anyone. Her head fell back against the ground and she stared into his wide blue eyes, wondering vaguely if he was going to kiss her, and what her reaction would be if he did.
Dusty looked as though he too was caught up in the same strange, frozen moment. Then suddenly he came back to life and pushed himself up and off her, and Betsy came back to life and pushed herself away from him as though he were the Devil himself.
It was lucky they separated when they did, because moments later Mr. Callahan came looking to see what all the noise was. With a huge dramatic sigh, the big wagonmaster put his hand out for Betsy to grab a hold of and pulled her bodily to her feet, almost lifting her off the ground. "You all right, Betsy, honey?" he asked, concerned that the girl had hurt herself because she looked so pale. When Betsy nodded, he turned his attention to Dusty, who was trying to pretend nothing had happened while he set about retrieving all the fallen utensils.
"Dusty."
"Yes, Mr. Callahan?" said Dusty, brightly, with a 'who, me?' expression on his face, almost looking round to see if there was another Dusty in the vicinity.
"It's six thirty am. I thought you would have at least waited until a decent, civilised hour before you set about breakin' all Hell loose. Can't you just slow it down a little? Some folks ain't even awake yet!"
"They are now," said Lulu. "Mind you, I wouldn't have missed that little show for the world!" She laughed, but it was with genuine amusement, and when she caught an embarrassed Betsy's eye, she winked blatantly.
"Sorry, Mr. Callahan, but I was just tryin' to make myself useful. Guess I didn't see Betsy standing there."
"Well, I guess it was partly my fault for standing there in the first place," Betsy interjected. "Dusty wouldn't have been able to see me until the last minute."
Mr. Callahan sighed like a pair of bellows. "I sure hope you two ain't thinkin' of becomin' a double act," he said gruffly, pointing his finger from Betsy to Dusty and back again. "One of him is enough- I don't think the ol' ticker could take another."
"No, Mr. Callahan," Betsy said, feeling chastened, while Lulu chuckled throatily.
After Mr. Callahan had gone, Dusty threw his armload of pots and pans into the open storage chest and turned to Betsy looking more sheepish than she'd ever seen him.
"I'm sorry, Betsy. I hope I didn't hurt you," he said, scratching at the back of his neck.
"No, Dusty, you didn't so much hurt me as surprise me." Betsy shuffled on her feet, aware that she was in her nightgown and he was looking at her bare toes wiggling in the dirt.
"Guess I oughta look more where I'm going."
"Guess I shouldn't have been standing in the way to begin with."
Meanwhile, Lulu was watching them over the wagon's tailgate with her chin propped on her crossed forearms.
"This is the cutest little ol' thing I ever saw," she grinned. "Like a puppy and a kitten gettin to know each other." She looked at Dusty with such affection that he instantly blushed and had to look away.
"Well, I need to get to the creek," Betsy said to no-one in particular. She looked around for her bag of toiletries but became puzzled when she couldn't see it.
"It's up there, honey," Lulu laughed, and pointed up at an overhanging tree branch. Sure enough, there was Betsy's bag of toiletries snagged on a twig and slowly twirling around and around in the morning breeze.
"Don't worry, Betsy, I'll get it down for you!" said Dusty. He went straight over to the tree and began climbing up the trunk.
"Dusty, no! We'll knock it down with something...!"
"Betsy, Betsy," said Lulu, almost reproachfully. "Let him climb the tree. It's his way of making things up to you."
"What?" Betsy swivelled her head to stare at Lulu. "It's his way of endangering his life, you mean!" She looked back at Dusty who was now hooking his arms around the lower branches, his foot braced against the trunk for leverage. "Dusty, come dow..."
"Betsy," Lulu spoke sharply now. "Understand just one thing about men. If they want to do something for you, you let 'em. No matter how stupid and foolhardy it may seem." She arched her finely plucked eyebrows at the younger woman, who sighed with exasperation.
"Lulu, I can't let him climb that tree just to get my bag of soap!"
As if on cue, a branch snapped and fell to the ground. "I'm okay!" cried Dusty, from further up the trunk.
"Betsy, that boy has nine lives. Plus, he bounces. Let him climb that tree, and let him get your bag, and when he comes back to you with it, give him the biggest hug he's ever known. Don't go off all 'oh Dusty you could've bin killed'. Just praise him exactly like you'd praise a puppy. Trust me, Betsy. You'll thank me for it one day."
"Oh, Lulu." Betsy was unable to be cross with Lulu. The showgirl had a big heart, even if she was about as subtle as a cosh to the back of the head.
"Look, see? He's get'n your bag for you now."
Dusty had snapped off a long, thin branch and was using it to try and snag the toiletries bag. He was leaning quite far out, but his legs looked firmly anchored to the branch he was lying on. He grimaced with concentration, leaned out a little more, swiped at the toiletries bag as though aiming at a pinata. Eventually one of his wild swings got lucky and the bag dislodged itself and fell to the ground. Betsy ran over and picked it up, and stood under Dusty looking up with a big smile on her face.
"Thank you, Dusty," she beamed.
With that, the branch he was lying on finally broke, but it didn't separate from the tree entirely. It just cracked loudly then splintered and drooped downwards, bringing Dusty with it and depositing him safely on the ground right next to Betsy, where he stood grinning and brushing leaves off his shoulders. "Anything for you, Betsy," he said bravely.
"Nine lives," called Lulu. "What did I tell ya?"
"Oh, Dusty!" Betsy was overjoyed. She threw her arms around his neck and clung tightly. And this wasn't just because Lulu had told her to. This was because she was happy that he hadn't fallen out of the tree and hurt himself, and because he'd cared about her enough to climb up the tree in the first place. Dusty truly was a one in a million, and it wouldn't hurt her one little bit to let him know that from time to time.
Betsy hugged Dusty tightly, burying her face in his warm neck. After a little while, she pulled back and looked at him, really looked at him this time, without fear or embarrassment or any misplaced sense of propriety that only ever served to confuse him. "You're my hero, Dusty," she said softly. "Thank you for climbing up that tree for me."
"Do I get a kiss?" Dusty asked playfully, making her laugh.
"Maybe," she flirted back, marvelling at the sudden warm feeling she got from the simple feeling of relaxing and letting go. "If you're lucky."
Dusty was on to the game already. "If I play my cards right?" he said, his head on one side and an innocent look on his face.
Betsy blushed and hugged him close again. "You always play your cards right, Dusty," she said, with a smile that was only for him.
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END
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