Hey You Guys! Hello!
Firstly can I say I really appreciated the comments about Betsy maybe moving too fast and maybe being just a little OOC in the last chapter. Yep, she was- and I even thought it myself as I was writing- I just couldn't help the way it came out. I wanted to do the whole naked lady coming out of a river gag and like a horse with blinkers on I just went ahead without looking side to side at the other details.
Also, I think it went wrong when I shifted POV from Betsy to Dusty. I suddenly started channelling testosterone.
This chapter I will get the lovely young lady back to her demure self and I'll just blame it all on Lulu, and try to stay in control of my own urges.
As Dusty would say, "Hold still little doggie, I'm gonna rope and tie ya!"
Uuuhhh...*drifts off into a total daze at the thought of being roped and tied by Dusty...even if it did take him all day*
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The day was shaping up to be another hot one. Under Mr. Callahan's orders, the stage and the wagon rolled out of the clearing and rejoined the pitted, scrubby trail they'd been on for more or less the last two weeks. As they came out from under the trees they were greeted by a waft of warm air and a cloud of summer flies. The morning sun rested its chin atop the distant hills in the East and peered down at them as if to say think it's warm now? You just wait until later, folks!
Dusty steered his two-horse team onto the trail, shifting around on the seat looking for the comfortable spot, sighing blissfully as he settled his backside into the shallow dip he had created for himself over the last couple of months. It was really a one-man stagecoach, but another person could fit fairly comfortably on the seat if they were small. And slim. And didn't fidget too much. For example, Betsy. There was no way Mr. Callahan would ever fit up here with anyone else, or even by himself, come to think of it.
He heard Andy from somewhere behind him, geeing up the four horses that pulled the heavy covered wagon. Dusty was glad he didn't have to drive the wagon- it was lumbering and clumsy and heavy and way too much of a responsibility, seeing as it held everything they owned, even including some of the Brookhavens' possessions that they couldn't fit into the stagecoach.
The girls had a ton of stuff. Every day they seemed to wear something different, unlike Dusty who always wore the same clothes unless they were getting washed, and then he wore the same other clothes. But Lulu had about fifty outfits, all with feathers or frills on, and Betsy had endless dresses that went down to her feet and right up to her neck. She must get awful hot, he thought, then realised he was on a fast track to getting distracted, so he forced himself to look at Mr. Callahan, who was riding along ahead, a patch of perspiration already visible between his meaty shoulders.
Dusty could quite easily tune out the sight of a sweaty Mr. Callahan and replace it with something more palatable, like a giant ice cream sundae, a banana split, a big slice of warm pumpkin pie, a thick, juicy, sizzling steak. Mr, Callahan even looked like a big pink steak himself sometimes.
Dusty decided that wasn't a very pleasing image, so he went back to thinking about the pumpkin pie. His mom and his aunt used to make the best pumpkin pies, sweet and spicy and smelling of Fall and reminding him of how he used to kick dead leaves around the yard when he was meant to be raking them.
From autumn leaves and warm, sweet pumpkin pie to Betsy. It wasn't much of a mental leap. Suddenly he was cast adrift on a sea of kisses and watery nymphs emerging from glittering waters. He leaned his elbows on his knees and gazed ahead into the distance, sighing happily.
"Dusty? Dusty!" Mr. Callahan rode up alongside the stagecoach. "Dusty, if you've learned some way of falling asleep with your eyes open, so help me, I'll..."
"No, Mr. Callahan, I'm wide awake, see?" Dusty fixed the wagonmaster with one of his endearingly dopey grins, making Mr. Callahan shake his head ruefully.
"Just make sure you stay that way, little pal," the big man muttered good naturedly, and rode off towards the wagon.
Dusty looked around to make sure Mr. Callahan was gone, then went back to remembering how he had first kissed Betsy behind the wagon- a bold move for him, but she had looked at him like she was giving him permission, almost. Hadn't she? Or had he just done it because he wanted to? Which made him really bold- uncharacteristically bold. He didn't go around kissing women when he just felt like it! Even Lulu!
Then Betsy had kissed him, not five minutes after. And that wasn't like her either. Betsy blushed just looking at the horses' behinds! Maybe it was the heat. He'd heard about how it drove people insane and made them do stuff they wouldn't normally do, like kill each other and steal each other's horses and bark at the moon and stuff. This guy Flint back East had told him to look out for all the skeletons along the way because that heat would just strip all the water out of your veins and leave you all sucked out and dry like an Egyptian mummy. Dusty hadn't even known what an Egyptian mummy was, but when he got around to looking it up he immediately wished he hadn't.
He shuddered and went back to thinking about Betsy, banishing thoughts of dessicated ancient corpses out of his mind. Think of Betsy in the creek, think of Betsy in the creek.
And that was another thing. Betsy never washed in the creek like that! Not without Lulu to keep watch and several blankets hung from the trees so that nobody could see her, not even God.
Maybe he'd dreamed the whole thing. Maybe when he'd tripped over the pots and pans, he hadn't even landed on Betsy at all. Maybe he'd knocked himself out on the wagon and dreamed everything and only just woken up now.
Maybe Betsy never kissed him when he was tying Freckles to the wagon.
Maybe he hadn't even invited Betsy to come sit with him on the stagecoach, and maybe, when he thought about it, she had only kissed him behind the wagon last night to stop him from talking, and maybe even all those weird feelings hadn't been real, and maybe he hadn't even been down by the creek in the first place.
Then he sat bolt-upright in his seat, his blue eyes wide like saucers.
Maybe Freckles hadn't even had his breakfast!
"Mr. Callahan!" He stood up in his seat and yelled for the wagonmaster in panic. "Mr. Callahan....MR. CALLAHAAA-AAANNN!"
Mr. Callahan was there in an instant. "Dusty! What is it, little pal, what's wrong?" The concern on the big man's face was evident. "Is it snakes? Indians? Rustlers?"
"Mr. Callahan, I forgot to give Freckles his breakfast!" Dusty cried, distraught. "I don't even know if I put him on the back of the wagon! He could be anywhere! He could be lost!"
"Dusty, Dusty! What are you talking about? You fed Freckles before we left! Don't you remember? I was mad at you for taking so long- which I apologise for, by the way. And then you went and tied him to the wagon yourself! What are you saying, Dusty? You don't remember that?"
Dusty calmed down instantly. So that part hadn't been a dream, at least. Freckles had been fed and was safely attached to the train. He sighed with relief. "Oh, yeah...I do remember. Thanks, Mr. Callahan. Boy, was I scared there for a minute!"
Mr. Callahan looked up at his young friend. "Dusty, did you eat breakfast yourself?"
"I had a couple of biscuits," Dusty shrugged.
"Well, I don't want you going delirious, little pal. I'll bring you something in a minute, okay?"
Dusty watched his friend ride off, then shook his head to wake himself up properly. So the bit with Freckles hadn't been a dream. Maybe it was just the bits about Betsy. Why would Betsy suddenly be kissing him anyway?
Why would anyone suddenly be kissing him?
Francine Carmichael had kissed him once. That time when she'd ended up lying on top of him when he was fifteen. She'd stuck her wet tongue right the way into his mouth and made him gag. He'd pushed and struggled but she wasn't having any of it and she'd gotten him into such a tight hold he wondered if she'd been taking lessons from her brothers in how to wrestle a man to the ground so's he couldn't even move his little finger. It was pretty disgusting but he'd still gotten a weird feeling from the way she'd pinned him down and squirmed around on top of him. Anyways, later on he found out she'd been kissing all the boys in the neighbourhood, including Rusty Red who had big teeth that stuck out in front, so Dusty realised then that it wasn't as if she liked him more than anyone else or anything.
He went back to thinking about Betsy. The two kisses behind the wagon definitely weren't a dream. He knew they had happened. There were a few other times when he kind of wanted to kiss her. Just to see what it would feel like. To see if it was any different to a kiss from Lulu. Lulu wasn't shy about kissing. She wasn't shy about anything. She could plaster her lips to his for three whole minutes and then walk away laughing and shaking her tail feathers. One time she'd kissed him for a real long time, and afterwards she had told him it was just to 'restore her faith' in her 'abilities'. He hadn't minded- he liked being able to help. But when he'd asked her later if her faith had been restored, she had just winked at him and said you should know, Dusty. And he kind of knew that she knew that not long after she'd kissed him he'd had to go off to be by himself for a while.
But that was the thing about Lulu. He could have a weird feeling around Lulu and it didn't matter. She seemed to understand, and most times she even thought it was funny. But he couldn't have a weird feeling around Betsy. Imagine how shocked she would be!
That's why the whole incident down at the creek had to be a dream. Didn't it?
The sound of horse's hooves nearby made him look round, and there was Mr. Callahan coming back along the trail.
"Brought you something, Dusty," the wagonmaster said, pulling Blarney up alongside. He held out a small brown paper bag. "Here. Betsy fixed you up a little picnic."
"Betsy?" Dusty took the bag from Mr. Callahan's outstretched hand and opened it up to peer inside. "Betsy made me a picnic?"
"Yeah, how about that?" Mr. Callahan grinned. "She said she didn't think you ate breakfast. Can't have you fainting on us now, can we?"
Dusty pulled out a shiny apple, and then a piece of the special cake with walnuts in that they were only meant to eat now and again because everybody liked it so much it had to be rationed. "Wow," he said softly. "Betsy made me a picnic."
"Want me to thank her for you?" Mr. Callahan said, smiling at the look of happy bewilderment on his little pal's face.
"Sure, Mr. Callahan," Dusty said, noticing there was also a big piece of cured ham and some bread at the bottom of the bag. "Tell Betsy this is the best picnic ever, and the only thing that would make it even better was if I had somebody up here to eat it...with...me," he slowed down on the last part of his sentence because he was suddenly unsure of what he was actually trying to say. He clamped his lips together and went back to staring pointedly into the mouth of the open bag.
Mr. Callahan saw his friend's uncertainty and smiled even more broadly. "Betsy did mention you'd asked her to join you up here on the stage later on," he ventured.
"She did? I did? I mean, I did! Didn't I?" Dusty's eyes went wide. So he had invited Betsy to sit with him on the stagecoach!
"Well, Dusty, she seemed to think that you did."
"No! I mean, yes! I did. I did ask her, Mr. Callahan. It's just that I couldn't remember if I did or not."
"Like you couldn't remember giving Freckles his breakfast or tying him to the back of the wagon?"
Dusty nodded.
"Eat, Dusty. Feed your brain." Mr. Callahan tapped the side of his own head. "The last thing I want is for your head to get any emptier than it already is."
Dusty grinned and picked up the piece of walnut cake. "Okay, Mr. Callahan, you got it."
From the covered wagon behind, Betsy watched Dusty up ahead on the stagecoach. Mr. Callahan had given him her picnic bag and the two seemed to be talking quite intently. She hoped Dusty liked what she'd packed for him. She'd tried to provide all the necessary goodness that a man needed when he was working, like bread and meat and then a couple of treats like cake and fruit. And she'd polished the apple too, until it was real nice and shiny. No-one could go wrong with a picnic bag like that, could they?
After a few moments, Mr. Callahan rode away from the stagecoach and headed back in their direction.
"Dusty says thank you for the picnic, Betsy," the big man told her when he'd pulled up alongside. "Said it was the nicest picnic ever, and the only thing that would make it better was if he had someone to eat it with."
"Oh!" Betsy's hand flew to her mouth and she blushed bright red. "That's just about the nicest thing I ever heard!"
"So?" said Lulu. "You gonna take him up on his offer?"
Betsy turned to her showgirl friend. "Why, not now, Lulu. He said later on!"
"Sounds like he's a-changin' his mind to me," said Lulu with a toss of her blonde curls. "Shame to sit and watch a man eatin' on his own."
"Oh, Lulu." Betsy chewed her lip. "What do you think I should do?"
"Honey, this mornin' I told you to go naked in the creek and look what happened. You really wanta be takin' my advice again?" Lulu laughed out loud. Then she patted the madly blushing Betsy on the arm. "He likes you, Betsy. I don't think you should worry too much about whether you go sit with him now or later. He'd be happy to see you either way."
"He does look kind of lonely up there all on his own," Betsy mused, gazing at the back of Dusty's head.
"Oh, I don't think he gets lonely," Lulu grinned. "I reckon he's up there right now thinkin' 'bout how he nearly saw you naked comin' up outa that river."
"I am never ever doing anything like that ever again," Betsy said firmly. "And keep your voice down- I don't want Andy to hear everything!"
"Felt good though, I'll bet. I mean, before ol' Dusty turned up and scared the daylights outa ya."
"It was nice to get clean, but I did tell you that with my luck something was bound to go wrong," Betsy said with a grimace.
"You also said that you wanted to learn how to be a little bit more like me, and that kinda thing wouldn't have bothered me in the slightest," Lulu smiled. "'Fact, one o' these days I'm gonna get that boy in the river m'self." Lulu paused then, seeing her friend's shocked expression. "Uh, not to do anything, of course. Just as a joke."
Betsy looked down at her hands.
Lulu leaned closer, nudged her friend gently. "I like Dusty a lot, Betsy, but not in the same way you do. I just play with him, is all."
"I know," Betsy said. "But he seems to like it. That's why I thought it would help if I was a little bit more like you, but after this morning, I don't think I can handle any more of that kind of embarrassment."
"Honey," Lulu said, lowering her voice to a gentle murmur. "All men like a showgirl. It's just in their nature. Even Dusty. They like it when it's obvious, know what I'm saying? When it's right there and they don't have to think about it. Men are pretty basic creatures, Betsy. It only starts to get complicated when they meet a girl who's different to all this." At that, Lulu flounced her skirts and primped her hair. "When they have to start considerin' why they like her. Things that ain't obvious. I can guarantee you, Betsy, that Dusty spends more time thinkin' about the reasons why he likes you more than he does about me, 'cause he knows why he likes me. But you're more of a mystery. And if there's one thing men like more than showgirls, it's mysteries."
Betsy blushed even more. "I'm not really much of a mystery, Lulu," she admitted.
"Maybe not to me, hun, but to Dusty? After the events of the last couple days, I'll bet that poor man doesn't know whether he's comin' or goin'."
Betsy looked forlorn. "Oh, poor Dusty. I must really be confusing him. I only wanted to show him that I liked him."
"Well...why don't you go on up there and sit with him?" Lulu suggested. "I'm sure he'd be happy to share his apple with you."
Half an hour later, Mr. Callahan had halted the little wagon train once more so that Dusty could help Betsy up onto the stagecoach. There was no mistaking the look of delight on the young man's face as she settled onto the seat beside him and turned to him with a genuine smile.
"Well! Here we are again, Dusty!"
"Sure is good to see you, Betsy," Dusty replied, flicking the reins to get his team moving along the trail again. "See you even got Mrs. Brookhaven's twirly thing to keep the sun off."
"It's called a parasol, Dusty. Para, meaning for, and sol meaning sun. In Spanish. Para-sol, for sun."
"Gosh, Betsy, you sure are smart!" Dusty beamed at her. "You'll be the best schoolteacher, ever. I can't wait for my first lesson. Oh, and thanks for the picnic bag! I left some so we could share it later, but you're here now, so you should eat your piece of cake before I do. Here." He reached down and picked up the bag from the footplate, holding it out to her expectantly.
Betsy opened it up and took out the piece of cake. She remembered how big the original slice was, and was touched to see that he'd broken it as closely into halves as he could. She nibbled it daintily, savouring its nutty sweetness, thinking it was so typical of Dusty to save her some, even though she knew how much he liked it.
"Dusty," she said then, putting the cake back in the bag for a moment. "I want to apologize for scaring you down by the creek this morning."
Dusty blinked. So that hadn't been a dream either! He tightened his fingers around the reins and immediately tried not to think of...
...not to think of...
"I know you were surprised to see me in the water," Betsy went on, "and it wasn't your fault because you didn't know I was there, and ordinarily I wouldn't be there, and certainly not...well, so out in the open. But I had just been saying to Lulu that lately I was just feeling so...well, earthy, and dirty, and, well, you know how it is on the trail, we don't always get the time to have a thorough scrub and we get so, well, you know..."
Dusty bit his lip hard, opened his eyes wide, tried to focus on the road ahead.
...no naked ladies coming out of rivers...
"...so anyway, Lulu said I should just try it one day, just get in the water and forget about being ashamed, and just get clean. She said I'd feel so much better for it afterwards. And I figured, well, this morning would be as good a time as any to test her theory, only then you showed up, and I got so nervous I started acting like I wasn't nervous, and then Freckles' bucket would have floated away if I hadn't caught it, and...and, anyway, I'm awful sorry I scared you, Dusty. It wasn't like me to behave that way and I'm sorry."
No more naked ladies coming out of rivers?
"You don't need to be sorry, Betsy, I wasn't meant to be down by the creek anyways. I was only running late because of what happened with the pots and pans and when I..." he stopped.
"Yes, Dusty, I remember what happened." Betsy went so hot she felt like the sun had smeared a piece of itself right across her face.
"So that wasn't a dream, either."
"A dream? No, Dusty, it wasn't. But, you know, we don't have to dwell on things like that," she finished brightly.
"We don't?" he turned and looked at her hopefully.
"No. Not if it was an accident. Besides...at least it was you and not Mr. Callahan." Her hand promptly flew to her mouth. "Oh! I didn't mean it like that! I meant...well, with the weight of him, he would have...oh, my. I think I'd better stop talking now, Dusty!"
Dusty's expression hardly wavered. "Mr. Callahan sat on a chair once, and broke it," he said gravely. "I don't think I'd want him landing on top of me, either."
Betsy got a mental image of a perplexed Mr. Callahan sprawled on the floor amid a pile of splintered wood and had to stifle her laughter with her hand. "Oh, Dusty, you're too funny," she mumbled, then suddenly found herself with a fit of the giggles. "Poor Mr. Callahan!"
"It was a pretty strong chair, too," Dusty went on. "I don't know how he did it. He musta jumped."
"Dusty, stop!" Betsy laughed, putting her hand on his arm, making sure it really was his arm this time, tightening her fingers so there was no danger of her hand accidentally slipping to other parts of his anatomy.
"Not only that, the person whose chair it was said it was a 'valuable antique', and chased Mr. Callahan with a piece of its broken leg."
"Dusty!" Betsy said, looking round to see if Mr. Callahan was anywhere nearby, seeing as Dusty was talking rather loudly. "Surely you're making this story up!"
"No, Betsy, it really happened! I saw it!"
"Dusty..." she fixed him with a beady eye.
"Really! He sat on it and it broke. It musta bin old."
That set Betsy off again, and she started laughing so hard that tears began forming in her eyes. Mr. Callahan, sprawled on the floor amid a pile of splintered wood. She couldn't stop the giggles from bursting through her fingers.
Dusty watched her with growing interest for a few more minutes, then reached for the picnic bag which she had put back on the floor. He sat up and plonked the bag in her lap, watched her for a few minutes more, and then opened the bag for her with one hand while she carried on giggling uncontrollably, her whole body shaking and convulsing with laughter.
"Eat your cake, Betsy," he said.
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Okay...back on track, or still hopelessly lost...? :-)