A/N. After much deliberating over this story and wondering whether it was actually going anywhere, I decided to press ahead with this latest chapter. It's still meandering, still about as lost as Dusty's wagon train itself. But I'm still enjoying it, and I'll probably carry on with it until it reaches some kind of conclusion by itself. Thanks for still reading it anyway, and thanks, Courtney, for all the valuable advice over the last couple of days.

# # # #

After the initial day and a half of discomfort the ant potion set to work, rapidly reducing the swelling of Dusty's ant bites and taking away the itch altogether. By day three, all he had left were a handful of small red pinprick marks on his legs and just a couple more on his lower back. Finally, Andy took him to one side, gave him a check up and decided he was fully fit for work. With that, Mr. Callahan promptly called the young scout over to grease up the suspension on the stagecoach and help make running repairs to all the wheels, yokes and harnesses. In fact there was so much work lined up for Dusty that he mentioned gloomily to Andy that he was considering going right back into the woods to lie on the ants' nest again.

"Now you know you don't want to do that, Dusty," Andy grinned, greatly amused by the comically sullen look on Dusty's face. "Besides, I don't think the rest of us could handle another vision of you running around with no clothes on so soon after the last. I don't think Mrs. Brookhaven will ever fully recover from the sight of you whipping off your longjohns."

Dusty pulled a face, straightened his gun belt and adjusted his hat. "Thanks for reminding me, Andy. Well, guess I'd better get to work, then." He bent to retrieve the toolbox, lifting it by one side so that all the tools clattered out onto the ground, except for the hammer which landed on Andy's foot.

Andy shouted out loud and hopped around, shaking his leg as his toes throbbed. "Dusty, why did you have to do that?" he asked, trying to stay calm. "Why didn't you pick it up by the handle?"

Dusty winced at Andy's pain, then shrugged as though the idea hadn't really occurred to him. "I didn't know it was going to be so heavy," he said. As he bent and picked up the spilled tools, the ones he had already put back in the box started falling out, but this time Andy was quick enough to get out of the way.

"Dusty," Andy sighed, "put the toolbox down."

"Oh, yeah," Dusty grinned. "Good idea."

From across the clearing, Lulu was shaking her head at the scene unfolding in front of them. "Poor Andy," she said sadly.

"Poor Dusty," Betsy said, equally sadly.

Lulu gave her friend a look of mild incredulity. "Poor Dusty? Didn't I tell you, honey, Dusty has nine lives. It's everyone else who suffers!"

"Oh, but he doesn't mean it, Lulu," Betsy said, her voice all soft and breathy as she watched Andy continue to hop out of the way of falling screwdrivers and wrenches. "He tries so hard to do his best."

Lulu's eyes grew round and she grinned as she stared fully at Betsy. "You sure do have it bad, dont'cha?"

"Have what bad?" Betsy said, looking at her showgirl friend, a faint smile on her lips.

Lulu shook her head again. "'Love's young dream'," she quoted.

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Betsy, but she blushed.

"It means, you two are so gosh-darned sweet on each other I'm in danger of overloadin' on the sugar," Lulu replied with a wink. She turned back to watch Dusty, who was being unceremoniously moved to one side by Mr. Callahan so that the big wagonmaster and Andy could pick up all the tools and finally get them back in the box. "Although how any girl could ever survive a lifetime with that walking disaster is a mystery to me."

"Oh, Lulu, he's not that bad!" said Betsy. "He's kind, and caring, and he dotes on the horses, and all he ever does is try to help. Besides..." her eyes went all soft and liquid and her head tipped gently to one side, "...he's lovely."

"Oh, Betsy," Lulu laughed. "Ain't nothin' I can say to you while you're like this. Just be careful, that's all. 'Lovely' don't always cut the mustard, know what I'm sayin'? You got other things to consider."

Betsy smiled, watching the way Dusty pulled himself upright and straightened his shoulders, acting like the toolbox incident had never happened. "Dusty does just fine by me," she sighed.

# # # #

Mr. Callahan couldn't believe the mess Dusty was getting himself into. The young scout was lying on his back half way under the stagecoach, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. There was axle grease everywhere- on his face, his neck, in his hair and right the way up his forearms. It had been a while since the stagecoach's suspension had been lubricated properly and Dusty was making sure he didn't miss a single spring, nut, bolt or screw. "Dusty, you better leave some of that grease for the rest of us," the wagonmaster said gruffly, kneeling on the ground to get a better look at what his friend was doing.

"The sun's kinda made it go all gooey," Dusty said, wiping his face with his oily sleeve. "It's hard to get it where it needs to go."

"Looks like we may have to upturn you over a barrel when you're finished, catch some o' that oil running off," Mr. Callahan sighed as another wasted blob of precious grease ran down Dusty's cheek while he shifted around to get at the insides of the suspension coils.

"At least I'll be well-oiled, huh, Mr. Callahan?" Dusty said, grinning at his own joke, then banging his head on the underside of the stagecoach, luckily softening the blow with his hat.

"Dusty, just..." Mr. Callahan rolled his eyes skyward. "...finish what you're doing, huh, little pal? He patted one of Dusty's legs. "We need to get ourselves back on the trail sometime today."

After Dusty had finally finished greasing up the stagecoach he wandered back across the clearing to clean up. As he got near to the wagon, Betsy appeared down the steps with a handful of old rags and a bottle of Andy's grease busting formula, patent pending. When she saw the state of her oily friend she burst out laughing.

"Here, Dusty. I thought you might like some help," she smiled, once her laughter had subsided.

"Thanks Betsy," Dusty grinned. "I don't know how I got so dirty with such a tiny tub of grease." He held his arms up out of harm's way, the oil running in gloopy rivulets down to his prominent elbows.

"Come on over and stand here," Betsy said, indicating the side of the wagon. Dusty did as she instructed and leaned up against the wagon. She soaked a rag in grease busting liquid and began wiping his face and neck with it, ignoring his childish protests, laughing as he tried to squirm away. "Stand still, Dusty!" she said sternly. "This stuff really works- Andy's a genius."

"It stinks!" he argued. "Worse than skunk, and worse than ant potion! Andy might be a genius but I don't think he can smell his own inventions."

"Well, maybe you should have been a little more careful with the grease, then I wouldn't have to use so much of it," Betsy smiled, wiping the cloth thoroughly around and even into his ears. "How you managed to get so much of it on you, I'll never know."

"You try layin' under the stagecoach, see how easy you find it," Dusty muttered, licking grease buster off his bottom lip and immediately regretting it, screwing his face up and sticking out his tongue. "Ugh- it tastes even worse than it smells!"

"You're not meant to eat it," Betsy laughed. She wiped the rag carefully along either side of his nose, then straight down the middle, giving the end a playful tap while he went cross-eyed watching her, which made her giggle. "Silly."

Dusty squirmed against the wagon in silence as Betsy began wiping the cloth over his lips. She seemed to spend quite a long time on that part of his face, even though he didn't think he'd gotten that much oil on his mouth. He would have known about it if he had! "Um, Betsy," he mumbled.

"Shush, Dusty, I know what I'm doing," she smiled.

Dusty sighed, his oily hands pressed up against the wagon. "Mr. Callahan said we need to leave sometime today," he mentioned, casually.

"I'm just trying to be thorough," Betsy responded, moving slightly nearer.

Dusty suddenly noticed the twinkle in her eye. He pressed back against the wagon as she edged closer. "Um, Betsy," he repeated quietly.

"Dusty, I said 'shush'," Betsy smiled, wiping the cloth lovingly over his chin, so close now that he could feel her breath on his face. "I just need to get this last little bit off your face, just...here." She ran the clean corner of the rag once more over his lips, then smiled at him triumphantly. "There! All clean," she said coyly, tilting her face up to his.

Dusty felt his legs weaken as he suddenly realised what her true intentions were. He let out a soft hiss of air as as Betsy leaned forward to close the gap and pressed her mouth gently onto his.

He melted at once into the heat of her kiss, his hands opening and closing against the rough tarpaulin of the wagon, a sigh of contentment caught in his throat. His arms were too oily to hold her so instead he leaned his head forward and pulled softly at her lips with his own, losing himself in the nearness of her, filling his lungs with the same air that she breathed.

Betsy let go of the rag and pulled him towards her by the collar. She ran her fingers through his hair, down the sides of his face, his throat, then over the roughness of his shirt, his chest and finally his stomach where she felt the muscles contract as he drew in a sharp intake of air and made a half strangled noise against her mouth.

Across the clearing, Mr. Callahan, who was sitting on a log rubbing grease into the dry leather of Blarney's bridle, stared in astonishment at Lulu. "Do they think we don't know what's going on?" he said. They could both plainly see two pairs of legs through the wagon wheels that told them Dusty and Betsy were close enough to be kissing. "Mrs. Brookhaven was right- they do need chaperoning!"

"Want me to go break 'em up?" Lulu drawled, a sly smile tugging at her ruby painted lips.

Mr. Callahan fidgeted uncomfortably. "Well, I sure ain't breakin' 'em up, I mean, I wouldn't want to do anything to embarrass poor Betsy, I don't care about Dusty, why, I oughta have a few words with my little pal about this."

Lulu patted the flustered, red-faced wagonmaster on the arm. "Don't worry, Cal, leave it to me," she grinned.

Betsy and Dusty had just about stopped kissing. Dusty was now staring hypnotically at the not-so demure young woman who seemed to be getting bolder by the day. Betsy smiled shyly back, her cheeks flushed, her hands still spread over his chest, moving with the rise and fall of his every breath. He was about to say something he hoped was deep and profound when they were both stunned by an ear splitting two-fingered whistle that pierced their eardrums and made them spring guiltily apart.

"You all better be decent back there, or I'm throwin' a bucket o' cold water over your two heads," Lulu warned as she appeared around the side of the wagon, her hands planted firmly on her hips and the pink feather bouncing jauntily in her hair. "Don't tell me you were just helpin' him to clean up," she said to Betsy, fixing her friend with an arch look of disbelief. "Poor boy looks like he just got hit by the express train to Lovestruck Schmucksville."

Dusty stared at the showgirl, his face a picture of puzzlement. Lulu's idioms always confounded him- he couldn't make head nor tail of what she was saying sometimes.

"C'mon, honey, Dusty can clean up by himself. Cal's already talkin' about chaperoning again, and I'm sure the last thing you all want is Mrs. Brookhaven followin' you around all day. If anything's gonna kill off your passion it'll be that woman on a mission to keep you pure." Lulu eyed Dusty up and down in a blatantly saucy manner. "Know what I mean, Tiger?"

"Oh, dear," Betsy said, flustered. "I didn't realise we were so obvious." She twisted the oily rag in her hands, looking at Dusty apologetically. "I'm sorry Dusty, I didn't mean to get you into trouble."

"Aw, hell, Dusty's always in trouble for something," Lulu grinned. "This ain't gonna make much of a difference. I'm just warnin' you, is all. Mrs. Brookhaven on your case from here to California? I sure wouldn't like it, put it that way."

Lulu gently escorted Betsy out from behind the wagon, leaving a perplexed Dusty to finish cleaning up his hands and arms.

"What are you doing, Betsy?" the showgirl said, once they were out of earshot. "You can't leave Dusty alone for one minute these days! The heat must have really gotten into your head. He your first beau, or what?"

Betsy blushed furiously. "He's not my beau," she hissed, like a young girl caught doing something naughty.

"The hell he ain't," Lulu spluttered. "You mean to say you kiss all men that way? Andy'd be pleased to hear it."

"All right, all right," Betsy pouted.

Lulu sighed, put her arm around Betsy's shoulders. "You gotta take it easy, Betsy. I know how much you like him and all, but it's a long way to California. Especially since we're lost at the same time. I know I ain't one to talk, but you gotta slow it down a little, you know what I'm sayin'? You gotta let him come to you."

"But what if he doesn't come to me?" Betsy said. "What if we meet someone on the trail that he likes better? What if all the women in California are beautiful?" She looked at Lulu, at the showgirl's fancy dress and feathers. "What if...what if he likes you, but he just won't admit it yet?"

"Honey, there ain't nothin' going on between me and Dusty. I just tease him. You've seen us playin'. He's like a brother to me."

"I hope you don't kiss your brother the way I've seen you kiss Dusty," Betsy said, slightly sulkily.

"Betsy, kissin' men is one o' my tactics to get what I want," Lulu said, somewhat proudly. "Sure I've kissed Dusty, but nine times out of ten it's gotten me nowhere."

"Doesn't stop you trying," Betsy said.

"What can I say? I wouldn't be Lulu if I stopped tryin'." Lulu primped her feather and wiggled her hips. "Don't mean there's anything goin' on. Besides," the showgirl leaned forward conspiratorially, "I kinda like the look of Callahan, know what I'm sayin'? Those big strong arms, that rugged, weatherbeaten face..." she mock-shivered, winking naughtily. "I'd roll my wagon for him any day."

Betsy giggled. "Lulu! Stop it!"

"I ain't lyin'," Lulu grinned. "I need a man who's stronger than me, honey. As sweet as he is, a skinny little thing like Dusty wouldn't last two minutes with ol' Lulu McQueen."

"Well, I guess that's not always how it looks to me," Betsy admitted, a little embarrassed at being suspicious of her good friend. "You're quite a force to be reckoned with, Lulu, and you know how impressionable Dusty is."

"Aw, Betsy honey!" Lulu made Betsy sit down on a nearby storage chest and parked herself next to the troubled schoolteacher. "You don't think you're in competition with me, do you? Does that explain all this 'lioness with her claws out' business? You thought you had to lure Dusty away from me?"

"Oh, Lulu, I've seen how it works for you. You wrap men around your little finger!"

Lulu tossed her head proudly. "That's the name o' the game, Sugar."

"But it makes me feel so...so nothing compared to you. They see you first, and they don't see anything after that. I may as well be invisible."

"Oh, but Betsy, honey...it don't mean nothin'. It's all for show. Besides, Dusty ain't fooled by it. Dusty don't pay me any more attention than he pays Freckles- in fact, Freckles gets better treated than I do. And deep down, you know that."

"I know, Lulu. And I do love you, really, I do. You've been the best friend I ever had." Betsy looked forlorn now, staring at her hands folded in her lap. "I just don't know what to do for the best," she admitted. "My mother would tan my hide if she saw how I was acting towards Dusty, but Dusty's been saying such lovely, sweet things to help me overcome the rules she used to impose. She was a very strict woman, Lulu. I thought coming out West would give me the freedom to be who I am- but I guess I still don't really know who I am, or who I even want to be. Those rules are still there, no matter what I do, only now it's me imposing them on myself." She turned her big eyes onto Lulu. "I thought by trying to be more like you it would solve everything, but it's just making things worse. Do you really think I'll scare him away?"

Lulu felt her big showgirl heart go out to Betsy. She pulled the shy brunette close in a warm hug, her spicy scent enveloping them both like a comforting cloud. "Pay no mind to me, Betsy," she said. "Dusty needs a kick up the caboose at times. I just thought that maybe, just once in a while, if he wants to kiss you, you should let him make the first move, that's all."

"But I'm worried that he won't make the first move," Betsy murmured.

"Betsy! Of course he will," Lulu soothed. "You're a beautiful girl. He likes you. He kissed you first, didn't he? That evening behind the wagon. In fact he was the one who started this whole thing off."

"Yes,he did," Betsy smiled, remembering.

"Well. There y'go. You got no worries there. I know you're sick o' hearin' my advice, Betsy, but if you don't want Daphne Brookhaven followin' you around all day then I'd say just go about your business and don't bring too much attention to yourself where Dusty is concerned. We got months o' travelling ahead, and you got all that time to get acquainted. Know what I mean?"

# # # #

Later on, Betsy encountered Dusty helping Mr. Callahan replace one of the stagecoach's wheels that had needed minor repairs. There was a rudimentary jack holding up the vehicle and Dusty was on his knees spinning the locking nut into place before they let the stagecoach down.

"You're doing a wonderful job there, Dusty," she said, not really knowing much about how they changed the wheels, but thinking Dusty looked competent enough nonetheless.

"Thanks, Betsy," Dusty replied, looking up at her with a big smile. It wasn't often he got complimented. "This here's the locking nut. Without this, the wheel falls off."

"Like the last time," Mr. Callahan said, pointedly.

"Yeah," Dusty nodded with an embarrassed grin. "Like the last time. Good thing Mr. and Mrs. Brookhaven weren't inside when it happened, huh, Mr. Callahan?"

"Yes, Dusty," the big wagonmaster agreed. "What with them being the ones who pay our wages and all."

Dusty clambered to his feet and began winding the jack handle counter clockwise. "Sure would have been funny to see Mr. Brookhaven fall out into the dirt, though," he said, mischievously. The stagecoach began to lower slowly, until suddenly Dusty fumbled his grip and the jack handle spun out of his hands, causing the stagecoach to hit the ground hard, bouncing heavily but quietly on its newly greased suspension.

"Well, at least it's not squeaking now," Dusty proclaimed, shaking his hands and checking his fingers for damage as the stagecoach rocked gently to and fro.

It was then that they heard a sliding noise inside the stagecoach and then the muffled crash and tinkle that sounded suspiciously like a fine china tea set shattering into a million pieces.

Betsy clamped her hand over her mouth and stared at Dusty, who shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, his eyes darting around for the Brookhavens.

Mr. Callahan squeezed his eyes shut and covered his big, weatherbeaten face with both hands. "Little pal, what was I just saying about the Brookhavens paying our wages?" he sighed.

"Maybe we can get rid of the evidence without..." Dusty began, but it was too late. The Brookhavens had appeared, their upper-class ears obviously attuned to the delicate sound of fine china breaking. Especially when it was theirs.

"Oh, dear," said Mrs. Brookhaven sadly after Mr. Callahan had removed the box of broken china from the stagecoach and set it on the ground so that they could survey the wreckage. The china tea set was unrecognisable except for the top half of a hideously patterned teapot and a part of the spout. "That was my mother's favourite tea set, and my grandmother's before hers!"

Mr. Brookhaven meanwhile, was standing next to Dusty with a sly smile spread across his face. "At last we've gotten rid of that hideous tea set," he whispered to the young scout, who stared back at him incredulously. "Remind me to increase your salary by five cents a month, my boy!"

They disposed of the shattered tea set by digging a hole and giving it a decent burial. Dusty actually removed his hat and stood like a proper mourner as Andy shovelled the dirt back over the top.

"Well, that's the end of that," Mr. Brookhaven said, comforting his wife and trying not to look too happy.

"I guess nothing lasts forever, huh, Mrs. Brookhaven?" Dusty said, putting his hat back on and attempting to join in the condolences.

"My mother would be so disappointed in me," Mrs. Brookhaven sighed, dramatically.

"Yeah, but she ain't here, though, so how would she know?" Dusty went on, oblivious to Mr. Callahan's hard stares. "Just like Betsy's mother ain't here either, right Betsy?"

Betsy felt her cheeks burn as everyone turned to stare at her. "Erm...that's right," she said nervously, hoping Dusty wasn't going to start elaborating, as he so often did when it was the wrong moment.

"Anyway," Dusty continued, "You got a much prettier tea set, Mrs. Brookhaven, I know you have, I've seen it. The one with little yellow and blue flowers on it. It's much nicer than that old thing." He waved dismissively at the small mound of earth covering the shattered heirlooms.

"He's right, dear," said Mr. Brookhaven. "The one we bought together, in Boston, before we left. Remember? I said I liked the one with the blue flowers, and you said you liked the one with the yellow flowers. So I called up my company and had them make us a set especially, with both blue and yellow flowers, and it didn't cost us a cent. Surely you remember?"

"Of course, Carter!" Mrs. Brookhaven said, visibly brightening. "I remember how happy you were at saving all that money!" With that, the Brookhavens drifted away, smiling and laughing as they remembered all the times that Mr. Brookhaven had avoided paying money for anything.

Mr. Callahan stared at Dusty and shook his head. "I don't know how you do it, little pal," he said resignedly. "Anyone else would have been thrown off the wagon train for that."

Lulu leaned close to Betsy and stage-whispered out of the side of her mouth. "Nine lives, what did I tell ya."

They all went back to camp. Andy slung the dirty shovel over his shoulder and walked ahead with Lulu and Mr. Callahan, Betsy lagged behind a little ways with Dusty, hoping no-one would take it the wrong way and send a chaperone to step in between them.

"Dusty, I thought for one minute back there you were going to start talking about my mother," Betsy said softly, nudging his shoulder playfully.

"Now why would I do that?" Dusty replied. "It just seemed to me that you and Mrs. Brookhaven both worry about your mothers too much, thinkin' about what they might say even though they ain't here."

Betsy smiled ruefully. "I never thought I'd have something in common with Mrs. Brookhaven," she said, watching dry earth kick up in clouds as they walked.

"You're nothing like Mrs. Brookhaven," Dusty said, scuffing his boots through the dirt, checking for ants. "I mean, there's nothing wrong with Mrs. Brookhaven, she's real nice and everything but, well, you're a lot prettier for a start. And you don't think an old tea set is the most important thing in the world. And besides, you also got something else Mrs. Brookhaven doesn't have."

"Oh?" Betsy said, noticing the bashful smile on his face. "And what would that be, Dusty?"

Dusty reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers. "Me," he said, as confidently as he could.

"Oh, Dusty," Betsy giggled. "Mrs. Brookhaven will be awfully upset when she finds out."

"Yeah, she'll be stuck with Mr. B for the rest of her life," Dusty said, tightening his grip on her fingers. "Drinkin' tea out of silly ol' tea sets instead of bein' happy with coffee in a tin cup like you and me."

"I feel like the luckiest girl in the world," giggled Betsy.

"I sure feel like the luckiest guy," Dusty responded with a grin, pushing his untidy hair out of his eyes.

"Oh, Dusty," Betsy smiled, blushing.

"Can I kiss you?" Dusty asked, hesitantly.

"Of course you can!" Betsy laughed, stopping so that he could pull her into a sweet embrace, his arms held tight around her and the smell of warm sun on his face. And this time, she didn't give a broken tea set who saw them.