Chapter 13

Boots sat loosely in the saddle, letting the horse walk at its own pace through the twilight. Since arriving in Beaverton, she'd made it her business to know who was who and what was what. Normally, that didn't extend to the cowboys who worked the various ranches around. Dusty had changed that, though.

She was still confused by the man. It was unusual for her to think about any particular man for more than a few minutes at a time. Bob was one of the exceptions to that general trait. And now Dusty had been added. So she did what she usually did when she wanted to find something out. She hung around, nursing a beer, or sat in a chair on the board walk, appearing to be sleeping, and listened to people talk.

The tidbit that interested her most, however, came in school, of all places. It arose from Dougie Hill, whose father owned the Double D Ranch, where Dusty worked. Dougie was one of the children in school, and was usually very quiet. All the kids were quiet, initially. They were a little bit in awe of her. Tales were told about Boots, most of them embellished a bit, but the kids didn't know that.

Of course there were a few things about Boots that the adults in town didn't know either. Actually, it would be more nearly correct to say that there was something about Boots that nobody thought about. Most people, like the mayor's wife, would have thought having Boots in the classroom would be pure insanity. But, as it turned out, nothing could have been farther from the truth.

Boots had missed her childhood, plain and simple. At eleven or twelve, when she should have been in school herself, she was thrust into a world where a lot of adults couldn't even survive, much less a skinny little girl who was sold like a slave. She learned to cope with that adult world, up to and including murder. Or self defense. You decide that.

So when she was suddenly exposed to children, on one level, she was still a child herself. And that caused her to react to the children in ways that no other adult every had, could or would. She treated them like equals, in one sense. She had expectations of everyone around her, grown or not, and she wasn't shy about making those expectations known. The children found out that, as long as they did what Boots thought they were supposed to do, she was closer to a friend than some terrifying grown-up. In many ways, she had as much in common with callow young ones as she did with adults.

So as time passed, and the kids got to know her, their fear went away. In that odd way of looking at the world that Boots had, she was one of the few adults who the children felt they could talk to about pretty much anything. In this case, Dougie was having a hard time reconciling something he'd heard with what he knew about Boots.

"Did you really wear a dress to the Founder's Day dance?" he asked, trying to imagine what that might have looked like.

"Why do you want to know a thing like that?" asked Boots, who was supposed to be ensuring that the math group was doing math, instead of playing checkers with pieces of folded paper, on a board scratched into the desk top with a pen knife.

"Dusty said you was the most interesting girl he ever run into. He said he actually danced with you!" said Dougie.

"What if he did?" asked Boots, uncomfortably.

"Well, if it wasn't you, I'd say he was sweet on you," said Dougie, frowning.

"What do you mean if it wasn't me?" she demanded.

Dougie flinched. "I didn't mean nothin' by it," he said. "It's just that you don't have no truck with men, like some girls do."

"Maybe that's because I ain't met no man worth having truck with," she said.

"Well he shore is taken with you. My pa even had to warn him not to sneak off to town to see you."

"Your paw said that?" Boots looked interested.

"He did," said Dougie. "They was talkin' about you and the dance and all, and my pa said seein' you like that was the damndest thing he ever saw. But he wouldn't say why. And then Dusty said as how he could get used to dancin' with you real regular, and Pa told Dusty to get on up to the north line shack and check that new fence they put up. He's afraid somebody will come along and tear it down, I guess. And he said not to sneak off to town and see you."

"Horse pucky!" Boots had said. "Tell you what. Iffen he comes to town, I'll kick his ass all the way back to the Double D. How's that?"

Dougie grinned. "Now that's the Boots I know," he said.

Boots actually intended to make sure that Dusty didn't get in trouble for coming into town to see her. She wasn't sure why she felt that way, but she did know that the easiest way to keep him where he belonged was for her to go see him instead.

And that was where she was headed, as the sun slipped below the horizon. She'd thought about skipping school and going the next day. She had seen that new fence, though, after it had been put in. It was the latest thing back east, and the Double D was the first outfit here in the west to use it to keep the cattle from drifting south when the snows arrived. Boots didn't like it, because it was a barrier to crossing the plains on a horse. In any case, it occurred to her there was a lot of fence up that way, and she might ride around for hours and never see the man. On the other hand, he was likely to go back to the line shack each night.

And, of course, she knew right where that line shack was.

She heard a coyote howl off in the distance. Her horse raised its head briefly, and then went on, nodding as it walked. She figured she had another mile to go. That was fine, since he probably wouldn't even be back at the shack until it was full dark. The original purpose of the shack was for the men to sleep in as they gathered strays and herded them back toward the main ranch. There was a corral beside the little building, where gathered cows could be kept. In a week or two, whenever the foreman thought it was time, he'd send another hand out to help whoever was at the line shack - Dusty, in this case - drive the little herd back to wherever the main herd was grazing.

She smelled smoke before she saw the dim light shining through cracks in the planks on the walls of the shack. She'd skipped supper, and hoped he had enough for her too.

"Hello the shack!" she yelled out, alerting whoever was inside someone was coming in.

The door opened and a tall, hatless man came out. "Who's there?" he yelled. "You a woman?" He sounded surprised, but he also sounded like Dusty. She let out a sigh of relief. If it hadn't been him here, she'd have had to make up an excuse for being in the neighborhood.

"It's Boots," she called.

"Well I'll be damned," said Dusty.

"You got any vittles?" she asked, riding up to look down at him.

He grinned. "Take a light, girl. I got us a feast!"

She threw her left leg up and over the horse's neck, sliding from the saddle and landed with bent knees on the ground. She simply dropped the reins, knowing her horse wouldn't go farther than the watering trough until she came back.

His "feast" turned out to be beef, beans and fresh, fried potatoes, along with some greens he'd picked as he inspected the fence, and then boiled when he got back to the line shack. The shack was set up for two men, so there was an extra plate and spoon, as well as a cup for coffee.

They ate in silence, listening to the pop and crackle of the small fire in the fireplace. The coals in the fire provided the only light, since Dusty had put the lamp out to save fuel. For those who lived on the plains, a little fire light was all they needed anyway, most of the time. "Good," was the only comment Boots made during the meal.

Afterwards, Dusty lay himself out on his bunk, on his side, holding his head up with an elbow and one hand.

"You on business, or just out for a ride?" he asked.

Boots had wanted to see him. Now that she had, she didn't know what to do. It made her nervous. This was territory she was unfamiliar with.

"Why do you care?" she asked, a little gruffly.

"I did some nosin' around about you," he said.

"What did you find out?"

"Other than what you told me?" he asked.

She looked uncomfortable. "Yeah."

"Some folks think you should be run out of the territory."

"They can try, iffen they want," she said, belligerently.

"Others say they wished you wasn't a woman, so they could hire you."

"I'm fer hire to anybody who wants to," she said. "It don't matter that I'm a girl."

"It does to some," he said.

"How about you?"

"I don't want to hire you," he said.

"Why not?" She moved, as if she was going to stand up.

"There's other things to do with a girl besides hire her," he said, grinning.

Boots knew what he was talking about. She knew how men's minds worked rather better than most women in the territory. But the way he'd said it didn't conjure up Jasper. Instead, it made her curious. If he'd checked up on her, he knew what she'd done. And he didn't look scared of her, or nervous, like most men were when they were around her.

"An' I suppose you think you've got a shot at doin' those ... other things," she suggested.

"I sure as hell hope so," he said. "I have to tell you, Boots. I ain't never felt about no girl like I feel about you."

"You don't even know me," she objected.

"You're right about that," he admitted. "But we're both young. We got lots of time to get to know each other, don't you think? I mean I sure do want to get to know you better, but I don't know how you feel about that."

"What iffen I said you couldn't touch me until we know each other better?" she asked. She wondered why she'd said that. She wasn't planning on letting him touch her anyway.

"I'd say I was purely miserable, and would stay that way until you got your senses back."

"My senses?"

"Boots, all men ain't like that feller you planted. An' what a man and woman do don't have to be like that neither. Just because you got a raw deal from one man, don't mean all men will do the same."

"You done things like that with a girl before?" she asked.

"I reckon," he said. "I reckon that's why I'm here, instead of back home in Texas. I had me a sweetheart there, but her daddy said I wasn't good enough for her. She saw it different. She told him she'd just run away with me, an' he locked her up. He said he'd go after my pa iffen I didn't light out and never come back."

"Why didn't you just shoot him?" asked Boots.

"Down Texas way, they put a man in prison for things like that," said Dusty. "Besides. He done me a favor. Iffen I hadn't left there, I wouldn't have found the Double D ... and you."

"There's that silver tongue again," sighed Boots. "I don't think you found much, though. I ain't at all sure I could stand for another man to touch me. Too many bad memories."

"Kin I ask you a question?"

"'Course."

"Did you like those kisses ... after the dance?"

She was quiet for a while. It took a lot more effort than she thought it would, but she told the truth. "I reckon I did."

"And after you whupped that Jim Black feller, an' I pulled you off him ... you remember that?"

Boots knew he was talking about having his hands where they didn't belong. "Yeah," she said.

"Well unless I'm plumb loco, I don't believe that bothered you all that much."

"Why you think that?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"'Cause you didn't start up on me like you left off on him," said Dusty.

"That don't mean I want you to do it again," she said, stubbornly.

It was quiet in the shack for a few long minutes. Finally Dusty spoke.

"You want to know why I can't stop thinkin' about you?"

"You can't stop thinkin' about me?" Boots sounded genuinely surprised.

"It's turrible," he admitted. "I about got gored by a longhorn t'other day, because I kept thinkin' about how it felt to pull you off of Black."

"I should have known," snapped Boots. "Men only want one thing."

"No, you don't understand," he said. "That's not why I can't stop thinkin' about you. That's just one of the things that pops into my mind when I'm thinkin' about you." He stared at her. "I can't stop thinkin' 'bout you because a man knows right where you stand. I don't have to wonder, or guess. If yer mad, I know it. If yer happy, that's pretty plain too. And when a man thinks about a woman like that, a woman who don't say one thing and mean another, like most do, he just naturally wishes he was lucky enough to have her for his sweetheart."

"I can't be nobody's sweetheart," said Boots, quite seriously.

"How come?"

"Well, I don't know how, fer one thing," she said. "But mostly because I don't think I could stand fer a man to do the things sweethearts do."

"But you already done some of it," said Dusty.

"Like what?" she asked.

"Like dancin'," he said. "And kissin'."

"That was different."

"How so?"

"I don't know," muttered Boots. "It was just different."

"You mean I'm not like that feller who done you wrong."

"Of course not," she snapped. "I'd never have had nothin' to do with you iffen you were like him."

"I'm of a mind that the rest of it would be different too, Boots," said Dusty.

"The rest of it?" She frowned. "You better not mean what I think you mean."

"I don't know what I mean," he said. "All I know is I like bein' around you, and I like dreamin' about you and I'm not ashamed of thinking about things like a man does. I know you been hurt bad, but I'd as soon cut my own arm off as hurt you, and not just because I'm sure you'd kick my ass."

"Then what do you want?" asked Boots.

"I want to see you smile and know I had somethin' to do with that," said Dusty. "I want you to kiss me again some day, and tell me you hope to see me again, so's you can kiss me again. I want ... well ... I want it all, Boots, and that scares the hell out of me 'cause I ain't never wanted it all with no other woman before. Not never."

What about that girl you was gonna run off with?" asked Boots.

She was the one who wanted to run away. Hell, I was so raw back then I didn't have no idee what I wanted."

"I thought you said you done been with a woman before," said boots.

"I ain't talkin' about that," groaned Dusty. "I mean that's part of it, sure, but when it comes to you, I'm after a hell of a lot more than just havin' sex. I can go to the Silver Dollar and have sex any time I can scrape together a dollar. But a man might only have one chance in his whole life to have a sweetheart like you, Boots."

"I ought to come over there and kick your ass," said the girl, her voice tight.

"I wish you wouldn't," said the boy.

She looked at him in the dim light. "Fact is, though, that's not what I want to do right now."

"What do you want to do?" he asked. The hope in his voice was so stark and so transparent, that the thrill of power to make him that way shot through her. It was a new kind of power, a power that had nothing to do with guns, or fear or force. Rather, it was the power of being wanted.

"I can't believe I'm gonna say this," said Boots softly, "but I actually feel like kissin' a cowboy."

Millie pulled Bob to her house, quite simply because she anticipated feeling something wonderful ... and her bed was where she had discovered how good it was possible for her to feel. In a way neither of them understood completely, it was better that she took him there, than to where he lived. Had she taken him to his bed, he may have misinterpreted her intent. As it was, he had no clue where they were going, or why.

In fact, she wasn't sure, herself, what her intent was. All she knew was that she was raging inside, and needed the kind of release she had only learned how to find a short time before. That she had chosen Bob to be involved in it, was the result of several things.

First, he was the only man she knew well and trusted. Second, she had a serious crush on him, whether she admitted it or not. Third, he had assured her it was normal to feel the way she did. And finally, he had said that, as a doctor, he knew what to do to help her.

There were some bumps along that road, however, that Millie wasn't aware of. While Bob had heard of female hysteria, and read a little about it in a book, he had never been formally trained in treating it. Further, he was pretty well convinced it wasn't a real malady. As for horny women, he'd been around one or two. Maggie, the girl he'd been interested in at the Silver Dollar, had liked him, so she'd been enthusiastic about their infrequent trysts. She had, in fact, taught him just about everything he knew about pleasing a woman. He had been shocked, in fact, at some of the ways they had pleasured each other, but he got used to it. His problem had been he couldn't afford to get too used to it. And, of course, it didn't help when Maggie agreed to marry the whiskey salesman who visited town pretty regular.

So the fact was that Millie had chosen a man to help her with her problem, who had only minimal experience at ... helping a woman with her problem.

While Millie might have been able to detect that potential bump in the road, she was still unaware of the larger issue, that is to say, why in fact she was still in Beaverton at all. To be fair to Bob, he was smitten with Millie, but he was also an honorable man. So while he would have dearly loved to assist Millie in her emotional situation, he could not, in good conscience, do so. Of course, he didn't know quite yet exactly what was bothering the girl. He knew she was agitated, but not precisely why.

That was explained when, after pulling him into her house and lighting a candle, Millie turned to him and said: "I think I might be in need of ... what did you call it ... a pelvic massage?"

Bob blinked. His mouth was suddenly dry. He swallowed, while his mind filled with the image of her on his exam table, naked, bloody and bruised, while he did something that, in the absence of medical explanation, most men would be hanged for. At least in those circumstances.

"Millie," he said weakly. "I can't -"

Elizabeth Philby was a strong, and strong-willed young woman. That she had survived so well in her situation wasn't simple luck. The woman who now called herself Millie had always been pretty successful, both at choosing the right thing to want, and then getting it. So her reaction in this situation was not to argue, but rather to take action. Sometimes, she took action based on an emotional urge. She did so now.