by Lisa Kleypas
"Did you kill him?" Russ asked, dismounting from General Cotton.
"No. Just stunned him a little. He won't be giving anyone trouble for a while."
"How's the boy?"
Addie was having trouble calming Jessie's attack of nerves. As soon as the horse's skittishness was under control, she dismounted and left the reins hanging.
"Not good," Ben said grimly. "A couple of punctures in his side, and a head wound that's going to need some stitches. Watts, get me a needle and thread. The rest of you get back to work. There's a considerable number of animals out there needing to be doctored. "
"Daddy," Addie asked Russell quietly, "do you have any liquor on you?"
"Always." He pulled a monogrammed silver flask out of one of his many vest pockets and handed it to her with a grin. "Whiskey okay?"
"Perfect."
She shook the flask, trying to judge by the slosh how much liquor there was inside, and headed toward the men on the ground. Ben pressed a wad of cloth to the unconscious boy's side and scowled as he saw Addie walking toward him. "For God's sake, get back to your horse," he snapped. "And try not to faint."
"Fainting is the last thing I have in mind," she said shortly, coming over to the boy and kneeling beside him. For once she knew exactly how to handle the situation. Oh, how she longed to cut Ben down with the news that she had worked as a nurse for the past three years! "You didn't ask for an antiseptic. Whiskey'll do fine."
He took the flask from her with one hand while clamping a folded handkerchief on the wound with the other. "Good. Your help is appreciated. Now get out of the way."
Addie had to hold her ground. She remained where she was, suddenly desperate to help. Somehow, on the vast land encompassed by the borders of the Sunrise Ranch, in the midst of strangers and their confusing rituals, among the short-tempered men and the sea of animals, she had found something she knew how to do. She knew how to tend to a wound, she had been one of the best nurses in the hospital when it came to an emergency. No one could find fault with her bandaging and stitching. But Ben didn't know that, and he intended to stand in her way. Addie had to prove to someone, to herself, that she was useful. She could belong. She had to be given the chance to show it.
"I can help," she said. "I'm going to stay."
Ben dropped the flask and caught her wrist in a crushing grip. "I'll say this only once," he said through gritted teeth. "This isn't the time for you to play ministering angel. He doesn't need his hand held. He doesn't need you to coo over him and flutter your eyelashes. So move your sweet ass over there and stay out of the way, or I'll drag you away by the hair. And I don't care if Daddy sees or not."
"Take your hand off me," Addie hissed, her eyes gleaming with fury. "Are you planning to stitch up his wound with those dirty paws? I know more about this than you'll ever hope to know. Do you think I'd offer to do it if I didn't? Let go! And if you want to be of any help, open that flask and give me that bandanna around your neck. "
His eyes were hard and searching as they met hers.
She saw the flash of anger, and then the beginnings of curiosity. Slowly his hand uncurled from her wrist.
"Every stitch better be perfect," he said, his voice menacing in its quietness. "And if you aren't able to back up your words, you'll answer to me. Understand?"
She nodded shortly while a wash of relief loosened the tightness in her chest. "What kind of thread is Watts bringing?" She dampened the bandanna with whiskey and blotted the wound. "Cheap cotton, I'll bet."
"We can't all afford silk." Ben sneered.
"I can. Do you have a knife?"
"For what?"
"Do you have a knife?" she repeated impatiently.
He reached down to his belt and unsheathed a gleaming bowie, giving it to her handle-first. She burrowed under the hem of her riding skirt, extended a leg, and cut one of the pink ribbons threaded through the lace border of her pantaloons. At the glimpse of the shapely calf that rose from the edge of her boot, several of the men who had lingered several yards away to watch began to mutter and exclaim among themselves.
"Jesus. That little display will be talked about in the bunkhouse for years to come," Ben muttered, sounding peculiarly strained.
"What do you mean?" she asked, flipping her hem back down and turning her attention to the ribbon. Expertly she stripped a thread from it. "Oh, you mean showing my leg." Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "Heavens, I didn't remember my modesty is much more important than helping a wounded man. Such unladylike behavior-but surely I haven't shocked you, Mr. Hunter." Her mocking smile faded as she saw the expression on his face. Why, he looked as if she had just done something dreadfully indecent, something that had shocked him.
Surely a quick glimpse of her leg couldn't have that effect on a man. She and her friends had walked down the streets of Sunrise wearing skirts that ended at the knees, and sometimes never received a second glance from the men who passed by them.
As she handed the knife back to him, his fingers curved slightly around the handle, and she felt a small shock at the sight of them. He had strong hands that showed signs of hard work. But how strangely sensitive they were. The hands of a murderer. Flushing, she tore her eyes away and turned her attention to the thread, grateful when Watts arrived with a paper of needles and a pair of scissors. She threaded the silk through the cleanest needle and soaked everything with whiskey. Carefully she pierced the first edge of ragged flesh with the needle, then the second, drawing them together with a neat ligature knot.
"Can't you do it a little faster?" Ben asked.
Calmly she took the second stitch. "I can do it so the scar will be practically invisible. See how it will fade into the frown line-"
"Yeah… real nice. But we don't have any need for a good-looking corpse. So hurry."
"There's no need to be so dramatic. He's not going to die, and you know it." Addie resisted the urge to say anything else. This was no time for an argument, no matter how tempting the prospect. As she was tying off the last knot, Ben wiped the last of the blood off the boy's forehead. "Kitchen surgery," Addie said, surveying her work with pride. "But he couldn't get better from a doctor."
"It'll do," Ben replied evenly.
She looked down at the cowboy's face then, pushing back a tendril of matted hair that had fallen on the temple. "Curly red hair. I'll bet he gets teased a lot for that."
Ben seemed to relax, his tension easing. "Who could resist?"
"And freckles too." Deep copper freckles that stood out in spite of the darkly tanned skin. The unconscious face was still round with the plumpness of youth. He didn't yet have the lean face of an adult. He looked so vulnerable and alone that her heart ached with compassion.
"Pink silk thread," Ben remarked, and Addie frowned a little.
"I hope it won't embarrass him."
"No, ma'am. He'll never want those stitches out. I guarantee he'll brag for days about where that pink silk came from." His mouth curled sardonically. "The envy of the bunkhouse."
"He's not much older than Cade," she said softly. "Poor boy." She felt sorry for someone so young having to live such a hard life. But it was a better life than many others would have. At least this boy would have the chance to keep his innocence. And these wounds would heal. She had tended veterans in the hospital who had once had young faces and innocent hearts. They had come back from the war crippled, blind, bitter. She had shared some of their bitterness, out of empathy, out of the emptiness of her own life. But that was in the future, she reminded herself. None of it had happened yet. Those veterans hadn't even been born yet. The war hadn't taken place.
As she looked down at the boy, she didn't know her eyes were dark with loneliness, her expression compassionate. Ben went still with surprise, his breath catching in his throat. Adeline Warner had always been a pretty girl, with too much spirit and not enough heart. Sassy, selfish, sharp-tongued-a girl like that was someone to avoid. But just now her face was soft and heart-stirring in a way it had never been
before. What had happened to give her this new air of vulnerability? What magic had brought such mystifying sweetness to her face? Had it been there all the time? Was he just beginning to notice something everyone else had long been aware of?
Russell walked up behind Addie, looking over her handiwork. He seemed to be puzzled by what she had done. "Where did you learn to close up a wound like that?" he barked.
Ben watched as the question caused Addie's cheeks to color.
"It's not much different from regular needlework," she said with a half-smile. "Just messier. What about his side? Is it still bleeding?"
"Not much. The temporary dressing will do until we can get him back to the bunkhouse. "
"Good." Addie glanced down at herself and saw the blood on both her sleeves, causing the material to cling stickily to her arms. The sweet, warm smell of it drifted to her nostrils, combining with the heat of the sun to overcome her with a wave of nausea. As she looked away, she caught sight of the steer and couldn't help remembering the thudding crack of the rifle against its skull. Afraid she might throw up, Addie grimaced shakily and struggled to her feet without asking for help. "Excuse me," she whispered, and walked away, breathing deeply and clenching her fists. She stopped when she reached Jessie, leaning against the horse's side and resting her forehead against the saddle. Concentrating on the musky scent of leather, she stayed very still. After a minute had passed, the contents of her stomach began to settle down.
She heard Ben's quiet voice behind her. "Here." He had gotten a clean handkerchief and a canteen of water from somewhere. She turned her face to watch him blankly as he dampened the cloth. She even suffered his touch without protest as he reached out to wipe her face, her eyes closing as she felt the cool cloth slide over her cheeks and eyebrows.
"Why are you doing that? Is there something on my face? What is it?"
"Just dust. Hold out your hands."
She stared down at the brownish bloodstains in the crevices between her fingers. “Oh, I-"
"Spread your fingers." The corner of the handkerchief erased every last spot on her hands. Why was he being so considerate?
"Thank you."
He offered the canteen to her. "Water?"
Gratefully she nodded, taking it in both hands and tilting her head back as the liquid slid down her throat. After handing it back, she looked at him uncertainly. "Thank you," she repeated, a question in her eyes.
He smiled at her, causing her heart to miss a beat. "You smell like a dance-hall hostess."
She chuckled a little breathlessly. "I spilled as much of that whiskey on you as I did on me."
"I'll give you your due. Your work was good. Although I'd have bet two bits beforehand that you wouldn't have been able to do it. I'm beginning to wonder how many more surprises I should expect from you, Adeline."
"Addie." The correction came out before she could stop herself.
"Addie," he repeated huskily. "That what you were called in school?"
"Kind of."
"You okay now?"
"Yes."
"You should go back to the house. It's too hot out here for you. "
She didn't know what to do when he was being nice to her. "I guess I will."
His eyes moved over her face. He seemed to be on the verge of asking her a question, but something impelled him to keep silent, and he left her.
Addie dipped her bare toes in the stream, relishing the coolness of the rushing water. The hem of her skirt was getting damp, but prudently she tried to keep as much of her legs covered as possible. "Shame on you," she said, casting a wicked glance at Jeff. "I'd swear I just caught you looking at my ankles. "
"You have beautiful ankles. The most beautiful I've ever seen." He slid his arm around her shoulders and turned her to face him. A hot kiss was pressed into the hollow of her throat, causing her to squirm in protest. "And the most beautiful toes, and heels-"
"Oh, stop it." Addie giggled and twisted away from him. "And don't hold me so tight. It's too hot."
Jeff loosened his arms, scowling in a way that made her want to laugh. She was fond of him, but at times he tried her patience sorely.
Addie had learned to treat Jeff with the same kind of affectionate mockery she used for Cade. She'd hoped to cool Jeff down, guessing that his feeling for her was not the love of a mature man for a woman but a boy's perverse love for something he knew was beyond his reach. Unfortunately her efforts to put distance between them were only making him want her more.
There were moments when she was charmed by him, moments when he was boyish and sweet, and almost embarrassed by his own gentleness with her. It was then that she was happiest in his company. She needed a friend, and he was the closest thing to a confidant she had.
As to the physical side of their relationship, it wasn't difficult to handle him. She had no desire to make love with him, and when he" tried to coerce her into it, she set him back with a coolness that infuriated him. It wasn't that Jeff didn't attract her. But Addie didn't want real intimacy with him. Something warned her that it would be a terrible mistake, and an instinct that strong must be obeyed.
There was an arrogant side of Jeff that bothered Addie. He liked to boast about his family's money and his father's influence, and she believed a man should stand on his own two feet, not ride on someone else's coattails. And Jeff seemed so ridiculously young when he swaggered. Like a child, he was demanding and relentless about what he wanted, and he sulked if he didn't get his way.
It was amazing, the difference between Jeff and Ben Hunter. They were complete opposites. Jeff was boyish, outspoken, easy to understand. Ben was a man no woman could ever hope to understand, more complex than any man she'd ever met. In a subtle way he seemed removed from everyone, even while he was arguing with Russell, charming May and Caro, or exchanging tall tales with the ranch hands. He seemed to be fond of Russell, but it was clear Ben didn't need anyone. What had happened to make him so independent? Was there anyone he really cared about?
What a mystery he was, attractive and repellent, charming and cold, gentle and harsh. In her heart of hearts she was afraid of him, not merely because of what he would do to Russell, but for an even deeper reason. He made her aware of herself as a woman in a way no one had before. He could do it with a look, a gesture… he cast some kind of spell over her merely by being in the same room. And the strangest thing was, she knew he didn't do it consciously. There was some kind of invisible current between them, and she didn't know how to explain it. How could you fight something you didn't understand?
"Adeline…" Jeff's wheedling voice broke into her thoughts. "Why are you so far away? Did I do somethin' to get your dander up?"
"Of course you didn't." She looked at him and smiled. "I'd tell you if you did something to make me mad."
"No, you wouldn't. Women don't tell stuff like that.
They like to turn all cold and quiet and make you guess what you did to get 'em mad."
"Most men have the most interesting theories about women. Women are helpless, women don't have much sense, women are neither honest nor straightforward, and really don't know their own minds anyway… honestly, I think one of you men should write a book. "
"Why would anyone want to write a book about that?"
Addie grinned. "For future generations. So some girl can read it someday and understand how much better off she is than poor old Grandma at her age. "
"No man'll ever understand women enough to write a book about ' em. "
"You know, women have their own theories about men."
"Like… men are stronger, smarter, and make more sense-"
"No, those are men's theories about themselves. Erroneous, for the most part."
"Erro…?"
"Wrong. Men don't know the first thing about themselves. They always manage to hide the things that are the most attractive about themselves, by thinking they have to act like Don Juan or Valentino."
"Like Valen…?"
"But a woman doesn't want a man w
ho's as slick as that. And she doesn't want someone who's going to treat her like she's a steer to be rounded up and roped and busted."
Jeff grinned at that. "How else you gonna treat a woman when she gets ornery?"
"With understanding," Addie said, and settled down on the ground, leaning on one elbow. "With tenderness. But most men aren't strong enough to be gentle. And they're not strong enough to love someone without breaking her spirit. A man likes to make his woman into a reflection of himself. Impossible here to find a man who would let his woman be a separate person as well as his wife."
"What's gotten into you?" Jeff looked at her with a puzzled frown. "You never used to make things so complicated before. Did you learn it at that school in Virginia? All this stuff about reflections and separate people. That has nothin' to do with a man and a woman. Man has a wife. She shares his bed, takes care of his house, has his children. That's all there is to think about."
"And what about a man's obligations to his wife?"
"Puts food on the table and a roof over her head. Protects his family, honors his promises."
Addie sighed, raising her eyes to his. "I wish things were that simple. I wish I didn't have to think about so many other things. It would be so much easier if I didn't. "
"Adeline, half the time I don't know what the hell you're talkin' about."
"I know you don't," she said wistfully. "I'm sorry."
She thought about that conversation when she went to bed that night, wide-awake and vaguely anxious until she heard the sweet sound of guitar strings. Ben, and that strange, yearning song he played so often. It was her favorite now, and she knew nothing of the words or the name. Who is he serenading with that music? she wondered, staring through the darkness. Ben's serenade… played for no one? For all of them? For a woman he had once longed for, someone he had wanted desperately?