by Lisa Kleypas
"The daughter of one of my professors at Harvard. Her father was one of the most brilliant men I'd ever met. Very New England-aloof, intelligent, dynamic. Sometimes when he spoke, his words just burned through your mind-God, the things he said were radical. Startling. There was a lot of that in his daughter, the same brilliance, the same intelligence. I'd never heard a woman talk like she did. He'd let her study the same things his students did, let her say and do anything she wanted. She was smarter than most of the men I knew-a woman with an education. Having been raised in a small town near Chicago where they'd barely heard of such a thing, I was fascinated."
"Was she beautiful?"
"Very."
Addie's jealousy doubled. Beautiful, intelligent, fascinating. "She sounds perfect," she said tonelessly.
"I thought so for a while. It was maddening, never knowing where I stood with her. One minute sugar wouldn't melt in her mouth, and the next she'd fly into a rage for no reason. Sometimes she was just plain crazy, taking chances, dragging me into wild adventures. I was either deliriously happy or miserable around her."
"Why was she so wild?"
Ben's gaze was distant, as if he were concentrating on elusive images. "There was no place for her. She'd been given the opportunity to become exotic… different… and then everyone kept trying to put her in a place she didn't belong. Including me. She was a bird in a cage, flying against the bars over and over again. I wondered why she couldn't act more like other women, why she wanted to talk about things that only men… " He paused and looked at her, his eyes unreadable. "You should understand."
Addie nodded imperceptibly.
"But she didn't have your strength," Ben continued. "She had no hope of finding a way to fit in. I watched her suffocating, and I didn't understand why. I thought the only way to help her was to try to change her. The tighter I held on, the worse it was. I loved her, and she felt the same about me. But everything I wanted from her-marriage, a child, a life together-all of that would have been a prison. She wanted no part of it. "
Ben took a deep breath and let it out slowly, amazed at the sudden lightness in his chest. It was the first time he'd ever talked about that part of his past. He hadn't planned to tell Addie, but now it made sense to unburden himself to her. Who else was capable of understanding? Who else could begin to know the kind of struggle it had been?
"How did it end?"
"She… " Ben cleared his throat and stopped. He couldn't get the words out. Addie said nothing, waiting patiently, although inside she wanted to scream with the need to know. "She found out she was going to have a child," he muttered, his eyes flashing with guilt and remembered pain. "My child. I insisted we would get married. It was only a few weeks until graduation, and I already had plans to go back to Illinois and get a job at my father's bank. She was miserable, I was thrilled. I wanted the baby. I wanted her. And the day after she told me, she nearly killed herself having the child aborted. When I found out what she'd done, I wished she had died along with the baby. I never saw her again."
Addie's heart was filled with compassion. "How did you manage to get through the rest of the semester?"
"Money in the right pockets. My father was determined to have his son graduate from Harvard. No price was too high to pay. I didn't care one way or the other. I was numb."
"I'm so sorry about what she did," Addie murmured. "About the baby."
"Part of it was my fault. I would have used the baby as a chain and manacle to keep her with me-"
"No. She should have talked to you about it. You would have helped her find a way to deal with it. She should have trusted you. You would have listened to her."
"No. I was different then."
"Not that different. Nothing will make me believe you would have ignored a plea for understanding. You wouldn't have made her life a prison."
"How can you be so sure?" he asked gruffly.
"Because I know you. Because my heart tells me so."
He turned his face away. Addie sat in his lap, trying to read his silence. Suddenly he drew his sleeve across his eyes, blotting an unfamiliar dampness, and she wound her arms around his neck, holding him fiercely. She had to convince him she wouldn't become like the other woman he'd loved, her spirit crushed by a disapproving world.
"I'm not like, Ben."
"In some ways you are."
"Well, of course I hate not being able to say what I want or to do what I want, just because I'm a woman. But I'm not a bird in a cage. And I want to belong to you."
"I don't want to trap you-"
"I'm more afraid of being alone. Don't you see I have more freedom with you than without you?"
His hands bracketed her shoulders as he looked at her intently. The combination of innocence and experience in her face had never been so pronounced. He saw the eagerness of a child, the passionate love of a woman, and a depth of understanding that belonged to someone twice her age.
"God, I'll never let you go, Addie."
"I know that."
"And I won't try to change you."
"I wouldn't let you."
"No, you wouldn't," he said, and relaxed slightly. "You're quite a woman, Adeline Warner."
"Too much for you to handle?" she asked, her voice soft and teasing. Suddenly she found herself fiat on her back, smiling as she stared up at him. His eyes warmed with desire.
"Not by a long shot," he said, proceeding to demonstrate in a way that left no doubt in her mind.
The agreements Ben and Russell had made in private about how to handle the crisis were never detailed to the family, but some things were very clear. Most important, the fence was going back up. Second, Russell had decided to restrain himself from riding roughshod over the ranch, the Warner family, and the cowboys, contrary to what they had expected. He stayed in the office and kept his distance from the ruins of his fence, while Ben supervised the Construction of extra line shacks, doubled the number of riders who protected the Sunrise borders at night, and appointed men to hammer new fence posts into the ground.
Barrels of precious water were used to soften the ground in order to dig holes for the posts, an outrage to those whose herds of cattle were parched and thirsty. May, Caroline, Addie, and even Leah were kept busy doctoring the gouges and scratches that the barbed wire left on the arms of the men who were engaged in constructing the new fence. After a few days Addie showed Ben ruefully that her fingers were permanently stained brownish-red from handling countless bottles of iodine.
The reactions of the town and neighboring ranches to the attack on Russell's property were mixed. Some cattlemen who had been entertaining the idea of closing in their own land with cheap, durable barbed-wire fencing were- as outraged as if they had been victimized along with Russell. But some people said it was just what Russell deserved. Many cowboys hated the idea of fencing over the range they were accustomed to riding so freely. Small cowmen who often gleaned mavericks from the cattle drifting across the boundaries of their own properties resented the fence too.
As day after day passed by, Addie began to miss Ben acutely. She hardly ever saw him. He was busy dealing with all the problems that were brought to him, no matter how large or small. His work was unending as he supervised the building of the fence and coordinated the other chores done around the ranch. With the constant traffic in and around the house, there was no opportunity for him to come to Addie's room. A man had been appointed to watch over the house at night, the final guarantee that her trysts with Ben were over for a while.
Addie was consumed by frustration, emotional and physical, and it wouldn't be eased until she had Ben to herself again. She lay sprawled in her bed at night, arms and legs outflung as she thought moodily about the times he had visited her. How was it possible to want someone so much? The moments when she did see him weren't enough-there were always family members or ranch hands around, and no chance for any kind of privacy.
How long was she going to last without him? Her need of him grew stronger every minute
, until she could hardly bear it when he was near. How strange it was to hunger and thirst for someone so badly, to resent everything that took him away from her. He had awakened needs in her, strong needs that must be assuaged. She'd had so few nights with him, but for the rest of her life, every night without him would be cold and empty. Looking around the table, she wondered if any of them would have understood how she felt. No, none of them, not even lonely, sensitive Caroline.
I 'd go to any lengths to keep him. None of them have ever fought for each other. But they must have felt something once. They must have. Caroline and Peter acted like distant acquaintances, while May and Russell were wearily affectionate at best. No passion, no tenderness. Not even anger. What do they talk about when they're alone? Or is there just silence?
Addie missed the long, cozy talks with Ben the most. In the darkest hours of the night she had told him some of the scandalously intimate things that even wives weren't supposed to tell their husbands. Conversations with Ben had been a source of endless fascination, since there was almost no subject he was unwilling to discuss, and he never bothered to spare het modesty. He seemed to enjoy making her blush, and he could always tell when he'd succeeded, even in the dark.
After a week of being apart from him, she began to notice that Ben was changing in subtle ways. His easy manner had disappeared and his sense of humor was more biting than usual. He was always tense and short tempered around her, and he made an effort to avoid her company. Why was he so brusque and abrupt? Why did it seem as if he were angry with her?
Every time she heard him walk into the house at dinnertime, saw him enter the room, watched him as he sat down at the table, there was an ache in the pit of her stomach. The extra time he spent in the sun was darkening his skin to a new swarthy shade, making his eyes glow like emeralds. He had never been so handsome, so unreachable. Why was it that as she looked at him across the expanse of the dining-room table, the distance seemed to turn into miles?
Addie poker her head around Caroline's door, her brow creasing with a frown as she saw the shades pulled down over the morning light and the small bulky figure huddled underneath the covers.
"Caro?" she said softly, and her sister stirred. "You don't feel like getting up yet?"
Caroline shook her head, looking annoyed. Her face was bloated from gaining a surprising amount of weight in a short time, and her eyes were underlined with puffy bags. "No. I feel sick. I'm tired."
"Has Dr. Haskin-"
"He says there's nothin' wrong with me."
"Well, that's wonderful-"
"Oh, don't sound so cheerful."
"Why don't I get you some tea? And I'll read you the story from yesterday's newspaper about -"
"No. Thank you, but I don't feel like drinkin' anything or listenin' to anything."
Slowly Addie walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, covering Caro's limp hand with her own. "What's wrong?" she asked gently.
The sympathy seemed to be Caroline's undoing. Her eyes filled with tears. "I feel so fat and awful and mean-tempered. And I'm losing my hair. Can't you see how thin and stringy it is? I used to have such pretty hair. "
"It's still pretty. If you have lost some, it's certainly not enough for anyone to notice, and it'll grow back just as soon as the baby's born."
"A-and Peter never wants to talk to me anymore, or hold me-"
"He doesn't know what you want from him. Tell him what you need."
"I want h-him to know without askin'."
"Men don't always understand what to do. Sometimes you have to tell them."
Caroline gave a watery sigh and wiped her eyes with a comer of the sheet. "This momin' Leah came into my room and started bouncin' on the bed. I was sharp with her, and she doesn't understand why-"
"I'll see to her. Cade and I will take her to town.
Yesterday she wanted some material to make her doll some dresses, and we don't have enough scraps here. We'll get her a length of cotton, and maybe some candy. "
"Would you? Oh, she'll like that."
"What about you?" Addie asked, gently teasing. "Peppermint or licorice?"
"Nothing," Caro said, suddenly looking happier. Despite her pregnancy, she looked like a little girl with her tearstained face and plump cheeks. Addie felt a pang of love for her, wishing she knew how to make everything magically right for Caro.
"Tonight when I get back, we'll wash your hair. That'll make you feel better. And I'll tell Ben to play some music in the parlor after dinner, especially that song you always like to hear. "
"But Ben is so busy-"
"He'll find the time," Addie assured her, and grinned impishly. "If I ask."
Caroline brightened, looking at her expectantly. "How are things between the two of you?"
Addie leaned closer, her brown eyes dancing with excitement. "He loves me," she whispered.
"Oh, Adeline-"
"I never dreamed I could be so happy. I'm so much in love it hurts."
"I'm so glad for you." Caroline gripped her hand.
"Don't let him go. Don't let anything come between you."
"No, never." Addie flashed her a grin and squeezed Caro's hand before letting go and leaving the room. "Leah! Leah, where are you? You and I are going to town. Come help me look for Cade. "
Leah's pigtails flew behind her as she raced down the stairs ahead of Addie, her voice shrill as she called for Cade. Addie followed her out to the front porch, where they found Cade reclining lazily on the steps with Diaz. Diaz was in the middle of one of his improbable adventure stories. He stopped his narrative and looked up as he saw them, his wizened face creasing with a smile.
Addie returned the smile hesitantly, suddenly aware of how many times she'd walked by him without a thought as he sat on this very porch. Accustomed to his presence there, she had given him as little notice as she gave the porch railing or the wooden boards under her feet. Every now and then they had exchanged a word, but she had never again sought out his company after the strange, almost nonsensical conversation they'd once had. It was rare that Addie let herself think about it, and everything she had once considered asking him or talking to him about had faded into the most distant part of her memory. He was just there, ever-present, contemplative.
"Cade, you have to take Adeline an' me to town," Leah burst out, reaching out to yank at his hand.
Cade smiled at her excitement, resisting her efforts to pull him to his feet. "Who says I have to?"
"Don't tease," Addie said, hooking her fingers into his shirt collar and tugging lightly. He-made a gagging noise and stood up.
"Guess you'll have t' finish the story later," he said to Diaz, shoving his hands into his pockets and shrugging good-naturedly. "Otherwise Adeline'll strangulate me. You aren't gonna leave before tonight, are you?"
"Tomorrow mornin'," Diaz said, and Addie's eyes widened in astonishment.
"Leave? What do you mean? Where are you going? Why-"
"I never stay too long in one place, or with one outfit." Diaz smiled at her in a kindly way and lifted his stocky shoulders as if to indicate it was something beyond his control.
"But what will you do?"
"Lotta herds gonna be driven north soon. Always room for a good talespinner on the trail."
Addie was speechless. She didn't want him to leave.
But she couldn't explain the feeling, not to him and not even to herself. There was no practical reason for wanting him to stay at Sunrise. She hardly knew him, hardly ever spoke to him. He was just as he described himself, a talespinner. He'd done nothing for her except throw out a few half-baked ideas one night that had struck her fancy. Some of the odd things he'd said. about going back in time, about redemption, had frightened her with their accuracy. Maybe it had just been a lucky choice of words. And maybe not.
"There's something I must know," she said hesitantly. "Mr. Diaz-"
"Adeline," Cade interrupted, chuckling as Leah nearly sent him tumbling down the steps with her eagerness to leave, "
he just said he'll be here tonight. If you want to go to town, quit talkin' and come on. "
Addie scowled at her brother and then raised her eyes heavenward. "Later, Mr. Diaz?"
"Later," he agreed placidly, and she smiled at him before following Cade and Leah.
After they had reached town and Cade helped them down from the buggy, Addie and Leah headed for the General Store. Cade went further down the street to see if Ben was visiting with the sheriff as he had intended. Nowadays Ben made it a habit to keep the sheriff informed of every incident of friction that involved the Sunrise Ranch, doing what he could to keep him on their side. Not that the scanty forces that passed for law and order here could do much for them. In this part of Texas, you had to look after yourself and your own business, and you were in big trouble if you had to rely too much on someone else's protection. But Ben intended to maintain some appearance of respectability for the ranch, and having the sheriff's cautious support was better than his disapproval.
After buying a yard of checked gingham and a bulging parcel of candy, Addie walked Leah across the street toward the buggy. Leah's sugar-sticky hand caught at hers, and Addie grinned as they swung arms together companionably.
"Wanna lemon drop?" Leah asked with perfect politeness.
"No, thank you."
"Molasses cane?"
"Honey, if I'd wanted any, I would've gotten some for myself. But it's nice of you to want to share."
"Aunt Adeline?"
"What?"
"Why does Ben call you Addie? No one else does." She nearly jumped at hearing Addie spoken in Leah's voice. It reminded her of the older Leah, and all the times she had heard her name spoken with just that inflection. "It's just a nickname," she said, trying to calm the thump-thump of her heart. "You can call me that if you want."
"Aunt Addie," Leah said experimentally, and giggled.
She couldn't help laughing. "So you think it sounds funny, do you?"
"Uh-huh." Leah pulled out a licorice strap and began chewing the end. "Aunt Addie, is Mama gonna have that baby soon?"
"Kind of soon. There's still about two months to go."