by Lisa Kleypas
"Don't everything?" And she watched with an appraising gleam in her blue eyes as he tossed a wad of bills onto the bed.
* * *
Addie curled up in the comer of the slickly upholstered parlor sofa, feet tucked underneath her. The house was hushed as the family slumbered upstairs, the only sound the methodical ticking of the clock. An unread book was spread open in her lap. Occasionally she would tum a page, her hands compelled to do something. She looked up as she heard quiet feet on the stairs, and saw Cade enter the room, dressed in his cotton nightshirt and a pair of worn-out breeches. He looked tired and grumpy, his feet dragging as he walked over to the sofa and flopped down at the other end.
"What're you waitin' up for?" he asked, smothering a yawn. "He said he wouldn't be back till mornin'."
"I don't feel like sleeping. Why aren't you in bed?"
"I keep wakin' up, thinkin' I heard a noise." He closed his eyes, resting his head on the back of the sofa.
"Cade?"
"Hmm?" he grunted, his eyes still closed.
"I'm glad you're not going to North Carolina with the others. It's nice having you around."
His mouth turned down at the comers in a surly expression, as was his habit whenever confronted by sentiment. "I'm not gonna stay here forever."
Addie smiled slightly. "I know, Cade."
She closed her eyes too, lulled by the quiet and the boy's presence, and gradually the book slid from her lap onto the sofa as she let her head drop, too heavy to support any longer. "Watts," she murmured to herself, her forehead aching as she pondered the name and tried to remember, and slowly she was drifting, drifting, her heartbeat slowing.
She was cuddled close to Jeff, caught up against the side of his body, her slender fingers combing through the mahogany hair on the back of his neck. Her mouth brushed close against the comer of his as she leaned closer. "Help me with the name," he had urged.
Softly she whispered, her lips at his ear. "Try George Watts. He'll do anything for money, anything. I'm sure of it.”
"And you're sure about the rest of it too?"
"Of course I am. We don't really have a choice, do we?" She kissed him sweetly, with a silent promise.
Addie moaned in her sleep, turning her head restlessly.
After leaving the saloon, Ben rode back to Sunrise, every coherent thought gone from his mind. Bloodlust burned in his stomach, dug into his sides like claws, driving him to push the horse to its limits. The ground raced beneath them, but the ride seemed too slow, sickeningly slow.
The wooden line shack was the only shape that broke the horizon, that and the ruins of the fence. Through the cracks between the boards came the light of a lamp turned low. Ben flung himself from the horse almost before it stopped. In a few steps he reached the door, bursting it open with the heel of his boot. A chair crashed to the floor as Watts snapped to his feet… a Colt.45 appearing in his hand. He started to lower it as he saw it was Ben, then instinctively checked the motion.
Ben was aware of the gun trained on him, but in his rage he hardly cared. "Why?" he demanded, breathing hard, his pulse drumming. "Was it just for the money? Did you bargain with them or take the first price they named? You bastard. Tell me why you did it! "
Watts met his eyes calmly. "Because they offered enough."
"And what other reason?"
"No other reason."
Although it was what Ben had expected to hear, the confession was still a shock, a white-hot arrow through the chest. Blankly he stared at Watts' face, so resolute, so unashamed, and grief bubbled up in his throat. It was even worse that he had murdered Russ without a personal grudge, just for the money. It was below the worth of any man, but especially Russell Warner, whose death shouldn't have been bought cheaply.
Nothing Ben said or did could make Watts regret it.
Trembling with rage and despair, Ben sensed Watts' invincibility, the lack of emotion in that solid, square body. Watts was waiting for him to make a move, and then he would shoot him with the dispatch of an executioner. He intended to kill Ben, or he never would have confessed to the murder.
Ben gave one anguished thought to Addie and lunged forward, leading with his right shoulder to present less of a target. Watts pulled the trigger. There was a deafening sound and a Dumbing blow to his body. Thrown back by the impact of the bullet, Ben staggered against the table, knocking the lamp over. Glass crashed, and oil spilled over the floor. As he felt for his shoulder, his hand encountered warm, spurting wetness.
A gentle mist seemed to surround him, and he slid to the floor, struggling to keep from giving in to the soft darkness. There was a buzzing sound in his ears. His nostrils were filled with a sweet smell. Seconds passed, or maybe it was hours, as he fought to conquer the weakness in his legs. He had to stand up, had to move. The sound of crumpling paper was in his ears… no, it was the crackle of flames. He was surrounded by the smell of kerosene. Ben's eyes slitted open.
Watts grabbed a few belongings and headed out of the shack, leaving him to bum to death. One wall was already spitting flames up to the ceiling. Animal panic surged through Ben, and he groped blindly as Watts strode past him to the door. He managed to catch hold of a booted heel, and clung with all his strength.
Stumbling, Watts landed on the floor with a thud.
Ben rolled to avoid the swipe of Watts' free foot. The rickety building began to roar, roasting the two of them alive. They scrambled across the floor, grappling, grunting with pain. Watts tried to stagger to his feet and Ben hung on until they were both half-standing. For a split-second, Ben saw himself moving as if underwater. He tried to let go and stand on his own, but his reactions were too slow.
Raising his fist, Watts struck him on the jaw, sending him reeling to the doorway. The ceiling and walls folded in as if some giant foot had crushed the shack. Throwing an arm over his eyes, Ben stumbled outside and hit the ground, his body rolling once, twice before stopping.
It wasn't long before line riders and cowhands, alerted by the distant glow of fire, crowded on the scene with blankets, sacks and brooms, beating out grass fires. Left unchecked, a fire could race along miles of grazing land, covering entire counties, destroying property, killing men and livestock. Men came from both sides of the line to help, from Sunrise and the Double Bar. Ben regained consciousness slowly, watching with smoke-reddened eyes as the cowboys worked side by side, calling out warnings to each other. They succeeded in containing the fire to the shack, watching as it burned down to a pile of rubble and ashes.
The rest of the night passed in a haze. Although Ben had tended a number of gunshot wounds, he'd never experienced firsthand knowledge of them. As the bullet hole was pronounced clean and clumsily bandaged, it was all he could do to keep from snapping at the man who tended his shoulder to be more careful, the goddamn thing hurt worse than it looked. But complaining would have made him less of a man in their eyes, alienated their trust, so he kept his mouth shut except to down the whiskey they pressed on him. When they decided he'd had enough, he clambered up on his horse and slumped over the animal's neck as he was led back to the ranch house-an indignity, for someone else to have control of his reins, but better than being slung over the saddle like a sack of flour.
The entire Warner family was up by the time he was half-carried into the house. Addie's world had been suspended in motion from the moment she'd learned of the fire and knew Ben was probably in the middle of the commotion. She was frantic and relieved the moment she saw him. His clothes were bloody, his face haggard and soot-streaked. Every line of his body spoke of exhaustion and shock. She couldn't get words out of her mouth fast enough as she urged the men on either side of him to bring him into the parlor. As he slumped on the sofa, holding his head in his hands, she flew to the kitchen for a pair of scissors and the box of medical supplies, returning to find May fretting over the nicks the cowboys' spurs had left on the carpet and furniture legs.
Ben protested as Addie insisted on cutting away what was left of his s
hirt, cleaning his wound again and rebandaging it. Ignoring his muffled command to leave it alone, she tended his shoulder and washed his battered face. Eventually Ben went still under her hands, lulled by her gentle touch. Had May not been there, he would have pillowed his head in Addie's soft lap and gone to sleep. The idea was so tempting he considered using drunkenness as an excuse, but better judgment kept him from it.
"Addie," he said thickly, raising his hand to touch hers. "Watts…"
"I know." Her eyes were clear and serene as they met his. He realized that somehow, the knowledge of Watts's death had lightened a burden on her shoulders. He wanted to tell her that it wasn't over yet, but the exhaustion was too strong to fight now.
"The rest… tomorrow."
Addie nodded in understanding. "Together," she said, and he shook his head wearily.
"No. No, Addie." Those were the last words he remembered before falling asleep, turning his face into the sofa cushion with a sigh.
Addie stayed with him for hours, ignoring May's remonstrances to go to bed. She knelt by him and stroked his black hair, her eyes wandering over him frequently to make sure he was really there. May dozed lightly in a large chair, waking to find Addie curled up close by Ben with a protective hand on his shoulder, her gaze fastened on his slumbering face.
"For goodness sake," May said, sounding annoyed, "you've been all over him ever since he was brought in. Let the poor man alone while he sleeps. Why do you have to watch over him as if he were a child?"
Addie looked up at her gravely. "He's been hurt," she said, leaving her hand where it was. "And he's mine."
Did she mean to imply Ben was actually in need of such outrageous pampering, or that the way she treated him was her own business? It was unclear to May. But she didn't offer another word of criticism, perhaps deciding Addie was as much an enigma as Russell had been, and there was no use trying to understand her. In the silence, an awareness came to the two women as they each thought over the short exchange.
Addie was no longer May's most dependent child, in need of spoiling and soothing and understanding. She was as much a woman as May, stronger in a perplexing way, more self-contained. It was not lost on the older woman that much of the difference had been made by the man sleeping on the sofa.
Ben was livid the next morning as he talked with the sheriff in Russell's office. "Dammit, Jennie told me straight out that Watts did it! He admitted it to her. He gave her the money to keep for him. I know she'd swear to it-"
"For nothin'?" Dary interrupted quietly, reading his answer in Ben's scowl. "No, I didn't think so. You'd have to pay her. Most folks will believe she'd say whatever she was paid to say. An' I'm not sure I wouldn't believe that too. "
"The point is, she'll swear up and down Watts was paid by the Johnsons to murder Russell Warner."
"Anyone else hear his confession?"
"I did!"
"So…' Dary said, sighing and chewing on the end of a fat cigar, "We got your word and the word of a whore…" He paused and looked at Addie sheepishly. "'Scuse me, ma'am. I meant-“
"I know what she is," Addie assured him dryly. Dary turned again to Ben. "Your word and Jennie Watts's against the Johnsons', An' no proof."
"I've already told you one of the hands saw his bunk empty the night of the murder."
"He mighta just gone outt' take a… " Dary paused and looked at Addie, clearing his throat. "T' relieve himself. 'Scuse me, ma'am."
"One look at Ben's shoulder is proof of what he claims," Addie said. "Why do you think Watts shot him? Because Ben found out the truth and confronted him with it."
"Or maybe it was.just a cussin' match that got outta hand. Cowmen have been known to shoot each other with less reason."
"Dammit to hell. You're falling all over yourself to make excuses for him."
"Ben, I know how riled y'are. I know what you believe, an' I believe it too. But you can't convict a man without more evidence than we got. You know that. "
Ben muttered something under his breath, staring out the window with hard green eyes.
"Tell you what I can do," Dary continued. "I'll take the Johnson boy t' my office in town and question him. And I'll have a talk with Big George, let him know the suspicions a whole lotta folks have 'bout him. The Johnsons are gonna lie for a long while, I c'n promise you that. It'll give y'all a chance to git back on your feet. They won't make trouble for you."
"We'd appreciate that," Addie said quickly, before Ben could reply.
"Alrighty," Dary replied, and picked up his hat. "Well, I'm gonna ride out to the shack an' take a look before goin' to the Double Bar. Ben-"
"I'll have one of the boys show you the way," Ben said, swallowing his frustration as best he could.
"I'd do more 'f I could, Ben."
"I know."
The two men shook hands, and Addie preceded them out of the office. She stood on the porch with Ben and watched the Sheriff ride off in the direction of the burned-down line shack. As she looked up at Ben's stiff-jawed profile, she understood how painful it was for him to have to sit back and do nothing, knowing the Johnsons would get a slap on the wrist.
"I know you feel helpless," she said quietly.
The words seemed to spur him into action. "Not for long." He settled his hat on his head and pulled the brim low over his eyes.
"Where are you going?"
"To pay the Johnsons a visit. Before Dary gets there."
"You mean you're going to settle the score," Addie said in panic, following as he started to walk away. "Wait. I'm going with you." He wouldn't do anything rash or dangerous if she was with him.
Ben stopped and faced her. "No."
"You can't keep me from going. I'll follow you."
"You'll stay here if I have to tie you to a tree."
"Why not lock me in my room? I'll be less trouble to you that way. Or don't you remember what you told me that night about giving me freedom?"
"No. You're not going to win that way. This has nothing to do with that."
"I believed you when you said you wouldn't hold me back."
"Dammit, Addie-"
"I have a right to go. He was my father. And I was practically engaged to Jeff. "
"I have to keep you safe-"
"What's the danger in this visit? What are you planning to do, brandish your guns and start shooting?"
He looked at her without saying anything, his face set with anger.
"Take me with you," she urged. "I won't say anything. But I have to be there. You're not the only one who has ghosts to put to rest. How can I face the future, always looking over my shoulder?" She went over and touched his hand, her eyes locked with his. "Don't leave me behind. My place is by your side."
For a moment she thought he would refuse her. But then his fingers closed around hers.
They weren't stopped by the Double Bar men as they rode over the property line and up to the Johnsons' main house. The sleeves of Addie's black dress fluttered in the breeze like banners. Respectfully the cowboys touched the brims of their hats as she rode by, and she wondered how many of them might have suspected the Johnsons were behind her father's murder.
When they reached the house, Ben helped Addie down from Jessie, his hands tightening around her waist. She threw him a quick, nervous smile. They walked up the steps and were met at the front door by Harlan, who was trying to conceal his anxiety.
"Mornin', Ben, Miss Adeline-"
"We're here to see Big George," Ben interrupted. "Ben, I'm sorry t' tell you he's in the middle of somethin', some business stuff, but if I can help you with somethin' -"
"I'm sure he wouldn't mind sparing a minute or two for a neighborly visit."
"No, but-" Harlan was cut off as Ben shouldered him aside.
"I didn't think so." Solicitously Ben took Addie's elbow and drew her to his side. "George in his office, Harlan?"
"Yes, but-"
"Thank you."
Addie swallowed hard as they entered the cluttered office, unp
repared for the tide of hate that swept over her as she saw Big George and Jeff sitting at a mahogany table. They rose to their feet as she walked in, Big George grunting with the effort of raising himself out of the chair. Jeff stared at her with unblinking blue eyes. How could they look her in the face after what they had done?
"Looks like we got visitors," Big George said, turning and indicating his chair with a meaty hand. "Have a seat, Miss Adeline?"
She shook her head, falling back a step closer to Ben.
"Seems you had quite a night, Ben," George continued, his mouth crinkling with the hint of a smile. "Lotta folks glad to see you still in one piece."
"Some more than others."
Big George chuckled. "You're a lucky man."
"Watts wasn't," Ben said, and let the silence draw out until the other man's smile had died away. "From what I saw, you can pour what's left of him into a teacup."
"What's that got to do with us?" Jeff burst out, and Ben smiled grimly.
"Please. Save the show for Sam Dary."
"Dary?" Big George repeated, his eyes narrowing.
"Yeah, I'd 'spected he'd be over here this mornin"." He noticed his son's worried expression. "Don't fret, boy. Just a little lecturin'… that's all Dary can do."
"But I can do more than that," Ben said. "I can make life very uncomfortable for the Johnsons. And I intend to."
"You have no proof of anyth-"
"Proof would make it easier. But I can manage without it."
Big George's face reddened. "If you're talkin' about dirtyin' up the Johnson name, I'll land on you so hard-"
"You do a fine job of it on your own. The Johnson name's beginning to leave a bad taste in peoples' mouths, and I sure as hell don't expect it to improve."
"Worry about your own name," Jeff said fiercely.
"Adeline sure as hell ain't gonna do well by it."
"Boy!" George snapped, but Jeff ignored him. "Didn't she tell you how we settled on Watts as our man? She told me he'd do it. She named her own father's killer, all 'cause of his new will. Didn't you know that? No. You just don't know what kind of woman you're fixin' to marry, do you?"