Give Me Tonight(109)

Only Addie understood the extent of Ben's grief and sense of loss. She'd been copying a letter in Russell's office the afternoon Ben had walked in with an ab­sentminded look on his face. Suddenly he froze as he met her eyes, looking startled to see her there. He was the first to speak.

"I wasn't thinking," he said slowly. "I just walked into the house with a question for Russ. I forgot he wasn't here." And he stood looking at her silently, amazed at himself.

"I forget sometimes too," she said.

Ben swallowed hard, nodding briefly. Addie recog­nized his expression. It was the same one she’d worn as she'd looked into the mirror for the first time after waking up in another world, when she'd realized part of her life was gone forever. That's one thing I'll never have to be afraid of again, she thought grimly. I know what it's like to lose everything, and I know that some­how I got through it. That must mean I'll get through all of this too. Wordlessly she stood up and held out her arms to Ben, wanting to help ease his pain. He was not the kind to ask for comfort, but she would always offer, even if he decided to tum away from her.

Ben's face was strained. His mind was clouded with confusion. Long ago he had sworn never to rely on a woman he loved, never in this way. Enjoy her, plea­sure her, take what she was willing to give, but never give her this power over him. And yet, hadn't he al­ready taken that extra step, that one step too many? Addie's eyes were filled with knowledge of him, the secrets he had told her, the understanding he'd allowed her to have of him as a man. All of it he had given to her as if it had been her right. Now he was indepen­dent no longer. There were moments such as this when he realized the hold she had on him, and for a split second he wanted to break away from her.

"I know you're hurting," she said gently. "So am I.  Don't turn away, Ben."

Before he could stop himself, he'd gone to her. He buried his face in her hair, his hands flexing convul­sively in the loose material of her dress sleeves. The blessed, aching relief of it made his eyes and nose sting. His voice was hoarse as he sought to unburden his heart.

"I didn't know him for long. But he was more of a father to me than . . .' The rest of the sentence was choked off.

Addie stroked his dark head tenderly. "He loved you. He thought of you as a son."

"If only I'd known what was happening, I could have saved him. I should have—"

"All of us feel that way. His family was only a few doors away. Don't you think Cade blames himself for not having heard something? And me . . . oh, you can't imagine the things I wish I'd done." Addie felt much more responsible for Russell's death than Ben ever could. She'd known about it beforehand but still couldn't stop it. And that was a secret she would have to bear alone for the rest of her life.

Ben gave a shuddering sigh and squared his jaw, dragging a sleeve across his wet eyes.

"Don't blame yourself," Addie said, laying her cheek against his fast-beating heart, her arms wrapped around his waist. "He'd be mad if he knew you did."

And Ben allowed himself to hold her a few minutes more. In the back of his mind he knew he should have been overcome with shame, having given in to un­manly tears in front of a woman. But Addie was dif­ferent from all others. There were no conditions to her love. He could trust her with his private thoughts, his deepest feelings. Finally he understood the real reason for wanting her as his wife. Not for the sake of pro­priety or passion, not for children, for the ranch, or even fora place to belong.

As a boy he had idealized love; as a man he had searched for it. And now that he'd found it, it was different from what he'd expected, more demanding, more vital, constantly changing. The bonds that tied him to her were stronger than steel chains, but within them there was perfect freedom. It was that way for both of them.

Caroline and Peter planned to leave with Leah after the wedding, as soon as Caroline was well enough to travel. May had decided to go with them to North Car­olina, since most of her family and old friends were there. She'd made no mention of whether or not she intended to come back to Texas someday, but Addie suspected she would never return. Cade had opted to stay at the ranch for a while, until he was more certain of what he wanted.

The sheriff and his deputies finished questioning the ranch hands about what they might have seen or heard the night of Russell's murder, and they came up with no new information, no answers that threw any light on what had happened. Ben allowed his frustration to surface after they'd left, pacing around the ranch office and smoking cigarettes, crushing them out after only a few puffs. Addie's first inclination when she went in to talk to him was to sprawl comfortably in a chair, but the bothersome arrangement of skirts, small bus­tle, and petticoats forced her to sit upright in a stiff­backed, ladylike manner.

The air was stale with smoke. Leaning over, she struggled to open a window without getting up. Ben cursed under his breath and did it for her, and she made a face as she waved ineffectually at the air.

"Are you going to make a habit of this?" she asked.

"I liked the smell of Daddy's cigars much better."

Ben stubbed out a cigarette and raked a hand through his dark hair. "I might not have enough time to de­velop a habit," he said curtly.

"Meaning?”

"Meaning that if I'm not dry-gulched by some well ­meaning vigilante committee soon, I'll probably be taken out and hanged by the sheriff and a posse, nice and legal. I'm the most likely suspect. Everyone knows it. "