Give Me Tonight(17)

"Good Jessie, good girl. Easy, Jessie," she mur­mured through stiff lips, yanking on the reins in an effort to calm the animal.

"For God's sake, whatever your problem is, don't take it out on the horse. I've never seen you so heavy ­handed with her before.

Ignoring him and pulling harder on the reins, Addie somehow managed to turn the horse around, and with a jerk that nearly unbalanced her rider, Jessie shot for­ward. As they galloped away from the stable in a mad, out-of-control flight, Addie was aware of Ben riding parallel to her.

"What's the matter with you?" he snapped. "Slow down. You're not in a race. At this race you'll wear her out before we're halfway there."

She strained her arms with all her might as she tight­ened the reins, relieved when Jessie, however reluc­tantly, obeyed the command. They slowed to a canter and Addie worked at catching her breath. If she could just get through this morning, she promised herself, she would never ride again.

"Why the hurry?" Ben inquired sardonically. "Can't wait to see Jeff?"

"Why do you ask in that way? What do you think about Jeff Johnson?"

"You wouldn't be interested."

"I might be." Carrying on a conversation, no mat­ter how unpleasant, might help take her mind of the predicament she was in. "What do you think of him?"

"He's a jackass with a hot temper and a big mouth."

"Because he might not always agree with your opin­ions?"

"Because he has the damnedest habit of flaunting his ignore-ance whenever he gets the chance. He's never known what it's like to work for anything in his life. Which is why you're perfect for each other. "

His words stung. "You don't know anything about me or what I've done." She thought of the hours at the hospital she had spent nursing, the backbreaking hours of carrying buckets and changing beds. The strain of pretending she was unaffected by patients' wounds, their sickness and pain. She'd always been mild and gentle with them, no matter how tired or frustrated she was. And then there were the days she had spent at home, taking in extra sewing to supple­ment her income when Leah's medical bills began ris­ing. Addie could remember hunching over the sewing machine until her back ached, plying needle and thread until her eyes were sore. She had done it all without indulging too often in self-pity, but now to be accused of never having worked was unbearable.

"I asked what you thought about Jeff Johnson, not me," she said coldly. "You're jealous of him, aren't you? You wish you had all that he has."

He gave her a measuring glance. "No, ma'am. There's nothing of his I'd have on a silver platter."

Including you, was the silent implication. She looked ahead, her grip tightening on the reins. Her anger must have communicated itself to Jessie, for the rhythm of her hooves began to quicken until they were galloping. Instantly Addie knew she'd lost control of the horse, and she felt a stab of panic. She jerked on the reins, putting her weight into it, but Jessie ig­nored the frantic signal. Addie hissed every curse she knew through her teeth.

"What are you doing?" she heard Ben demand, but she couldn't answer. She yanked the straps of leather in her hands with all her strength, and sud­denly the horse stopped and reared with an angry whinny. Desperately Addie tried to cling to the ridic­ulous little saddle. As soon as the horse's forelegs touched the ground, she was bucked off the animals' back. She was too stunned to make a sound. For a moment she was weightless, paralyzed in anticipa­tion of hitting the ground. Then came the hard slam of her body as she landed. Pain seared through her in a burning streak, followed by the sickening sen­sation of having the wind knocked out of her. Curled in a fetal position, she lay motionless, her eyes closed as she tried to recover herself.

Addie felt herself being turned over carefully, and she choked on her first breath. Ben was beside her on the ground, murmuring something in a quiet voice. There was pain all through her body, and a terrible ache in her chest. In her struggle to breathe there was nothing left but fear and a terrible sense of aloneness. Nothing was worse than being alone with pain. Her eyes slitted open, and she saw Ben's dark face above her, but she couldn't have moved had her life de­pended on it.

"What kind of game are you playing?" he mut­tered. "You could have been hurt, you little idiot."

Her throat opened with a gasp, and she was finally able to fill her lungs with air. Rapid breaths scoured her throat, and she shuddered from the burn of it. The pressure of tears built up behind her eyes, but she couldn't let herself cry, not in front of him. Shakily she covered her eyes with her palms, aware of the mas­culine form bent over her. Oh, for Ben of all people to see her like this . . . he would laugh at her . . . perhaps even now he was silently laughing at her mis­ery. Embarrassment and confusion swept over her. No more. It's not going to work. I can't pretend anymore. I can't lie anymore. Her lips trembled as she fought against a wave of anguish.

"For God's sake," she heard Ben say roughly. And suddenly it seemed that it was not Ben with her at all, but a stranger. A stranger who pulled her into his arms and stroked her back, whispering something low and harsh. There was no passion in the way he held her, nothing but the casual comfort he might have given a frightened child.

Revolted by his touch, she tried to push him away. But his arm was a strong bar around her back, pressing until she fell against him in a soft collapse. One of his hands slid up the back of her neck and he was rubbing it with the tips of his fingers, and it felt so surprisingly good that she went still. The unshed tears faded away magically, and the pain in her chest began to subside.