Give Me Tonight(25)

"Daddy," Caroline protested mildly, "the child—"

"Take the child up to bed," came the answering roar. "I want to hear what my son-of-a-bitch neighbor had t' say. He is what he is, and I won't call him anything else. Start talkin', Ben."

Addie glanced at Ben, whose face was perfectly in­scrutable. There was, however, a betraying twinkle in his eye as he regarded Russell. You didn't have to know Russell long to understand that he thoroughly enjoyed working himself up into hearty bursts of temper. Leah was hurried upstairs by Caroline.

"We seem to have a few philosophical differences with Big George." Ben studied his table knife and turned it idly as he spoke. "Plainly speaking, he doesn't like your fence. He doesn't have one, and he doesn't see why you need one."

"I had that fence put up to protect my land," Rus­sell said, his face reddening. "To protect Warner property from rustlers. And neighbors."

"Big George seems to think the range is open and belongs to everyone."

"He's got the wrong damned idea. What's inside my fence belongs to nobody but me!"

Ben looked at him and said nothing, a smile playing on his lips. Addie nearly caught her breath at the sight of him, with the soft evening light shining on his black hair and bronzed face. It was difficult not to stare like a foolish schoolgirl. And it was indeed foolish to be taken in by his looks. It didn't matter what a man was on the outside when he was capable of such betrayal, cruelty, and cunning. But he seemed so affectionate toward Russell. Could it be that even now he was look­ing at Russell with the idea of killing him uppermost in his mind? She turned her eyes away from him and forced her attention back on the conversation.

" . . . George said we'd built the fence too far into his property," Ben was saying.

"Hogwash!" Russell exploded.

"Oh, I don't know, Russ. You've always been one for cutting your slice of the pie a shade bigger than the others."

There was dead silence around the table as Russell stared at him bug-eyed. Ben met his gaze without flinching, that same smile still lingering on his lips. Addie was amazed at his daring. Suddenly Russell laughed deeply, and relieved chuckles erupted from the rest of the group. "Don't know why some say you're dishonest," Russell remarked, still chortling. "You're so honest it offends me. All right. What does that son-of-a-bitch George want in the way of . . . of . . . "

"Remuneration?”

"If that means slickin' his ruffled feathers down, yes."

"He wants half of that watering hole on the border of the property. And he wants to be paid for that mav­erick calf we . . . adopted."

"Adopted," Addie repeated, unable to resist break­ing in. "First we stole it, now we adopted it. It sounds better every time I hear it told. You sound positively paternal, Ben, talking about that poor little lonesome critter who needed to be taken in."

He grinned at her. "I have a soft spot in my heart for neglected animals."

Their eyes met in challenge. "How altruistic."

"No, just enterprising."

May decided to interrupt their exchange. "I wish the two of you would quit tradin' words no one else understands." The statement was heartily seconded by the rest of the gathering, and Addie laughed as she stood up from the table.

"I'll leave while you discuss the details, then. I'm going to take a short walk outside, now that the air is cool. "

"Don't go too far," May cautioned.

"I won't, Mama." It startled Addie, to hear that word come so easily to her own lips, and her smile faded as she left the room.

The night air was cool and fresh. She inhaled the scent of it and knew there was something missing. There was a difference between this Sunrise and the one she had left. Here there was no seasoned, mellow fragrances of corn growing and fruit ripening. The farmers would not plow this ground and coax their harvest from it for another twenty or thirty years.

Sunrise was still the ranchers' domain. They liked the land raw and uncultivated, they liked the town frayed and comfortable, worn down and full of saloons. This was more of a man's world than the Sunrise she had come from. Moodily she kicked at a dry clod of earth and went to lean against the wooden fence by the house. There were lights on at the bunkhouse, and the muted sound of cowboys' laughter. Scattered across the ground were flashes of light. Fireflies wink­ing at each other.

What am I doing here? she wondered as she braced her forearms on the fence. Loneliness smote her all at once. She wanted Leah desperately, not the little-girl Leah but the woman who had been her only parent, the woman she had known all her life. She wanted someone who understood her, someone who knew her, not as the spoiled Adeline Warner but as the person she really was. Her throat was tight as she fought to control her longing. It wouldn't do to think about it, not when she had to turn all of her concentration to learning everything she could about her situation.

Sighing and closing her eyes, she leaned her head on her hands and tried to remember what Leah had told her about Adeline Warner's disappearance. It was all enshrouded in a haze of grief. Frowning deeply, she focused on the faint recollection of a name. She said she'd wanted to talk to someone. Diaz, I've got to find him. I've got to ask him—.

Addie heard the sound of booted feet behind her, felt the touch of someone's fingertips on her arm.