Give Me Tonight(5)

"So you don't think Ben Hunter killed her?"

"I don't think he knew anything about what hap­pened to her."

Addie felt a little chill chase down her spine. "It's like a ghost story."

"There's someone I always wanted to talk to about it—one of the old cowpunchers at the Sunrise Ranch, a man by the name of Diaz. A superstitious old Mex­ican who had his own ideas about such things. Every­one used to love to hear his stories. He'd talk for hours about stars, magic spells, and ghosts, just about any­thing you could think of. Sometimes he could predict the future, and more often than not it'd come true. "

Addie grinned. "How? Did he look into a crystal ball or something?"        -

"I don't know how. Diaz was just odd. He could make the craziest things seem natural, and since he believed in them, he could almost make you believe too. But he left the ranch for good before I could work up enough nerve to ask him what he thought about Aunt Adeline disappearing. "

"That's too bad," Addie said pensively. "It would be interesting to know what he would have said."

"It sure would."

Addie went out on Friday with Bernie Coleman to see the new all-talking feature at the movie house. Mr. Turner, the theater owner, had just installed sound equipment last year, and the whole town of Sunrise went enthusiastically to see the latest pictures. Co­quette was Mary Pickford's first talkie, and Addie had been enchanted not only by the fine acting but also by Mary's new bobbed hairstyle.

"I think I'll get my hair cut short and curly," she mused as Bernie walked her home, and he laughed, leaning close and pretending to examine her straight honey-brown hair.

"You with her curls? That's the limit."

Addie smiled at him, wrinkling her nose. "I could get a permanent wave."

"Baby, compared to you, Mary Pickford's not so hot."

"You're sweet," she said, and laughed as she slipped her hand into his. On the outside, Bernie was slick and sophisticated. He tried to seem bored by ev­erything, tried to view the world through jaded eyes, but Addie had long ago discovered the streak of kind­ness in him. No matter how well he hid it from others, Addie had seen on occasion that Bernie was tender­hearted, the kind of man that couldn't stand to see a hurt animal or an unhappy child. Because of his fam­ily's money and his blond good looks, he was con­sidered to be a handsome catch, but Addie had no designs on him. That was, perhaps, why he was so interested in her. Men always seemed to want what they couldn't have.

Bernie's hand tightened around hers as they neared her house at the end of the street. Instead of leading her to the front doorstep, he took her into the shadows beyond the glow of the porch light. "Bernie, what are you doing?" Addie questioned, giggling. "This grass is wet, and my shoes—"

"Sign off for a minute, baby." He held a finger to her lips. "I want a few seconds alone with you."

Addie bit his finger playfully. "We could go in the house. Leah's upstairs, probably asleep."

"You're not the same in the house. You change into another girl as soon as you walk through the door." "I do?" She stared at him quizzically, more than a little surprised.

"Yes, you do. You get all dull and serious. I like you when you're dizzy and fun. You should be like this all the time."

"I can't be dizzy and fun all the time," Addie said with an impish smile. "I've got to work sometimes. I've got to worry sometimes. It's part of being an adult. "

"You're the only girl I know who talks like that." She stepped closer and put her arms around his neck, brushing her lips against his smooth cheek. "That's why you like me, slicker. I'm a novelty for you. "

"This is why I like you," he said, bending his head and kissing her. The feel of his mouth on hers was pleasant. To her, their kisses were friendly gestures, casual signs of affection. To Bernie, they were prom­ises of better things to come.

Long ago Bernie had become aware that Addie didn't intend to let him go any further than this. But that didn't stop him from trying. In his mind there were two kinds of women, the ones he respected and the ones he didn't. In a way, he rather liked Addie the way she was. But if she ever did let him go as far as he wanted with her, it would be his dream-come-true to make her into the kind of woman he didn't respect.

"Addie," he said roughly, holding her tighter, "When are you going to say yes to me? When are you going to start living? Why don't you and I—"

"Because," she said, sighing ruefully. "Just be­cause. Maybe I'm being a silly romantic, but I just think we should feel more for each other than this, if we were going to be closer."

"Things could be so good between us. I wouldn't ever hurt you." His voice dropped to a whisper as he pressed soft kisses on her lips. "I want to be the one to make you a woman. I know you haven't ever trusted anyone enough. But it'll be right for you and me, so damn natural and good. Addie . . . "

She twisted out of his arms with a choked laugh.

"Bernie, stop. I'm not ready for that, not with anyone. I . . . " She looked around and chuckled nervously, lowering her voice. "I can't believe we're having this conversation on the front lawn. I'll bet all the neigh­bors are listening. “