Give Me Tonight(50)

She looked at Cade mutinously while the two of them walked by the smokehouse and kicked at chips of wood. "You don't know how much he hurt me, Cade. What would you do if he ordered you not to see any of your friends? What about that little brown­ haired girl you like to call on, Jeannie something-or­other—"

"Janie."

"Yes, her. What if he told you not to visit her anymore?"

Cade was forever a diplomat. "I guess I'd agree, 'f I believed in his reasons."

"Hal You wouldn't either. You'd want to see her, and you'd be mad at Daddy for acting so high­handed."

He grinned. "Yeah, but I couldn't stay mad as long as you. You and Daddy, you're ones for holdin' grudges. Me? . . . I don't see the sense in bein'mad about somethin' you can't change."

“There isn't any sense in it," Addie agreed grimly.

"But I've never pretended to be as nice as you, Cade, and I can't help being mad."

Since her falling-out with Russell, she'd kept out of his way, finding an unexpected hardness in herself every time she thought about forgiving him. Until now he'd let her do and say almost anything she wanted. But for him to turn around and curtail that freedom, treating her like an object to be put back in its place, had been too unexpected. You couldn't allow someone free rein and then pull it in too suddenly, too tightly.

Like any daughter on bad terms with one parent, she sought out the affection and support of the other. May wisely refrained from criticizing either Addie or Russell, or taking one side against the other. Instead she offered sympathy to both of them privately, know­ing that each was too hardheaded to be induced to see the other's viewpoint. Addie and Russell were barely on speaking terms.

Though her problem with Russell disturbed her a great deal, Addie didn't talk much about it, especially not to Ben. She felt acutely embarrassed whenever she looked at him and remembered how she had sobbed in his arms. What did he think of her now? Ben didn't mention the episode. His tenderness of that night had disappeared, and he was his usual mocking self toward her. But sometimes he looked at her as if he were silently laughing at her newfound shyness, and all it took was that one look to set her teeth on edge. Then she would wait for a jeer that never came . . . ah, how detestable he was!

She sought consolation for her bruised ego in May's company. May was always calm and gentle. There was quiet grace in everything she did, a grace that was not learned but came from an inner source. Caroline was like that too. They were the kind of women who would never allow the world to change them. Addie knew herself to be a complete contrast to them. She was always struggling and changing, always wanting things and being resentful when she couldn't get them. She understood what Russell had been trying to tell her before. None of the family would be able to survive Russell's murder, she thought moodily. No wonder it went to pieces after he was gone. They'll all do well enough if everything's secure and organized and com­fortable for them. But when disaster happens, they need someone else to do the struggling for them. It's good to be gentle and nice, but there are times when you just can't be, or the world will walk right over you.

A week after Addie had been forbidden to see Jeff, the family prepared to travel nearly fifty miles to at­tend the wedding of Jeff's younger brother Harlan to Ruth Fanin, the daughter of a wealthy rancher. Sunrise and the Double Bar tacitly agreed to put aside their differences for a few days. They all loved a wedding. It gave them a chance to see old acquaintances, trade stories, drink freely, and dance until the soles of their feet were bruised. The cowboys from different ranches ate meals together, talked about wages and work, en­joyed the free liquor and took as much advantage as possible of the host's hospitality. And every rancher in Texas liked to show off what he considered to be his own legendary hospitality.

The women at these affairs were always outnum­bered by men, which meant the favor and attention of every available female was constantly sought after. Addie was apprehensive about attending the wedding. What would she do when people she didn't know ex­pected her to recognize them? But at the same time, she was excited. She hadn't been dancing in a long time. She wanted to listen to music and be among crowds of festive people.

The day before they were to leave, May came up­stairs to help Addie pack, finding her in the middle of a heap of dresses. Addie had been trying on dresses for an hour, none of which she wanted to wear, and she had the urge to take a match to her entire ward­robe.

"I'd cry," Addie said in frustration, "if it would help anything."

May's face softened with concern. "Sugar, your face is all red. What's got you so upset?"

"These." With a sweep of her hand, Addie indi­cated the pile of clothes around her. "I'm trying to find something to wear for the dance after the wed­ding, but I don't have anything to wear that's not pink. I hate it. It's practically all I wear from morning till night, and I'm sick of it. "

"I tried to talk you into some different colors when we were having them made. But you insisted on it. Remember how stubborn you were?"

"I must have been dead from the neck up," Addie said feelingly. "Can you tell me why I decided on all ­pink?"

"I believe Jeff said it was his favorite color on you," May replied placidly.