Pulling her into his lap…
Addie squeezed her eyes tightly.
His warm breath on the inside rim of her ear as he whispered…
She let out a short, embarrassed groan and buried her face in the pillow. How could she let herself imagine such things? Go to sleep, she ordered herself, trying to block out the soft guitar music and head-spinning thoughts. Gradually she relaxed, her body going limp as she escaped into sleep. But Ben Hunter was in her dreams as well, more vivid than any dream figure had a right to be.
She was in a bedroom, draped across the mattress, naked underneath a cool sheet. Her eyes were fixed on the doorway, where a shadow shifted and moved into the room. It was the dark figure of a man. As he walked to the side of the bed, the muscled slope of his bare chest and shoulders gleamed in the moonlight. Sitting up with a start, she clutched the sheet to her breasts. He looked at her as if she belonged to him, his eyes tender and mocking, and she was frozen in place as she stared back at him. No, Ben, she wanted to whisper, but her lips wouldn't form the denial.
Something inside her body began to clamor, a hunger too sharp to bear. Wanting to flee, she made a move to the side, and Ben caught her wrists in his hands. He bent his head to kiss her, his mouth scalding and sweet. His hands stripped away the sheet, drifted over her naked body, wandered from her breasts to her stomach. The moonlight seemed to dim, leaving them in darkness, and his kisses left hot imprints on her skin, his hard flesh fitted to hers, his bare back flexed under her hands. She arched up to him, wanting him, aching, moaning his name-
Addie woke up with a gasp, her hair falling in a tangled swath across her face. Her heart was beating wildly. Her skin was feverishly hot. What was the matter with her? It was the dream she had experienced so many times before. But this time Ben, not a stranger, had been making love to her.
She jumped out of bed and went to the window, clutching the sill and breathing deeply of the night air. There was nothing but silence outside. Nothing stirred in the darkness.
What is happening to me? she asked herself, tears of bewilderment coming to her eyes. She was in Adeline Warner's bedroom, wearing Adeline's night-gown. I've taken her family, the man who loves her. I ride her horse, sit at her place at the table, use her hairbrush. But she wasn't Adeline Warner, she was Addie Peck, and she wanted to go home. She wanted to be in a place where everything was familiar. She didn't want to bear the strain of worrying about Russell's murder. She didn't want to ruin Ben Hunter. She wanted no part of it anymore. No escape. The thought would drive her mad.
Although Addie could find humor in the differences between the life she had once led and the one she was leading now, some things were hard to bear. She had never once wished she were a man, or envied a man's freedom, until now. Trying hard to copy May and Caroline's example, she struggled to curb her natural impulses. Since she'd been brought up in a household without men, she'd come to take the freedom of speaking her mind and making decisions for granted. As head of the tiny household, she had earned a living and paid the bills. But here there were so many things she couldn't do and say, so much she was prevented or forbidden from doing.
Women had to be unassuming. Women had to be quiet. Addie had to be careful to take up no more than a small percentage of mealtime conversations. The men didn't like a woman's interruption into their business discussions, even if she had something important to say.
Men could be outspoken about what they wanted. Women had to maneuver skillfully and indirectly. Whispered conversations, closing the doors discreetly, correcting or reproving with affection in her voice that was a woman's way. She could be straightforward when speaking to a child, servant, or another woman, but never with a man. With a man you had to hem and haw and simper. Addie found that even Russell was more approachable when she was coy and sweet to him, and he would send her away with a threat to lock her in her room if she didn't "stop actin' like she was wearin' breeches."
One thing she'd never expected was her own increasing hunger for male companionship. This world was sexually segregated, a fact which everyone-men and women alike-took for granted. But she had grown up in a different time, when men and women interacted constantly, as friends and partners, and sometimes as professional associates.
Not here. Not now. She was relegated to an existence inhabited mostly by women who filled their days with caring for their children, exchanging feminine secrets, and forming close female friendships. She was quickly tired of talks about childbirth, courting, children, and marriage. Men played minor roles here. They came in for dinner, patted the children, and answered the wives' questions in monosyllables.
When a neighbor's or a cousin's husband traveled, she would come to stay at the ranch for a week or even several weeks, to compare letters and gossip, do needlework and talk about her family. A woman had no status in the real world except as someone's wife. It was only in the company of other women that she became a person with authority and privilege. Daughters imitated their mothers and older sisters until they were able to reproduce the same manners, the same habits, the same kind of friendships.
Sometimes Addie sought out Ben just for the sheer pleasure of being able to argue and let out her frustration, and he always obliged her. He would debate anything with her, holding nothing back and talking to her without the polite condescension other men used when speaking to a woman. It was a relief to be treated like a human being, even if Ben was sarcastic and insulting. Their arguments had become private conspiracies, conducted behind the others' backs. Her battles with him would have been stopped, one way or another, had anyone else been aware of them, and Addie didn't want that. In a way, Ben had become her safety valve.
She still knew little about him, despite the amount of time they spent near each other. Ben escorted Addie and Caroline to town, found a few minutes to spend with Russell and Addie as they watched the busting of a horse, and brought the young cowboy with the pink silk stitches in his forehead up to the house in order to thank Addie personally for what she had done. Ben also escorted Addie to the Double Bar on the mornings that she went to meet with Jeff. Occasionally she was prompted by a sixth sense to tum around, and she would find Ben standing close by, watching her like a cat after a mouse, looking for God knew what.
Addie stood in the parlor, pushing aside the lace curtains just an inch and looking out at the steps of the veranda. Night had almost fallen. From the next room came the clatter of plates being cleared from the table and the murmur of voices. A bulky figure sat on one of the steps outside, his back to her, his hands busy with the task of rolling a cigarette with tobacco and a com husk. The Mexican named Diaz. She wanted badly to go out and talk to him, but she had no idea of what she would say, what she would ask. Why was he just sitting there? It looked as if he were waiting for something.
As she stood there, he turned his head slowly and looked at her through the window, his wrinkled brown face illuminated by the last rays of sunset. Their eyes met, and Addie held her breath. She saw something in his eyes, an awareness that made her almost lightheaded. He knew her. He looked at her as if he knew her, and about the fact that she wasn't Adeline Warner. She was almost certain he did. Agitation hummed through her veins.