by Lisa Kleypas
What would it be like to be wanted by him? She pictured herself and Jeff as they had relaxed today at the edge of their clearing by the stream leaning against each other and sharing long, slow kisses. What would it have been like with Ben instead of Jeff? Instead of auburn locks, her fingers would have sifted through coal-black hair. Uncomfortably Addie rolled over onto her stomach, trying to shake the thoughts. She was appalled by the direction her wonderings had taken. But perhaps it was normal, even natural, to be curious about Ben.
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.
"What are you looking at?"
She whirled around at the sound of Ben's voice. He was leaning against the doorframe, his long legs crossed.
"Nothing," she said sharply, dropping the window curtain. Ben smiled lazily and walked over to the window, glancing outside. Diaz was fac
ing outward again, silhouetted against the darkening sky.
"Diaz-interesting old character," Ben mused.
"Can't work worth a damn, but his stories are so good we had to hire him on. He's worth his weight in gold on a trail drive."
"I didn't ask for your opinion." Suddenly Addie made up her mind and walked out of the room, brushing past Ben on her way to the front door. He tucked his hands in his pockets and followed her.
When she walked across the veranda, Diaz turned his head and smiled slightly, nodding his head at her.
"Mr. Diaz," she said nervously, clasping her hands and wringing them together. His eyes were so bleak she could see her reflection in them. "Mind if I sit with you for a minute?"
"Of course. Please." As he gestured for her to do as she wished, she saw that his face was kind. He was a grizzled old cowboy, his skin darkened by years of working in the sun, his gray hair flattened from having worn a hat all day. His body was squat and solid, slightly paunched, but undeniably hardy. Hands that were rough and strong from hard work rested on his knee as he sat with his feet propped on the steps.
Silently she sat down beside him, locking her arms around her knees, heedless of the damage the rough steps might be doing to the fabric of her dress. Ben went to lounge near the bottom of the stairs, pretending not to notice Addie's obvious desire for him to leave.
"There's something I'd like to discuss with you," she said to Diaz, and stopped in confusion. She didn't know how to continue. What exactly did she hope to learn from him? What was it that Leah had said about him? He had his own ideas about such things. Everyone used to love to hear his stories. He could predict the future … he could make the craziest things seem natural. …
Diaz smiled as if he could read her thoughts, picking up a short hemp rope near his feet and coiling it carefully. "Look at that sky," he said, gesturing with the tail of the rope. "So clear you can see every star. Nights like this get me to thin kin '. Folks looked at those same stars a hundred years ago, prob'ly thought the same things 'bout 'em as we do. And a hundred years from now, they'll still be lookin' at 'em. The stars never change."
"You sound kind of superstitious," Addie said hesitantly.
"Superstitious? Yes, ma'am. I've seen and heard of things that'd make any man in his right mind superstitious. "His voice was heavily flavored with a Texas drawl.
As she looked at him, there was an awakening of hope inside her heart that wouldn't be quelled. The understanding she sensed in him was not the result of wishful thinking. If there was such a thing as intuition, then hers was prompting her to ask some questions. He had some answers. She would stake her life on it.
"So you believe that things can happen that don't make any sense? Things that sound like they belong in a storybook?"
"Of course. I've seen a lotta miracles in my lifetime. Trouble is, most people don't see 'em for what they are." Noticing the cynical twist of Ben's mouth, the older man smiled. "That one, there," he said, pointing to Ben, "he's one of those. He'll try to explain away miracles if he can't figger 'em out."
"But that doesn't mean miracles don't happen," Addie said, and Diaz smiled at her.
"Well, y'see-"
He was interrupted by Ben's jeering laugh. "Whatever it means, I know one thing. It doesn't do anyone any good to believe in hocus-pocus like miracles and little elves-"
"We're not talking about elves," Addie said, irritated by his interruption. "And if you want to talk about them with Mr. Diaz, come back later, but for now I'm having a private conversation with him, and if you're not going to leave, you can at least keep quiet."
Ben grinned, standing up and dusting off the seat of his Levi's. Clearly he thought she was indulging in a flight of fancy, and he was far from interested in hearing about it. "All right. I'll leave you two to discuss your hocus-pocus. I've got a guitar to restring."
Addie watched him stride away, her gaze troubled, and then she sighed. "I have a question. It sounds too silly to talk about with him listening. It's a question about time. "
"Time? That's somethin' I don't pretend to know much about, Miss Adeline." He smiled. "'Cept it goes too fast, an' I sure do like to waste it."
"I've been thinking about things that happen to people in the past and whether or not it would be possible to… well, to go back and change things."
"That'd be a miracle, all right. A big one."
"Do you think time could work that way?" She flushed as she realized how silly she must sound.
Diaz did not seem to be surprised by the question. "Do you think it works that way, Miss Adeline?"
"I'm not sure. Time is just hours and minutes. That's how I've always thought of it. Now is now, and yesterday was yesterday, and there's no going back. That's how everyone thinks of it."
"Not everyone."
"But I'm beginning to think of it in a different way, as if it's a distance that could be traveled. As if there could be a road between now and yesterday. What do you think?"
His black eyes gleamed. "Let me see if we can make sense outta this. We're all movin' forward through time right now. But if you c'n go forward, don't you think you c'n go backward too?"
"Yes. Yes, I do. Then you think someone could go back in time? You really think it could happen?"
"Yes, ma'am. That it could ain't a question t' me but then, I like to believe in such things."
"So do I," she said softly.
"Don't bet it happens a lot, though. Couldn't be many who deserve a second chance. "
"What do you mean, a second chance?"
"Well, that's all goin' back in time is, ain't it? A second chance. Why would someone get to go back for any other reason?"
"To change things other people did."
Diaz shrugged. "Maybe. But I think we each gotta worry 'bout our own business." He paused and looked at her shiftily. "Now, let's say someone could go back in time. Someone like you, maybe. Why would you be there to change anything, cept if it was to change somethin' y' once did?"
"But what if! went back to a time before I was ever born?"
Diaz tilted his head thoughtfully. "Don't know if that could happen."
"You don't think I could go back earlier than the time I was born? Then you're saying a person could only move around in her own lifetime?"
He smiled and shrugged. "This is all gettin' too tangled up fer me."
"Me too," Addie said with a defeated sigh. Tiredly she stood up. "But thank you. You've given me something to think about. Oh, and… please don't tell anyone what we were talking about. Especially not Ben."
"No, Miss Adeline," he said with a grave smile. Troubled, she turned and walked toward the corral. I don't believe anything he said was right. I know I don't belong in this time. I was born in I9I0. Adeline Warner was born first,' not me. Unless. .. unless I really am Adeline Warner.
Impossible. She shrank from the idea. It was crazy. But everything that had happened to her was crazy. Suddenly her heart was pounding roughly, pounding so hard her chest hurt.
She couldn't be Adeline Warner. What about Addie Peck? What about her life with Leah and the years she'd spent living in the house on the edge of Sunrise? Shivering, she thought about the two hours during the afternoon when Adeline Warner had disappeared.
"What happened that afternoon?" she whispered. "What happened to her? Where did she go?"
Frightening thoughts flew through her mind. Maybe she went to the future. Maybe she lived twenty years in the space of that two hours and then came back here. Maybe Addie Peck had just been a misplaced Adeline Warner.
"No," she gasped, and leaned against the gatepost of the corral, her head spinning. "I don't have Adeline's memories. I have my own. I'm not her. I don't want to be her. Oh, God, why am I in her place?"
Addie wanted to cry, but no tears came to her eyes. She was dry and numb. She remembered the peaceful, orderly life she had led with Leah as her companion. It had been difficult and lonely, but she'd always been secure in the knowledge that each new day w
ould be the same as the one before. Why had that been taken away from her? Why was she here in the place of a girl who'd been wild and temperamental, selfish and spoiled? That's not me, she thought desperately. I'm not Adeline.
A cold feeling swept over her, and she swayed against the wooden post. A picture emerged behind her eyes. It was an image of Sunrise, the sides of the unpaved main street lined with wagons and oldfashioned contraptions pulled by tough-bodied horses. Everything was slightly askew, like in a dream, but the details were startlingly clear. She could feel the wooden boards of the sidewalk under her feet, smell the dust stirred up by wagon wheels.
As she walked down the street, it seemed as if a stranger had taken over her body and was walking in her shoes. The town drunk, Charlie Kendricks, careened against the side of a storefront and paused to watch her pass by. She saw her hands flick her skirts to the side in a contemptuous gesture, as if she would be soiled by walking near him.
A breeze blew a trendril of hair across her face, and she stopped to pin it back, looking at her reflection in a small store window. Then the image of her face disappeared, although she could still see the street and buildings beyond. Startled, she raised her hand to the pane of glass, but it wasn't reflected back at her. Suddenly the brightness of the sun struck off the window, blinding her. Covering her eyes, she gave a cry of pain, but she couldn't hear her own voice. Heat surrounded her, burning with the intensity of a thousand suns, and she felt her body shriveling, dissolving, hurtling down into an endless well of time and space. She heard the sigh of an old woman's last breath… and a baby's cry.
Addie opened her eyes, and the vision disappeared. Breath-ing through flared nostrils, she tried to gather her wits, and clung to the gatepost for support. That was what had happened to Adeline Warner the day she disappeared.
"That was what happened to me," she whispered. "It was me."
