by Jill Barnett
The game went on three more rounds and then Addie's pie was the prize. Montana still hadn't won, but she knew she couldn't dare hope he'd win this time. It was just too much to ask. She watched intently as the music played for what seemed like ten times as long as the others. Then suddenly it stopped, and so did the men. Karl pulled out the number. "Number two!"
The next thing she knew, Montana was holding up his square. He'd won! And Addie felt like Moses' mother. Martha handed him the pie and he walked in Addie's direction, an unsure look suddenly creasing his face. He passed by her and then stopped and turned.
"This isn't yours, is it?" His face now wearing a look of impending doom.
She smiled.
He groaned, right out loud, and she wanted to bop him.
"I'd better take this outside," he mumbled and strode for the doors.
Addie spun around and grabbed a fork off the table and marched after him. He'd eat that darn pie or she would bop him! She pushed open the back doors and stepped out into the night. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the change. Then she spotted him, sitting on a rail on a tall, wooden water cistern.
Her small feet ate up the distance between the two structures, and in a blink she stood before him, the fork in her outstretched hand. "Here!"
His face looked liked a condemned man. He took the fork, grimacing.
"Eat it," she said, crossing her small arms and tapping an impatient foot.
He stuck the fork in the pie as if he expected it to explode. When it didn't, he raised a forkful to his lips, Custus speed, and then closed his eyes tightly and took the bite.
His eyes popped open in surprise. "Hey, this is great!" Then he shoveled a huge bite into his big mouth and chewed like Mabel and Maud.
"Of course it is," she said in disgust, plopping down on the wooden rail that linked the cistern legs. He had eaten half the pie by the time she got the nerve to look at him. He had more regard for that silly pie than he had for her. "Remember the black-eyed peas and ham?"
He looked up, his mouth still full, so he nodded his head.
"That was the only meal I didn't… uh… doctor."
He swallowed and gave her a speculative look. "Doctor?"
A little smile quirked at the corners of her mouth. "Ruin."
He put the fork in the pie tin and set it on the cistern pump. "The broken egg yolks and dry ham?"
She nodded.
"The raw mashed potatoes?"
She nodded again.
"The leather roast?"
Another nod followed.
He was silent for a thoughtful minute, then asked, "What did you put in those biscuits?"
She grimaced, then with an apprehensive, wide-eyed look, she turned and faced him. "Plaster of paris."
There was a pregnant pause, then he burst out laughing. "Addie, Addie," he said shaking his head. "You're the burr under my saddle."
She rested her elbows on her knees and propped her chin in her hands. "It's your own fault."
"How do you figure?"
"It just is," she evaded, nervously smoothing the skirt of her pride dress, not wanting to get into the things he'd done, especially the things they'd done together and the way she hurt because of them.
They sat there, each staring at nothing, saying nothing.
"I asked you to get married," he finally said, staring. straight ahead and opening all Addie's wounds.
She took a deep breath. "You wanted the farm."
He let his hands fall between his bent, propped knees and he stared at the ground. "I still do," he admitted, and she stiffened and her breath whistled past her tight lips.
She started to stand, but he grabbed her and pulled her back down. His hands gripped her small shoulders and he turned her to face him. He looked her square in the eye and said, "But I like you, Addie."
"Like me?" She could have hit him. "Like me!" Instead she twisted out of his arms. "Well, whoop-dee-doo! Lucky me." She shot upright and glared at him. "What you like is that I have no more morals. You like my farm, my buildings, and you like to sleep with me. That's what you like!"
He was mad now too, she could see it, but that didn't stop her. "You like to crawl in my bed and my body but you don't like me!" she cried, poking her finger against his chest.
"That's not what I meant, Addie, I—''
"Why, you don't even like me enough to dance with me, damn you to hell!" She started to walk away, but he lifted her right off her feet.
"Put me down!"
"No."
She scissored her feet, trying to get him to put her down.
"Stop it!" he ordered.
"Go to hell!"
"I've already been there."
"Well so have I," she spat, "and you were right there with me!"
He dropped her legs, letting them dangle down, and pulled her against him. She started to kick at the air, and one strong arm clamped under her bottom and the other across her shoulders. His eyes said he'd had enough. "That was heaven, Addie, not hell."
Then his mouth closed over hers. She refused to open her mouth, even when he stroked her lips with his warm tongue. She squirmed against him, but his answer was to hold her even tighter. His lips still moved against hers but she wouldn't open, not for anything, even the lure of his taste. She just couldn't. She couldn't be that weak.
They exchanged glares—pure challenge. His thumb and finger held her chin and he tried to pry her mouth open. She ground her molars together and wiggled enough to get one arm unpinned. He applied more force to her chin, so she grabbed the tied hank of his hair. The more pressure he applied, the harder she pulled. His eyes heated to gold; her eyes cooled to black.
"You… stubborn… little… witch," he gritted against her mouth.
Her answer was to yank harder, and his lips left hers, but his eyes didn't.
"Let go," he commanded.
"Put me down," she countered.
He gave in. His arms loosened and she stopped pulling his hair. Her feet hit the ground with a soft thud, and she backed away, still freezing him with her eyes. She adjusted her dress, then lifted her proud head. "If you can't dance with me, you can't kiss me."
He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "I was wrong, Addie. I'll dance with you. I wanted—''
"It's too late. Go dance with Rebecca." With that she turned, swishing her pride dress as she walked back inside, her head held high and heart sunken low.
* * *
Montana had met twenty-year-old mules who were easier to deal with than Addie. He'd given her time to cool off, but time only seemed to make her madder. He'd tried to ask her to dance, but she'd pretended he didn't exist. She'd looked right through him and turned and asked Hettie Latimer if she could help her.
He knew now that his plan tonight was another bad one. He stood back and watched her, fussing about behind the food table and fiddling with an ice cream maker. The way she twitched around, one would think making ice cream was right up there on the importance level with electing a president.
She worked with the other women, picking the ice… He shook his head. She was really mad, if her actions were any indication. She hacked so hard at the ice block that Montana was getting a headache. She lifted the bowl of ice—she had twice as much as the others—and dumped it into the bucket.
He thought about approaching her again, but he looked at the icepick and decided against it. Besides, something told him that he could keep on asking her to dance but get the same result as he would singing psalms to a dead horse.
The small band—two fiddlers, a guitar, and a banjo—broke into a lively Virginia reel. He had to give it one last try. He'd start out by apologizing…
Montana crossed the room, worming his way through the crowd until he stood in front of the table. She was just snapping on the top on the ice cream maker.
"I'm sorry, Addie," he said.
She ignored him and banged the lid down a bit harder.
"Please dance with me."
"W
hy, I'd love to, Montana," Rebecca cooed, appearing out of nowhere.
Addie looked up then, but it was too late. Rebecca had his arm and pulled him to the dance floor. He tried looking helpless by shrugging at Addie, but she just stuck her nose up and started turning the crank on the ice cream machine.
They joined the line of other dancers just in time to hold hands and follow the line of dancers under a bridge of hands. Montana held both of Rebecca's hands and they schottisched up the line. He kept looking over at Addie, but her nose was stuck up so high she couldn't have seen him unless she had eyeballs in her nostrils. He gave up, and do-si-doed around his partner.
The reel was one of the livelier dances, where everyone talked and laughed and strutted. Will was dancing with Lizzie, and both men started trying to outdo each other, dipping and swaying, shuffling in fancy steps around their partners. Everyone laughed, except Addie. When Montana finally slowed down, he glanced in her direction. One arm hugged the ice cream machine to her chest, and her small chin rested on top. But it was her right arm that got his attention. It cranked the ice cream maker faster than a spinning weathervane in a gale wind. Her hair curled here and there about her small, flushed face, which was in one of the best scowls he'd ever seen. She was really mad.
One more turn around Rebecca and the dance ended. He managed to un-cling Rebecca and he headed for the table, but Will stopped him.
"Harlin and Custus are getting together a fishing party for tomorrow at Mule Ear Creek, so he won't be home till tomorrow, and I thought I might go on with the Latimers. John could use some help with that new well and—''
"And it'd give you a chance to see Lizzie," Montana interrupted.
Will grinned. "You need me for anything?"
Montana clapped Will on the back and said on a laugh, "Naw, you go ahead." He watched Will cross the room and then turned back toward Addie. She was dishing up ice cream to a line of kids and adults. As if bidden to, she looked up. He plastered an innocent smile on his face and waved. Her nose was up before he could blink, and he laughed all that much harder. There was no love-light in those narrowed black eyes. Yes, she was mad. But that was okay by him, because he had a whole, long, wagon ride home with just the two of them. If he couldn't change her mind by then, well… he'd just keep on driving the wagon, clear to Tulare if he had to, until she gave in.
He made his way over to the beer keg and bought his second beer. Leaning against the back wall, he watched her serve up her ice cream. He raised his glass, toasting what was to come, but she never noticed. Her nose was too high.
"I can get up there by myself, thank you!" Addie told Montana, jerking her arm out of his grip. He stood back, so she grabbed the wagon seat and the foot rest and tried to pull herself up. She couldn't quite get enough oomph.
He snorted.
"I can do it," she quickly assured him again so he wouldn't help her. She tried again, and this time she pictured him dancing with Rebecca. She vaulted up so hard she almost landed facedown on the seat. She pushed upright and wiggled into position, her right hip smashed against the seat rail to give him plenty of room.
He walked around and hopped up onto the seat. He unwrapped the reins and pulled back on the brake. The horses started to ease away.
"Wait!" She grabbed his arm. "You can't leave. What about Custus and Will?"
"They're not coming." He snapped the reins and the team took off, jarring Addie against the back of the seat.
"What do you mean they're not coming?" She gripped the side rail and gaped at him.
"Custus is staying in town. He's going fishing tomorrow, and Will went with the Latimers. He's going to help John with his new well." His voice held a smile. "It's just little ol' you and big ol' me."
"Ducky," she muttered, "just ducky." Then she decided that those were the last words she was going to say. She felt like Red Riding Hood with the wolf.
They drove along the dirt road. The only sounds were the clatter of the harness, the soft thudding clap of horse hooves on the dry dirt road, crickets in the night, and the horrendous drumming of her dadgum heart. Common sense told her that he couldn't hear it, but it thumped so loudly in her ears that she was sure he could.
Then he began to whistle. She did her best to ignore it, until she recognized the tune. It was "A Man Without a Woman," and he was doing it on purpose. The verses began to play in her mind like the tune:
A man without a woman is like a ship without a sail,
Is like a boat without a rudder,
Is like a fish without a tail.
A man without a woman is like a useless, empty can.
But if there's one thing worse in the universe,
It's a woman, I said a woman without a man.
He whistled the final line loud enough to send the horses into a canter. He pulled back on the reins and slowed down the team.
"If you want a woman, I'm sure Rebecca would be glad to oblige," Addie snapped, then could have bitten her tongue off.
"I don't want Rebecca."
Addie squirmed a little and only succeeded in accidentally brushing against him. She then sat as still as the night. The silence continued. Then some ornery little devil in her made her say it. "That's right, Rebecca doesn't have a farm."
He pulled on the right rein and the wagon hit a deep pothole that lifted Addie a good five inches off the wagon seat. Her fanny slammed back down so hard her teeth hurt. She gasped but refused to let him get to her.
"I don't like Rebecca."
"You liked her enough to dance with her all night."
"I asked you to dance and you refused."
His voice was quiet and so reasonable that she wanted to scream. She didn't want reason, she wanted a fight, and by God she'd have one. "You looked just like that silly tom turkey." She waited for his response.
He was silent.
"Rebecca stood there swishing her skirts, and you shuffled your feet like a turkey scratching around a hen."
Still nothing.
"You puffed your chest out and swaggered all around her like that turkey courting dance, dipping your shoulders like wings and weaving all over."
Not one word.
"I was waiting for your tailfeathers to fan."
He pulled back on the reins and jammed back the brake so hard that she was surprised it didn't break off in his hand. He was down from the seat in a flash.
"What are you doing?" she asked, a little panicked.
He stood in front of her. "Get down."
"No." She slammed her back against the seat and crossed her arms, staring straight ahead, scared to death he was going to throw her off the wagon and drive off without her.
"You are so damn pigheaded." With that gruff pronouncement, he hauled her off the seat.
She kicked and squirmed, and he set her on her feet, but his hands held her shoulders. She glared up at him. There was no way she'd let him know that she was scared. If he was going to abandon her on this dark, dirt road, like the lowlife he was, well fine. She'd fare better against snakes and scorpions and such than she would with him.
"Dance with me."
Now she was silent.
"Dance with me, Addie," he repeated.
She didn't know what to say, so as usual she said something dumb. "There's no music."
He held out his arms and began to whistle a waltz, "After the Ball."
She just stood there feeling small, and silly, and confused.
He stopped whistling. "Please."
It was the craziest thing she'd ever experienced. One moment she stood there, the next she was in his arms, waltzing to a whistled tune on a dry dirt road. She only reached his chest, pocket high, but his hand was warm as it held hers, and his arm pulled her close enough to touch bodies. He hadn't held Rebecca like this. Addie smiled, closed her eyes and swirled like a princess in a fairy tale, one where her toad had turned into a prince.
The moon was the only light in the black night sky. She glanced up at Montana and saw his profile outlined i
n the moonlight. They swirled in a half turn, and the moonlight shone on his face, revealing his features. They were all there for her to see: the long nose with the rugged bump, his chiseled, whisker-shadowed cheeks, his deep-set golden eyes, and a jaw strong enough to defy death.
She loved that face, and right now it was kind, relaxed, but still so strong—except for that dimple in his chin. She smiled at her thoughts and leaned her head against his chest. His heart beat a tattoo in her ear, sounding like percussion added to the whistling of the waltz. It was the most romantic, most wonderful moment of her whole life. Over and over they spun down the road—a dirt road, but that didn't matter to Addie because in Montana's arms, she felt as if she were dancing on moonlight.
Addie snuggled a little deeper into the soft warm bed. She didn't want to open her eyes and ruin it—the memory of last night. No one would have believed it, Montana Creed and Adelaide Amanda Pinkney dancing on the road at midnight. And last night, on that dirt road, she really and truly lost her heart.
Oh, she loved Montana before, she had to have, otherwise she'd have never let herself go that night in her bedroom. Yes, she loved him then, but now she adored him, enough to accept that he didn't love her in return.
He had said he liked her, which had insulted her at first, until she realized that it was quite an admission from a man like him. Maybe liking her would be the best she'd ever get from him, and she had to decide if that was enough.
Right now, when she savored last night's end, it was enough. To have danced with her like that was a girl's dream come to life. Then he'd put his arm around her on the last part of the drive home, he'd walked her to the front door, held her for the longest time and then kissed her, only kissed, before he said good night. It was special, the sort of moment one cherished.
It was enough for Addie. She threw back the covers and stretched out of bed. The holland shades glowed from the morning sunlight. Grabbing the small crocheted ring on the shade, she pulled down, releasing the catch, and the lace-covered shade flapped up. From the nearby grove of eucalyptus trees some mourning doves cooed, and in the distance the gurgling, flutey song of a mockingbird answered back.
