by Linda Broday
As with the habit of writing down her thoughts and the comfort that brought, she missed her knitting. The repetitive motion had always helped pass the time and soothed a ragged spirit. Tomorrow she’d go to the mercantile for yarn and needles and look for fabric to make herself a riding skirt. She’d need one if she intended to ride her buckskin, which she did. She couldn’t wait to get back on her horse. Riding with the wind in her face was the freedom she’d imagined.
Ridge was supposed to help her with a name. Fine. She’d think of one herself. For the next hour, she mulled over every name she’d ever heard, but none seemed right. She rose and paced the length of the parlor then back at least a dozen times.
The same as she’d done with every dilemma, she sat with paper and pencil, making a list of the ones that had come to mind.
One name drew her. King. She circled it and tapped the pencil. Yes!
King said everything about the horse and how truly thankful she was.
Excited, she went to the kitchen to look out the window for Ridge, but the pitch-black night failed to yield his tall figure. Dejected, she went back to the parlor and sat with Miss Kitty and Squeakers.
Reading didn’t interest her without Ridge’s voice saying the words. She took out her paper and pencil instead and wrote a short letter to her friend Zelda Law, the midwife who’d fled New Zion that horrible night with the newborn. As prearranged, Zelda would need to know how to find her in order to bring the child. The arrangement was never supposed to be anything but temporary. Though Addie longed to ask about the boy, she refrained from mentioning him, worried that the letter might fall into the wrong hands.
Finally, she rose and turned out all but one lamp as she retreated to her safe space.
While she braided her hair into one long rope down her back, Addie thought about her life and everything that had led her to Hope’s Crossing. She missed her sisters, Thea, Tola, and Remy. She preferred those nicknames to the long, cumbersome given names her parents had bestowed. No doubt their father had thoroughly poisoned their minds against her—something he did best. Maybe one day she might try to see them again.
Pushing those thoughts away, she secured her braid with a worn ribbon and went to bed.
Sometime after midnight, Addie woke. Had Ridge ever returned? She crept up the stairs barefoot, careful not to step on the creaky fourth board. The bedroom door was open, and light from the moon revealed Ridge’s sleeping form. And the empty whiskey bottle clutched in his hand.
The room reeked of alcohol.
He lay atop the coverlet, fully dressed except for his boots. His holster hung on a post at the foot of the bed. Relieved that he was back, she started to leave, then stopped. Utter loneliness hung thick in the air, stifling her. Ridge Steele’s fight with his demons had not ended well.
An urge that was part curiosity and part the need to touch him compelled her to move closer. She slid onto the bed beside her husband and lay there for a while, listening to his soft breathing. When he didn’t wake, she boldly curled her hand around his long, tanned fingers, her head barely touching his sleeve. Sadness oozed from her heart. This was her place to take.
And she yearned to.
So why not? She had no idea of how to go about it. She didn’t know how all this worked. Even before prison, she’d been clueless about marriage.
Maybe he drank because of the situation she’d insisted upon. Guilt washed over her. He’d given her an amazing horse, a comfortable home, an account at the mercantile for whatever her heart desired, for God’s sake.
She deserved none of that. Her selfishness and fear had forced this separation.
And what about her?
Tears slipped from the corner of her eye, wetting his arm. There was something terribly broken inside her. The same horrible loneliness that he must feel enveloped her. What good was it to marry if not to claim all the advantages of having someone to face life’s trials with? Someone to help ease the heavy burdens. She desperately wanted to fill that aching void that had gotten larger than ever. She yearned for strong arms around her, for someone to lean on when she grew weary—for someone to help fight her father’s power.
Tomorrow, she’d go see Dr. Mary and get her opinion about her condition.
Yes, that’s what she’d do.
Ridge mumbled something in his sleep and rolled to face her, the whiskey bottle clattering to the floor. He threw his arm across her hip, trapping her. Addie lay very still, afraid to breathe. His scent enveloped her and seeped into every pore, and for the next few moments, she felt something wonderful and new. Ridge was hers to claim, and she’d find some way to keep him. If she could only unlock her brain and find her words.
Afraid he’d awaken, she lifted his arm and tried to slip away, but he reached out and drew her against him, wrapping his arm around her. Now she was truly held fast, and there was nothing she could do but wait—and pray he didn’t wake up.
He would mistake what she was doing in his bed and expect…
What exactly?
Somewhere past her panic, she was reasonably sure he’d never use force against her. The time she’d been here had shown her that.
Lulled by his strong heartbeat, she began to feel safer than she had in a long time. Slowly, Addie drifted off to sleep.
“Why are you lying girl?” Ridge shouted. “You know the truth. Tell them I didn’t touch you!”
Addie jerked awake, her stomach knotted. What was he saying? Who had lied about him? It sounded like someone had accused him of attacking her. This was something more than a simple lie—this went much, much deeper.
While she pondered her next move, Ridge suddenly rolled the other way, freeing her. Addie eased away from his side and hurried down to her little dismal room that had first seemed perfect for her needs. Now it had become empty, airless, and sad.
She had to find a way to fix herself, then maybe she could help rid him of his demons.
Daylight would come in a few hours, and she couldn’t wait to implement her plan. It was long past time. She wanted to talk. She had things to say.
Nine
Ridge woke to a dream teasing the edges of his mind. He’d dreamed that Addie had shared his bed and woke to her scent, the warmth of her body next to him. He sat up abruptly, the room empty, her fragrance curling about him like cigar smoke. An indention in the pillow on the other side of the bed caught his eye, as though someone had lain there.
Could Addie…?
Impossible. Best to get his day started and stop thinking about figments of his imagination. He finger-combed his hair, which was plenty good enough, pulled on his boots, and buckled on his holster. When he went to spread up the covers, he froze. Lying there on the sheet was a faded yellow ribbon that had not been there yesterday. He lifted the pillow to his face. The scent of wild roses lingered like a sweet melody.
His little bird had come to his side. Hope sprang in his heart, where there hadn’t been much to go around. If he could stay patient, keep his temper, give her time, and earn her trust, maybe she’d soon get over this fear that had her hiding in the shadows.
Guilt swept over him. He shouldn’t have avoided her last night, but the questions about his crimes poked him hard. Shame had risen up in him, too strong to ignore. Time was supposed to heal all wounds, but being accused of rape and murder wasn’t something that he’d been able to erase from his name…or memory. And it was a story he couldn’t bring himself to tell Addie.
The thought hit him for the hundredth time that maybe he could make a trip to that small town and try to talk some sense into the young woman, get her to speak the truth. But like always, logic took hold. Going back wouldn’t change one thing. Besides the danger of such a move was too great. He’d barely escaped with his life before.
What made him think this time would be different? This time they’d hang him for sure.
No, he co
uldn’t go back. Even if the lady recanted, Tom Calder, the powerful rancher, would see that he swung for killing his boys. Ridge was safe here, and this was where he’d stay.
Pots and pans rattling in the kitchen told him she was up. At the bottom of the stairs, he leaned into her little room and placed her ribbon on the bench. Best to pretend he hadn’t found it.
She turned at the sound of his boots, a cup of coffee in her hand. No smile for him, but no frown either. Miss Kitty groomed herself by the warmth of the stove while Squeakers tried its hardest to grab dust motes. His heart thudded, surprising him. Home wasn’t just the place where a man laid his head. It was a feeling. It was where his heart found heaven. This was home. The only place he wanted to be.
Ridge took the coffee. “Thanks. I hope you slept well.” He pulled out a chair. “Bacon sure smells good.”
Addie handed him a piece of paper, then went back to watching the skillet.
The note read: “I can’t stand being this way. I want to talk to the doctor about my problem. Will you come?”
Happiness surged in his chest. This was the first outward sign he’d had that she wanted to make changes.
“Yes, of course. I need to collect Bodie anyway.”
When she didn’t turn around, he rose and stood behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Together we can whip any problem. If anyone can help you get a handle on this, it’s Dr. Mary. She’s one of the wisest people I know.” Not only about medicine but life in general. The doctor mended both body and soul. “I haven’t said this before, but I’m proud of you, Addie.”
She turned and studied him, her mouth moving. He could see her trying to form words, then her face betraying her disgust when she couldn’t.
“It’s all right. We’ll get there,” he said softly.
Impulsively, before she could turn or back away, Ridge covered her lips with his as though he did it each morning.
Addie stiffened for a heartbeat then relaxed. Though he sensed she wanted to run, she stood in place and rested a light palm on his chest. That was a start.
The kiss was light, yet full of tender yearning. Very slowly, she curved her lips and returned the token of affection. The heady taste of her overloaded his senses and made him happy to be alive. One day, he’d make her glad she’d tied her lot to his. For now, though, light and easy was best.
He released her, and instead of hurrying away, she gave him a trembly smile and cupped the side of his face for a long moment, staring into his eyes.
He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t dare blink. Time ceased until the smell of burning bacon broke the spell. She snatched the skillet from the heat and grabbed a plate. Ridge chuckled and sat, feeling as though he’d found a lucky four-leaf clover hidden among the thistle. Burned bacon didn’t bother him.
Then, as she puttered around the kitchen gathering the rest of the breakfast, Addie delivered the second surprise of the morning—she began to hum. Sweet sound filled the kitchen. Miss Kitty stopped washing herself and stared.
* * *
Once they arrived in town that morning, Addie went straight to the mercantile and mailed her letter to Zelda Law. Then, taking Ridge’s arm, they went together to Dr. Mary’s office. She settled herself next to him in a chair and glanced around at the cabinets full of medicines, instruments, and medical books. Addie’s nose twitched at the strange smells, and her hands trembled. Maybe she was too broken. Maybe the trauma of her father and prison had done too much damage, and she would never go back to the way she was before.
“Mrs. Steele, what can I help you with?”
Prepared, Addie handed Dr. Mary a note she’d written back at home. The thirtyish doctor, her brown hair in a tidy topknot, studied it then turned her gaze on Addie. “I don’t know if I can help you, but I’ll try. First, I want to examine your throat. Ridge, can you hold the lamp up?”
For the next few moments, Dr. Mary held Addie’s tongue down with a depressor and peered into her mouth, then asked her to move her tongue around, with more peering. “As I suspected,” the doctor announced, sitting back. “I see no physical impairment. To get to the root of the problem will require a lot of questions.”
Addie automatically tensed. Questions meant answers, and those meant delving into painful things that she’d buried…and Ridge would find out exactly the kind of wife he’d gotten. Maybe he wouldn’t want her anymore.
Dr. Mary’s unusual necklace clanked as she laid the tongue depressor down. “How far are you willing to go, Mrs. Steele?”
Addie’s mouth went dry. Decision time. She met the concern in Ridge’s amber eyes and reached for her paper. “All the way. I want to be able to say all the things I want. And call me Addie.”
“I suppose that settles it.” Dr. Mary rested a gentle hand on Addie’s knee. “We’ll do this in small increments. It may take weeks, or months, but we won’t give up. Can you make any sound at all?”
“Yes,” she wrote. “I can hum.”
Ridge squeezed her hand. “She just discovered she could this very morning. It surprised us both.”
“That’s wonderful. Addie, tell me about your home, your family.” At Addie’s frown, Dr. Mary added, “Take your time.”
Where to begin? So much had happened. Addie gripped her pencil and pressed so hard on the paper the lead broke. Tears bubbled in her eyes.
Ridge lifted her up from the chair and pulled her against him, rubbing her back. “It’s all right. No one here wants to hurt you. You’re safe.”
Physically, yes, but she wasn’t safe from the ugly memories that clawed and clawed, trying to steal her very soul.
“I think we’re moving too fast,” Dr. Mary said softly. “If you’ll sit down, I’m going to sing. Ridge, you can join in, and Addie, try to hum along. If you can’t, that’s fine. Just do what’s comfortable.”
Addie wiped her eyes and took her seat as the doctor and Ridge began to sing. The first song was an old hymn, and although the sound brought comfort, she didn’t hum. It was when they moved onto faster songs, ones she didn’t know and of the sort that were probably sung in saloons, that the catchy tunes grabbed her. Carefully, she forced the sound out. The more she hummed, the lighter, and happier she felt and the stronger the sound came from her lips. The doctor seemed to be on the right track.
The kid, Bodie Nix, left his bed and hobbled into the office on a crutch. He paused in the doorway for a while, listening, then he, too, started to sing along. Bodie’s and Ridge’s voices amazed her, combining in beautiful harmony.
After four songs, Dr. Mary stopped. “I think we made progress. Addie, come back tomorrow morning, and we’ll do nothing but sing. If you feel up to writing something down, go ahead, but it’s fine if you don’t. We have no rules for this.”
No rules. Addie found that freeing. No rules meant she couldn’t mess up.
Ridge stood, beaming. “I’m so proud of you, Addie. One day you’ll talk as well as anyone.” He squeezed her palm.
A warm feeling blossomed from deep inside, bringing a smile to her lips. She threaded her fingers through his, happier than she’d been in a very long time.
He swung to the kid. “Bodie, I’d like to hire you on as my number-one hand. That is, unless you have other plans.”
Bodie’s eyes widened. “I’d like that just fine, Mr. Steele.”
“I have one rule—you have to call me Ridge.”
The young man grinned like a fool donkey eating briars. “Okay—Ridge.”
“I’ll have you a place to sleep, so don’t worry about that.” Ridge squeezed Bodie’s shoulder. “Addie and I are heading to the mercantile now, so we’ll all go and get you what you need in the way of clothing and other items.”
The grin disappeared from Bodie’s face, replaced by an obstinate frown. “Only if you take the cost out of my wages.”
Dr. Mary chuckled. “That
boy drives a hard bargain.”
“That he does,” Ridge agreed.
“Addie, in case you’re interested, a dressmaker has come to town,” Dr. Mary said. “I hear she’s very good. It won’t be long until she has more business than she can handle, so if you want to order something, best do it soon.”
Addie nodded cautiously. Her own sewing was only passable, and she’d love to have something made by a professional, but there was the cost to consider. Though Ridge hadn’t yet limited her, she didn’t want to put him on hard times.
“What’s the woman’s name, Doctor?” Ridge asked. “It slipped my mind.”
“Tara Quinn. A very friendly woman, from what I hear.”
They were on their way to the mercantile with Addie leading the buckskin when she remembered she hadn’t told Ridge the name she’d chosen for her horse. She pulled some paper from her pocket and jotted King, then handed it to Ridge, who’d stopped to wait for them. She pointed to the horse and grinned.
“That’s a fine name, Addie. I like that, and it fits him well.” His warm gaze brought heat to her face.
Bodie stopped to pick up a rock. He rubbed it on his shirt and studied it, then stuck it into his trouser pocket. “I had a black roan named Prince a long time ago. Then my ma and pa died, and a man took Prince away.”
Addie wanted to ask him why he was keeping the stone, but it didn’t seem like the time. She just listened to his sad story instead.
“Where did you live after they passed?” Ridge asked.
“First one relative then another, but nobody really wanted me. They said I was a bad seed and nothing but trouble. I don’t know, maybe I was. They claimed it so much, I decided to make it true.” The kid wiped his nose on his sleeve and his crutch clattered to the ground. “I just wanted someone to care whether I lived or died.”
A deep ache settled in Addie’s heart. She’d known such a feeling. She retrieved his crutch and handed it back, then put an arm around him. Bodie needed her and Ridge more than she’d realized at first, and she figured she needed them both just as much.
