Lisa Kleypas - Give Me Tonight

"Daddy," Addie asked Russell quietly, "do you have any liquor on you?"

"Always." He pulled a monogrammed silver flask out of one of his many vest pockets and handed it to her with a grin. "Whiskey okay?"

"Perfect."

She shook the flask, trying to judge by the slosh how much liquor there was inside, and headed toward the men on the ground. Ben pressed a wad of cloth to the unconscious boy's side and scowled as he saw Addie walking toward him. "For God's sake, get back to your horse," he snapped. "And try not to faint."

"Fainting is the last thing I have in mind," she said shortly, coming over to the boy and kneeling beside him. For once she knew exactly how to handle the situation. Oh, how she longed to cut Ben down with the news that she had worked as a nurse for the past three years! "You didn't ask for an antiseptic. Whiskey'll do fine."

He took the flask from her with one hand while clamping a folded handkerchief on the wound with the other. "Good. Your help is appreciated. Now get out of the way."

Addie had to hold her ground. She remained where she was, suddenly desperate to help. Somehow, on the vast land encompassed by the borders of the Sunrise Ranch, in the midst of strangers and their confusing rituals, among the short-tempered men and the sea of animals, she had found something she knew how to do. She knew how to tend to a wound, she had been one of the best nurses in the hospital when it came to an emergency. No one could find fault with her bandaging and stitching. But Ben didn't know that, and he intended to stand in her way. Addie had to prove to someone, to herself, that she was useful. She could belong. She had to be given the chance to show it.

"I can help," she said. "I'm going to stay."

Ben dropped the flask and caught her wrist in a crushing grip. "I'll say this only once," he said through gritted teeth. "This isn't the time for you to play ministering angel. He doesn't need his hand held. He doesn't need you to coo over him and flutter your eyelashes. So move your sweet ass over there and stay out of the way, or I'll drag you away by the hair. And I don't care if Daddy sees or not."

"Take your hand off me," Addie hissed, her eyes gleaming with fury. "Are you planning to stitch up his wound with those dirty paws? I know more about this than you'll ever hope to know. Do you think I'd offer to do it if I didn't? Let go! And if you want to be of any help, open that flask and give me that bandanna around your neck. "

His eyes were hard and searching as they met hers.

She saw the flash of anger, and then the beginnings of curiosity. Slowly his hand uncurled from her wrist.

"Every stitch better be perfect," he said, his voice menacing in its quietness. "And if you aren't able to back up your words, you'll answer to me. Understand?"

She nodded shortly while a wash of relief loosened the tightness in her chest. "What kind of thread is Watts bringing?" She dampened the bandanna with whiskey and blotted the wound. "Cheap cotton, I'll bet."

"We can't all afford silk." Ben sneered.

"I can. Do you have a knife?"

"For what?"

"Do you have a knife?" she repeated impatiently.

He reached down to his belt and unsheathed a gleaming bowie, giving it to her handle-first. She burrowed under the hem of her riding skirt, extended a leg, and cut one of the pink ribbons threaded through the lace border of her pantaloons. At the glimpse of the shapely calf that rose from the edge of her boot, several of the men who had lingered several yards away to watch began to mutter and exclaim among themselves.

"Jesus. That little display will be talked about in the bunkhouse for years to come," Ben muttered, sounding peculiarly strained.

"What do you mean?" she asked, flipping her hem back down and turning her attention to the ribbon. Expertly she stripped a thread from it. "Oh, you mean showing my leg." Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "Heavens, I didn't remember my modesty is much more important than helping a wounded man. Such unladylike behavior-but surely I haven't shocked you, Mr. Hunter." Her mocking smile faded as she saw the expression on his face. Why, he looked as if she had just done something dreadfully indecent, something that had shocked him.

Surely a quick glimpse of her leg couldn't have that effect on a man. She and her friends had walked down the streets of Sunrise wearing skirts that ended at the knees, and sometimes never received a second glance from the men who passed by them.

As she handed the knife back to him, his fingers curved slightly around the handle, and she felt a small shock at the sight of them. He had strong hands that showed signs of hard work. But how strangely sensitive they were. The hands of a murderer. Flushing, she tore her eyes away and turned her attention to the thread, grateful when Watts arrived with a paper of needles and a pair of scissors. She threaded the silk through the cleanest needle and soaked everything with whiskey. Carefully she pierced the first edge of ragged flesh with the needle, then the second, drawing them together with a neat ligature knot.

"Can't you do it a little faster?" Ben asked.

Calmly she took the second stitch. "I can do it so the scar will be practically invisible. See how it will fade into the frown line-"

"Yeah… real nice. But we don't have any need for a good-looking corpse. So hurry."

"There's no need to be so dramatic. He's not going to die, and you know it." Addie resisted the urge to say anything else. This was no time for an argument, no matter how tempting the prospect. As she was tying off the last knot, Ben wiped the last of the blood off the boy's forehead. "Kitchen surgery," Addie said, surveying her work with pride. "But he couldn't get better from a doctor."

"It'll do," Ben replied evenly.

She looked down at the cowboy's face then, pushing back a tendril of matted hair that had fallen on the temple. "Curly red hair. I'll bet he gets teased a lot for that."

Ben seemed to relax, his tension easing. "Who could resist?"

"And freckles too." Deep copper freckles that stood out in spite of the darkly tanned skin. The unconscious face was still round with the plumpness of youth. He didn't yet have the lean face of an adult. He looked so vulnerable and alone that her heart ached with compassion.

"Pink silk thread," Ben remarked, and Addie frowned a little.

"I hope it won't embarrass him."

"No, ma'am. He'll never want those stitches out. I guarantee he'll brag for days about where that pink silk came from." His mouth curled sardonically. "The envy of the bunkhouse."

"He's not much older than Cade," she said softly. "Poor boy." She felt sorry for someone so young having to live such a hard life. But it was a better life than many others would have. At least this boy would have the chance to keep his innocence. And these wounds would heal. She had tended veterans in the hospital who had once had young faces and innocent hearts. They had come back from the war crippled, blind, bitter. She had shared some of their bitterness, out of empathy, out of the emptiness of her own life. But that was in the future, she reminded herself. None of it had happened yet. Those veterans hadn't even been born yet. The war hadn't taken place.

As she looked down at the boy, she didn't know her eyes were dark with loneliness, her expression compassionate. Ben went still with surprise, his breath catching in his throat. Adeline Warner had always been a pretty girl, with too much spirit and not enough heart. Sassy, selfish, sharp-tongued-a girl like that was someone to avoid. But just now her face was soft and heart-stirring in a way it had never been before. What had happened to give her this new air of vulnerability? What magic had brought such mystifying sweetness to her face? Had it been there all the time? Was he just beginning to notice something everyone else had long been aware of?