Author's Notes

Hello everybody, Bonanza Becky here! :)

I'm afraid I needed to take some time away from writing. I'm very happy to be back now though, and I only hope you're still out there and ready for more of this story. I do want to give a late thanks to all of you for leaving wonderful reviews on the last chapter, Guests and Members. Reading your reviews brings a smile to my face when I need it, and I've needed it this last month, so thank you very much for that. The fishing disaster with Paul was such fun to write, but obviously very hard on Adam. I know there are many unanswered questions and they will be answered soon.

I wish it hadn't taken me so long to get this next chapter out. It's closely connected to the previous two (42 and 41, the picnic) and therefore has many references to them. So, I really hope this continuation isn't too confusing and that you are able to "get back into it".

So, about this chapter. It's Adam's POV most of it and I've pushed some boundaries a bit. I won't spoil anything, but Madeline is involved (of course) I get the impression from many reviewers that you really enjoy the "hot" scenes between these two. And after the interruption of their kiss a few chapters ago—which he didn't get to talk to her about on the picnic—and with his growing struggle to hold himself back, I thought this was the perfect time to, ah, ramp up the "hotness", as it were. Anyway, I've tried to keep it exciting and tense but still funny. It'll be interesting to see how this goes down.

Well, I hope you're all happy and well, and I wish you a wonderful weekend! :)

Chapter 43

Adam lay on his bed with one arm bent under his head, staring up at the ceiling. Cool, night air entered his room through the open window on his left. The quilted drapes swayed lightly back and forth. The full moon shone in—long, pale shafts streaking across the floorboards, casting silvery ribbons of light onto the sheets and his bare chest. He knew that if he turned his head and looked out the window, he would find a midnight sky of perfect velvet, cloudless and deep, speckled with millions of twinkling stars. All was quiet now. Aside from the occasional hoot of a lonely owl, the silence was complete and engulfing as the darkness wrapping around the world outside.

He'd been lying in the same position for almost an hour, waiting for sleep to take him. Exhaustion lay as a heavy blanket over every part of his body and his head ached. But he was wide awake. The day's events kept drifting through his mind in a strange, unyielding loop. First, the difficult talk with Madeline about the army, followed by that sensual kiss. Then, the embarrassing confrontation with his father about his brooding, and the disastrous fishing venture with Paul. And finally, that eerie feeling of being watched by the river . . .

Sighing, he pushed the sheets down to his waist. What a day. A day best forgotten, that was for sure. He laid his bad arm across his stomach, watching absently as moonlight rippled across his tanned skin, illuminating the bandage in an ivory glow. Ironically, after everything that had happened today, it was what hadn't that disturbed him most and kept him awake now.

He hadn't managed to talk to Madeline about the kiss.

He'd hoped to find a moment alone with her when they got home from the picnic, but she'd spent the rest of the afternoon helping Hop Sing in the kitchen. After supper, she'd settled down on the settee to mend Paul's torn vest and a couple of Joe's shirts. With the whole family and Paul around all the time, there had been no chance of having that conversation with her. When she'd bid everyone goodnight, he'd come very close to following her to her room—that's how desperate he'd been to speak with her in private. Only, he knew how that would have looked to everyone else. One Paul Martin-rant a day was quite enough. No need to risk angering the man any further. With that in mind, Adam had made himself stay where he was and watched Madeline disappear up the staircase to her room.

Now he almost wished he'd thrown caution to the wind and gone after her anyway. Anything would've been better than this. Lying awake and worrying. Sleepless nights were nothing new to him, but it was usually a combination of nightmares and confused feelings about the army keeping him up. Tonight, it was all Madeline.

The bed creaked loudly in the silence of night as he shifted and kicked his feet restlessly under the covers. Sighing again, Adam laced his fingers across his chest. He just couldn't stop thinking about her. Something was wrong, he could feel it.

She'd been quiet all evening. At first, he'd assumed that the reason was Paul's bad mood, but it later became clear that her attention wasn't on the doctor at all. While she'd been doing her needlework, Adam had sat down to read next to her, and he'd felt her watching him. Several times. Every time he'd looked up at her, she'd quickly averted her eyes and her cheeks had colored sweetly. He hadn't known what to make of it—he still didn't. Right, so the intensity of his feelings for her sometimes made him forget that they hadn't actually known each other for all that long. She did still have those bouts of shyness around him and honestly, he found them pretty damn adorable. But this evening, she'd seemed more than shy, nervous even. She hadn't acted like that with him since they first met. And why? He frowned as the question continued to burn in his brain. It was starting to drive him crazy.

Whatever had been on her mind tonight, he had a hunch it had something to do with the kiss. It would explain her quietness, her blushing and the slightly uneasy way she'd behaved around him all day. Things had definitely been different between them since they'd shared that moment of intimacy in his bedroom. But just what did she think about it? How did she feel about it? Despite his reckless actions, she really hadn't seemed upset with him while they were on the picnic. She'd been a little shy perhaps, but not upset. What if she felt differently now? Maybe now that she'd had the whole day to think about it—to really let it sink in—she'd realized just how irresponsibly he'd behaved . . .

Adam uttered a quiet oath. The more he considered it, the more convinced he became that he was right in his train of thought. What other explanation was there? None that he could think of. He'd obviously made her uncomfortable. That had to be why she'd acted so strange with him tonight. His tired head was beginning to pound under the pressure of his heavy contemplation as yet more questions and worries swirled around him. He tried to sort through them, grasped for clarity, but he knew there was no stopping his mind when it got like this. Everything was beginning to spin out of control.

Cursing himself, he rolled onto his side, giving his pillow two solid punches before laying down again. His stare connected with the closed door across from him. Damn. He should never have kissed her like that! In his bedroom, on his bed! He'd been too forward with her. Completely out of line. Another realization struck, making him stiffen. What if he'd scared her off? Sure, he'd said he was sorry just after it happened, but that had been and outright lie. At the time, he was only sorry they'd been interrupted.

"How could you be so stupid . . ." he mumbled, glaring at the door as if expecting an answer from the polished pinewood. Squeezing his eyes shut, Adam flopped onto his back again.

What in the hell was wrong with him? He'd sworn to himself that he wouldn't let something like this happen with Madeline again. He'd vowed never to let his desires cloud his judgement, never to put his own needs above hers. This wasn't the first time his ardor had gotten him into trouble with her. He remembered it all to clearly. That day at Silver Creek when he'd given into passion and kissed and touched her, and she'd broken down in tears before eventually telling him about her marriage to Ray Bradshaw. One would think he would have learned something from that. Apparently not.

In a frustrated movement, he yanked the pillow out from behind his head and pitched it across the room, hoping to release some of the vexation bubbling inside him. Unfortunately, the cushion collided harmlessly with the opposite wall before sliding to the floor with a muffled thump. The following silence seemed to mock him. Great. Adam snorted and let his head fall back against the headboard. The hard wood connected with the back of his head in a louder, more satisfying thud. He rubbed a hand across his face. "Fool," he muttered. "Stupid fool . . ."

His mind was churning like a whirlpool, pulling him deeper and deeper down into the depths of self-condemnation. Heck, he deserved to drown in it.

He rolled his head sideways, his sight falling to the side of the bed. White moonlight pooled right on the spot where Madeline had been sitting when he'd kissed her. He chewed his lip as the memory returned. In vivid detail. That voice of reason inside his mind scolded him anew, telling him that it was a good thing they'd been interrupted. His body, however, seemed to have other ideas. He grew warmer by the second. It was a slow heat, beginning somewhere in the pit of his stomach and slowly spreading through every bit of him. His heart beat a little faster. All he could think about then, was the sweet flavor of her mouth. The touch of her luscious lips. Her irresistible scent—lavender and feminine. Her perfect little body, slender yet curvy in all the right places—all the places he liked them to be. That startled, innocent look on her face . . .

Innocent. Adam blinked as he stuck on that word. Sweet, innocent Madeline . . .

Stop it. He forced his eyes away and looked up at the ceiling again in an effort to redirect his thoughts because this was a mental trail he shouldn't go down. Oh, hell. Too late. His brain was already going down it. This was what he'd tried to avoid all day. As much as he disliked spending hours lamenting over his own bad behavior, it was a darn sight easier to immerse himself in self-reproach than it was to face up to this—these thoughts about Madeline and that beguiling innocence of hers. Because if he were honest with himself, this was what bothered him most of all.

The truth was, that her immediate reaction to the kiss had excited him. Like nothing else ever had. And another truth while he was at it—if he didn't already know that Madeline had been married, he would have guessed she was as inexperienced as a virgin. Yep, there it was. It wasn't the first time he'd pondered that notion either. She just had that air of purity and chasteness about her that would make any man think the same. He, on the other hand, was not inexperienced. He knew how to please women. He also knew how a woman responded when she was enjoying a kiss. The way Madeline had responded to him today. So, the real issue here wasn't whether she'd enjoyed his attentions or not. He was already well aware that some part of her had. That faraway look of desire in her eyes had been evidence enough—hence his excitement. She'd felt what he had, to some degree anyway, she just didn't know it herself. Hence the confusion and the shock he'd also seen in her expression . . . and that brought him right back to those implications he'd so conveniently ignored in the heat of the moment. Implications which were now blatantly obvious to him. From the nervous, yet curious ways she reacted whenever he got intimate with her, it wasn't so hard to put things together. Ray Bradshaw had not only been a brutal husband, but a selfish one.

Adam's jaw tightened and his hand flexed involuntarily, clenching into a fist. It really wasn't something he cared to think about. The thought of Madeline with another man made his blood boil. It sparked an all-consuming, flaming anger he'd never experienced before. The idea of her body being possessed by another man's stirred something deep within him that he hadn't known existed. A hidden side of himself that was primal and male.

She hadn't told him much about her marriage, especially not that aspect of it. And why in the world would she? It was obviously a painful and embarrassing subject for her. Nevertheless, he'd spent many late hours thinking about it himself. He already knew that what he'd seen her late husband do to her on that fateful day in Virginia City—that was just a hint of the cruel treatment she'd been subjected to for years. Bradshaw had been a brute, plain and simple, and more than likely, he'd also been one of those husbands who didn't show their wives any sort of consideration in the marital bed . . .

Closing his eyes, Adam sucked in a long, bracing breath. He unclenched his fingers, flattened his hand on his stomach, and banished Ray Bradshaw from his thoughts. The man was dead. It was over, and no one would ever hurt Madeline like that again. He would make sure of it.

For a long while, he lay completely still. Here, alone in the silence and the moonlight, nearing the end of that doomed mental trail, he finally allowed his mind to go where it most wanted. Where it shouldn't go. But it did, it went straight back to Madeline and their passionate interlude because everything came down to that and how it had confirmed the secret suspicions he'd had for a while. Her startled reaction had said it all. While she might not be a virgin, she was still an innocent in the ways of love and passion. And what was more—because he might as well let his salacious thoughts go all the damned way now—she was probably just as innocently unaware of the pleasures and delights that lovemaking had to offer. The pleasures that he could offer her . . .

Now, if that knowledge wasn't enough to fry a guy's brain, he didn't know what was.

Adam exhaled very slowly. Feeling unbearably warm now, he kicked the sheets to the bottom of the bed. With his eyes closed, he easily summoned her visage before him, every last one of her lovely features. He couldn't help himself—again he pictured her sitting on the side of his bed, only this time, they were completely alone. Uninterrupted. Desire for her thrummed through his body, warming him to a fevered pitch. The bedroom was cool, but still he was sweltering in nothing but his white drawers. She was so clear to him as he relived the thrilling moment again, how good it had felt, pressing his mouth against hers. Touching her. How she'd responded so tentatively, so delightfully to his seduction. How he'd had her trembling with reaction from just kissing when there was much more he could show her.

So much more . . .

His eyes flew open. Groaning, he abruptly sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

"You're never gonna get any sleep now . . ." he muttered darkly.

Trying to ignore that tight ache in his nether regions, Adam stood, grabbing a glass of water from the night table. It was a far cry from what he wanted to drink right now, but he gulped it down anyway. Swallowing, he slammed the glass back down so hard it damn near broke. He raked his fingers through his hair and began pacing around the dark room in an attempt to calm his suddenly raging libido. A lost battle if ever there was one.

He swore vehemently. It was as if she'd possessed him! His mind, his heart, his body. She had it all. She had him. She alone had the ability to soothe his tortured heart one minute and drive him mad with need for her the next. He was so desperately in love with her and evidently, behaving more and more recklessly as a result—like he had this morning. Whether she'd enjoyed his seduction or not was irrelevant, he still shouldn't have done it. He shouldn't have pushed her like that. In his defense though, their current living situation sure didn't make it easy to curb his attraction to her. It was one thing courting Madeline in Virginia City and seeing her every other day—but living under the same roof as her for more than a week and knowing every single night that she slept in a room just down the hall from him—that . . . yeah, that was a whole different level of frustrating. Really, it would be enough to push any sane man over the edge. Even a gentleman. Right?

Unconvinced by his miserable attempt at self-justification, Adam continued his wild pacing. Dots of perspiration broke out on his forehead. He wiped them away with the back of his hand. Calm down. You need to calm down, he told himself. Easier said than done. Even though he was obviously the more experienced party here, nothing in his past had prepared him to deal with how Madeline made him feel. No woman had ever had such power over him. Considering he hadn't actually been with a woman in over four years, it probably shouldn't come as a big surprise. Then again, he knew that what he was feeling wasn't just a simple case of lust. If it were, well, then there were means of dealing with that. There were plenty of establishments in Virginia City where men could go to have their needs taken care of. A two-hour horse ride away. But the thing was, since he'd met Madeline, that thought hadn't even crossed his mind. He only wanted her. Hell, want wasn't even the right word. He craved her. Every inch of him craved her love, her comfort, her compassion, her touch—

Get a hold of yourself, damn it!

He stopped with a jerk, mid-pace. Chest heaving, hands on his hips, Adam stared at his moonlit reflection in the long dressing mirror. Startled by what he saw.

Dear God . . . what was happening to him?This was ridiculous!He was a grown man, a mature man, for heaven's sake! Not some randy sixteen-year-old. He was stronger than this. He could control this. He had to. And he could—there was one sure way of proving it. By facing up to what had been a mistake—a mistake his mind insisted—and by looking Madeline in the eye and apologizing properly for what he'd done. For kissing her inappropriately. He had to prove to her, and himself, once and for all, that he could control his urges until they were married.

With a grim nod of determination at his reflection, Adam straightened his back and strode over to the dresser. He pulled on a pair of pants, shrugged on a shirt, and before his brain had any chance of processing what was happening, he'd marched to the door and left his room.

xXXx

His common sense chased him down the darkened hallway, attempting a wild rescue. It caught up to him just as he stumbled to a stop outside Madeline's bedroom, just as he raised an unsteady hand to knock on her door. Adam hesitated, his arm staying suspended in midair. His heart was pounding like thunder in his chest. Blood drummed in his temples and his stomach jittered with nerves. He shook his head roughly, dislodging whatever thread of sound judgement was left. Then, he gave the door a quick rap with his knuckles.

Regret was immediate. It hit him like a punch in the gut, leaving behind a vague feeling of nausea. What have you done? The seconds dragged by like minutes as realization crashed down on him. Deftly, his hand dropped to his side. He shot a panicked glance back down the hall to assess his chances of making it back to the safety of his room before she opened the door. If he went for a sprint, he might make it . . . His own captain's voice suddenly roared in his head, The hell you will, coward! You faced thousands of rebel soldiers and kept your cool in the heat of battle—you will not run from this!

Rubbing a clammy palm over his mouth, Adam stood in the darkness, listening carefully. Was she coming? He couldn't hear a thing over the rushing in his ears. A trickle of sweat rolled down his back. Maybe she was asleep. He'd give it another five seconds, then he could leave in good conscience. He grimaced. It was past midnight, of course she was asleep—everyone was asleep except for him! Was that steps approaching on the other side of the door? No, it couldn't be, it was very late, she must be sleepi—

God help him, the door cracked open.

"Adam?"

Her soft, whispery voice swept over him and his knees almost gave out. Adam caught his breath. Holding the door ajar, Madeline stood in the doorway with the dim glow of the bedroom illuminating her from behind. She wore a blue flannel robe over her nightgown and her hair cascaded forwards over her shoulders like a waterfall—the rich, mahogany-brown tresses framing her beautiful face and tumbling all the way to her waist. Her eyes were like two sparkling emeralds, big and questioning, drawing him in. And those full, sensuous lips of hers stayed parted after saying his name as if they were calling out to him, inviting him to possess them once more, promising him another sample of her sweetness. A hot sheath of longing shot through him. This had been an extraordinarily bad idea, he acknowledged. His body unhelpfully informed him that as far as it was concerned, the taste he'd had of her in the morning hadn't been nearly enough.

Madeline's expression quickly turned anxious and she opened the door wider. "What is it, Adam? Are you unwell?"

How like her, to react with genuine concern for him.

Adam swallowed hard to get his mouth to work. "No . . . I'm fine."

His voice sounded gravelly and hoarse. Not very fine.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her brow drawn up, her eyebrows peaking in the middle. "I think we should wake Uncle Paul. You look a little flushed . . ."

She reached her hand out to him, clearly intending to feel his face, and in something that could only be described as desperation, he caught her wrist. If she touched him now, any part of him, he was liable to go up in flames. And he might end up doing something that would send him straight to hell shortly thereafter. They stood frozen for a moment; him holding her wrist in the air, her staring at him in astonishment. Words. He needed to say words.

"Really, I'm . . . fine," he croaked.

Madeline eyed him worriedly, not looking all that convinced. She slowly lowered her hand again and he let go of her wrist. That beautiful, dainty wrist. Things went quiet and Adam took a shuddering breath to steady himself. Little good it did.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," he mumbled, rubbing his neck.

"You didn't," she said in a reassuring tone. "I couldn't sleep, so I was doing some needlework." Turning sideways in the doorway, she indicated the bed behind her, lit by a lamp on the night table. Among the rumpled sheets stood a sewing basket, an old one of Marie's, he noted.

"Oh, all right." His eyes made a tentative return to hers. "Me too." He coughed. "That is, I mean I couldn't sleep either, I didn't, uh . . ." He waved a hand in the direction of the sewing basket. "I don't . . . do that."

Madeline gazed at him in slow fascination. "I see . . ."

He made a very manly noise, crossed his arms over his chest and tucked his hands under his armpits. This wasn't going to plan. Not that he'd thought this thing through very well. Or at all. Watching her, he wondered how in God's name he was going to get through this conversation with her looking . . . like that. Her eyes were shining with lingering concern, concern for him, and her face looked so lovely and welcoming, like it was perfectly acceptable to her that he'd shown up at her door at this improper hour. Lord, the woman was wonderful. His heart took another tumble.

Realizing that he was ogling her like some idiot without saying anything, he snapped open his mouth and blurted, "I just wanted to say goodnight."

She blinked. "Oh." With a delicate twitch of her lips, she tilted her head fractionally to one side. "Again?"

"Yeah, well, I . . ." He trailed off, aware of how utterly foolish he sounded. "Yeah."

Shuffling on the spot, Adam moved his attention to the pinewood door-frame beside him and vaguely considered banging his head against it.

"All right," Madeline said softly. "That was . . . sweet of you."

He heard the gentle smile in her voice, the sincerity. She was doing what she did best—being considerate and patient with him, trying to put him at ease. What she clearly didn't know was that her soothing manner only made him want her even more. Made him ache for her. Silence swelled between them as he chewed the inside of his cheek. He could've sworn it was trying to suffocate him.

After a few seconds, he sensed her shift as if she was about to step closer to him. "Adam, are you sure you're feeling—"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you," he cut her off, rudely. Reaching down deep, real deep, he mustered up the courage to look straight at her face.

Madeline's warm gaze met his and her mouth curved encouragingly. "Yes?"

Adam pulled back his shoulders, but the tension knotting his back made the movement feel as awkward as it probably looked. "Listen, about what happened in my room this morning—about what I did." He paused, annoyed with himself for the unnecessary nonchalance in his voice. "Well, that was a mistake. I know I shouldn't have kissed you like that."

Her lashes fluttered, and the faint smile faded from her face. He watched her features change as she seemed to struggle for a response. "All right," she eventually said, carefully. She wrapped her arms around herself, looking very small, very vulnerable all of a sudden. "Go on . . ."

Go on. She wanted him to go on. What more was he supposed to say? Again, Adam fervently wished he'd just stayed in his room. He was a complete mess these days—he really shouldn't even be allowed to communicate with other people when he got as emotionally overwhelmed as he was tonight. Especially not Madeline. He was handling this terribly.

Giving up all pretense of calmness, he uncrossed his arms and held his open hands out to her as he hurried the next words. "I just wanted to apologize properly for the way I behaved, for putting you in that situation. My head was all . . . I just didn't think." He glanced down at the floor with a sigh. "I realize that what I did wasn't appropriate."

Looking back up at her, he expected to see distress on her face but instead, he found she was regarding him with a strangely intense expression. "It wasn't," she said.

Adam's hands fell to his sides. Was she asking or confirming? For the life of him, he couldn't tell. What he also couldn't do at that second, was look away from her. She stared at him with eyes like wells, so unfathomably green and so deep, the glimmering surface he could see was just the beginning, a mere hint of the hidden wonders that lay beneath. He wanted to fall into those alluring depths, then and there, and disappear forever.

"Yeah . . ." He heard himself say. He quickly shook his head. "I mean no. It definitely wasn't."

Madeline gave the faintest of nods, still watching him. There was a slight pause and she began to nibble her bottom lip. Against his will, Adam's eyes dropped to watch the action for a few dangerous seconds.

"Anyway . . ." He swallowed, his mouth dry as cotton as he lifted his gaze back up to hers. "I just wanted to make sure that things were all right between us and tell you that you don't need to worry. I won't kiss you like that again. I'll be the perfect gentleman from now on, I promise."

Said the man who was having very ungentlemanly thoughts about her right now.

Madeline's delicate eyebrows dipped, indicating she was giving his words careful consideration. She shifted and pulled her robe more firmly around herself. Once again, his eyes betrayed him as they promptly dove to watch the blue fabric cling tighter to her feminine curves.

"Adam, I must be honest with you." Her uncertain tone snapped his attention right back to where it should be—her face. She gave him a serious look. "I have thought a great deal about what happened this morning too . . ."

His heart staggered a beat. So, the kiss was the reason for her odd behavior today. He'd made her uncomfortable just like he'd feared. "You have?" he asked hoarsely.

She bowed her head as if she was having trouble maintaining their eye contact. "Yes. And you must not think that I didn't . . ." The word appeared to elude her for a moment. "Enjoy what you did." She peeked up at him and spoke in a hushed pitch. "I did like the way you kissed me . . ."

Adam couldn't speak. His tongue seemed to be tied in knots as he fought to control the now wild leaping of his pulse.

She regarded him warily. "It's just that I have never felt—" Her chin dipped and she tucked a curl behind her ear. "I suppose I'm just somewhat . . . confused."

He slicked his dry lips. This was dangerous territory. He should end this conversation right now. If he had any sense at all, he would tell her goodnight and leave this instant.

"What, uh . . . what are you confused about?"

He had no sense.

Madeline hesitated, indecision furrowing her brow. She looked so adorable and conflicted just then, it took all of his willpower not to reach for her, pull her to him and confuse her a whole lot more. His brain sparked when she spoke, but instead of replying to his question, she asked a quiet one of her own.

"Why did you do it, Adam?"

He frowned. "Why did I do what?"

"Kiss me like that . . ." She gave him an uncertain glance through her lashes. "If you knew it was so inappropriate, then why did you do it?"

Didn't she know? God, was she really so naive? His earlier fantasies about her came flooding back and so did that tightening sensation in his gut. He had his answer. Yes, clearly, she was. And completely unaware of what she was doing to him.

Madeline awaited his reply, her luminous eyes peering up at him. Against his better judgement, which was nothing but a distant memory after tonight anyway, Adam answered her honestly. "Because I couldn't help myself . . ."

Her pupils dilated, coal-black drowning out forest green. "You . . . you couldn't help yourself?" she echoed.

"Yes, that's why I did it." He was mildly surprised at how calm he sounded, considering what he was admitting. "I couldn't help it. I just had to, Madeline."

For what felt like a breathless instant of stalled time, she simply stared at him. Then, a small squeak-like sound tore from her throat and her eyes flickered away. Adam felt his nerves settle down with the knowledge that she, obviously, was as affected by him as he was by her. A rush of pleasure filled him at the thought. He moved a half step closer to her—one precarious half-step.

"You didn't answer my question." His voice came out silky and husky and he didn't even try to do anything about it. Knowing full well he was playing with fire, he asked, "What are you confused about? Honey . . ."

Madeline began fidgeting with the chord of her robe in yet another gesture that tested his tilting resolve to stay on the appropriate side of the wooden threshold at his feet. The tension between them grew thicker than steam. Suddenly, she jerked her chin up, facing him with a trembling smile. "Perhaps I misspoke. It isn't so much that I am confused, I think, but more that I've been . . ." Her smile faltered. "Well, wondering. A little bit." She ducked her head again. "One might say . . ."

Adam couldn't stop the corner of his mouth from curling up. "All right," he said, keeping his tone warm and smooth as he propped a shoulder against the door frame and leaned closer to her. "What have you been wondering about then?"

He saw her throat contract in a swallow. She made another valiant attempt at looking up at him. "You make me feel things I've never felt before and sometimes . . ." Her cheeks took on a pinkish flush. "I . . . those feelings are so very strong to me, sometimes it's almost . . . frightening."

That last, shaky word had an instant sobering effect on him. She was frightened? He frightened her? His stomach went hollow as that sank in. His heart pounding, Adam stood up straight and forced himself to speak very softly.

"Sweetheart, I don't want you to be afraid of me. Ever."

An almost pained look crossed her face. "Oh, Adam, I'm not afraid of you. At least, not in the way you might think . . ."

He was puzzled by her afterthought, but before he could question her about it, she turned huge, worried eyes on him and burst out, "You do love me, don't you?"

For a stunned second, he gaped at her. "Of course, I do—Madeline, you know I do." Without even thinking about it, he grabbed one of her hands and held it tightly. "Honey, what's going on? Why would you even ask me that?"

"I . . . oh, I don't know—" She shook her head, her hair bouncing wildly with the movement. "I'm sorry, I am being silly. I think I've just been feeling a bit . . . overwhelmed tonight."

"Overwhelmed?" He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, fighting down the alarm rising in him. "Overwhelmed by what?"

Her small shoulders heaved with a distressed sigh. "Oh, just—by everything that has happened this last month, by the uncertainty of the future . . ." She shifted her gaze up to his. Suddenly her nose wrinkled and her face fell in deep dismay. "But most of all . . . I feel overwhelmed by you."

Her proclamation came in such a solemn tone, Adam felt a faint prick of amusement breaking through his unease. He cautiously placed his free hand against his chest. "Me?"

Madeline nodded, her serious eyes fixed on him. Slowly, she retracted her hand from his grip and folded her arms. "Yes, you, Adam. And do you know why? Do you know why I am confused and overwhelmed?" She huffed in despair and barreled over him before he could answer her. "Well, to be perfectly honest, it's because you make me feel very downright strange."

Taken by surprise, Adam nearly choked on a laugh. He'd never heard her say that word before. The way she used it suggested this was her first attempt. She must've picked it up from one of his brothers. He regarded her quietly for a few seconds. There was mild disapproval showing in her features, and her nose stayed adorably wrinkled as she kept studying him with that intense look in her eyes—as if he were a puzzle that couldn't be solved. There was no doubt about it. She was the most captivating creature ever created. She was also making it almost impossible to keep his hands to himself.

He propped himself against the doorway again and tilted his head in apology.

"I'm very sorry about that."

Madeline's expression remained grave as she nodded again.

"But if it's any consolation to you . . ." He gave her a crooked smile. "You make me feel very downright strange too."

Something shifted in her serious demeanor. The tension gradually melted from her face. He sensed the beginnings of a smile playing at her mouth as they gazed into each other's eyes. Call him weak, call him foolish—he couldn't resist touching her. Leaning closer, he lifted his hand and gently cupped her cheek. He watched her eyes drift closed at the contact—heard her quick intake of breath. Instinctively, she nestled her face into his palm. A jolt of pure, masculine satisfaction surged through him. He did that to her. He had that effect on her. With the pad of his thumb, he traced a line down her cheek—the innocent, tender gesture stirring his desire for her all over again. He marveled at the satin texture of her skin and wondered if the rest of her would feel equally soft beneath his hand. Oh, it would. He knew it would . . .

"What you said about being overwhelmed by everything that's happened," he murmured, caressing her face. "None of it matters now, honey. It's all behind us. As for the uncertainty of the future . . ." His thumb trailed down, all the way to the corner of her mouth where he stopped. Her lips parted slightly, like she needed more air to breathe and his blood heated at the sight.

His voice lowered to a throaty pitch. "I told you I was going to take care of you from now on, remember that?"

Without opening her eyes, she whispered, "Yes . . ."

Her warm breath passed over his thumb, tingling on his skin. He inhaled deeply, the tempting scent of her filling his nostrils, flogging his senses. "That's the future, Madeline. Yours and mine."

He said it with gruffness, with promise.

His touch feather-light, he slid his thumb over the soft cushion of her bottom lip. They stood so close together, he felt the responding quiver run through her body. Moving his hand down, he gently held her chin in his fingers.

"Let me see your eyes, sweetheart . . ."

Her lashes fluttered open, revealing her deep green eyes—slightly unfocused, clouded with passion. He knew he could kiss her now and she wouldn't stop him. She was already too lost in the feeling. Gazing down at her flushed face, knowing there was a bed with rumpled sheets a few feet behind her—it was almost too much. And he knew it was time to make his escape. He needed to get away, now, before he did something incredibly stupid. Something that would make all other stupid things he'd done in his life pale in comparison. Calling on every last ounce of his self-control, Adam pulled back. He withdrew his fingers from her face and his whole hand ached from the loss.

"I should go," he said quietly. "Let you get some sleep."

Madeline stared at him, confused, her eyes still slightly cloudy. Then she blinked rapidly, several times, clearing them. "Y-yes, all right . . ."

She focused on him with effort, doing her little lip-nibble again. Adam groaned on the inside. It was definitely time to go. He was about to step backwards out into the hall when her voice rushed at him.

"Adam are you—" She stopped and screwed her eyes shut, then opened them again. "Are you . . . all right now?"

The worry had suddenly come back into her tone. Surprised, he watched her closely. "Yes, I'm fine."

His reassurance didn't seem to reassure her at all though. Her hands twisted together as she regarded him with a deepening frown, like she had something to say but couldn't decide if she should. It suddenly rushed out of her. "I am sorry about today. I'm sorry we didn't have our walk together and about what happened with Uncle Paul. I realize this was a terrible day for you and I wish I—" She broke off and expelled a trembling breath. "I know you have so many things troubling you already . . ."

The naked distress on her face ripped unexpectedly at his heart, and he felt a wave of emotion rise up inside him. He forced a smile for her. "Don't you worry about that. I'll be all right."

Shimmering with concern, her eyes searched his. "Will you?"

"Of course." He kept a steady gaze and did his half-smile. "As long as I have you."

A ripple of something he couldn't quite discern passed over her face. Then it was gone as she quirked a very soft smile. "You have me."

They looked at each other for five wavering seconds longer. Then, he took a definitive step backwards.

"Sleep well, honey."

Holding the door, she spoke with soft sincerity. "And you . . ."

She stepped back into her room and their eyes held until the door closed with a soft click.

The hallway became quiet as a tomb. Adam blasted out an explosive breath. Damn it, that was close. Shaking his head at himself, he turned and started down the dark hall. He'd taken three steps when a deep voice spoke behind him.

"What in God's name do you think you're doing?"

xXXx

Ben watched in reluctant fascination as his oldest son jumped so high, he almost hit his head on the ceiling. With a startled yelp, Adam half-rotated his body in mid-air and landed awkwardly on his feet, stumbling backwards two steps.

"Pa!" He grabbed his chest and steadied himself against the wall with his other hand. "My God . . . you scared the hide off me . . ."

Stepping out of the shadowed doorway of his bedroom, Ben slowly held up his oil lamp, purposely letting the gloomy light illuminate his grave expression.

"Good," he rumbled darkly. "The fear you just felt is still nothing compared to what you would be feeling if it were Paul standing here instead of me right now."

Adam dropped his head and released a shaky breath as if he'd been holding it. Then he looked up again, evidently having regained enough composure to scowl.

"I'll ask you again," Ben whispered, his voice hoarse from the strain of holding onto his temper. "What the devil are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" His scowl deepening, Adam pushed away from the wall. "I'm not doing anything."

Ben felt his neck grow hot as anger flared up through his chest. What did he take him for?!

"Son, I just saw you!" he hissed, stabbing a finger at the now closed bedroom door three feet away from them. "I saw you coming out of . . . her room!"

Adam's mouth fell open as if it was on a hinge and his eyes widened to their fullest extent. "WHAT?!"

"SHHHHH!" Ben flapped his hands at him, almost dropping the lamp.

They both glanced frantically around themselves, then faced each other again.

"I wasn't coming out of—" Adam stopped himself and lowered his voice. "I wasn't coming out of her room, Pa—I wasn't even inside her room—I never even crossed the threshold!"

"Then what did I just see, boy?!"

"Don't call me b—"

"What in damnation were you doing, Adam?!"

Their whisper-shouting ceased as they glared at each other, the lamp hovering in the air between them, reflecting in both of their fiery gazes. When Adam didn't reply, Ben's over-stretched nerves snapped. "Of all the dadblasted—if you were a few years younger, I'd be taking you and this conversation out to the barn!"

Clamping his lips tight, Adam gave him a look that could have withered a cactus in a split-second. Then, rising to his full height, he spun on his heel and marched down the darkened hall.

Stunned at being walked away from, Ben watched his son merge in with the shadows. Once his shock subsided:

"Oh no, you don't . . ."

He stalked after him, his burgundy robe flying behind him like a cape, his slippers nearly leaving his feet. Ahead, Adam disappeared through the doorway to his room and Ben followed just a few paces behind. He stormed inside and shut the door behind him more forcefully than intended. Adam, already halfway across the room towards the moonlit dresser, jerked at the slam and cast an icy glare over his shoulder that clearly said what he thought about being followed.

Unmoved by his son's attempt at intimidation, Ben strode over to him. He set the lamp down on the dresser and assumed a menacing, cross-armed stance. "Explain yourself. Now."

Adam focused on his shirt while he began undoing the buttons. "I just needed to talk to her privately, that's all."

"All right, what was so urgent that you needed to talk to her privately at this time of night?"

Stopping with his buttons, Adam briefly closed his eyes as if he were trying to wish his father away. Well, Ben wasn't going anywhere, not before he got to the bottom of this. Opening his eyes again, Adam finally supplied a usable answer, though, through clenched teeth. "I needed to make things right after the way I behaved this morning."

"This morning?" Ben's eyebrows winged upward as he tried to recall the conversation they'd had on the picnic. "You mean that thing you told me about where you'd behaved like an idiot with her?"

Adam exhaled in a huff of exasperation. "Yes, Pa, that thing . . ."

For a second, Ben got the feeling he considered rolling his eyes at him. Good thing the boy had enough sense not to try it.

Narrowing his gaze on him, he asked, "What exactly was this idiot-thing you did?"

In stubborn silence, Adam continued with the buttons on his shirt.

"Adam . . ." Ben dropped his voice to a warning tone—the tone he used to convey that his patience was all but exhausted. "I asked you a question."

Whirling around to him, Adam flung a hand out. "Look Pa, she came in here, we talked for a while and I—I . . ." he stuttered to a stop.

"And you what . . .?"

Muttering incoherently, Adam swung away to face the wall next to them.

"And-you-what?" Ben demanded, slowing his speech and over-pronouncing every word as he stared at the side of his son's face.

Adam's shoulders lifted high. "And . . . I kissed her."

Ben bit down on his tongue. Now, that revelation required a moment's thought. No, it required two. Leveling stern eyes on his firstborn, he finally said, "By that, I take it you don't mean just a peck on the lips."

A telling silence ensued.

Bowing his head, Ben felt exasperation seeping into every old bone. Tarnation, this boy. He might have expected this sort of behavior from one son of his, but certainly not this one. What the devil was he thinking! Well, clearly, he wasn't. Despite his irritation, Ben felt the worst of his anger rapidly subsiding as a sense of relief began to set in. That gut-churning feeling of dread dissipated as he realized that whatever had happened between Adam and Madeline—in either of their bedrooms—it hadn't gone beyond kissing. Though, by Adam's reluctance to share this information, Ben could well imagine the nature of the kissing involved. Still, it wasn't nearly as bad as what he'd initially feared. However, he wasn't going to let his impetuous son see his relief just yet.

Arranging his features into an appropriately severe expression, he looked up again. He found Adam still facing the wall, cradling his left arm to his chest. With a strict look he'd perfected over many years of being a father, Ben pinned a disapproving gaze on him. Outwardly, Adam appeared completely unaffected. Except for the nerve that began twitching in his cheek. They stood like that for quite some time.

"Don't give me that look," Adam eventually muttered, to the wall.

"How can you know what look I'm giving you?" Ben continued to stare him down. "You're not even facing me."

"I can feel it."

Ben dropped his chin again, summoning inner strength.

Abandoning his wall-stare, Adam turned to him. "Come on Pa, I just—" He shoved a hand through his unruly hair. "Don't tell me you don't remember what it was like when you were young and in love."

Jerking his head back up, Ben snapped, "Thunderation Adam, I'm not telling you not to kiss her—I'm telling you not to do it with Paul in the next room! For the love of God, be discreet about it." On a less angry, rumblier note, he added, "For all our sakes."

His rebuke had the desired effect as almost immediately, Adam slipped his hands into his back pockets and dropped his eyes to the floor, looking appropriately chastised. A beat of silence passed.

"Are we clear on this matter?"

"Yes, sir . . ."

Ben jerked a nod. "Good." He pointed a finger at him. "And don't you go lurking around her bedroom at this hour anymore."

Mumbling a word he would have scolded his sons for saying, he wiped the sleeve of his robe across his forehead. He was sweating. This whole thing had him sweating.

Adam shifted his weight from one foot to the other, peering up at him from beneath his brows.

"Pa, you didn't really think I would . . ." His words dwindled away as he gave a nervous shrug and offered a slight half-smile that he probably hoped looked innocent. Ben felt the distinctive urge to shake him. Fortunately, he overcame it.

"I don't know . . ." he mumbled, watching him with ominously lowered eyebrows. "I certainly raised you to know better. I've also never seen you act the way you do around her with any other girl before." He paused and added with a pointed look, "I trust you'll show better judgement from now on."

His lips twisting in a self-deprecating smile, Adam snorted. "I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you. I'm showing about as much good judgement these days as Joe. Less . . ."

As if he was suddenly overcome with exhaustion, his shoulders dropped an inch. Giving up on his half-unbuttoned shirt, he stepped past Ben, went over to the bed and practically collapsed onto it—so heavily, he bounced twice on the mattress before settling. Then, he just sat there with his head down, elbows resting on his thighs, scrubbing his face with his hands. Right away, Ben's heartstrings stirred. The remaining steam left him as he regarded his son, taking in his obvious weariness. Despite his displeasure, he knew his boy well. Adam didn't need a lecture or anymore reprimanding words. He'd punished himself enough already. Frowning, Ben went over to the bed and took a seat next to him.

"Rough day, hmm . . ."

Lifting his head, Adam looked ahead of himself and spread out his hands, palms up. His mouth opened but no sound came out at first, as if he didn't even know where to begin. Finally, he said, "Everything I did today . . . turned into a disaster."

Ben's heart melted. The statement was so strongly felt and there was a touch of very rare helplessness in his son's voice. He didn't say anything, just offered the quiet room for him to continue.

"I know it was wrong what I did with Madeline . . ." Adam's eyes flitted downwards. "And I know I was in a bad mood for the picnic and everyone felt it. I tried to make up for it. Then I tried to do the right thing for Madeline by asking for Paul's permission and—" He choked out a bitter laugh. "Well, you saw how that turned out . . ."

Ben took a minute to digest that revelation. The fishing episode with Paul had been at the back of his mind all evening and the thing that had troubled him most about the whole drama was his old friend's unusually harsh behavior towards Adam. This new information gave him fresh insight on the matter.

"So . . ." He harrumphed. "That's what you were talking to Paul about before the, ah . . . incident?"

Adam's back drooped dejectedly. "I was just getting around to it when all hell broke loose. I didn't actually get to ask him . . ."

Ben winced in sympathy, knowing how important it must have been for him to ask that question. Unable to resist, he reached over and gave his son a gentle thump. "You know how Paul can be," he said, massaging Adam's shoulder. "He'll come around."

"I somehow doubt that physically assaulting him has made him warm up to me any," Adam said grimly, staring at the floor.

Ben pressed his mouth closed and swallowed down an unexpected chuckle. It was unlikely that Adam would see even a tiny bit of humor in the situation now. Well, perhaps someday . . .

"Give it time," he said, releasing his shoulder with a squeeze.

Sighing, Adam ran a hand through his hair for the second time, making it stick up even more messily. Ben observed, his mouth turning down in displeasure. The boy needed a haircut. Granted, he'd had a lot on his mind, and maybe shaving wasn't a top priority for him these days, but this hair of his was simply getting out of hand. It was longer than Joe's had ever been. His dismayed thoughts were interrupted by Adam's voice.

"I'm going to be staying far away from Paul the next few days, that's for sure," he mumbled rubbing his bearded chin. "I need to focus on Madeline and make up for the way I've been acting . . ."

At that, Ben reluctantly spied an opening to bring something up—the other thing that had been nagging the back of his mind most of the evening. He didn't know how Adam would react to this, but had a feeling that a cautious approach to the subject would be best.

Steeling himself, he folded his hands in his lap and said, "Paul and I spoke earlier while we were having a brandy together. . ." He paused, weighing his next words carefully. "He's going back to Virginia City on Sunday."

Adam blinked and looked sideways at him. Their gazes locked for long seconds until Ben saw realization dawn in the hazel depths. Then, Adam glanced away again, his features a familiar mask of indifference. "Just because Paul's leaving, doesn't mean Madeline is." His voice was cool and held no emotion.

Ben considered him for a moment. "Actually . . . I'd say that's exactly what it means."

Although Adam's expression remained unchanged, Ben caught the stiffening of his spine. It told him all he needed to know.

"Son," he said, maintaining a calm tone. "Paul is her only family. He is responsible for her."

"I'm sure he wants her to go back with him," Adam ground out, "but maybe that's not what she wants. Maybe she wants to stay here, all right?"

He kept his glaring eyes forwards, and Ben studied his profile. There it was—that familiar flare of temper, the temper he knew all too well—his own temper passed on. He recognized the defensiveness, evident in the taut set of his son's shoulders, in the stiff jut of his jaw. And, he recognized the uncertainty that lurked underneath all the tension.

"Has she told you she wants to stay?" he asked softly.

"Has she told you she wants to leave?" Adam snapped, facing him.

In the dim light, his hazel eyes appeared darker than usual, dark like earth itself, and sudden flecks of gold flashed in his irises, like strikes of lightning. Ben held his glittering gaze steadily and answered with complete control. "There's no need to use that tone with me, boy."

In the same instant, the surface of Adam's hardened expression seemed to fracture, his stare wavering. He tipped his face down, averting his eyes. "All I'm saying is . . . she might want to stay here with us a little while longer. I . . . under the circumstances, I think it would be best for her."

Sighing inwardly, Ben regarded him with a measuring stare. "Don't do that to her, Adam."

His tone was cuttingly direct, like his words. They left a thick tension hovering in the room.

Adam's face stayed down-turned. "Do what . . ."

Ben held his reply. The fact that Adam seemed unable to look up at him suggested he knew exactly what they were talking about here. They both knew it.

"Don't put her in a situation where she's forced to choose between you and Paul."

It needed to be said out loud. Relief fell over Ben, now that he had.

Weakly, Adam shook his head. "That's not what I'm—" He massaged his temples with his fingertips. "That's not what I'm doing . . ."

His eyes swooped closed for a minute. Like many times before, Ben watched him clamp down on his emotions. He sensed him wrestling with himself to get back under that tight control. It worked. tremendously well. When Adam opened his eyes again, his expression had hardened like granite and now, his voice came out measured and carefully controlled.

"What do you think it's gonna be like for her in town, Pa?" he asked, slanting him a challenging look. "We left complete chaos behind when we left that day of the shootout. The gossip must be running like wildfire—the town folk have had over a week to talk about nothing else." His face darkened. "By now, everyone knows who Ray Bradshaw was and what he did. And what his relation to Madeline is."

Ben's mouth flattened to a stiff line. It was something he'd thought a lot about too. "Gossip is inevitable after all that's happened," he agreed. "We know how people around here feel about swindlers let alone murderers. But Madeline had nothing to do with his crimes. She came here looking for a new life and Lord knows, no one can blame her for keeping her past and marriage a secret."

"I understand that, and you understand it," Adam said, sounding impatient. "But you know how rumors fly—how people talk and turn stories around. There's bound to be some folks who won't understand that Madeline is just a victim in all of this." His eyes sharpened with fierce purpose. "And I'm not about to let anyone upset her after the hell she's been through."

The steel in his voice matched his gaze.

"So, your plan is to keep her here on the Ponderosa forever to shield her from what might be said about her?" Ben probed, knowing he was pushing and knowing it needed to be done.

"I'm not saying that." Adam exhaled through his nostrils. "I just don't think she's ready to go back yet. She won't know what to expect and I won't be there to protect her."

"Mmh. Don't you think you're slightly underestimating her ability to take care of herself?"

Adam glowered at him. "It's not that I don't think she can take care of herself, it's—" He cut himself off, suddenly dropping his forehead in his palms as if exhaustion was getting the better of him again. Staying in that position, he spoke very quietly. "When she's here with me, I can see for myself that she's all right and taken care of. And it's . . . it's nice having her here."

There it was again, that note of helplessness in his voice. It made it even more difficult for Ben to say what now needed to be said. While there was no doubt his son genuinely worried about Madeline and her going back to Virginia City, he also knew what Adam clearly wasn't willing to admit. That he wanted Madeline to stay not just for her own sake, but for his. As much as Ben would like to put his son's needs first, he couldn't do that now. Not this time.

"Regardless of what you think, this decision isn't yours," he said with slow emphasis. "Nor is it Paul's. It's up to Madeline to make her own choices and you need to respect that, both of you."

Adam's shoulders sagged and Ben felt a sharp twinge in his chest. But his mind was made up. For more than a week he'd watched this thing between his old friend and son spiral out of control and from here on, the only side he would be taking in this triangle would be Madeline's. The poor girl needed someone to speak up for her for once. Knowing there was no way around it, he abruptly said, "Madeline has been worried about being away from Virginia City."

As expected, Adam instantly faced him, his brows knitted tightly. "What do you mean?"

Ben's eyes softened a bit. He gentled his tone as he explained. "Well, she's worried about neglecting her responsibilities by being away for this long. Her job at the restaurant, her work as a nurse, the social club. She does have a life there, you know. A life she's worked very hard to build." His mouth lifted wryly. "And she was working at it months before you even came home and met her." That comment earned him an annoyed look, but it was the truth, nonetheless. "She's gone through a lot to become accepted as part of our community and it's very important to her." Ben eyed his son evenly. "You know that better than anyone."

Adam eyed him right back for an extended moment before turning away. He looked down at his hands, his inner turmoil etched clearly across his face as he struggled with the information.

"When did she—" He cleared his throat. "She hasn't said anything to me about all this . . ."

The waver in his voice didn't go unnoticed. Ben resisted the urge to reach for his shoulder again and replied with deliberate softness. "She and I had a brief talk about it a couple of days ago. While you were having some of your . . . quiet time out in the barn." It was the kindest way he could think of to phrase it, but Adam's features tightened like he was in pain. "As for her not saying anything to you about it . . ." Ben smiled affectionately. "I think she simply didn't want to concern you with it. You've had a lot on your mind and that young lady seems to spend a great deal of time worrying about you."

At that, Adam hung his head, his expression crumbling into utter remorse. "I didn't know . . ."

Sympathy flooded Ben but he knew his son wouldn't welcome it. Adam's guilt had been sliced open and now it bled like a fresh wound. There was nothing to do about it. It needed time to heal.

"Now you do," he simply said.

In the following quiet, Ben gave him time to collect himself. He hadn't meant to cause him any more grief tonight—the young man was hurting enough already. But these things had needed saying. Now, maybe they could move on. It was a couple of minutes before Adam raised his head again. His deepest feelings were masked as usual, but for once, he did nothing to cover his weariness as he sat with his shoulders hunched, hands dangling between his legs. Giving into the fatherly urge, Ben placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Their eyes connected briefly. Nothing more was needed.

Sensing it was time to take his leave, Ben hesitated before standing up. There was one last thing he wanted to mention, something this conversation had brought to his mind.

"You still haven't told Madeline about what Bradshaw did, have you?" he asked carefully. "About the railroad scam and the murder of Robert Wickworth?"

Adam gave a slight head-shake and released a slow breath. "No. She's been through so much because of that man. I just hate to bring it up and upset her all over again."

"Mm." It was what he'd expected to hear. And he felt compelled to give one last piece of advice. "I understand that. But sooner or later she has to hear the full extent of his crimes. And she ought to hear it from you and Paul."

"Yeah." Adam closed his eyes. "I know."

Ben knew it was time to leave him be. He gave him another affectionate back-clap then leaned forwards, pushing himself to his feet with a groan. "Right, I'm going to get that glass of water I initially got out of bed for." He lowered expectant eyes on his son. "Are you going to get some sleep now?"

Mutely, Adam moved his head in what Ben took for agreement.

"Good."

Expecting no more words out of him tonight, Ben walked over to collect the lamp from the dresser. On his way, he was mildly puzzled to notice a pillow lying on the floor up against the wall.

With the lamp in hand, he headed to the door, opened it, but then paused in the doorway and turned back around.

"Adam, this thing with you and Paul . . ." He waited until Adam met his gaze. "Just remember that she needs both of you."

Adam stared back at him, his face unreadable. Ben felt that stare boring into his back as he turned away. He felt it as he stepped out in the hall and even when he closed the door behind him, he sensed it still, piercing through the wood.

Sighing, he walked down the dark hallway, muttering to himself. "And both of you need her . . ."