The long road twisted its way upward through trees for almost a quarter of a mile before suddenly becoming straight as it opened into the clearing at the top of the rolling hill. There it widened with live oaks lining either side and what Nate lovingly referred to as the main house at its end. Blythe had not known what to expect but it certainly hadn't been this and catching her first clear view of the house, she grew breathless.

"My God, Nate, it's wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Really! Painted white with columns instead of posts, it could pass for a plantation."

"I've thought the same thing myself. Lord knows, it's probably old enough."

Now Blythe could understand his pride, even his obsession with this place as she found herself falling under the spell of the rambling stone ranch house with old-fashioned veranda wrapping gracefully around the front and sides, stopping just beyond the corners of the back where a garage had been added. A short row of wide steps led to the porch and she noted the ramp along the side of the left handrail which had been built to accommodate Claire Stevens' wheelchair.

A balcony protruded from the second level with the roof of the house sloping gently over providing partial shade as French doors, above and below, opened onto both the balcony and the veranda. Blythe was especially delighted to see smoke curling from several of the chimneys that graced the rooftop.

Pulling up and parking in the circular drive, Nate commented about this or that, explaining some historical aspect of the house he thought of interest or telling about additions he'd made. No one greeted them as they stepped from the car, climbed the steps and entered the house. Blythe was so intrigued by her surroundings, she dispelled her earlier fears and set out to enjoy this introduction into her husband's world.

Inside, the foyer floor was of the same indigenous stone as the outside walls and a wide curved staircase rose slightly off center in the generous corridor that led to a series of rooms on either side. Eager, Nate grabbed Blythe's hand and pulled her through the narrower hall on the right and into an airy formal living area decorated in creams and soft hues of green.

A high ceilinged formal dining room was directly behind, with an antique crystal chandelier suspended in its original grandeur of yesteryear over a long table and chairs which had been refurbished to their initial splendor, the wood polished to a high gloss that cast back the gleaming light of the grand open fireplace at the end of the room. Blythe went directly to the table and delicately ran fingertips over its shiny smoothness.

"It was here when I bought the house," Nate explained. "It was all closed in. There was a wall separating the two rooms with only a pair of narrow doors joining them. I took the wall out making it almost one room. But after it was done and there was enough space to get the table out, I didn't have the heart to get rid of it. It was a mess, hadn't been taken care of in years. But I kept wondering how it, the chairs and chandelier would look if they could be redone. So I found this little old antique expert and he agreed to come out here and do the job. Now I believe it was a good decision. They belong here. I can't imagine anything else in their place."

"Nor can I," Blythe said, turning loving eyes on her husband's earnest face. "Nor can I."

They passed a small richly paneled library that served as a study and merely glanced in before going on, Nate eager to drag his new wife to the kitchen where he was sure Ma Manford would be at that particular time of the afternoon busily preparing dinner for his arrival, since he'd phoned before leaving Houston, warning the household he would be in by evening but careful to say nothing of Blythe.

When the garage was added, the kitchen had been extended across the entire back of the house and made several feet deeper. Copper utensils hung in traditional French country fashion above a center island that held a combination stove and grill set in an oak butcher block. The aroma of freshly baked breads filled the long room and at the far end, setting a massive table used for casual dining, was the wiry older woman who ran Nate's household.

Sneaking up from behind, Nate wrapped his arms about her slight body and startled, she spun around to face him.

"Mr. Nathan, you devil, knew it had to be you. You're the only man left livin' with the effrontery ta hug me like that. I heard noises before. Thought it was that Heathe comin' in from the stables though. Paid no attention at all. Wasn't expectin' you till after dark." Then squinting up at him she asked in a loud whisper, "And who's the cute little thing you've brought with you? I'm not blind, ya know."

The non-sequitur momentarily caught Nate off guard. He'd never grown accustomed to his housekeeper's uncanny habit of shifting into one subject before finishing another. It was seldom the woman ever finished one complete train of thought.

"If you'd hush long enough for me to get a word in, I'd introduce you," Nate answered affectionately and taking her by the arm, led her to Blythe. "Mrs. Ruby Manford," he said with a small bow, "I'd like to present Gentry Blythe MacLarren Stevens. If you forget all that, she'll answer to Red."

The younger woman thought the name Ruby suited this rosy cheeked lady who accepted her extended hand, not to shake but to hold with long thin fingers, the boney knuckles enlarged and showing signs of arthritis.

Peering at Blythe with ageless blue globes, Ruby suddenly dropped the hand and squealing with delight, slapped her knee gleefully. "Your wife, hey? It's priceless! Serves them two old biddies right! No offense, Mr. Nathan," she said quickly, giving a sly grin that showed the tips of small straight teeth, "but they've been ridin' roughshod over you long enough, as I see it. And you goin' along with it all in total apathy. Hot damn, if I'd been a few years younger, I'd of brought ya to your senses myself. What with that lanky vulture of a woman usin' your mother to get to you and her lettin' it happen...thrivin' on that witches wheedling."

She winked at Nate then went spryly to the oven and opening the door, spoke over her shoulder to Blythe. "Oh, don't be shocked, missy. Mr. Nathan's been a good son...too good if ya ask me, which I know you didn't but I'm tellin' ya anyhow. Besides, he knows how I feel. Been urgin' him long enough to break away from them two. Now he's gone and done it and I'm tickled pink. It oughta put some bees in their bonnets when they find out. Just hope I can sneak a peek when the stingin' starts." And she giggled wickedly at the thought.

Speechless, Blythe was unable to help herself as waves of amusement undulated through her and bubbled forth in hearty laughter. She liked this woman whose frank honesty was reminiscent of Connie's and she could just imagine her petite friend as crusty as this woman in her old age.

"Well, there you have it," Nate chuckled with them, "the whole sordid mess in a nutshell. And I'm sure that any questions you should have in the future will more than gladly be answered by the endearingly cagey, if seldom subtle, Ma Manford."

"And would you have me any other way?" the old woman asked with self-assurance.

"Not on your life, lady."

"Then quit your complainin' and make your wife feel at home. Settle her there by the hearth. I want ta hear everything and, Nathan, get us a toddy like the good boy you are."

"We'll take a rain check, Ma. I want to show Blythe around before the sun sets. How about a nightcap after dinner?"

"Suit yourself," she said already preoccupied with a pot simmering on the stove. But as they were making their exit, she called absently after them, "You know I don't drive after drinkin'."

"I know," Nate hollered and they left through a door at the far end of the kitchen which led to the wider part of the corridor split by the staircase.

Blythe noticed the deep hall running under the stairs, joining the other two and realized that combined with the foyer, they formed a square around the stairwell. Pausing, they glanced fleetingly into a room Blythe found incongruous with what she'd previously seen of the light formal house. It was an office of medium size but here was no plush carpet in clean snowy tones, no brightly painted walls or pale cushioned furniture with accents in crisp greens. Instead, it was masculine with only the intricate colors and weavings of a Persian rug to break the sheen of dark wood floors and stone walls that rose to a heavily beamed ceiling. Leather chairs in deep maroon were placed regally in front of an old worn desk, a matching high-back chair behind it. In the far right-hand corner was a gun case, austere in its display of weapons.

Nate flipped the light on long enough to get a quick glimpse then abruptly turned it off again, rushing her on to the next room, the only other room. It was immense taking up the rest of the lower west wing with doorways up and down the corridor opening into it, giving the deceiving impression there was more than one room.

Entering, Blythe was struck by the preservation of the rustic quality...beams, wood floors, walls plastered, stuccoed and painted eggshell. A giant fireplace stood in prominence against the south wall flanked by draped French doors that opened onto the veranda overlooking the front lawn and oak lined drive. Across half the length of the west wall stretched a bar of highly polished dark oak.

Earth tone leather couches, loveseats and recliners were scattered about indiscriminately with coffee and end tables on the occasional throw rugs of varying patterns and textures. No light fixtures hung from the high ceiling breaking the flow of massive beams, so the room was lit entirely by the sunlight that streaked through French doors and a magnificent picture window. At night, they would be dependent on the lamps placed here and there on the tables. All in all, the effect was pleasant and comfortable, as if it had been carefully contrived by a decorator.

Nate motioned for his bride to sit on one of the tall swivel stools as he went behind the bar and began mixing drinks. "Here," he said handing her a stemmed glass, "we'll both probably need a few more of these before the night's over."

"Terrific!" Blythe exclaimed and with a certain amount of reluctance accepted her martini. "You've hardly mentioned Mrs. Manford. Why didn't you prepare me for her?"

"I didn't know of any way to prepare you. She's one of those characters you have to experience."

"True," Blythe acquiesced, wincing as she sipped the strong liquid. "I like her but I'm not sure how to take what she says."

Nate had already downed his gin and was pouring another. "Take what she says as the truth. She doesn't lie and there's not a tactful bone in her scrawny body. She was originally hired as a companion for Mother, but they didn't hit it off too well. Mom can be pretty hard to get along with, especially when she wants attention and Ma Manford would have none of it. She kept telling her to quit sittin' around feeling sorry for herself, to get back into the mainstream of life and stop depending on me so much. That went over just great!

"They went round and round but she was the best thing that could have happened to Mother at the time. She made her angry, gave her a reason to live. Then when she had a relapse and grew worse instead of better, we had to hire a fulltime nurse. Ma just wasn't enough to cut it anymore. I'd gone through housekeepers but couldn't find a descent one I could trust to keep things running when I wasn't here, so Ma sorta of fell into it and it's worked out great.

"Don't get me wrong. There's that special fondness of adversaries between Mother and Ruby still, but I think you'll have a friend in Ma Manford. At least she'll be tellin' you one way or another soon enough." Pausing, he could tell Blythe was uneasy. It wasn't like her to be so quiet and abruptly he changed the subject. "Take your drink with you. There's a lot more to see."