It had been almost a week since the incident in the office when Blythe awoke one morning feeling rested and renewed, sensing her pride was on the mend. It wasn't until she found Heathe in the kitchen preparing a pot of chili for dinner that she learned her husband was away from the ranch for the day. According to the gentle giant, he'd left early in the morning while she still slumbered peacefully and dreamless. Surprising even herself, she felt as if a weight had been lifted and began to relax.

Heathe was spending a lot of time in the house lately, doing chores that had been Mrs. Manford's and Blythe had no sympathy for his domestic plight. Clearly considering it the men's problem for running everyone off like they had, she'd made no effort to assist and gloated, knowing it galled Heathe for her to sit idly by and watch in amused silence as he struggled with his duties. Besides, Blythe thought, it served him right for following Nate's every whim so blindly.

Her husband, on the other hand, spent most of his time outdoors, handling the ranch chores. Occasionally, Harvey or one of the field hands would meet him at the gate and come in long enough to help then be escorted out by Nate or Heathe, the gate securely locked behind them. She probably wouldn't even have noticed his absence if the brawny blond hadn't mentioned it when she came down for a late breakfast.

Haltingly, Heathe had also mentioned he would be at her service, to accompany her anywhere she wished, provided it was on the grounds. It was obvious he'd been ordered to chaperon her and though irritated, Blythe decided to make the best of it and have him take her riding. She hadn't been near the horses or the stable since the attack on Joey and Rene and she felt desperate to see Thunderboomer again.

It had been easy to talk Heathe into bringing the horses to the house, sparing her from going to the stable. Amazingly, the two shared a pleasant leisurely ride, politely chatting about the weather, horses, the problems they'd had with the cattle, while Wolf and Erine followed contentedly behind, stopping occasionally to heist a leg on a bush or scurry after a frightened hare as it rushed to hide in the chaparral.

The dogs had grown accustomed to the constant presence of Heathe puttering about the house and no longer growled or raised their hackles when he walked by. Since the area was securely locked now and no visitors were allowed in unless to help Nate, Blythe had decided it safe to let the hounds run loose. But even though they were allowed to roam the ranch freely, they chose to stay close to Blythe at the main house.

At night, they'd whine and scratch at the back door till invited in, following on their mistress's heels until she went to bed. Even then, the dogs weren't content unless locked in the room with her. There, they'd stretch out next to the daybed and she would have to be careful not to stumble over one when getting up.

Nate and the dogs, on the other hand, lived in peaceful co-existence with each other. He neither kicked them out of the way nor did he stop to pet their great maned heads as he rushed by, always in a hurry. They, in turn, would roll pale blue eyes and bristled as he passed. More than once, Blythe had seen a thin black lip curl back to expose sharp white teeth, dagger-like fangs. It seemed an ominous sign that her boys had the same portentous reactions to Nate that she did, and she couldn't help wondering if they would defend her if he really did try to harm her.

Strangely enough, Blythe found herself growing fonder of Heathe, who genuinely appeared one of the gentlest men she'd ever known. And though she was beginning to comprehend her husband's complete trust in him, she had to keep reminding herself that her growing fondness was not without reservations. Even if Heathe was Nate's most valued friend, it was that very thing that also made him her jailer, and she had no way of knowing to what extent his loyalty would prevail or at what point his gentle nature would crack to expose a Mr. Hyde that might lie dormant inside.

Returning to the house, Blythe fixed them both hot cups of tea. Heathe was starting to relax in her company and his resentment over her secret marriage to his best friend had long since been put aside with the realization that she never intended on changing things or casting him out of Nate's life. Dumping more sugar into the spicy brew, Heathe fiddled with the spoon, watching the golden-brown liquid swirl until it formed a mini-whirlpool in his cup. He shot Blythe a sidelong look from green almond-shaped eyes, which had been the undoing of so many females and she found herself wondering why this sexy perfect specimen could never hold onto a woman, when his heavy drawl cut into her thoughts.

"Nathan hasn't talked to you much about...you know...about Rene and Joey."

She felt herself stiffen. "No one's talked to me much period but you and the dogs." She waved an arm. "Look around, Heathe. I haven't exactly lacked privacy. And since you and your boss are keeping me prisoner..." she started brusquely, but seeing the color rise in his handsome face came to an abrupt halt. "I'm sorry. I know he's convinced you it's for my own good but believe me, he's wrong."

She reached out and put a small porcelain hand on his thick wrist but he looked away, turning deaf ears to anything derogatory she might say about his friend. Heathe was different from most men. There were no games with him, no flirting, no using of feminine wiles to get to or manipulate him. Sometimes Blythe wondered if he really even like women but decided he must, he'd been married often enough. She withdrew her hand and he glanced back at her then drained the sticky sweet liquid form the crystal cup.

"I thought you might wanna know what's been goin' on, how Rene's doin'."

Blythe sighed and set her cup down. "You're right. Of course, I do. I guess I've been so wrapped up in my own problems, I pushed all that to the back of my mind. No...that's not exactly true. I've been afraid to broach the subject...afraid of making Nate angry, afraid of what he'll tell me...afraid of reliving..." She let it linger unfinished and turned her chair, leaning forward with genuine interest. "How is Rene? Has her condition changed? Has she been able to tell anyone anything?"

He shook his head. "Naw, she's still in a coma. Doctors don't know if she'll come out of it or not. They say she had a blow to the head besides the stab wounds. That poor bastard Jim's been at her side day 'n' night since they brought her to the hospital. Nate's tried reasonin' with him to get him ta go home and rest, but he won't listen. Told Nathan ta get the hell out and stay out."

Blythe's curiosity was whetted. "Jim, her ex-husband? But why, what does he have against Nate?" she asked suspiciously. Heathe only gave her a troubled look that said he should never have opened his mouth. "Damn it, tell me! I'll draw my own conclusions. You know I will."

"Aw, shit...it's just that he's never cared for Nathan. It's a jealousy thing, nothin' more." Noting her expression, he hurried on. "Not that he has anything to be jealous of."

"Oh, sure...just the fact that his ex-wife was madly in love with Nate...is madly in love with him." Regretting she'd asked, Blythe got up and took their cups to the sink where she angrily splashed them into sudsy water. "He wouldn't be that upset about Nate unless he still loves Rene and has reason to think my husband and his ex-wife are still involved. That's it, isn't it, Heathe?" she demanded, swinging from the sink to face him.

His manner doleful, he approached her and stared earnestly down into her tormented eyes. "It's not like that. I swear to you. Nathan never was in love with her. You're the only one he's ever been in love with and he wouldn't do that to you. I'm sorry about Rene and Joey, but that doesn't change the fact that I never liked her. She was a crazy evil bitch. She'd have done anything to cause trouble and get back at you. I watched her chase after Nathan for years. She was always makin' stuff up about their relationship, tellin' people he was gonna marry her one day when his career leveled out. If Jim was jealous, it was because she fed him a lot of bullshit like she did everyone else. Like she did you."

"But it wasn't lies, Heathe. I know it wasn't. I know Nate was back for two days and didn't tell me. I heard Lieutenant Leonard say they'd found his fingerprints all over Rene's condo, that he'd been drinking. He was supposed to have spent the night at your house but I don't believe it. Why wouldn't he have come on home, gone back to the studio again or the bunkhouse, since his mother's not there, if he didn't want me to see him?" She gazed wildly into his eyes and knew they were thinking the same thing, that if Nate had gone back to the studio, he'd have found Rene and Joey there together.

"No, Blythe, I can read your mind. That's not what happened at—"

"Then what?" she pleaded.

"I can't tell you."

"You mean you won't!" Their voices were raised and the napping dogs lazily got to their feet, ears pricked, heads cocked to the side as the humans stood challenging one another, a modern day David and Goliath.

Exasperated, Heath was the first to bow out. "I've got housework to finish. You're welcome to keep me company."

"Not on your life!" she snorted, furious to have her questions cut short. But she knew it wouldn't do any good to push Heathe any further, that he'd only clam up completely.

He shrugged broad shoulders. "Suit yourself," he said going to the pantry where he pulled out a paper grocery sack and began the process of emptying the small wastebaskets in each room.

Blythe leaned idly against the kitchen doorframe where she had a view of the entire hall. It did her good to see the big strapping man engrossed in what he chauvinistically considered woman's work and each time he emerged from a room and glanced back, she flashed him a bitchy grin, being sure her dimples indented just enough to be cute. She was making him nervous and thoroughly enjoying it. That would show him she couldn't be brushed off so easily, she thought, and as he moved into the other hallway, so did she with the sole purpose of irritating him.

Heathe left the clubroom, stopping in front of the office and she chuckled as he fumbled around in the pocket of his Dockers for the key. Setting the sack on the floor, he used both hands to insert it in the small hole and as he swung the door open, Blythe strolled up beside him and peered into the room.

"My, my, the inner sanctum," she declared sarcastically.

Ignoring the remark, Heathe hurried in and out, anxious to get the door safely locked again for there was no telling what the woman was likely to do in her weird mood. He found himself silently cursing Nathan for leaving him alone with this burden of responsibility called Blythe...devil was more like it. He was also wishing like hell his friend would hurry home when the phone rang, pulling him back into the office. Dropping the overflowing trash sack there in the hall, he hurried to answer it.

Blythe looked on as he lifted the receiver, held it to his ear then turned back to face her. She gave him an insolent little wave that quickly changed to the thrusting out of her middle finger and he leaned out and shut the door in her face.

One for him, she mused graciously and glancing down at the trash spilled in haste across the floor, grudgingly decided to pick them up. Squatting, she scooped up a handful of wrinkled and wadded papers and smashed them down into the bag until they were flattened and condensed to her satisfaction. The task completed, she was about to straighten when the corner of an envelope caught her eye. The letters MacLar, scrawled in a familiar hand, cried out to her and she jerked it out from the mess that buried it. It was addressed to Blythe and she was appalled to see that not only had it been callously opened, it had been tossed away without her ever knowing of its existence."

Consumed with anger, she felt reckless...dimwitted almost as she tore into it and began reading the short missive she thought to be from her brother.

Blythe,

Sorry to have used Phil's name on the envelope, hope you're not disappointed, but I decided it best not to put my name on the outside for obvious reasons. Phil and I have tried calling but are always told you're out. We're becoming very concerned. A Lieutenant Bradley Leonard was here the other day. He, too, is worried about your welfare. He told us about your husband's past, about the murder of his first wife. Now, this latest tragedy...are there really any coincidences?

The last thing in the world I want is to alarm you, but please, Blythe, be careful. Nathan Stevens was under suspicion for that murder, but he had a Heathe Conners as his alibi, just as he does now. Remember, the mind of a killer is very complex and oftentimes he doesn't remember what he's done, in which case, he is the most dangerous, for his attacks are out of his control. Whatever...the fact remains that the case concerning your husband's wife and her lover has been covered up for years, the files probably destroyed. All evidence has vanished.

Blythe, Leonard thinks there is some connection, that this last attack could have been staged to look like the one on you, especially since he came here and talked to both of us. Leonard has been ordered off the case, but he's doing what he—

She heard a noise from the office and with shaking hands tried to stuff the letter back in the envelope, but she was too late. The doorknob twisted and she turned her back on Heathe just as he stepped into the hall.

"I can't believe you did it," he called after her as she started for the stairs.

Her heart jumped to her throat. She came to an abrupt halt and growing rigid, clutched the letter to her chest. "Did what?" she asked nervously.

"I can't believe you actually picked something up. Thanks."

"Oh, that," she replied weakly. Flooded with relief, she unconsciously relaxed her grip and watched horrified as the envelope escaped to drift in ironic slow motion onto the floor behind her. She whirled around but not quickly enough. Heathe was already there with gentlemanly good intentions, their fingers touching it at the same instant. Seeing the stricken look on her face, he glanced down and gently removed her hand. Standing, he examined the envelope and grabbed Blythe's arm as she turned to go, staring at the crumpled papers still crushed, white knuckled, in her frozen fist.

"Let me have it, Blythe," he ordered firmly though his tone was not unkind.

There was a moment's hesitation when he thought she'd refuse and bolt with defiance in the set of her jaw, in the gleaming eyes. Then suddenly, she threw them in his face and before he could retrieve them from the stone floor, she'd dashed up the stairs and locked herself in her room.