Nightchild

Chapter 36

Stress between the so recently loving couple hung in the air like the scent of fireworks long after the sparks have died away. The weeks following Robert Stevens' death were tense for everyone living or working around the ranch, the reasons being anything but secret.

Blythe kept to herself, spending most of her time writing. The workroom became her retreat and Nate seldom intruded, for there was an understood silent agreement between them that the room was now her domain, hers and hers alone.

He was content to spend more and more of his free time downstairs in the library or office, where locked in a desk drawer were files containing notes on his wife; notes he hoped one day would lead him to the answers he so desperately craved.

Obsessively, he attempted to compile names, addresses and phone numbers of people who had known Blythe as a young girl and since. But his frustration grew daily with his inability to find her parents, still somewhere on a private cruise.

He tried to reach Connie Bledsoe but she was on vacation with her own family. Even Phillip MacLarren, Blythe's brother, had an unlisted phone number and address. The only information he'd been able to pry out of Blythe was that Phil had returned to the old hometown of Ringwald. But Nate was tenacious about finding out more...much, much more.

Any topic of conversation that remotely hinted of the past or skirted on the subject of the rape was avoided or quickly averted, putting yet another wedge in the Stevens' relationship. Nate was becoming leery of all he said and did, fearful of Blythe withdrawing even farther into her shell. He even left her alone sexually, cuddling her and being there to reassure her should she wake from another bad dream. These were the only real intimacies they now shared.

Grudgingly, the late August days had slipped lethargically into September. Unseasonable storms and moisture promised to leave behind as their combined epitaph upon the earth, a brilliantly vivid autumn explosive with whirling leaves of fiery color.

It was one of those days when the turning leaves were whipped savagely about branches bent and bouncing with the wind, that Heathe caught up to Nate who was taking a now infrequent walk with his wife. "Boss, hold up. I need to talk to you before I head out."

The couple swung round to see the tall blond rushing towards them, sweat beading his handsome brow. "Glad I found you. Ma had no idea which direction you'd gone."

"What's up? We got problems?" Nate asked, worry creasing his forehead.

Heathe smiled and caught his breath. "Naw, nothin' like that. I just got this wild hair to get out of here, away from the city, away from women...that's all. I'm packed and ready to go to the cabin. How 'bout comin' along? You too, Blythe," he added. "We could relax, no worries, no one to bother us, no phones. Dove hunting oughta be good right now. Come on, whadaya say?"

"I say it sounds terrific...but not this time. I've got too many obligations and—"

"Don't worry about me," Blythe interrupted, her tone emphatic. "It would do you good to get away for a few days. I can manage perfectly fine on my own for awhile."

Nate turned to her. "I was wanting to talk to you about that. It seems I might have to go to Nashville this week. They want me to see the rushes of the new video, go over some contract problems, make some final decisions on the album before it's released. It sounds hectic, like a night and day situation."

Catching the look of surprise that crossed Heathe's face, Blythe was suspicious but decided to question her husband after the other man had left. The situation was tenuous and she was becoming weary of always having an audience when she and Nate needed to talk. Besides, she knew what he was getting at, that he would have no time for her if she went and it would be best if she stayed behind.