Nightchild

Chapter 54

Nate had done as he'd said and left the phone connected in the office. Blythe knew this because she could hear its incessant ringing when neither of the men were in the house to answer it. Once, she'd tried to get to it but the office had been locked and she had to helplessly listen to it jangle on and on for what seemed like hours. She hadn't been surprised that the door was locked, knowing it was to keep her out, to keep her from making any calls and though insulted and angry, she refused to ask her husband about this latest affront. In fact, she was learning to stay clear of Nate altogether, for he'd been in a surly mood since she'd taken her clothing from the master bedroom to the bright workroom which had become her sanctuary, the place where she wrote, slept and lived. Now, he scarcely took time to speak to her in between his overabundance of added chores around the ranch.

One day after walking Wolf and Erine, Blythe returned to the house to find it abnormally quiet and went to the balcony where it overlooked the ranch. In a far pasture, she could make out Nate and Heathe, both working the cattle, an unusual occurrence, for she was seldom left alone lately, with one or the other man, usually Heathe, constantly watching her every move. Staying in her room was the only privacy she now had. Even when she took her daily stroll, they would search her out if she was gone for any length of time and the constant surveillance was growing tedious.

Blythe had missed Ma Manford's home cooked meals and feeling a sense of freedom, she flew down the stairs and headed for the kitchen where she would dig up some of Ma's recipes and maybe experiment with baking bread. It would give her something different to focus on without the sensation of being watched, and it could be fun surprising the men with her cooking.

Smiling, she rushed down the hall but stopped suddenly at the entrance into the kitchen and retraced her steps. Surely, she'd been mistaken...the office door couldn't really have been open. Approaching it slowly, she felt confusion replace her earlier lightheartedness as she looked at the door standing ajar. Had she been wrong? Had Nate or Heathe been in the house all along? Spurred by curiosity, she shooed the dogs into the kitchen. The office door wasn't open enough to see inside and she stood for a moment listening. No sound hinted of an occupant and slowly, she pushed on the door with the tips of her fingers and peered inside.

The room was dark, void of life and she paused, letting her eyes adjust before slipping in, closing the door behind her. Like a trespasser in forbidden territory, her heart raced and her palms grew damp in the cool dimness. But the bidding shadow of the phone rose from the desk, calling out to her. In one quick movement, she was across the room, snatching the receiver to her ear with one hand as the other frantically twisted the base to face her. The numbers lit and she pressed them with tense jerky motions.

One ring, two...the doorknob clicked as a key slipped into the lock and the door sprang open. Blythe spun round, dropping the receiver as she stumbled back against the desk.

In seconds, Nate took in the situation, his composure unruffled. "I interrupt somethin'?" he asked, moving toward her until he was so close she could feel the warmth of his body, still moist with perspiration from laboring in the fields. Reaching around her, he lifted the handset off the desktop and placed it back in its cradle. "What's the matter, Red?" He used the endearment like a sharp-edged insult to taunt and wound her.

"Nothing...I...I was just...," she faltered, his nearness making her effete with a combination of love, lust and fear as she felt his hot breath on her face. "I was going to call my brother."

Shaking his head, he made no attempt to touch her. "I wish I could believe you. I could hear the phone ringing. I'm going to ask you nicely, Blythe, to leave that entire part of your past alone. It's not good for you."

"And keeping me prisoner here is?" she asked incredulous, flinching involuntarily from his reproachful gaze, her back arching so far over the desk she had to grab its edge to keep from toppling backward. Furious at herself for her meekness, she wanted to strike out, to hurt him. "Damn you, Nate, what difference does it make who I talk to, where I go? This fixation you have about keeping me here under lock and key is sick, perverted. These aren't medieval times. You're not my lord and master! What're you trying to do? Why won't you leave me alone? What do you want from me?" Her voice had risen, become shrill, panicky.

Nate's jaw clinched and she could see the throbbing in his temple that ticked away like a time bomb with seconds to explode.

"My lovely, honest and dare I say loyal wife? All I want is to protect you, nothing else."

She was appalled. "You really do believe there's something between Scott and me, don't you?"

"And you think I've been fucking Rene. I'd say that about evens the score in the trust department, wouldn't you?"

"Damn it, we're not playing a game!" she screamed in frustration.

"Oh, come on, Blythe, don't disappoint me," he scoffed. "I thought you loved games...all the teasing, the duplicity. What happened to the proud bitch, the reigning queen of—"

"Stoooop iiiiit!" she screeched, throwing her hands up to cover her ears. "I'm getting out of here before you suffocate me...before you drive me stark raving mad."

"Oughta be a quick trip the rate you're goin'," he mused, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a snide grin. "No, darlin', you're gonna stay here with me...a raving maniac or docile compliant wife. The choice is yours."

Nate heard Heathe entering the house and turning from his wife went into the hall and called out to him. In seconds, his friend's broad frame filled the doorway followed and instant later by Nate, carrying the purse Blythe had left hanging on the banister. Purposefully, he strode by Heathe then Blythe, ignoring her indignation as he sat placidly in the chair behind the old desk, unzipped the leather handbag and dumped its contents onto the oak top.

She watched nonplussed as he carefully examined each item, stopping briefly to peruse the business card Scott Weber had given her, his eyes accusing when he glanced up at her then back at the card. Setting it aside, he picked up the key ring, which had been part of her wedding gift with the car, and put it with the card. Then very carefully, he placed each item back in the oversized bag. When it was full again, he tossed it rudely at her.

Catching it, Blythe seethed at this violation of her privacy but maintained her outward composure. She wasn't about to give Nate the satisfaction of losing control, particularly in front of Heathe, then he too would believe she was crazy. "You forgot some things," she said, nodding toward Scott's card and her keys.

"These?" Nate asked innocently, sliding them from the desk and holding them up to her. She reached out for them but just as the tips of her fingers grazed the cold metal of the key, he viciously snatched them back and stuck them in a pocket of his Levis.

"You're the one who's insane!" she hissed.

He looked beyond her to Heathe. "Make sure my wife stays on the premises. And be certain this door stays locked."

"You bastard! I hate you for this!"

He glanced up into her bright contempt-filled eyes with a bittersweet smile. "Then nothin's changed, has it Red?" he asked rhetorically. Standing he walked from the room without another word, leaving her to fume and rave at his empty chair.

"Ah, shit," Heathe murmured, coming up behind Blythe and putting a large but gentle hand on her vibrating shoulder.

Shrugging it off, she spun on him. Her fury peaked to the point she wanted to strike out at this giant of a jailer. She flashed him a look of hatred but in that instant, common sense told her it would be to no avail, that at best he would hold her arms at a safe distance until she exhausted herself with futile struggling. Besides, she reasoned, it wasn't Heathe she wanted to hurt. It was her husband. Defeated, her pride bruised, Blythe whisked by him wordlessly and stormed up the stairs, pausing long enough on the landing to hear the office door close and the latch click with finality.

Safe in her room, her body involuntarily slumped against the wall in silent dejection and she thought how ironic the situation actually was. Each night she had locked herself in the workroom, locked Nate out. It hadn't occurred to her until now that he had keys to all the rooms of his own home and could have easily let himself in at any time...had he'd wanted to. The irony was that he obviously hadn't.