Was Boyd the one? He didn't have an alibi. He had known where Merielle would be. Merielle avoided him like the plague.

It couldn't be him.

Why not?

I like him.

Patch saw movement beyond the front porch and recognized Frank Meade standing in the shadows. He threw the stub of a cigarette down and ground it out with his boot. He met her gaze briefly before he turned and walked away toward the bunkhouse. Patch wondered what it must be like for him, always living on the fringes of Merielle's life. Awful, she decided. Just plain awful.

Patch was nervous about meeting Jefferson Trahern again, but hid her anxiety behind a smile. The big man rose as she entered the parlor with Merielle by her side. Boyd followed a few steps behind her.

"Good evening, Mr. Trahern," she said.

He nodded his head. "Miss Kendrick. Would you like some sherry?"

"No, thank you."

"Can I get you a drink, Boyd?"

"No, thanks. A cup of coffee would be welcome," Boyd replied.

Trahern walked to the parlor door and called, "Maria!"

A short, rotund Mexican woman appeared. "Senor?"

"Please bring a cup of coffee for the gentleman."

"Si, senor."

"Make yourself comfortable, Miss Kendrick," Trahern said.

Patch couldn't help seeing the absurdity of the situation. Here she was being asked to sit down and engage in social chitchat with the man who had sworn to kill Ethan. She just couldn't do it. Fortunately, Merielle came to her rescue.

"Father, I'd like to show Patch my room. Would you excuse us for a little while?"

"I'll call you when supper's ready," Trahern said.

Boyd winked conspiratorially at Patch as she made her escape with Merielle, who walked a wide circle around him on her way out of the parlor.

Merielle took Patch's hand and started up the steep stairs in the central hallway. "My room is up here."

In Merielle's room, Patch saw further evidence that the thirty-year-old woman had been caught in a web of time. The room was filled with the playthings of a nine- or ten-year-old child. Merielle showed Patch her favorite rag doll.

"Her name is Emily," Merielle said. "I tell her everything." Merielle sat on the canopied bed and urged Patch onto the counterpane beside her.

Seated on the bed as they were, the two women were reflected in the gilt-framed mirror that hung above a copper-plated dry sink across the room. Patch wondered what Merielle saw when she looked at herself in the mirror. Did she see a woman with b.r.e.a.s.t.s and hips made for childbearing? Or did she see the child she was in her mind?

"What are you looking at, Patch?"

"Two lovely ladies."

"Lovely? Who?"

"Us, silly."

Merielle flopped onto her stomach with her chin in her hands and stared at herself in the mirror. The longer she stared, the more confused she got. She knew very well that her nose was too big for her face and covered with freckles, and that her cheeks were too full and made her face look round.

She brushed her hand down the bridge of her nose. That's strange. The freckles are gone.

She touched the pale flesh beneath p.r.o.nounced cheekbones. Where did the roundness go?

The face staring back at her was lovely. But it wasn't hers!

She stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes.

Patch laughed at Merielle's antics. "Didn't you like what you saw?"

Merielle sat up with her back to the mirror. "Not really."

"Why not? You're very beautiful."

Merielle frowned. "Not yet. But I will be when I grow up. Father says so. My mother was beautiful. She died when I was twelve. That was ... that was ... a long time ago."

"How old are you now, Merielle?"

Merielle opened her mouth to answer, but realized she wasn't sure. "I ..."

"When is the last birthday you remember?" Patch prompted.

Merielle sought an answer to the question, but it wasn't forthcoming. She felt dizzy and closed her eyes to concentrate. Her mouth was dry, and her tongue felt thick. Her head was pounding, but she furrowed her brow and forced herself to think back.

At first there was nothing. It was like being in a maze. Every road she took led to another blind alley. It was frightening because sometimes she felt trapped. As she traversed the maze, she saw something glowing in the distance. She headed for the light. It was candles. Candles on her birthday cake.

My birthday. It's my birthday. But which one?

She could see her mother smiling at her, urging her to blow out the candles.

Count them. How many candles are there? One, two- "I'm eleven!" Merielle announced triumphantly. She opened her eyes and smiled at Patch. "I'm eleven."

Patch hadn't realized how farfetched it was to hope that Merielle would regain her memory, until she heard the lovely young woman announce that she was eleven years old. Especially since Merielle had just recollected that her mother had died when she was twelve.

There was nothing in Merielle's behavior that led Patch to believe she had any notion of all the years that had pa.s.sed since she had been violated. Her actions were consistent with the age she believed herself to be, even if the words that came out of her mouth were not.

There just had to be some way to get through to her. All Patch had to do was find it.

Merielle picked up her rag doll and began rebraiding Emily's hair. She leaned close to Patch and said, "I told Emily about Frank."

"What about Frank?"

"That he kissed me."

"Frank kissed you?" Frank hadn't said anything about kissing Merielle. Talking, yes. Kissing, no. But then, they hadn't really had an opportunity to discuss Frank's efforts to help Merielle regain her memory. Maybe he had thought a kiss would do the job.

Merielle put a fingertip to her lips. "Don't tell Father."

"Why not?"

Merielle bit her lower lip as she concentrated on Emily's braid. "I ..." Merielle knew there was some reason she was not supposed to tell her father about kissing Frank. But she couldn't remember what it was. "I don't know. But I'm not supposed to tell him about kissing Frank."

Patch's eyes lit with excitement. Maybe Merielle was remembering a time in the past when kissing Frank had been forbidden. Frank had said they kept their relationship a secret from Merielle's father. "When did Frank kiss you?"

"The other day we were in the barn, and he asked me if he could kiss me."

"Oh."

Merielle mistook the reason for Patch's disappointment. "It wasn't so bad. At first I liked it." Merielle reached down and put a hand on her stomach. "It made me feel ... funny."

Merielle tried to remember the sensations. The ticklish feeling that had spread throughout her body. The way her knees had suddenly buckled so she had almost fallen. Then the blackness, swallowing her up, sucking her down, so she felt like she was falling. Even now it made her tremble to remember those other feelings.

"After a little while, I didn't like it," Merielle said abruptly. "It scared me."

"Why were you scared?"

Patch knew she had pressed too hard when she saw the panicked look in Merielle's dark brown eyes.

"It doesn't matter," Patch said.

At that moment Maria knocked on the door and called them to supper. Patch noticed that once again Merielle walked wide circles around Boyd. She made up her mind to ask Boyd if this was the first time he had been around Merielle, or if she always acted this way toward him.

Conversation at the dinner table was surprisingly general. Patch couldn't remember afterward what had been said. She was hoping for a chance to talk to Merielle again after supper, but the young woman pleaded fatigue.

"Will you come again soon?" Merielle asked.

"Maybe we could go on a picnic," Patch suggested.

"That would be fun! May I go, Father?"

Patch couldn't look at Trahern because his eyes gave away too much of what he was feeling, and it was plain that his feelings were sad.

"If you wish," Trahern said. "When is this picnic going to be?" he asked Patch.

"How about next Sunday, after church," Patch suggested.

"Next Sunday," Trahern agreed.

Patch gave Merielle a quick hug before she left.

Once Patch and Boyd were back in the buggy, Boyd sidled closer and quipped, "I like the way you say good night. Am I going to get a hug, too?"

Patch wasn't in any mood to put up with advances from Boyd, especially since she had put him back on her list of parties suspected of raping a vulnerable young woman.

"What you're going to get is a black eye if you don't put some distance between us."

Boyd scooted away, but looked offended. "You didn't mind me getting close earlier tonight."

"Did you rape Merielle Trahern?"

There was a moment of stunned silence before Boyd said, "You're taking an awful chance asking me a question like that when we're all alone in the dark, miles from anyone who could hear you scream for help, don't you think?"

The irony and sarcasm in his voice was enough to convince Patch she had made a mistake. She groaned and looped her arm through Boyd's to make amends. "I'm sorry, Boyd. I'm going crazy wondering who could possibly have done it."

"We may never know," Boyd said.

"Let's talk about something else."

"All right. There's a dance in town on Sat.u.r.day night. Will you go with me?"

Patch's first thought was to wonder why Ethan hadn't mentioned the dance. The answer was painfully obvious. Ethan couldn't walk freely down the main street of town, let alone attend a social function in Oakville. Patch wished she could tell Boyd that she was committed to Ethan. But Ethan had forbidden it. She was now in the awkward position of having to refuse Boyd without being able to give him the real reason she wouldn't allow him to court her.

"I couldn't leave Mrs. Hawk alone," she said. It sounded like the lame excuse it was.

"You can't leave her for a few hours to go to a dance, yet you're going on an afternoon picnic with Merielle the next day?"

"I don't want to go with you, Boyd."

"That answer sounds more honest, although I'm not any happier with it. Why won't you come with me, Patricia?"

"I'm not attracted to you, Boyd."

Boyd clucked his tongue. "You're lying again, Patricia."

Patch flushed, mortified that Boyd knew she was a little fascinated with him, even though it was Ethan that she loved. She told herself it was merely that she felt unsure of herself with Ethan, who had known her first as a baby whose wet drawers he had changed and then as a coltish child of twelve. Naturally she had relished Boyd's attentions as a sign that she was the kind of woman who could attract a man. But it was Ethan she wanted to attract. Not Boyd.

"I'm flattered that you want to take me to the dance, Boyd. But I wouldn't feel right kicking up my heels when Ethan is still a hunted man."

"That's more honesty, but still leaves me without a partner for the dance."

"I like you, Boyd," Patch admitted to soften her refusal. "But I don't-"

Boyd put a hand to her lips to stop her speech. They were back at the rutted part of the road, so he slowed the buggy down. "All right, Patricia. I'm willing to wait a little while to see whether-how-Ethan's situation gets resolved."

"Boyd, I-"

Boyd kissed her.

It happened so suddenly, Patch didn't see it coming. He just turned his head and laid his mouth on hers. The kiss was over before she had a chance to protest. By the time she realized she should have slapped him, he was already leaning forward again in that harmless pose, his forearms on his thighs, his eyes directed between the horse's ears. He slapped the reins, and the buggy picked up speed again.

Heat burned in her cheeks. "Don't ever do that again!"