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wait until Veteran's Day, when Max would throw his next party.
    "Has, uh, has anything new happened regarding the subject you brought up the other day?" he asked, regarding her closely.
    She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Max wasn't about to pounce on them. "Well, something strange did happen yesterday," she relayed in a hushed voice. "I had just gotten home from work, and Max was tossing a stranger out of the house—some guy with a thick New York accent who introduced himself as Tony. But then Max came outside and chased him off. He told me he didn't know the guy but suspected he was a terrorist."
    Bronco's expression turned quizzical. "A terrorist with a New York accent?"
    She shrugged.
    "Do you think this incident is related to Max's secret account?" Bronco asked.
    "I don't know." She breathed the words. "But I know I wasn't supposed to see the man, any more than I should have seen the money. And he looked more like a mob boss than a terrorist."
    Bronco looked past her shoulder, his jaw tightening.
    "Am I imagining all this bizarre stuff?" She searched his gaze, longing for a reassuring word.
    To her surprise, he consoled her with a touch, but his hand landed right on the spot that Max had bruised the previous day, and she flinched involuntarily.
    Bronco's eyes flashed. With lightning-quick reflexes, he whipped back her sleeve, exposing the pale bruises. His lips immediately firmed.
    "I bumped into a doorframe," she rushed to assure him.
    He seemed to grow before her eyes as he searched her face. "Please tell me he doesn't hit you," he pleaded on a furious note.
    "Oh, no. He doesn't," she rushed to assure him. "It's nothing. I promise."
    Searching her face with skeptical concern, he gently lowered her sleeve. Pleasure trickled warmly through her as his fingertips skimmed lightly down her arm. Leaning closer, he assailed her with a woodsy scent that she'd appreciated before. "Please be careful," he pleaded. "If you see this Tony guy again, call the police and then call me."
    She was about to mention that she didn't have his phone number when a gruff voice made her jump from her skin.
    "There you are."
    Max bore down on them, his approach so stealthy in spite of his breadth that even Bronco had been caught off guard. Neither of them spoke as Max stepped between them, dropped a heavy hand on Rebecca's shoulder, and said to her with his gray eyes fixed on Bronco, "I'm going to have to keep you on a shorter leash. Stealing my wife from me, Chief?"
    "Not at all, sir." Bronco's easy grin aroused Rebecca's admiration. "Just getting her advice on which card to get for my new girlfriend." He gestured to the display of romantic cards next to them.
    Max grunted. His gaze swung toward Rebecca's flushed face. "I need your opinion on two laptops," he told her in a manner that insisted his needs came first.
    "I haven't found a card for my mother yet," she protested.
    "Later." Pulling her around, he marched her back to the electronics section.
    Sneaking a backward glance, Rebecca caught Bronco looking engrossed in selecting a card. Grateful for his quick-thinking, she relived the startling pleasure of his gentle touch and wondered if his kiss would be as warm and wonderful.
    Stop it!
    She and Bronco were friends, nothing more. Despite her intent not to involve him further in her troubles, she'd confided in him again. Clearly she relied on him more than she'd realized. But, for the time being, she was still married to Max. She had no business even imagining Bronco as her lover.
    * * *
    Max listened to the salesman list the specs for both laptops but he wasn't hearing him. He'd decided that Rebecca ought to make the final decision as to which laptop he should buy. That would reinforce the lesson she still needed to learn—that it was her job to assist him in every way she could.
    "Neither one of these has the memory your old Dell had," she pointed. "Why don't you just use the home computer until your Dell is repaired?"
    And there it