Dangerous Curves

Dangerous Curves “I want you, Kasey.” He thought he heard her draw in her breath but he couldn’t hold himself back much longer. He wanted her back in his life. “Holt, I... I...” “We were engaged once, Kasey,” he said, saying the first thing that came into his mind. Not exactly brilliant. And he called himself a lawyer? Never before had a woman upset his thinking process like this one. “It’s not too late to try again.” “I don’t know, Holt. I don’t know what to think anymore.” She let out her breath, her excitement calming down, yet he sensed that her nerves were simmering below the surface. “Everything is happening so fast. Winning the contest, and now this modeling opportunity. Give me some time. Please. For right now, I just want to celebrate, go out to dinner, dance all night—” “I can think of something else to do all night...” he offered, leaving the rest of his sentence hanging in the air. Kasey’s eyes blazed at him, yet he swore he saw the heat of desire smoldering under her long, spidery eyelashes. “Holt Astin, you wouldn’t dare put your hands on me,” she teased. “Try me.”

Wings Dangerous Curves

by

Jina Bacarr

A Wings ePress, Inc. Contemporary Romance Novel

Wings ePress, Inc.

Edited by: Lorraine Stephens Copy Edited by: Leslie Hodges Senior Editor: Anita York Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens Cover Artist: Pat Casey All rights reserved Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Wings ePress Books http://www.wings-press.com Copyright © 2003 by Jina Bacarr ISBN 1-59088-205-9 Published In the United States Of America August 2003

Wings ePress Inc. P. O. Box 38 Richmond, KY 40476-0038

Dedication To my husband, Len, who gave me not only his Indian blanket but also his heart.

Dangerous Curves

Jina Bacarr

Prologue Ignoring the hot Arizona sun overhead, Holt Astin ripped off his shirt, exposing his naked, muscular chest as he ran. Damn, it was hot, but he couldn’t stop running. Through the hills along the ancient trail, down to the creek. Running. His breath came harder, but he kept going. Within seconds, his body was covered with a thin film of sweat sticking to his bronze skin, sending a familiar shiver through him. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs. It felt good to be back among these familiar surroundings but he also felt the pain, remembering the girl he loved had lost her life in these hills. It was my fault for not being here to protect her. If only I could change what happened. If only... But he couldn’t. She was dead. Still uneasy, but feeling his spirit renewed, he took comfort in remembering the little things about her that he loved, how she would run her fingers down his back, telling him he had the strong body of a warrior, how she would tease him with a glint in her eyes. Green eyes. He sighed, lingering once more in the memory he had of her leaning on his knee, her face turned up to his, her eyes twinkling with delight. She loved hearing him tell the stories of his mother’s people, the Apache, and how their spiritual beliefs gave them strength. How a runner created a 1

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living cord between the earth and the sky. Then she would rush into his arms and cover his face with kisses. Laughing, he wrapped her in his old Apache blanket, keeping her safe and warm from the outside world, as they made love under the open sky. He kept running, trying to put his past behind him, but no matter how far, how long he ran, the pain was still there. Holt wiped the sweat off his face with his white silk shirt and stared hard at the black rock mountain looming in front of him, then he looked up at the sky overhead. Those days were long past, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness as a strange hum echoed in his ears. Voices? he questioned. No, it was more like the belching of the earth grumbling, moaning. He tightened his fists, willing the sound to stop. It didn’t. The earth was calling out to him, warning him to leave. He shook his head. He refused to listen. One last time he had to run on the ancient path forged so many moons ago by his ancestors. Listen to their voices raised in cries of battle. They knew what he felt. The pain that never went away. The sleepless nights thinking about her and wondering why it had ended like it did. He could have changed things if he hadn’t listened to his father. He could have, but he didn’t. And he had never forgiven himself. He took in a long, slow, deep breath, knowing in his soul when she died that spiritual cord between the mountain and the sky existed for him no more. Slinging his shirt and jacket over his shoulder—he had lost his tie somewhere along the trail—Holt slowed to a walk, exhausted, the anger gone from him. He pushed the humming sounds out of his head. Pushed his past into that secret place in his mind, protected by the sweetness of her memory. He had never forgotten what they had together. He didn’t want to forget.

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He couldn’t leave yet. He had business at hand. Unpleasant business, but he had no choice. He took off his Gucci silver-rimmed sunglasses and let his gaze wander, looking hard at the rock formations he had explored as a boy. When he arrived at the mine earlier this morning it was so quiet he could hear the mating call of the black hawk echoing in the valley, the quick running of the whitetail deer. Holt held his breath and listened. It was quiet now. He hadn’t seen any sign of wildlife since then. It was as if the animals knew the peace of their valley was about to be shattered by man with several sticks of dynamite. Holt frowned. He couldn’t give the order to blow up the mine. Not yet. He wanted to spend a little more time back in the days of his youth. Raising his arms up to the sky, he challenged the hot sun overhead to ride with him on his imaginary wild stallion and tear through the clouds of time to relive the days of his boyhood. He ached to feel the controlled power of a bow in his hand, his fingers holding back the quiver of the arrow, his mind capturing once again that precise moment between thought and action that gripped a man’s soul with the anticipation of where his arrow would fall. Where his dreams would land. Without thinking about what he was doing, Holt rubbed his left knee. It still ached on cold days from the numerous tumbles he had taken racing up and down the rugged piles of rocks, carving tribal symbols into the worn stones and chasing after imaginary cattle rustlers. He had been wild and carefree then, so full of the warrior spirit. So proud of his Apache forefathers. His face hardened. His white father had tried to cut out that heritage, tried to destroy the symbols of the earth and the moon stitched onto the quilt of many colors that belonged to his Apache grandmother. He narrowed his eyes. The old man had failed. He respected his father, but Holt was fiercely proud of 3

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who he was and he couldn’t deny his heritage, even if he was the son of cattle rancher, Garth Astin. In those days the only escape from his father’s constant demands had been to ride into the valley at the far end of the ranch where the wild horses didn’t care who he was, where he could escape his father’s critical eye, and the boy could dream. And dream he had. Of her. The girl he loved. When he was older he brought her here. She was young, pretty, but it was her green eyes that attracted him. Honest, sincere. Intelligent. The two of them had made plans to be together, to spend the rest of their lives loving each other, but she had been taken away from him here in these hills. That memory pained him the most. He shook his head free of it and forced his mind back to the matter at hand. Looking down from the highest hill overlooking the valley, Holt could see The Laguna Ranch. His home. But not for much longer. After more than sixty-five years in his family, he was selling the working cattle ranch to a Tucson land developer to divide it up into several hundred sixty acre parcels. The thought of it left a sour taste in his mouth. Selling the ranch had been a difficult decision for him to make, but he had little choice. Beef prices were soft in the present cattle market and the entire state of Arizona had endured years of drought. Not to mention the fact that several back-to-nature groups wanted to limit the number of cattle on federal land to reduce overgrazing and keep them out of areas where endangered species lived. Holt refused to listen to the argument that he was giving in to the developers. His decision to sell was vital to his survival. He wanted to bury the past and that meant selling the ranch and everything on the property, including the old Black Hill Mine, which stood near the oasis with a fresh, running

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stream flowing into the river. Too near to his heart and the memory of her. Had it really been ten years since he’d left Denmore? He remembered the day he had received her letter, telling him she was going to marry someone else. He wrote back to her right away, asking her to wait for him. No answer. He tried calling her. Her number had been disconnected. No forwarding address. He couldn’t understand why she didn’t want to see him, why she hadn’t waited for him. Before he could find out what happened, he received word she had been killed in an automobile accident up here in the hills. He refused to believe it until he saw the official death certificate. Devastated and nearly out of his mind, he’d no choice but to accept the fact she was lost to him forever. A slow shiver went through him. A long time had passed since he stood here, the heat of the white-yellow sun overhead beating down on his naked torso, his longish, dark hair falling down low over his forehead. A long time. He had tried to go on with his life, gotten married then divorced, but he never forgot her. How could he? She was the only woman he would ever love. “We’re ready, Mr. Astin.” “Your men know what to do?” Holt asked, wiping the past from his eyes. “Sure thing. You won’t be able to tell there was ever a mine here when my boys get through blowing’er up.” Holt nodded, confident he was doing the right thing. It wasn’t only his past he was trying to bury. Sealing up this old mine shaft was something his late father’s company had put off doing for too long, especially since the mining explorations over the years had identified no significant mineral resources. He figured it was his responsibility to have the mine sealed up before the falling rocks could trap or maim more cattle. He was 5

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also painfully aware several men had lost their lives here in a cave-in a few years ago. Holt threw on his custom-made shirt, didn’t button it—a remnant of the rebel in him resisting doing so—and let the Italian silk flap against the hardness of his chest. A sudden breeze kicked up, sending a silent warning to the local creatures innocently coming to life in the valley. A change was in the air. Holt shot a last glance at the pink-gray dawn, slowly awakening from a night’s slumber. Seconds from now a whip of black smoke would slice through the flesh of that dawn and rip it apart. Then it would be over. “Everybody take cover!” came the order, loud and clear. Holt shaded his eyes with his hand as he watched the explosives expert he’d hired activate the powerful dynamite charge. The explosion was loud, bright, and unbelievable to watch. Gray color shot up into the air, filling the sky with dry splashes of smoke. The power of it ripped through his body and his ears began ringing, pain vibrating through his head as the force of the blast passed through him. His heartbeat amped faster and faster. He looked up and a black rain of crushed rock descended over him, speckling his white shirt with dots of soot. He flicked off the dust, but the acrid stench of burnt powder filled his nostrils, making him cough. Then it was quiet again, downright peaceful, ’til a pair of high-flying, zone-tailed hawks screeching overhead split the air with sound. The noisy birds jolted him out of his daydream. Suddenly he was hungrier than all get out as Angelo, the old cook at the Denmore Diner, used to say. He could sure use some strong black coffee and a double serving of the Mexican cook’s special machaca. With extra, extra onions, he remembered, smiling. He could already smell the food, the thought of it making him even hungrier. Then he would hightail it out of town. Fast. Before the memory eating at him chiseled too close 6

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to his heart and ripped open the wound that had taken too long to heal. He turned to leave when something caught his eye, making him stop. His gut tightened as he saw a blaze of sunlight strike the black rock with a sparkle. A sparkle that reminded him of a pair of flashing eyes. Her green eyes. He shook his head, a knowing smile curving over his lips. He should have known it wasn’t going to be that easy to put her memory behind him. How could he deny his feelings? Push them back into his brain? How could he? He felt out of balance, agitated. It was more than hunger eating at him. He had to devise some strategy by which he could finish his business here and escape his past. He couldn’t do it with the memory of her chipping away at his emotional armor everywhere he turned. He had to get out of here. Fast. Holt jumped into his black Porsche and sped down the mountain and through the desert and into the little town of Denmore, leaving his past behind him. But, like the warriors who fell here before him, no plans would work in the land of Cochise, where his destiny was ruled by a pair of green eyes.

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One Kasey Mitchell had a curious itch on the big toe of her right foot that wouldn’t quit. It must mean something, she thought, kicking off her dirty-white, soft-soled loafer and rubbing her toe. What it meant she could only speculate. Rain? It rained yesterday. Empty tables at the diner? She hoped not. She needed her tip money to pay the electric bill. Well, she’d find out soon enough when she got there. The dry heat this morning only added to her misery. A blast of the hot stuff hit her in the face as she put her shoe back on and raced out the door of her small trailer home. At least ninety-five degrees, she figured, and it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet. And she was late. Sylvia must be going crazy trying to handle the breakfast crowd all by herself. Kasey wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand, and before she slammed the door, she realized she’d forgotten her keys. Mumbling something about the luck of the Irish, she jammed back into the trailer and began scrambling through the dirty clothes in the laundry basket. Her keys must be here somewhere, she prayed, surprised by the number of crumpled up, food-smudged uniforms in the basket. Was it her turn already to do laundry? She’d been so busy. She was always too busy when it came to figuring out what to wear. 8

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She’d just as soon throw on stretch jeans and a T-shirt and toss fashion passion to the desert wind. Sylvia, on the other hand, insisted they wear cute little uniforms to carry out the fifties theme of the diner. Kasey had protested loudly. She was a size 14 squeezed into a size 10 uniform with the seams let out, she complained to her sister Allie. Why didn’t they make cute uniforms in her size? I’m too tired to worry about it now, she thought, letting out a sigh. She had been on her feet ‘till after two this morning, handling the cooking and the table-hopping. No wonder she had overslept. Allie was supposed to wake her when she took Logan to school. She wasn’t surprised her sister had let her sleep late. Allie had made it clear to her what she thought about the diner. “I don’t know why you keep that rat trap open,” Allie never failed to comment at least once a day. “The Denmore Diner is not a rat trap, Allie. It’s homey,” Kasey answered. “You need new plumbing, the plaster’s coming off, and the wood bark on the tables is peeling.” “Those tables are more than fifty years old,” Kasey countered. “Exactly. How are you going to attract new customers unless you modernize?” “My customers like it that way.” “Customers? You call those old vaqueros swapping tall stories and smoking smelly cigars customers? You should have had that place fumigated with a breath of fresh air a long time ago.” “Listen, Allie, the Denmore Diner has stood on the main road between here and Tucson since the reservation lands were opened up more than fifty years ago.”

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“You said it. It’ll be fifty more years before you get any new customers.” “That’s not true. When the state planning commission builds the new Loop one-oh-five highway extending west of Interstate Eighteen, it’ll pass right by our roadside restaurant.” “If they build the highway, Kasey. There’s a rumor going around town they won’t.” “They will, Allie. The Denmore Diner is practically a historical monument. Why, Sylvia says—” “Speaking of historical monuments,” Allie interrupted with a smile, “when is Sylvia retiring?” Kasey grinned, remembering her sister’s comment about her co-owner. Sylvia Price was a piece of living history. She had bought the diner thirty-two years ago from an Easterner who’d come to Arizona for his health but couldn’t take the heat. She kept threatening to retire, but Kasey knew the diner was as much a part of her as the heat was a part of the desert. And Sylvia liked it that way. Kasey would never let her down. Fumbling through the pockets of a dirty uniform, it didn’t take her long to find her keys. She grinned. Time to put the pedal to the metal. Racing out the door, she tugged at her faded, blue cotton uniform, trying to pull it down, but it was as if the material were alive, puckering up in disgusting little bulges. Starting up her car, she made a mental note to herself to let the seams out. Again. When she found the time. An itch wiggled up her spine, reminding her it wasn’t time she lacked but what Allie called style. Kasey was a size 14—a real-size woman, her sister often said. And very much the “in” fashion these days, according to Allie. She just didn’t know how to make the most of what she had. Or is it because I don’t care anymore? Kasey wondered.

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C’mon, Kasey, you do care, a little voice reminded her, but she ignored it like she always did. She’d stopped listening to that little voice years ago. Ten years ago exactly, she remembered, when she’d found herself alone and pregnant. Kasey put on more speed, racing her small compact down the empty desert road, not wanting to go there in her mind this morning. Or any other morning for that matter. Twenty-some minutes later, she pulled up in front of the Denmore Diner and screeched to a halt into a parking space. She looked out the window. Deep-blue clouds, all big and woolly, rumbled overhead, as if demanding to know why she was late. She ignored their rumbling, glancing instead at the black Porsche parked out in front, wondering who the poor lost soul was who’d wandered off the main highway and into the diner. No doubt a curious and hungry tourist, she thought, like most strangers to these parts. After driving through the parade of strip malls in nearby Tucson, the little desert town of Denmore with its Apache settlement and Hopi ruins and working cattle ranches was a pleasant surprise to tourists looking for a taste of the old southwest. And Kasey aimed to give them their money’s worth at the Denmore Diner. She jammed out of her car and into the back door of the diner, when that ole itch in her toe started up again. She would remember that later. For now, she had no idea what it meant. “Sorry I’m late, Sylvia,” Kasey said, bursting through the back door of the diner. “I overslept.” “No problem, Kasey,” Sylvia mumbled, not really listening to her. Kasey, however, felt the need to explain. “Angelo had to take off early last night to visit his sick brother,” she continued, “so I took over the cooking and—”

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“Sure, honey, I understand,” Sylvia interrupted her, nodding, but it was obvious to Kasey she was upset about something. What was wrong? she wondered. Sylvia never let anything bother her. She was always in the mood to talk about what she called “the continuing saga of Denmore and its bunch of crazies.” Herself being one of them. Sylvia loved to hear herself talk. No response was expected from her. Nervously Kasey rubbed her toe. This morning was different. “Okay, Sylvia, spill it. What’s going on?” Kasey asked, pushing the steam away from her face. A bubble of the hot stuff floated near her nose, making droplets of perspiration slide down the side of her cheeks. It was always thirty degrees hotter in the small kitchen, but for some reason it seemed much hotter today. “You won’t believe it, Kasey,” Sylvia began, her voice cracking. “I couldn’t believe it.” “Believe what?” Kasey asked, grabbing her order book. “He’s back.” “Who’s back?” Kasey asked, her curiosity piqued. “Lo siento, señora,” a young girl interrupted them. “I need help with a new customer.” Kasey spun around to see who was calling her. It was Juanita, close to tears and wringing her hands on her clean apron. She was Angelo’s granddaughter and often helped out in the kitchen. “What’s wrong, Juanita?” Kasey asked. “El señor insists that Angelo make up his special machaca. I told him Angelo isn’t here today.” “Are you sure that’s what he asked for?” Kasey said, looking from one woman to the other. Only their old-time customers asked for Mexican scrambled eggs by that name.

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“Sí, Señora Kasey, el señor asked for machaca with hot green chilies, fresh eggs and cream, and extra, extra onions,” Juanita read from her order pad. “I told him we have only lowcal dairy creamer, but he insisted Angelo would make it the way he wants it.” It took Kasey only a moment to remember where she’d heard that same order. Machaca with hot green chilies, fresh eggs and cream. And extra, extra onions. No, it couldn’t be him, she kept repeating over and over to herself. The thought unnerved her, shook her confidence. She choked back the memory like a bad taste in her mouth and took a step backward, nearly putting her hand down on the hot stove. If she had, she wouldn’t have felt it. There was only one person in the world who would request Angelo’s special machaca with extra, extra onions. Holt Astin. The man she had sworn to hate forever. Kasey’s brain went into overtime, trying to figure out what his game was, why he would come back now. It didn’t take her but a second to guess why he was back. Logan. Her heart jumped into her throat, tightening the collar around her neck. Choking her. No, she vowed, he wasn’t going to get her son, no matter what she had to do to stop him. “It’s true, Kasey,” Sylvia said, reading her thoughts. “I saw him. Holt’s back.” She put her hand on Kasey’s shoulder in a comforting manner. “Take a look for yourself, honey.” Kasey pulled in her emotions, then asked slowly, “Where is he?” “Sitting at your table,” Sylvia said, then added with a sigh, “and he’s as gorgeous as ever.” Kasey stood at the kitchen door, clenching her fists together, her fingers tightening then loosening. So Holt was back, she thought, holding down her anger, but just barely. It was without a doubt what the locals called a black day at the watering hole. 13

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Without trying, without lifting her little finger, her life was spinning about in a whole new direction. Out of all the two-bit restaurants in this town he had to walk into hers. For Mexican scrambled eggs yet, she thought. Was that nerve or what? She craned her neck, daring herself to take a peek at him. It was more than a peek. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Holt Astin was sitting at her table, his open-collar, white silk shirt setting off his rugged features, a hint of his Apache heritage sculpting his high cheekbones, straight nose, and his proud chin. He was wearing a gray, pin-striped suit, she noticed, but no amount of expensive Beverly Hills tailoring could hide his broad shoulders. “I’ll cook up his order for you, Kasey,” Sylvia offered, butting into her thoughts and looking at her grimly. She’s waiting to see if I’m going to fall apart, Kasey thought. “No, Sylvia, I’ll take care of him,” Kasey answered in a suggestive tone that promised more than scrambled eggs was on the menu. She shrugged her shoulders, pulled in her stomach, and wiped the perspiration off her face. “Refill his coffee, Juanita, and tell him his order is coming right up,” she said, grabbing two fresh eggs from the frig, then sliding her fingers over their cold, smooth shells. “Sì, Señora Kasey,” the young Mexican girl answered, grabbing the steaming coffee pot off the burner. “What are you going to do, Kasey?” Sylvia asked, her eyes teeming with questions at the sight of the raw eggs. “The man wants fresh eggs,” Kasey said easily, smiling. “And fresh eggs he’s going to get.” She was surprised when Sylvia winked at her with a twinkle in her eye. Kasey smiled back. Obviously the diner owner approved of whatever scheme was hatching in her brain. Sylvia knew all too well the story of how Holt Astin had charmed

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young Kasey Mitchell into his bed, than abandoned her when she wrote to tell him she was pregnant. Kasey blew out a big breath. Now he was going to pay. Biting her lower lip, she pulled down her uniform, tugging at the little, white scalloped collar Sylvia insisted gave her a cute, perky look. Kasey pulled it off and stuffed the collar into her pocket. It was choking her pride as well as her neck. For all her good intentions, though, her feet were glued to the floor. What was stopping her? Was she scared about what would happen when Holt recognized her? Then what would she say to him? Good to see you again, Holt. Why haven’t you written to me for ten years? She had to get up her courage. Kasey kicked up the gritty, wooden specks on the sawdust floor and scraped her toe on a nearby table leg, as if she were challenging Holt to say something to her. It was a natural action for her. She was a born fighter. Hadn’t she always been strong? She’d had to be strong when her folks died during her first year in college, when Holt left town suddenly, when Logan was born and she found herself a single parent. Kasey decided to be strong now, pushing aside the deep embarrassment she felt, knowing she wasn’t the tall, thin kid she was ten years ago when she said good-bye to Holt in the shadow of the Apache sacred site near the Black Hill Mine. That wasn’t what was bothering her. She was comfortable with who she was, proud of her size. She lacked what Allie called style, and that bugged her. She wished she had paid more attention to her appearance. Her waist-long brown hair was desert blonde now, clipped to her shoulders, her darkened roots emphasized by the pins pushing her hair away from her face. She felt her tortoise shell glasses sliding down the shiny film of perspiration on her nose. She didn’t wear glasses back then. She wore them now to help 15

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her tired eyes, though her eye doctor insisted she didn’t need them. I’ve got to face him, she thought, sucking in her pride and raising up her bustline. Or I’ll always regret it. Forcing a smile with great effort, she walked over to Holt and took a deep breath. “Angelo’s off today, so I’ll be cooking up your order—” she said slowly, carefully saying the words, biting back the urge to say his name just to hear the sound of it again. Why was she feeling like this? She hated him. “Thanks, Miss. And don’t forget the extra, extra onions,” Holt answered, glancing up at her from the papers spread out in front of him. He smiled at her in a friendly manner and Kasey almost backed down. No, she decided, his charm wasn’t going to work on her this time. She stared at him a moment longer, daring him to say something. He didn’t. Then it hit her. He doesn’t recognize me. Kasey took a step back. That bothered her more than if he had put out his hand for her to shake it. Her feminine ego had been bruised, she realized, hidden under her out-of-fashion uniform, but very much alive and kicking. That only made her more determined to go through with her scheme to make him pay for what he had done to her. And to Logan. “We aim to please at the Denmore Diner,” Kasey said, feeling the cool, hard eggshells in her hand, the heat of her palm warming them up to just the right temperature. She should turn away and head for the kitchen, but instead she continued to stare at him, which was easy for her to do. It scared her to think that she might weaken. Wouldn’t. Not on her life, she wouldn’t. And the sight of his handsome face and muscular bare chest outlined under his white silk shirt wasn’t going to tempt her. No way. She pushed aside the memories of the days when they sat in the back booth of the diner, munching on French fries and 16

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double chocolate shakes. Pushed them to the back of her mind for keeps this time, she vowed. “I’m sorry I missed seeing Angelo,” Holt said, skimming through what she perceived to be a mess of legal documents. “Where is he?” Damn, she thought, did he have to be so friendly? “Why don’t you ask me where I’ve been, Holt?” Kasey said, not answering his question. “It’s been a long time since we were kids together.” Kasey felt her fingers tighten around the warming eggs, but not tight enough to crush them. Not yet. She was beginning to feel her courage coming back. Shaky, lopsided courage, but courage nonetheless. “Do I know you?” Holt said, his mouth curling up in that lazy-S smile of his she loved so much, a warmth flooding his rich voice she hadn’t detected before this moment. Oh, he was horrible, doing this to her. Acting as if he didn’t know who she was. Kasey wouldn’t back down. The words came fast in her mind and even quicker off her tongue. “I’ve waited a long time for this day, Holt Astin, when I could tell you what I thought of you. Tell you how I cried myself to sleep every night, how I never gave up hope that you would write to me but you didn’t—” Holt looked up at her and all those lonely nights were shoved to the back of her brain. Something was wrong, she thought. He didn’t look repentant or even smug. He was looking at her, but he wasn’t seeing her. She knew that by the distant look in his gray eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, staring at her, confusion clouding his eyes. “Your order’s up,” she said quickly, too quickly, going through with her crazy scheme whether she wanted to or not. “And it’s my pleasure to serve it to you.” 17

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Kasey slid her fingers over the cold, raw eggs, exerting just enough pressure to crack the shells before raising her arm up high, then with as much ceremony as she could muster, she dumped the runny, yellow yolks into his lap. Stuttering, mumbling, sniffling like a kid, she said, “Bon appétit, Mr. Astin.” “What is going on here—” he mumbled, startled, not believing what he was seeing. He jumped up, his eyes staring at her, accusing, not understanding. Kasey said nothing. She couldn’t. She watched as Holt ripped off his sticky, wet shirt, his muscular chest visible to her eye, the pulse on the side of his neck beating rapidly. With his legs spread, his longish black hair hanging about his face, his square jaw set firm, he resembled an ancient warrior about to attack. Kasey stiffened, rooted to the spot as surely as if he had lassoed her and tied her down. She felt an awakening of the old urges heating up her insides, making her yearn for the warm, humid nights they’d spent together under the stars, lying side by side, wrapped up in an old Apache blanket. I don’t understand it, Holt, but I still have that feeling when I see you. I want to feel your lips brushing mine, your hand caressing my cheek. Holt stood silently for a long moment, staring at her, something clicking in his brain that she didn’t understand. Shock? she thought. Surprise? Or was it something else? Oh, God, he did recognize her, but he kept looking at her strangely, as if she were the last person on earth he expected to see here. She pulled back her shoulders. She didn’t want pity. Not now. Oh, it was okay when she could stand here and look at him, remembering how they were, but she never wanted him to feel sorry for her. “Kasey? Kasey?!” he cried out, his voice cracking on her name. “No... it can’t be. You’re—you’re—” 18

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Kasey didn’t wait to hear what else he had to say. She wouldn’t believe him whatever he said. Grabbing what little self-pride she had left, she raised up her chin and turned on her heel, kicking up sawdust, then strutted off toward the kitchen. She didn’t look back, but she could hear him jamming out of the diner and starting up his engine—she knew now who owned the black Porsche—burning rubber and tearing out of the lot and onto the two-lane highway, racing his engine so fast she was surprised it didn’t blow up. Kasey stood outside the diner for a long time, rubbing her sticky hands on her uniform and looking out at the desert highway. Her mind kept replaying the scene in the diner. After not seeing Holt for so long, she was stunned to learn she still had deep feelings for him. Lightning flickered overhead, forcing her to look up. Dark clouds filled the morning sky. The crack of thunder was loud in her ears, threatening to drench the desert with a wetness, a monsoonal cooling. The air smelled of rain. A sweet rain that brought back all the memories she had been trying for so long to bury in the desert of her heart. ~*~ He had just seen a ghost. A spirit chaser, according to old Apache folklore. A beautiful spirit who in a few, unbelievable moments had ripped apart the protective armor he forged around his Indian soul and pulled from within him the last remnants of a life he had long given up for lost. He couldn’t believe it. It was Kasey. And she was alive. Alive. It was her, wasn’t it? he asked himself for the hundredth time. How could that be? Kasey’s dead. You saw the death certificate, signed by the county coroner. Hadn’t he?

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He didn’t recognize her at first—her hair was shorter, blonder, her figure fuller. But her eyes were the same. Green, voluptuous pools. And that sassy attitude of hers, he remembered with a smile. She didn’t back down to anyone, but she didn’t make sense either. She rambled on about him not writing to her. What was going on? he wondered. It was her letter telling him she was going to marry someone else that sent him crazy, then crazier still when he heard she’d been killed in an automobile accident. Once he recognized her, he had tried to talk to her but she ran away. He started after her, but something told him she wouldn’t listen to anything he had to say. There was hurt in her angry words. Hurt that he didn’t understand. Couldn’t, dammit. Not when he was hurting, too. His legal mind told him something was missing in this puzzle. Something neither one of them could understand. Holt switched on the windshield wipers, but that didn’t erase the blurriness dancing before his eyes again. He had been driving for miles in the rain, the deep gutters on the side of the highway filled with dirty rainwater, the blacktop disappearing under the smoothness of his tires, the powdery puffs of red winds circling around the sky and reflecting off the face of the disappearing sun. He had to get to Tucson, then check out the county records and dig up the facts before he talked to her. He had to find out what really happened all those years ago. And nothing, not even a monsoonal thunderstorm, was going to stop him.

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Two “You did what?” Allie asked, disbelieving. “I dumped raw eggs into his lap and they splattered all over his shirt,” Kasey said. Then she added with a smirk, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to sue me.” “For what?” “Breach of breakfast, I suppose,” Kasey blurted out, not caring if her joke made sense or not. Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing. Why did Holt come back? Why now? she kept repeating in her mind, not understanding the insane twist of fate that had brought him back to her. Why, the man didn’t even recognize her. She, on the other hand, refused to give in to the unnerving emotions that shot down to her belly, making her yearn again to feel Holt’s arms around her, her body pressed against his hard chest, his sinewy muscles bulging with strength. She felt her face redden. Her not-so-subtle thoughts surprised her. She couldn’t believe she was acting like a kid again. Back then she had been all starry-eyed because the big cattle rancher’s son had noticed her, asked her out, kissed her. She tried to convince herself those days were over, but it was a losing battle. She had seen him, talked to him, and her everyday, normal world had gone topsy-turvy in thirty seconds flat. 21

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“I asked you a question, Kasey Mitchell,” Allie said, startling her. “Sorry, Allie. What did you say?” “I said, you’ve spent the past ten years waiting, hoping to hear from that man, and when you finally have the chance to talk to him, you throw rotten eggs at him.” “Wrong, Allie. We only throw fresh eggs at our customers.” “Very funny, Kasey. Fresh or rotten, he’s Logan’s father and he has a right to know it.” “He gave up that right, Allie, when he didn’t answer my letters,” Kasey stated firmly, ending the conversation where she always did. In her mind, Holt Astin had no right to the son he wouldn’t acknowledge ten years ago. Not now. Not ever. She didn’t need him. Kasey was fiercely proud of what she had accomplished as a single mom, especially going back to school and getting her degree in accounting, though it had taken her three years longer than she’d planned. But it had all been worth it. She’d saved enough money from temp work to become part-owner of the Denmore Diner. And she was raising Logan on her own. He was a typical nine-year-old and more independent than she’d expected, already showing the instincts of the great warriors of the Apache nation running through his veins. The strong profile of the Astin men would someday define his character, making her leery of coming back to Denmore and encountering someone with a keen memory. She didn’t want to have to answer questions about herself or her past. Or who Logan’s father was. Fortunately, no one had questioned her story about a quick marriage in the big city and an even quicker divorce. Answering Logan’s questions about his father were another matter. What did he look like? the little boy wanted to know. Why wasn’t he here with them? Did he like baseball? 22

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Kasey smiled. God, she loved her son. He was so much like his father, so independent, so quick to jump into something with a curiosity that often got him into trouble. She clenched her hands into fists. Nothing must change the story she’d told him about his father—that he was a busy man and he had to go far away, but he loved them. Logan must have his chance to grow up without the stigma of being the illegitimate son of Holt Astin. Kasey grabbed a chocolate bar and a stool and sat down. She didn’t want to listen to any more of her sister’s ranting. Instead she pretended to concentrate on the fashion magazine she picked up from the counter while she munched away on the sweet candy. She was cooling off in Allie’s dress shop after her run-in with Holt. Business at the diner hadn’t been so good recently, so fortunately her performance this morning was witnessed by only a couple of regulars who made no comment, especially when Sylvia invited them to have breakfast on the house. Kasey, on the other hand, was still thinking about Holt’s reaction when he realized who she was. At first she believed he had been genuinely confused. Shaking her head, she quickly tossed out that idea. No, it was just another fancy legal maneuver, she decided, like the time his father, Garth Astin, had tried to get her son away from her. But she fooled them. She had left town and temporarily changed her name. She had only come back to Denmore a couple of years ago, and by then the old man was too ill to remember who she was. She looked at the clock on the wall. Almost an hour had passed since she wandered into her sister’s dress shop. She felt calmer now. Grabbing another chocolate bar, her gaze traveled around the tiny shop at the racks of stylish blouses, skirts, pants, and skinny mannequins with perfect plaster of Paris 23

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bodies. Perky breasts that never sagged, she thought, flat bellies that never carried a child, thin thighs that never wobbled. “Bodies to die for,” Kasey told her sister, and die she would if she tried to look like that. “Forget the mannequins, Kasey. Being thin isn’t the only trend in fashion these days.” “Then what is?” “Plus-size. All the designers are doing it.” Allie looked her sister up and down and smiled. “You’re tall enough to be a plus-size model, Kasey.” Kasey found that hard to believe. “Sure, with me you get two skinny mannequins for the price of one,” she quipped, but she was curious about these plus-size fashions. Women like herself didn’t have much choice in fashion, other than pillowcase T-shirts, stretch pants, and tent dresses that looked like tents. She thumbed through the slick pages of the magazine, showing pretty models smiling and giving attitude. Once in a while, she’d stop and look at a photo spread. She was surprised to see several models her size wearing trendy clothes and sexy fashions. Allie was right. She was out of step with fashion, though she had to admit she hadn’t given much thought to her appearance until now. There seemed to be no room in her life for anything but Logan. For whatever reason, she had quietly ignored her expanding waistline after he was born. Five pounds, then ten. Afterward she’d stopped counting, though she still had a shape underneath the layers of fluffy cotton T-shirts and stretch jeans she sported on her off-time. She just didn’t know what to do with it. Kasey didn’t understand why she was so overcome by this sudden concern about her appearance, but the feeling wouldn’t go away. A feeling that had something to do with Holt Astin, 24

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though she wouldn’t admit it. Not to herself, not to Allie, not to anybody. She tried to go back to staring at the magazine and forget the incident at the diner, but Allie wanted to hear every detail over and over again. At first she thought her younger sister was just bored because the dress shop was empty today—the sudden downpour had caused blackouts in the small town as well as flooding streets—but neither Allie nor the remnants of the monsoon storm had let up over the last hour. “You could get him back, you know,” Allie said with confidence. Too quickly, Kasey said, “I don’t want him back.” Even as she said it, she wondered if it was true. There was something about the way Holt had acted in the diner that drew her to him, made her wish she hadn’t run away without giving him a chance to explain. Ignoring her sister’s remark, Allie pulled out a soft, slinky A-line dress in midnight blue jersey and held it up to Kasey. “You’ll have to dress the part, though. No more stretched-out T-shirts. You need some stylin’, girl.” “You mean like those models in the magazine, Allie?” “Why not? Like I told you, Kasey, there’s a big market out there of beautiful women who aren’t all size six.” Allie smiled warmly at her. “Women like you.” Kasey had to grin in spite of herself. Allie was a whiz at putting styles together. She also knew it helped her sister cope with her loss. Allie was widowed two years ago when her husband was killed in a mining accident. She had opened up a dress shop, Allie’s Clothes Alley, with the insurance money that she’d received. It was then she convinced Kasey to came back to Denmore to live with her. Fortunately for Kasey, the Denmore Diner 25

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needed a waitress, and it wasn’t long before she was doing the books as well as waiting on tables. If the new highway project passed by the diner as planned, she expected they would turn a profit next year. Kasey sighed. It was her nest egg, her dream for the future. For Logan. She didn’t need Holt Astin. “You talk about being a businesswoman, Kasey,” Allie went on, reading her mind, “when are you going to start dressing like one?” Kasey smiled, then shrugged. “I’m not in the fashion biz like you are, Allie.” Allie didn’t give up easily. “Are you going to your committee meeting on Tuesday?” “It’s Thursday. Why?” “Well, it wouldn’t hurt for the chairwoman of The EcoConservancy to show up wearing a dress, would it?” “What for?” “To make a statement, Kasey. Put some pizzazz into the work you’re doing for the environment and show up those crusty, old ranchers and gritty-looking cowpokes. Then I bet the local newspapers would notice you and—” “And so would Holt Astin?” Kasey cut her off abruptly. “You’re not fooling me, Allie Cochran. You think I’m still in love with Holt and a change of wardrobe is going to change my life. It’s not. I have no intention of seeing him again.” Kasey should have known Allie wouldn’t back down once she’d gotten started. “Sure, I understand, Kasey... but take the dress, okay?” Frowning again, Kasey took the blue dress from her sister and slipped it between crackling plastic, then left the shop before she could change her mind and give it back. She had to smile. What was it about Allie that could charm a desert rattler out of its hole? 26

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She pushed Holt Astin out of her mind and went back to the diner, dealt with the blackout, served coffee to local firefighters mopping up the mess in the streets, avoided Sylvia’s questions, and told Juanita they were taking machaca off the menu, starting now. She had no intention of changing her life or her wardrobe. The blue dress stayed in the trunk of her car. In plastic. Tucked away. Like the rest of her dreams. ~*~ “So, you agree with my client, Mr. Astin, the days of the Wild West cattle ranch are numbered?” “I’m not selling The Laguna Ranch because I want to destroy a way of life, Mr. Riley,” Holt commented wryly, scanning the paperwork spread out in front of him on the massive pine desk in his study. He shook his head. The price was good, but he wasn’t happy with the terms being offered. The legalese took away the rights of the Apache people who had served his family for more than half a century and gave them nothing in return for their years of loyalty. He picked up his pen. Those clauses would have to be rewritten before he signed anything. “You were saying, Mr. Astin?” the realtor pressed him. “I was saying when I heard about your client’s offer,” Holt continued, “I was under the impression he would be giving smaller ranchers the opportunity to carry on the ranching tradition.” “A tradition that has lasted past its prime, Mr. Astin.” “Look, Mr. Riley, I don’t want to see the land gobbled up and turned into suburbia.” “Then why are you selling?” the realtor asked. “I’m selling The Laguna because I have no reason to keep the ranch in operation.” 27

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Holt wanted to take back those words as soon as he said them. An unsettling emotion hit him in the gut. Suddenly he didn’t feel that way anymore. His fingers tightened around his pencil, breaking it in two. He had come back to Denmore to settle his father’s affairs and close that part of his life, but that was before he found out Kasey Mitchell didn’t die in an automobile accident. He was all the more determined to see this thing through with Kasey and find out exactly what had happened between them to make her feel about him the way she did. She must have a reason. He figured it had something to do with that phony death certificate he had seen. He suspected there was much more to the story than either of them knew. Using whatever legal maneuvers necessary, he had gotten quick access to what he needed in the Tucson county clerk’s office and discovered no death certificate for Kasey Mitchell had been formally filed. The one he had seen was a falsified document. Kasey was very much alive and divorced, according to hearsay, though he had yet to find the final dissolution papers in public records. He also discovered she was the mother of a young son. Logan. More importantly, he wanted to know why she had broken their vow to wait for him. Why she had disappeared and never tried to contact him. He wouldn’t believe she had been lying to him all the time when she said she loved him. Not Kasey. She was made of something special and he wondered if he had been too pigheaded back then to let her know that. It wouldn’t be the first time his hard shell had gotten him into trouble. Some said he had a reputation as a tough, corporate lawyer, a man who would resort to whatever tactics he needed to dig up information on the principals in a merger or to protect his client. That was the Holt Astin he showed to the 28

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world. He was a Beverly Hills lawyer and it was his job to talk his clients’ way in and out of deals, mergers, and contracts. But his colleagues knew him as an honest attorney, duty-bound to safeguard his client’s interests. He was tough with the air of the warrior about him, like the legendary Cochise who had known a great, personal loss and was capable of waging a long war to right that wrong. Holt made up his mind. He wasn’t leaving Denmore until he talked to Kasey. Did he expect her to pick up where they’d left off? No. She had her own life and a son. Yet he couldn’t go on with his life until they straightened this thing out. He gathered up the paperwork and put it into a manila folder. Looking the realtor squarely in the eye, he spoke without giving away his feelings. “I’ve looked over the deal, Mr. Riley, and I believe there could be a problem.” “Oh? What’s that?” the realtor asked, suspicion clouding his eyes. “Are you aware the environmentalists have included a growth-control measure on the ballot that would restrict your client’s ability to subdivide the property?” “You mean those crazy, grass-roots fanatics with their leopard frogs and spotted owls?” the realtor said, smirking. “If it was up to them, they’d give the land back to the Indians.” Holt stiffened, though he showed no emotion at the man’s comment. “The Apaches settled this land, Mr. Riley, and paid the price with their blood.” The real estate lawyer emitted a hollow laugh. “You fond of Apaches or something?” “You might say I am, Mr. Riley.” Holt’s gaze wandered over to the Apache artifacts hanging above the fireplace in the big, comfortable room. He 29

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remembered how his mother insisted that the ranch house never lose its original Southwestern graciousness, from the pine tree vigas beams that traversed the ceiling to the geometricallydesigned rugs on the shiny hardwood floors. He was pleased the house hadn’t changed much in decor since it was built in the early 1930s. As a young boy he used to race through the house, but he would always walk quietly in this room, awed by the massive carved wood and studded-leather furniture, copper, wrought-iron lamps, and beveled glass antique mirrors. He could feel the realtor’s eyes following him, questioning. What could a man like that understand about his people? Holt thought, looking at the Apache headdress made out of eighteen pieces of wood. Blue, yellow. Red. A lasting remnant of a proud heritage. Mr. Riley looked uncomfortable, making Holt smile. “I suppose what you’re telling me is the stuff on the wall didn’t come from garage sales,” the realtor commented. “My mother was part Apache, Mr. Riley,” Holt said, but he didn’t elaborate on his past. “However, that has nothing to do with my decision to sell The Laguna Ranch.” He paused, then added in a crisp voice, “I intend to draft another agreement, Mr. Riley, outlining the provisions for securing the tribal lands for the workers who have served my family for more than sixty years.” “As you wish, Mr. Astin,” the Phoenix realtor said easily. Too easily. Holt wasn’t fooled. The man’s forced smile indicated he wasn’t pleased at this sudden change in plans. “However, I believe you’re basing your decision on a outdated mythology of the West. Progress is coming and you can’t stop it.”

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“I don’t intend to, Mr. Riley,” Holt answered, standing up and bringing the meeting to an end. “However, I owe it to my mother’s people to protect their interests.” The realtor smirked. “I don’t know what changed your mind. Last month when we met in your office in Beverly Hills, you couldn’t wait to sell. Now you’re letting a lot of foolish sentiment get in the way of good business sense. I must warn you, Mr. Astin, cattle prices are dropping. If you wait any longer, you could find yourself selling out at a lower price.” “Let me worry about that, Mr. Riley—” “Excuse me, Mr. Holt, would you and the gentleman like more drinks?” a deep, somber voice asked, the wisdom of the centuries echoing in its timbre, as if the speaker sat upon a holy mount in a perpetual lotus position. Both men looked at the man standing in the doorway. It was Natchez, the caretaker of the ranch. Tall, straighter than an arrow, his long hair pulled back from his face and secured with a red band, silver-gray strands mixing with darker ones, Natchez was a full-blooded White Mountain Apache in search of a frame from the past where he could ride a spotted pony and wage war. He was close to seventy at least, Holt figured, though he didn’t know for sure, and he had been with the Astin family since he was a young buck and came off the reservation to break horses at the ranch. “Thank you, Natchez, but Mr. Riley is leaving.” “As you wish, Mr. Holt.” Then he was gone. Without a sound. Holt looked at the realtor’s face and he swore he could see his scalp hairs standing up, not so much in fear, but in awe of meeting a presence so well preserved from the past it was startling. It was as if they could hear the Indian’s heartbeat 31

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lingering in the room, beating as loudly as a tom-tom. Natchez had that effect on everyone. After his mother married the wealthy Easterner, most of the Apaches went back to the reservation. Except Natchez. He’d taught Holt’s mother to ride and the Apache also taught him to ride, putting Holt on a horse and teaching him how to rope when he was three. He was as close in spirit to Holt as he was to the land where he was born. Holt’s father always seemed jealous of Natchez for some reason Holt didn’t understand. He hated him and the Apache ways, going so far as to ban Natchez from teaching his son the tribal traditions. That didn’t stop Natchez. He taught the young boy how to hunt and fish, and to climb the mountain and bring back the feather of the eagle. He taught him how to be a man, something Garth Astin could never do. Natchez was like family to Holt. He had no intention of selling the ranch until he made certain that the Apache and his people were well provided for in the future. Was that the only reason? Holt asked, steeling himself for the answer that brought a whole different set of emotions within him rising to the surface. Kasey. He wanted to know what she meant when she said I’ve waited a long time for this day, and he intended to find out. There were a thousand questions he wanted to ask and when he started, he might never stop. “Are you attending the barbecue tonight over at the Three Wells Ranch, Mr. Astin?” the realtor inquired before leaving. Holt sensed the man wasn’t giving up so easily after all. “We could continue our business discussion there.” “I don’t think I can make it, Mr. Riley,” Holt said without backing down. “These contracts need going over.” 32

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The realtor commented they were barbecuing ostrich meat. A sign of things to come for the cattle industry if it didn’t get back on its feet, he added dryly, leaving Holt to wonder if he was being too hasty in delaying the sale of the ranch. That thought lingered in his mind when he sat down at his desk later after the realtor had gone and started re-writing the contract. He’d cross out something, write something else, then cross that out and start all over again. Damn, he couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t get Kasey Mitchell out of his mind. He threw the paperwork down on the desk and took a walk out into the late, steamy afternoon to clear his head. He could hear the dry wind breathing, sighing through the desert scrub, carrying the perfume of the creosote bushes on a breeze. He breathed in deeply, his emotions tuning into some inner instinct he couldn’t ignore. Somewhere in the distance he swore he could hear the war cry of his ancestors calling out to him, urging him into battle.

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Three Kasey’s trailer home stood hidden in groves of Arizona oaks, manzanita, and mesquite trees. A spacious porch sprawled out in front, giving a view of nature that was both primitive and awe-inspiring. When she wanted to be alone she often sat outside, staring at the mountains, watching the deer. Deep in thought, the mystical magic of the place worked on her subconscious, giving her strength. Tonight was different. Kasey sat outside, doubt flooding her senses. She had been so sure of where she was going, where her life was heading. She was happy. She had Logan and Allie. Sylvia and the diner. Her life felt complete. She had pushed aside any thought of having a relationship with a man, although she couldn’t deny she felt lonely at times. Then she would date for a while, kick up her heels, but she never let anyone get too close. Never. She had Logan to think about, to keep safe. So she learned to keep her own needs and desires hidden, not let anyone take advantage of her again. For years she invented excuses about how she didn’t want Logan to get hurt if her relationship with someone didn’t work out. Love was for other women, she told herself. Not her. She

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and Logan got along fine without a man, thank you, and wasn’t she finished with falling in love? That was before Holt came back, knocking her inner compass off course. Now she didn’t know in which direction she was going. On the front porch, Kasey continued to stare out into the desert. Thinking. Daydreaming. She hadn’t seen Holt since that day at the diner, not that she didn’t wonder what had happened to him, what he was doing, and did he think about her every time he saw a raw egg? She had to smile at that thought. Then she frowned. She wondered if he’d left town as quickly as he came. Like the monsoonal storm that hit, then was gone. The cool air was also gone, she noticed, wiping the perspiration from her upper lip. That explained her steamybordering-on-the-sensual mood, she convinced herself. It had been a long time since she’d felt such desire—what was the phrase Allie found in a magazine the other day?—for a taste of the fabulous life. Taste, nothing. She wanted to gobble it up like a box of heart-shaped chocolates and lick her fingers. Trying to fan her desires before they got the better of her, she tried to kick up a breeze with a folded-up flyer that proclaimed “Save the lowland leopard frog,” just one of the snappy slogans her environmental committee had come up with. Frogs weren’t on her mind at the moment. At least not the lowland type. More the prince variety, she thought, though the heat was not helping to cool her emotions. The muggy air was back in full force, tagging along with the thin veil of purpleblue twilight that hugged the desert town with a suffocating hold. She felt the same hold on her emotions. How could she have ever believed that she could let go of Holt? His touch, his kisses, the good times they’d had. It had been like a fairy tale. Oh, yes, a fairy tale, she thought, without the happy ending. 35

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Why? She still had no answer, and because she preferred to remember how things were, she didn’t look for an answer. Instead, following her whimsy, something she thought she’d lost long ago, she let herself go and daydreamed about those days and nights with him, until she could stand it no more and she had to grab onto something of his, of hers, and recapture that wonderful time in her life. A quick look through her dresser drawer had produced a small quilted bag of memories that had sat cool and untouched for years. Memories of their time together. Although her hesitancy to dig up the past was understandable, she also realized it was something she wanted to do. Needed to do. She stared at the quilted sack, pondering why she hadn’t looked through it all these years. She found out as soon as she pulled out a wisp of dried, desert flower, a few party invitations, a funny cartoon drawing, and a favorite hair ribbon. A choking emotion threatened to overtake her, push her oversensitive button to the max. Her feelings were just under the surface and had been for years. She never looked before, she thought, a pleasant warmth coming over her as she touched the dried-up flower and it crumbled between her fingers. Then, like the crack of a bullwhip, loud and jarring to her nerves, Logan burst through the screen door, banging it as always and probably keen on some new scheme to keep her hopping. “Hey, Mom, Aunt Allie says I can’t go over to Billy’s tonight,” the nine-year-old wailed. As soon as he sat down on the porch, Kasey could see he was upset. He began tossing a baseball in his glove. Kasey said, “Not today, honey.” “But, Mom, we gotta practice for the game.” “You can practice tomorrow,” she said, not wanting to explain any further. 36

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“Aw, Mom...” “Listen, Logan, I don’t want you far from the house when I’m not here.” “You’re here now, Mom. Why can’t I go to Billy’s?” “Because I won’t be here later, okay?” His eyes lit up with hope when he came up with a solution. “I’ll be back by then, Mom... promise!” “The answer’s no,” Kasey said firmly, gathering up her small stack of souvenirs and putting away the memories in the quilted bag for another day. Reality in the form of her nineyear-old son had blown through the door like cold north wind and put an end to her daydreaming. Time to head over to her committee meeting, she thought, going inside the trailer. As the chairwoman of The Eco-Conservancy, she didn’t want to be late. She had a full agenda planned for tonight’s meeting. They had a lot to discuss besides leopard frogs, what with all the recent activity of land development in the area. Kasey was convinced that the big ranchers were turning Arizona into a suburban development of ranchettes and destroying wildlife. Destroying the life that the original settlers had brought to this area. The Apaches. Kasey couldn’t see or admit to herself that by working to preserve the land, she had never really let go of Holt. It had been their dream to see the land preserved for all generations to come. In her mind, she was carrying on that dream by working hard for conservation. She was concerned that all the new housing in town would deny public access to unprotected habitat. Her committee was dedicated to convincing the State Parks and the City of Denmore to buy ranchland to preserve it from damaging or destructive use. Kasey gathered up the flyers and put them into a file. She loved the land and hated to see it destroyed. A sentimental feeling came over her and she didn’t push it away. Holt had felt 37

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that way once about the land, she reminisced. She wondered if he still did. “Please, Mom, we got a big game on Saturday,” Logan protested, following her inside and forcing her back to the present once again. “I said ‘no’ and that’s final.” Silence. Kasey smiled. That was easy. Usually Logan worked hard to get her to change her mind, whether it was switching tacos for peanut butter sandwiches in his lunchbox or dragging her to the baseball card shop. What was up? “Hey, Mom, can I have this cool-looking, black rock you dropped?” Black rock? Kasey stopped, looked back, and instinctively grabbed the quilted pouch to her breasts. Sure enough there was a hole in the bottom. She gasped loudly, not meaning to show her feelings in front of Logan, but she couldn’t help herself. A single emotion shot down to her toes then up to her trembling hands. The black stone must have fallen out of the bag and Logan picked it up to see what it was. She’d forgotten all about the small treasure Holt had given to her so many years ago until now. She breathed in deeply and let the memory come flooding back to her as clearly as if it were yesterday. A flash of another time hit her emotions hard and she remembered the nights she’d spent with Holt in the old Apache ruins, trincheras or fortifications, warm and snuggled up in blankets beside the campfire in the adobe settlement. Nights when his kisses were hot and his touch hotter. When she swore she could hear the call of the coyote up on the ridge overlooking the stream, her fears fleeing on the wind, the primitive whispers of lovers who had come before them urging them to join together in both a spiritual and physical coupling. “I love you, Kasey,” Holt had whispered in her ear, “but I have to leave you for a while—” 38

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“I’ll be waiting for you,” Kasey said, snuggling up in his arms under the starry night. Content and filled with their love for each other, they lay side by side under the stars, wrapped up in each other’s arms in an old Apache blanket, a custom Holt had been only too eager to share with Kasey. The unrelenting night wind pushed a chill through the air, but the old adobe ruins provided the lovers shelter, along with a family of ladybugs, fat and sassy, camped nearby. Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted, reminding Kasey that she didn’t belong to this land but the man she loved did. “Man needs land,” Holt told her. “It’s primal to want to own earth.” When he made her his wife, he said, she would also belong to the land. “Will you love me when I’m a big shot lawyer?” Holt asked, playing with the top of the blanket barely covering the swell of her breasts. She could hardly catch her breath when he pulled the blanket aside with a light touch and gently ran his fingers over her nipples, teasing her. She could feel his eyes glancing down at her as her chest heaved up and down, making her uncomfortable. Her breathing became heavier. She wanted him to touch her, all of her. The call of the wild was strong in the Apache and Holt proved that with his exciting lovemaking, touching her, teasing her senses with his hot breath, then kissing her until she couldn’t breathe. “I’ll love you even when you’re a stuffy old judge,” she answered softly, finding out it was hard to talk when she was feeling so stirred with passion. “Will you love me, Holt Astin, when I’m a boring old accountant?” she said in a whisper. “I’ll love you always, Kasey Mitchell, no matter what.” Moved by his words, Kasey sniffled, holding back tears. “Oh, Holt, I...” “No tears, Kasey,” Holt said with so much emotion behind his words Kasey felt there was something he wanted to tell her 39

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but couldn’t. “My mother’s people have shed too many tears for this land.” His voice drifted away, revealing a pain in him she didn’t understand until he pressed a tear-shaped black rock in her hand and began to tell her a story. A story she had almost forgotten until Logan picked up the rock and jogged her memory. “Can I have the black rock, Mom?” Logan asked, breaking into her thoughts and pulling her back to the present. “Can I, please?” “I don’t know, Logan. It’s a special Apache rock and it tells the story about something that happened a long time ago,” Kasey began, the black stone pressed tightly in her palm and bringing back intense feelings she wasn’t sure she could handle. “Tell me the story, Mom, please,” Logan begged. “One day long ago,” she began, “a party of Apache warriors was ambushed by an enemy tribe. They fought fiercely, so fiercely they spent all their arrows and were forced to take refuge at the top of a high, high mountain.” “Wow, I bet they were scared,” Logan said, sitting crosslegged and all-ears. Kasey had to smile at the look of rapture on her son’s face as she let him hold the rock. “Yes, but they were brave, the bravest warriors, and they knew they must not be captured alive,” she continued, “So they all jumped from the cliffs down, down to the rocks below.” “What happened then, Mom?” asked Logan, wide-eyed and eager for the rest of the story. “The Apache women were so heartbroken they cried tears for days and days,” Kasey said, then added, “Their tears turned into black rock.” It couldn’t be true, she knew, but the area around the ancient settlement was filled with lava-strewn rock, and the story of the 40

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Apache Tear as Holt had told it to her made an inspiring tale. Especially to a nine-year-old boy. “Is this an Apache rock, Mom?” Logan asked, giving the stone back to her. “Yes, let me show you,” she said, holding the rock up to the kitchen light. “The legend says if you can see through the rock then you, too, are very brave,” she said. The stone was obsidian or volcanic glass and looked black in her palm, but when she held it up to the light, they could see through it. “Awesome, Mom. I can see through the rock,” Logan said, standing up tall. “See, I wouldn’t be scared. I’d be brave, just like them Apache—” “Those Apache...” she corrected him. Yes, Logan, you’d be brave and strong and proud. Just like your daddy, she finished silently. “Kasey, aren’t you going to be late for your committee meeting?” Kasey turned. It was Allie, her hands wet from washing the dinner dishes. She looked at her watch. Where had the time gone? “You’re right, Allie. Gotta go, Logan,” she said quickly, hugging her little boy. She wasn’t surprised when he made a face. He’s growing up, she thought. Too quickly for her. She’d better enjoy these hugs while she could. A brief sweep of emotion made her shiver. Suddenly she was reminded of a different kind of hug. The warmth of the hugs she’d felt in Holt’s arms all those years ago. Why was she thinking about him now? she asked herself. Because she’d never really let go. Oh, she had tried, but Holt Astin was still a part of her and always had been or she would have tossed out that quilted bag of memories years ago. She just wouldn’t admit it to herself until now. It was then she

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realized she was still holding the black rock and squeezing it tightly in her hand. ~*~ The air had grown muggy and a sweat-sucking humidity had descended on him with a vengeance as he stood outside the ranch house. Holt tried to shake it off, but couldn’t. The fragments of cool, refreshing mist rising off puddles was only a memory, making him wish it would rain again. Only a zigzag of thin, white clouds hovered in the sky, diffusing into the pocket of darkness fast approaching and swallowing up the day. After saddling up a horse and taking a ride around the perimeter of the ranch, Holt returned to the main house, his heart heavy with emotion at what he’d seen. How could he have forgotten how beautiful the valleys were, the sycamorelined creek where he’d hunted as a boy, the forests that hid him from the scorching sun? Was it always like this? he wondered. Or was he seeing it for the first time? Grabbing a cup of coffee and pushing aside a gnawing hunger reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since lunch, he sat down at his desk and spread out the paperwork around him, compelling himself to complete the intricate wording in the legal instrument known as a conservation easement. He wasn’t sure it was the answer, but he hoped to convince the real estate developer buying the property it was necessary to restrict highdensity development on the ranch. If not, then he’d find another way to preserve the land, something he believed belonged to all men, not greedy businessmen who cared only about the bottom line. Frustrated, he continued scratching out sentences. The words wouldn’t come, dammit. He knew what was taking his attention away. He didn’t have to put it into words. A pair of beautiful green eyes would do. Kasey. 42

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Knowing she was alive—and obviously not too pleased to say the same about him, he thought, smiling—put an entirely different spin on his coming back to Denmore. His pulse was racing, old emotions rising to the surface, yearnings to take her in his arms overtaking him. A white-hot need to touch her, hold her, kiss her, tormented him. He wanted to find out why she was so angry with him. And dammit, why someone had gone to such lengths as to falsify her death certificate. It had to be his father, Holt determined. It was no secret Garth Astin didn’t approve of his relationship with Kasey Mitchell because she was not the spoiled daughter of a local wealthy rancher. He never dreamed that his own father would deliberately deceive him into believing she was dead. After he received her letter that she was going to marry someone else, Holt had put his law studies on hold and raced back to Denmore. He asked everyone in town, but no one knew where she’d gone. Then came the sketchy details about a car accident somewhere in the hills. When he saw the death certificate, he had no choice but to believe she was lost to him forever. He had buried his grief in the law, opening up a corporate practice in Beverly Hills and falling in with the polo crowd before marrying a popular socialite. Holt frowned. Taylor Hunter was a successful model who turned heads with her beautiful face and great figure, and she drained his bank account with her persuasive ways. The marriage didn’t last. How could it? He wanted love, not sex with a pretty smile attached. “Will you be wanting nourishment, Mr. Holt?” Holt looked up from his paperwork. It was Natchez, his silent presence a comfort even before he knew he was there. “Later, Natchez.” Holt put down his pencil and turned to his Apache friend. “Tell me, Natchez, in the days when you rode 43

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the plains, if a warrior wanted to court a woman what would he do?” The face of Natchez remained emotionless, though Holt could detect a softening of his dark eyes around the edges. Obviously he had touched the nerve of a pleasant memory not forgotten by the older man. “A young warrior would go to her tent and make his intentions known by inviting her to share his blanket.” Holt smiled wryly. “It’s been many years since I tried that with this lady. I don’t think it will work this time.” Natchez nodded, but he did not make any move to leave. Holt sensed there was something else on his mind. The Apache asked, “Are you selling The Laguna Ranch, Mr. Holt?” His voice was calm, but Holt sensed pain behind those words. “I haven’t made up my mind yet, good friend,” Holt answered honestly. “When my father died, I wanted to sell the ranch and rid myself of the memories that have pained me for so long.” “You have changed your mind,” Natchez said with assurance. It was a statement. “I see things differently now, Natchez.” “I knew you would, Mr. Holt.” “Our people, yours and mine, Natchez, are losing the beauty of the past because they are being forced to cut up the land.” Something clicked in Holt’s brain, something he couldn’t ignore. He continued, “I intend to do something about it, Natchez. Starting right now.” Holt gathered up the papers on his desk and put them into a manila folder. A piece of paper wasn’t going to solve anything, he thought. He had to make it clear to the real estate developer he wasn’t selling The Laguna unless they could come to some kind of agreement on preserving the land. He put his car keys 44

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into his pocket and with the manila folder under his arm, grabbed his coat. “Will you be home for dinner, Mr. Holt?” asked Natchez, a curious twist accenting his words. Holt shook his head and smiled. “I’m going out for a big, juicy steak,” he said, then added smiling. “An ostrich steak.” ~*~ Kasey was uneasy about standing up in front of the group of conservationists with their red, black, and white sea of protest signs and slogans that ranged from homemade to computergenerated. Protect the past or the future is lost, they read. Subdivided we fall or Preserve and conserve. Why shouldn’t she feel uneasy? she thought. The crowd seemed angrier than usual “Radical greens,” said her assistant, giving a name to the newcomers. Kasey shrugged. Another term for radical environmentalists. She also noticed a man with a camera and a pushy-looking, tight-suited young woman asking a lot of questions. A reporter, Kasey figured. What was she doing here? Something was in the air and she didn’t like the smell of it. “Good evening, everyone,” Kasey began, calling to order what was usually a minimally-attended meeting of The EcoConservancy Committee. She looked out over the crowd. Tonight the gym was filled to capacity with environmentalists or “enviros.” Where did they all come from? she wondered. Denmore was a town where big cattle ranches dotted the expanse. “First of all, I’d like to thank our new members for coming tonight,” she began. Before she could continue, someone pushed a Preserve and conserve sign in front of her face, blocking her view. Kasey felt irritation simmering in her as she pushed away the sign and continued, “Before we get started, I want to make it clear that our committee is not against cattle 45

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ranchers. Most of the ranchers here in Denmore are mom and pop spreads with fifty head of cattle or less. What we are trying to do is encourage a measure that would create a public pool for preserving precious lands when the larger ranches are sold.” “The word around town is that your committee is pushing for higher taxes,” came a high-pitched female voice from somewhere in the back. Kasey looked out into the audience to see who had asked the question. She smirked. It was that tight-suited reporter. She watched the woman strutting her stuff like a sleek young heifer. She looked so confident, Kasey thought, so sure of herself with her stylish hairdo and camera-ready outfit. She looked around and noticed how the townspeople seemed impressed by the reporter’s presence. Kasey took a step forward, wishing she felt more comfortable about how she looked. Allie was right. She did need some stylin’. “Our committee is not going after higher taxes,” Kasey said, stalling for time as she took off her glasses and slipped them into her pocket. For good, she decided. “While it is true some counties have added a quarter-cent sales tax to fund conservation efforts, The Eco-Conservancy is hoping to use the voter-approved Heritage Fund’s state lottery money to buy any development rights from ranches that are sold.” “What you’re saying is your committee is using gambling money to keep the frogs from croaking,” the female reporter said, making notes. Snickers, loud guffaws, and discreet coughing came from every corner of the room. Kasey chose to ignore the woman’s snideness, though she could feel her face turning red, as if she’d been slapped. She gritted her teeth, determined not to lose control of the room.

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“Fish gotta swim and birds gotta fly, Ma’am,” Kasey burst out with the words from the old Broadway tune before she could stop herself, “and we’re aimin’ to keep it that way so our kids won’t have to learn about God’s creatures from a video.” Loud applause. Kasey smiled big. That wasn’t so tough, she thought, standing up taller. “Are you aware, Ms. Mitchell, that ranchers have been picketing the U.S. Forest Service about new agency grazing limits?” Who said that? Kasey wondered angrily, looking out into the crowd. She spotted a tall guy in a cowboy hat, holding a protest sign. The look on his face clearly said he was the one who had asked the question. Why were the hairs on her neck standing up, giving her the feeling he was a friend of the reporter? Her instincts told her to keep an eye on him. “Yes, I’m aware of the situation,” Kasey answered quickly, “but many of you will agree, Arizona ranchers are less affected than others in the Southwest.” “Have you talked to these ranchers and asked them how they feel about these new grazing agreements?” Kasey felt the knots in her stomach tighten. It was that reporter again. Well, she would shut her up. Fast. Before she could answer, the reporter signaled her cameraman. He clicked his camera in Kasey’s direction as she opened her mouth to speak, catching her on film in an unflattering moment. She was startled, but she didn’t miss a beat. “Plans by The Eco-Conservancy are underway to offer field trips to ranches in the area to interested and informed townspeople to learn about the biologically rich area around Denmore,” she said clearly without stumbling. “I hear The Laguna Ranch is up for sale,” someone in the back called out loud and clear. Kasey strained to see who had

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asked the question, but the moving sea of protest signs got in her way. “Yes, I believe The Laguna is up for sale,” she said slowly, cautiously, afraid of what was coming next. She smiled. A weak smile. Anxious. Brief. “How about you setting up a field trip to The Laguna Ranch for the City Council?” the same person in the back asked quickly. Too quickly. Kasey knew she’d been setup. “I—I’ll have to check with the owner of the ranch...” she stammered, losing her smile and her confidence and hating herself for it. She could never approach Holt, never have anything to do with him. It would ruin all her plans. The ways of the ancient land had brought them together. Now they sat on different sides of the fence. She prayed he sold out fast and left Denmore before her heart tripped itself up, started beating quickly again, so quickly she wouldn’t be able to catch her breath. She forced her mind back to the argument at hand. “As I stated previously, I’m not certain if the Committee can arrange a trip to The Laguna—” Someone cut her off with: “Listen up, everybody, I’ve got an idea.” It was the protester wearing the cowboy hat and carrying the sign who spoke. Kasey sensed a problem. “I don’t know about the others here,” the man continued, “but I’m not waiting for any high school field trip. I say we go to the ranchers now and find out where they stand on the environment.” “Marty’s right,” agreed the second protester. “The only way those ranchers have stayed in business all these years is with big government subsidies.” “They’re ruining badly needed wildlife habitat,” someone else added. 48

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Kasey didn’t recognize any of the speakers. An unsettling feeling came over her. She didn’t like where this argument was heading. More than ninety-nine percent of the spreads in these parts were small ranches. Making trouble for these hardworking people was not the committee’s goal. She had to take control. Now. “Ladies and gentlemen, please,” she said, banging on the wooden podium. “Your points are well taken, however—” “I hear all them bigshots are barbecuing over at the Three Wells Ranch tonight,” blurted out the protester, ignoring Kasey and standing up and addressing the crowd. “What do you say we go over there and show them that the days when ranchers control the West are over!” Shouts. Agreeing, mostly, Kasey noted. She refused to panic. Above the yelling, she tried to re-establish order. “Please, everybody, settle down. Staging a rowdy protest isn’t going to help our cause—” she continued, trying to calm the crowd, but she could see it was useless. Nobody was listening to her. Her mouth dropped open when more protest signs showed up in the hands of committee members, some not certain what to do with them, she noticed, others raising them high over their heads, and everyne shouting, “Down with grazing, up with the environment!” This had to stop. Kasey got down off the stage, walked through the crowd, turning her head from side to side, trying to make them listen to her, afraid all the while she was a pawn in something she didn’t understand. The female reporter shoved a microphone in her face but the beating of her heart was so loud in her ears she couldn’t hear what the woman was saying. Was she imagining it? Or did a film camera crew suddenly appear as if waiting for their cue?

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Something was in the wind. Kasey didn’t understand it, but she sensed that not only the future of the habitat and the small ranchers was in jeopardy, but her own future as well. Tonight’s turn of events made her believe what she had suspected was true. Somebody wanted to embarrass her, even get her out of the way permanently. That didn’t surprise her. Today she had discovered someone was greasing palms down at the planning commission, putting on hold the expansion of the small highway passing by the Denmore Diner and linking it with Interstate Eighteen. For how long? she asked. Indefinitely, they told her. She had to do something to change their minds. Fast. Sylvia had been hanging on to the diner for years, just getting by and barely paying the bills. They couldn’t wait much longer for the new highway. Unless the new I-Eighteen corridor passed by the Denmore Diner, they’d never be able to attract enough business to keep it open. It was obvious someone was trying to divert the building of the superhighway to another spot for their own purposes. Talk was some of the big ranchers were behind it. Holt? she wondered. She could not allow that. Would not. She had to protect her future, as well as Logan’s. That was why she had no choice but to join the protesters.

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Four Three Wells Ranch. It had been a long time since Holt stood on the outdoor patio of the Widmore place and looked up at the tops of the three brick wells disappearing into billowing clouds of smoke. He breathed in the distinct smell of mesquite wafting through the night air. They were barbecuing prime rib with roasted garlic, he guessed, his stomach growling, his mouth watering. He was looking forward to indulging in the hearty fare of his youth. He sniffed again. He could also smell the unique aroma of ostrich steaks. It was enough to make any man hungry. And Holt was no exception. He helped himself to a big steak, the pungency of mesquite mixing with the smells of the early evening. He could detect a heady scent of cactus flower and white-hot dust settling down for the night, musty-smelling. Not to mention the perfume of pretty women drifting toward him on a breeze. He was acutely aware of the open patio behind the ranch house and the people drifting around, plates of food in one hand, drinks in the other, idle conversation filling their mouths between bites of food; but he saw more clearly what was really going on here. A show, a statement saying how important they thought they were in their own eyes.

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He bit into the ostrich meat and chewed slowly. He never did feel comfortable in this world of gentlemen cowboyranchers, though his father did. Garth Astin was a big talker like the rest of them. And talk he did to his son. Telling him what to do, where to go to school, who to date. Holt smiled. He may have won out on where to go to school, but not who to date. Especially when he met Kasey. His pulse beat faster just thinking about her. Too long he had been without the feel of a woman in his arms. Seeing her again had refueled his fire. He never would have thought he’d come back to the ranch, see Kasey again, dream of holding her in his arms, touching her, smell the scent of wildflowers clinging to her hair. His need for her was greater than ever, but he had some unfinished business here at the ranch before he could tell her that. Wasn’t that the real reason he had come here tonight? he asked himself. To find out what he could about her? The Three Wells Ranch was as good a place as any to start, he figured. The twenty-thousand acre spread in a lush valley straddling the river belonged to Frank Widmore, a confidante and old friend of his father’s. He often wondered how many questionable deals the two of them had cooked up between them. Like that Black Hill Mine operation a few years back. He’d never forget the frantic phone call he received from his father when the shifty-eyed surveyor Garth had hired without checking his background misjudged the geological shift of the rock and a massive cave-in took the lives of several men. Garth Astin had little use for human emotion. He wanted to fight the lawsuit brought against the mine by the victims’ families. Holt knew the only way to stop his father from dragging the case through the courts for years was through his wallet. He convinced his father the publicity ensuing from the case would damage his reputation and dealings with the local 52

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cattle buyers. In turn, Holt made sure the families of the men lost in the mining accident were provided with blanket life insurance policies that would save them years of agony battling the courts and Garth Astin. Wasn’t that why he became a lawyer in the first place? he questioned. To protect the innocent from the guilty? Yet how could he have failed to protect the most innocent of them all? Kasey. The familiar scents of cactus and dust all around him conjured up the memories of her that he had buried so long ago. He had spent so much time telling himself he would keep those memories in a special place in his heart and go on with his life. He had for a short while, though every woman he dated looked like Kasey in some way. Hair, eyes, a funny twitch around the mouth. After years of loneliness, he had gotten married, but it didn’t last. How could it? Kasey was still in his heart. Though he didn’t want to admit it, he had never stopped thinking about her. “I was sorry to hear about your father’s passing, Holt.” Holt looked up to see who had invaded his daydream. It was Frank Widmore, a big, ten gallon hat shading his eyes, not from the sun but from curious looks. He wasn’t a gambler who played his cards openly, Holt knew, but a man who would easily conceal a whole herd of cattle in a hidden valley rather than pay taxes on them. “Thanks, Frank,” Holt said simply, “but as you know, my father and I weren’t on good terms for years.” Widmore ignored his remark and got straight to the point. “I heard you were back, Holt. However, I didn’t think you’d sell out and put The Laguna up for sale so soon.” Holt chewed his steak slowly, swallowed it, then said, “Who said I was selling out?”

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Widmore pushed back his hat, revealing a fine film of perspiration ringing his forehead. “That’s the talk ‘round these parts.” “Talk is cheap, Frank, you oughta know that.” Widmore picked up the bait. “Then what’s on your mind, Holt? What brings you to Three Wells Ranch?” “You remember the Mitchell girl I used to date?” Holt asked. “Your father talked about nothing else in those days.” Frank leaned in, winking at him in a knowing manner. “Not exactly the match the old man wanted for you. Whatever happened to her?” Holt grinned. It was amazing to sit here and watch the cowboy-rancher pick his teeth with a toothpick. Powerful men such as Widmore were intensely proud of that power. They enjoyed flaunting it, seeing how that power could ruin lives, and terrify anyone who got in their way. “I heard she was dead,” Holt said, looking Widmore in the eye. “But she isn’t. I’ve seen her.” “Yeah?” “Yeah. C’mon, Frank, spill it. How much did my father pay you to make up that phony death certificate?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Holt,” Widmore said, chewing through his toothpick, then cracking it between his teeth. “Don’t you? My father never acted alone, Widmore, on anything he did.” A rising melee of loud voices bursting through the dinner chatter interrupted him. Annoyed, Holt turned around to check out the disturbance. He could see a crowd gathering around the spit of roasting meat, calling out slogans, pressing eagerly against the strong-arm cowboys Widmore surrounded himself with at all times. He ignored the protesters. He was more 54

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interested in grilling Widmore, finding out what he knew about his father’s actions in breaking up his relationship with Kasey. Then his eye caught sight of a curvaceous blonde breaking through the crowd. She stepped aggressively toward the guests, holding her “Subdivided we fall” sign up high and blocking her face from his view. For some reason he couldn’t explain, he didn’t look away. He was glad he didn’t when she lowered the sign. His mouth dropped open when he saw Kasey Mitchell leading the group of protesters. Her pretty face was a welcome sight and one he wouldn’t soon forget, but what the hell was she doing here? He continued to stare at her, which was pleasant enough. To his surprise, she stared back. A long moment passed between them, their eyes questioning. Have you missed me, Kasey? he wanted to say. He had been a young man when they last met, fumbling his way through clumsy buttonholes and heated whispers. She had been a young girl, urging him to discover her flowery youth but frightened of surrendering to him. She was a woman now and more beautiful than he remembered. He found her fuller figure sexier and inviting to his touch. He sensed a subtle exotic allure about her that tempted him to explore her new curves with the experienced touch of a man. He knew a greater adventure awaited him if only he could rip away the fear and distrust she felt toward him. “I see we have uninvited guests,” Widmore said, planting his ten gallon hat firmly back on his head. Next he gave orders to his men to escort the protesters off his property. “Use whatever force you need,” he finished. “Is force necessary, Widmore?” Holt asked, his eyes still on Kasey circulating through the crowd. If anybody put a hand on her, he’d punch them out. Widmore looked surprised. “Since when did the son of Garth Astin go soft?” 55

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“I’m warning you, Frank—” Widmore dug deeper, hitting a nerve in Holt when he said, “Or is it that Apache blood in you that runs scared?” Holt struggled to keep his temper. Anger surged through him, cutting down to his soul. Why, that no good, dirty land hog, his mind was thinking; but his fist moved faster and before he could stop himself, Holt took a swing at him, hitting the rancher square on the jaw and knocking him off his feet. Holt ignored the pain in his hand when he felt the skin on his knuckles split open and trickles of blood began running down his hand, his arm. In seconds Widmore’s cowboy-henchmen were on him, trying to hold him down, but he wasn’t giving up without a fight. Holt swung at them, knocking one, then two men onto the ground. In the middle of all this, he caught the sight of a camera crew filming the whole, crazy scene. “Get off my ranch, Holt,” Widmore said, rubbing his chin as he got to his feet, “before I forget I was once a friend of your father.” “That suits me fine, Widmore.” Holt moved quickly from one end of the open-air patio to the other, taking big steps, stopping only long enough to grab Kasey by the arm and take her with him. ~*~ “We’re getting out of here,” Holt said, pulling Kasey along beside him. “Leave me alone,” she said, trying to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her go. “I’m not going with you.” “Don’t argue with me, Kasey. It’s too dangerous for you to stay here.” “I’m not leaving, Holt—” “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

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Kasey felt her body go limp. She was trembling from being so close to him, pushed up against his chest, feeling him breathing hard, his muscles tightening. If she didn’t hate him so much she might fall into his arms and never let him go. “Please, Holt, I have nothing to say to you—” “You’re wrong, Kasey,” Holt shot back, “we have a lot to say to each other. All the years we’ve lost—” “Lost? How can you say that? You know damn well what happened—” “Can I get a statement from you, Mr. Astin?” a woman’s voice interrupted them. Kasey shot around, Holt gripping her arm, to see who had spoken. It was that female reporter again, looking so slim and perfect. She hated her. “Who are you?” Holt asked, looking the woman up and down with an experienced eye, a movement that didn’t go unnoticed by Kasey. The female reporter also noticed his admiring look and, thinking that gave her the advantage, she said, “Why did you take a swing at Mr. Widmore?” “I have no comment,” Holt said. It was a cold, hard statement coming from Holt and Kasey had to admit she enjoyed seeing the light go out of the reporter’s eyes. The woman, however, didn’t give up. “You two have been friends for a long time, Mr. Astin, what’s the deal?” “I said, no comment.” With that terse, final statement to the pushy reporter, Holt grabbed Kasey’s hand and pulled her down the winding driveway to where his black Porsche was parked. Above the drumming of her own heart and her shallow breathing, Kasey could actually hear the chirping sound of crickets rubbing their legs together. The sound provided suitable accompaniment to 57

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this crazy scene, she thought, trying to keep up with him. What did Holt mean when he said they had a lot to say to each other? What was there to talk about? She wasn’t going to explain herself to him. She didn’t have to tell him anything. He was the one who didn’t write. Didn’t come back. Damn him. “They told me you were dead, Kasey,” Holt said quietly, opening the passenger door for her to get into the car. She didn’t. Wouldn’t. “Dead?” she blurted out loud. “What... I mean...” She never expected to hear anything like this. What kind of legal garbage was he feeding her? Frowning, more than a little shocked, Kasey looked him clearly in the eye. He was lying. Had to be. She’d never heard such a lame story. He was a lawyer, wasn’t he? He knew how to put the legal moves on her so he could get custody of Logan. That’s what she was afraid of, terrified her down to her bones. His father had failed to get Logan, but Holt wouldn’t give up. That’s what he wanted, wasn’t it? His son? Then why did he wait so long to come back? she wondered. Why? The open look in his eyes told her what she wanted to know. Kasey raised her hand up to her face, half-covering her mouth to keep from blurting out what she now knew to be true. Somehow he had never received her letter telling him about Logan. He didn’t know he had a son. Feeling a surge of courage, a blast from the past that suddenly swept everything clean, Kasey stood up taller, feeling braver. “I don’t believe you, Holt,” she said, more relaxed but she didn’t let her guard down completely. “Who told you I was dead?”

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Holt released her, surprising her. Something was on his mind. “It’s a long story, Kasey, and not a pretty one, but I want you to know all the details. Will you come with me so we can talk.” Pause. “About us?” Kasey hesitated, sticking out her chin. She wanted to talk to him, find out what happened, but she had her pride. She wouldn’t be treated like a stray cow lost in the round-up. “I don’t know, Holt, it’s been a long time...” “Do I have to pick you up and wrap you in my blanket to get you to listen to me?” Kasey had to smile in spite of herself. How many times had they snuggled up together in a blanket when they were kids, enjoying the old Apache courting custom? Her smile faded quickly. She was dressed in old jeans and a stretched-out Tshirt. Why hadn’t she listened to Allie and put on a dress? Why don’t you listen to your heart and go with him? her mind protested loud and clear. What are you afraid of, Kasey Mitchell? Holt opened the door to his Porsche, gesturing in what she perceived to be a patient manner, something she sensed was hard for him to do. “Well, Kasey, will you come with me?” “I’d like to, Holt... but we’ve... we’ve both changed,” she said slowly, not wanting to explain further, not wanting to let anything slip about Logan being his son. Not until she felt she could trust him. “I’m asking you to listen to me, Kasey, but if you don’t think enough of what we had, then we never had anything.” That did it, Kasey thought angrily. The man was impossible. “Damn you, Holt Astin! Only you could take something beautiful and—” “Yes... beautiful,” he said, and before she could stop him— did she want to, really?—he pulled her close to him, crushing her against his chest, and kissed her on the mouth. Hard. She 59

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felt his lips part, his tongue pushing inside her mouth, hot, passionate. Wanting. She couldn’t catch her breath. A white-hot sensation shot through her, so sudden-like, so powerful, she lost her balance and her body slammed against the hood of the Porsche. She put her hands behind her and felt her nails scratching the shiny black paint on the car, leaving tracks of her pent-up passion on the sleek hood. Oh, God, she was ruining his expensive paint job. A surprised giggle escaped her. Why was she thinking about something dumb like that at a time like this? She knew the answer. She had to think of something, anything, to keep from falling under his spell again. It didn’t work. “Oh, Holt, I... I...” she stumbled. She didn’t dare tell him how she really felt, so she said instead, “Why didn’t you write to me? Why?” She put her hands around his neck and held onto him, the familiar smell of his manly aftershave awakening a desire buried in her for so long. She couldn’t believe it. He still wore the same aftershave. He was the same man she had loved then. Oh, how she wished she could believe that, had to, or she’d run out of here so fast she’d disappear in a blur on the evening desert breeze. “They told me you were dead, Kasey, even showed me the death certificate.” “Death certificate?” That shocked her out of her dream like a pail of cold ice slithering down her neck. The thought of someone going to all the trouble of making up a phony death certificate with her name on it made her shudder, reach down deep into herself and question why someone would want her dead. “Who would do such a thing?” she asked quietly. “I’m ashamed to say it, but it was my father’s doing. The bastard,” Holt said, raising his fist, and for the first time Kasey 60

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noticed his hand was bleeding, his knuckles bruised, and the skin cracked open. “You’re hurt,” she said simply, not surprised it was Garth Astin who was responsible for her phony demise. He’d been the first to say she was a “pretty young thing,” but that didn’t make up for the fact her family wasn’t part of the local ranching crowd. Her parents rented a small place on the outskirts of town, her father happy to get along with his accounting business, her mother designing clothes for a local dress shop. Her parents didn’t care whether or not Holt was rich. They liked him for himself. He was a proud young man, especially proud of his Apache heritage. Not who his father was. Holt had changed since then, she thought, running her hand over his fine silk jacket. It was a well known fact his father always expected him to take his place among the cowboyranchers of Arizona. The Laguna was one of the last of the grand-ole-boy ranches that echoed a lifestyle fast disappearing, what with big ranchers selling out to developers quicker than most folks realized. Well, rancher or not, she couldn’t let him bleed to death. She looked around for something to use as a bandage for his hand. All she had was her oversized T-shirt. “I could give you the shirt off my back,” she offered, trying to tear off the bottom part of her T-shirt. “As much as I’d like that, it won’t be necessary,” Holt assured her, “the bleeding’s stopped.” She checked his hand for any open cuts. It felt warm and strong in hers. “Is it true you’re selling The Laguna to a big real estate developer?” she asked carefully. He looked at her hard and she felt him stiffen. “This is not a simple battle of the ‘good’ conservationists versus the ‘bad’ developers, Kasey. No matter what your sign says.” He was referring to her Subdivided we fall protest sign. 61

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“I never meant that, Holt, I was... curious, that’s all.” “I never thought I’d see you hanging with a bunch of misfits like that group.” Kasey sighed. How could she tell him she had been duped into going along with the protesters tonight? That she’d been setup? She was embarrassed enough, especially with that snoopy reporter showing up and filming the whole thing. She said, “You just don’t understand what The EcoConservancy is about, Holt, what we’re trying to do for the environment.” “The Southwest is changing, Kasey. The Laguna has been destocking because of dropping cattle prices. Years of drought have doubled the price of grain and big ranches like The Laguna are under pressure from different camps to rearrange the cattle market. In the future, we’re going to have fewer family ranching operations and more corporate ones.” So, it was true, she thought. Holt was no longer a cattle rancher bonded with his land. He was a city slicker from Beverly Hills. “What happened to the Holt that I knew who lobbied against the local construction bosses to preserve the ancient Apache ruins?” she demanded, wanting to find the boy she had loved once again. “You can’t stop progress, Kasey.” “Progress? These developers want to break up the wildlife habitat and devour the only scenic areas left so they can chop up the land into a hodgepodge of what they call ranchettes. Ranchettes, my foot, Holt. They have no electricity, no fire protection, and the buyers have to drill for water.” Holt smiled, obviously impressed with her diatribe. “You’ve turned into quite a conservationist, Kasey.” Was that a smirk or an amused smile on his face? she wondered. Oh, what was the use. He was playing her along, 62

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toying with her, having a fling. She bit on her lower lip, pushing that distasteful thought out of her mind—how could she have ever thought he could care about her? She meant nothing to him. And why should she believe his story about thinking she was dead? Tell me another one, Holt, she wanted to say. I’m not the dumb school girl I was. A deep-seeded hurt pushed a different set of words out of her mouth. “I suppose you don’t care what happens to your land, do you?” Holt took a step backward. She’d wounded him, she knew it, but he was getting too close to her. She couldn’t take a chance on getting hurt again. She could see all too clearly what would happen. He’d sell The Laguna, not caring if it ended up looking like a subdivision of cardboard ranch houses, then he’d leave her and go back to his life in Beverly Hills. No, she wasn’t going to let him hurt her again or hurt Logan. “Kasey, we have to talk—” “I’m through talking, Holt.” Holt released her and she took the opportunity to slip away into the dark, turning back only to see Holt standing there, watching her. Overcome by her open wounds from the past, Kasey looked away quickly. One more minute in his arms and she would have lost all her resistance to him. She jumped into her car and raced down the winding driveway, out into the desert night, a hot breeze blowing in her face. She’d escaped from him. Her emotions were under control again. Her life was going down the road she’d planned. No more detours. For Logan’s sake, she couldn’t go back to the way things were. He deserved more than an absentee father. No telling what Holt might do if he found out Logan was his son. The Beverly Hills lawyer was used to getting his way. Didn’t his assertive display prove that? And she almost fell for his

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line. She didn’t believe his phony story about thinking she was dead for one minute. Not one second. Kasey pushed her foot down on the gas pedal, putting on speed. She wanted to put as much distance between them as possible. She knew that to Holt Astin she was as vulnerable now as she had been when she was a shy schoolgirl. No matter how fast she could run from him, regardless of the toughness of her resistance, no defense would be adequate and no hiding place safe from him. And it scared the hell out of her.

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Five “Kasey, come here, quick!” Allie called out when Kasey jammed through the front door of the trailer, though she was careful not to bang the screen door and wake up Logan. What was wrong now? she wondered. She was tired and didn’t need any more problems. “What is it, Allie?” she said, trying not to sound irritated. “You won’t believe what’s on the local news.” Kasey didn’t want to know. It was late. Very late. She had stopped by the diner to make sure everything was running smoothly, give the night crew a pep talk about what a good job they were doing. And to look at the day’s receipts. Not good, she thought. They were down twenty percent. Damn, they needed that highway expansion to attract new business. She blew out a breath, not paying much attention to what her sister was saying. She was in no mood to sit down in front of the television and hear about why the local riding society couldn’t attract new members or the library needed computers. “I’m really tired, Allie,” she began, kicking off her loafers and heading for her bedroom. “The meeting went overtime.” Way over, she finished silently, throwing down her protest sign. In protest. 65

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“Sylvia was right, Kasey, he is gorgeous!” Allie said, her eyes glued to the television, her hand clasping the remote control over her heart like she’d never let it go. Frowning, Kasey stopped. “What are you talking about?” “Holt Astin, my dear sister. There he is, knocking down that pompous Frank Widmore. Bam! Right on the chin. What a fighter. No wonder you’ve been pining for him for ten years.” “I have not been pining for him,” Kasey answered in a heated and hopefully convincing voice, or so she thought, but she leaned in anyway, sneaking a peek at the television. Her pulse did cartwheels as she plopped down into a chair. She couldn’t believe it, but there was the footage of Holt confronting the owner of the Three Wells Ranch and the reporter explaining in a voice-over how rowdy protesters from the local preservationist committee had stormed the barbecue and caused a near riot. It was not clear, the reporter said, what part Holt Astin had played in the scenario. Allie was right, Kasey thought, smiling to herself. He is gorgeous. “You two have been friends for a long time,” the female reporter asked Holt on the tape, “what’s the deal?” “No comment,” Holt answered and before Kasey could shut her open mouth, she saw the camera pan over to her. She was looking straight into the camera like a scared rabbit about to be skinned on live TV. She couldn’t believe it. Was that really her? “Omigod, I look awful!” Kasey blurted out, not believing the woman in the baggy T-shirt and old jeans was her. Couldn’t. It was enough to make her feel worse than she already did. 66

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“I wish you had worn the blue dress, Kasey,” Allie said, frustration creeping into her voice. “The color flatters your eyes.” “Is that all you can think about, Allie? A dress? Look at me. I look like a backwoods farmhand!” Kasey was close to tears. It was as if she stepped outside herself, faced what she really looked like when she saw herself on the TV screen. And every little excuse, every little trick she tried, from her baggy clothes to the cheap hair color she did herself, had just backfired in her face like hot air. Allie put her arm around her, pushing Kasey’s hair away from her eyes. “Oh, Kasey, it hurts me to see you so unhappy,” she said, stroking her hair. Allie was always so understanding, so assured, Kasey felt like an idiot, breaking down like this. “I’m not unhappy, Allie,” Kasey wailed, “I’m miserable!” “You’ve got to stop riding yourself about your appearance, Kasey. You’re a beautiful woman.” Kasey sniffled, then blew her nose. “Thanks, Allie,” she said, calming down. Allie would think she was beautiful no matter what she looked like, but ever since Logan was born, she’d been on a yo-yo diet with more string than a fleet of kites. Up, down, then up again. She felt like a credit card balance out of control. “I know what you need,” Allie said, turning off the television and going through the stack of paperwork she’d brought home from her shop. Inventory lists, purchase orders, catalogs. “A new me would be nice,” Kasey commented dryly. “What you need, Kasey Mitchell, is a makeover.” “Denmore isn’t exactly the makeover capital of the world,” Kasey said, trying to keep her sense of humor. 67

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“I’ve got an idea, Kasey, and it might just work.” Kasey looked at her sister with skepticism. “What kind of idea, Allie?” “A PR firm sent a brochure to my shop about a model search contest that M’Lady Plus magazine is sponsoring,” Allie said, finding what she was looking for at that moment. She skimmed the fine print quickly. “They’re looking for size fourteen and up.” Kasey still wasn’t convinced. “I can’t enter a contest, Allie. I’ve got the diner and Logan and—” Allie interrupted her with, “It says here they fly the winners to Los Angeles where they get a makeover, a photo shoot, and a new wardrobe. All you need to enter is a recent photo.” “Forget it, Allie, it won’t work,” Kasey said, shaking her head as she got up from the couch and went to the refrigerator, looking for what she didn’t know, though she absentmindedly grabbed a piece of cheese and a glass of milk, but it was as good a place as any to get away from a conversation going nowhere. She didn’t want to admit she needed more than a makeover to deal with the present situation. “It’s perfect. I’ll pick up some film tomorrow on my way home from the shop,” Allie said, “so I can take some photos of you—” “No, Allie.” She had to convince her sister that under no circumstances did she have time to enter any contest. She was at a disadvantage, though. Once Allie got something into her mind, she didn’t let up. That’s how she’d gotten her to come back to Denmore. Now she regretted it. “He kissed you, didn’t he?” Allie asked. Kasey glared at her sister. “How did you know?” “I know that look. Sweet, dreamy-eyed, all glowy-like.” 68

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“So what if Holt kissed me?” Kasey said, shrugging it off. “It means nothing.” Allie smiled, biting on her lower lip. “You’ll have him eating out of your hand once we get rid of those awful jeans and that ugly T-shirt—” “No!” This time Kasey raised her voice so loud the whole trailer shook, and sure enough a few moments later she heard a curious voice call out, “Mom, are you home?” Kasey looked at her sister as if to say, See, what’d I tell you? Then she went to say goodnight to her little boy, because this conversation was definitely finished. She let out a big sigh. If only her feelings for Holt Astin would go away as easily. ~*~ Nine a.m. The little town of Denmore had been up for hours but no one was doing much work today. The whole town was abuzz with the headlines in the local newspaper: Gentlemen Ranchers Duke It Out. And right next to the photo of Holt Astin taking a swing at Frank Widmore was a photo of Kasey, the ‘mystery woman,’ according to the story in the paper, later identified as the owner of the Denmore Diner. Oh, it was horrible. And wonderful, Kasey thought. Business was up at the diner by fifty percent. “Who needs a superhighway to bring in business?” Sylvia said, smiling as she breezed by Kasey, balancing a tray full of breakfast specials on her shoulder.

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“I’m sorry the reporter got it mixed up, Sylvia, about me being the owner of the diner,” Kasey said, making a fresh pot of coffee. She wiped a thick film of perspiration off her face. She could barely keep up with the demand, both at the counter and the tables. “Are you kidding?” Sylvia quipped, her smile as big as the morning’s receipts. “Listen, honey, making you a partner was the best move I ever made.” She winked at her. Kasey smiled. She was happy to see Sylvia in such good spirits, though her own feelings were on a roller coaster that wouldn’t quit. Her eyes scanned the morning newspaper spread out on the table. She hated the photo of herself plastered all over the front page, absolutely hated it, but she was excited to see how busy they were, though it pained her to think it was because of bad publicity and not through their own efforts. It was a crazy world, she thought. Yesterday they couldn’t give away their breakfast special of two eggs, sausage, and two biscuits at a buck ninety-nine. Today they raised the price to two ninety-nine and they sold out. She had to send Juanita to the market for more eggs. Eggs. A queasy feeling hit her in the pit of her stomach and she experienced a sour taste in her mouth. Holt. She had halfexpected him to breeze into the diner this morning, several newspapers tucked under his arm, and order breakfast. This time it would be on the house, she promised, and not in his lap. But he hadn’t shown up. Well, she didn’t care. It was a lie, of course. She had other things to think about anyway. Like how to handle all the questions thrown at her by curious customers. Did she really know Holt Astin? Who started the fight between the two men? 70

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What was this Eco-Conservancy Committee the newspapers talked about? Kasey merely smiled and quoted, “All I know is what I read in the papers.” Allie dropped in later in the morning, all smiles. “It’s a great photo of you, Kasey,” she said, dropping a stack of newspapers on the counter. “What’d you do—buy up every newspaper in town?” Kasey asked, taking a coffee break in the kitchen diner. Black coffee only. Doughnuts weren’t on her mind today. “It’s not everyday I have a famous sister to brag about,” Allie said, helping herself to a cup of coffee. “Don’t you mean ‘infamous?’ “ “You’re a celebrity, Kasey. I’ve got your picture hanging in my window with the caption, ‘Kasey Mitchell Shops Here.’ “ Kasey smiled. “Isn’t that deceptive advertising?” Allie shook her head. “Don’t be silly. You’re good PR for the shop.” Kasey looked at the stack of newspapers. “What are you going to do with all those newspapers? Post my face on every telephone pole between the garage sale and for rent signs?” Allie smiled big, taking a sip of coffee before answering. “You’ll see.” Before Kasey could open her mouth to ask her what she meant, Sylvia burst through the double doors, throwing up her hands in a panic. “Can you take tables four and five, Kasey? A bunch of cowboys just blew in from the range and they’re hungrier than a herd of buffalo on a stampede.”

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Cowboys? Kasey’s pulse raced faster than grease on a hot griddle as she grabbed her order book. Were they from The Laguna Ranch? Was Holt among them? She smoothed back her hair, vowing to make an appointment at the hairdresser’s to get her roots touched up, and raced back to the dining room, waving a hasty goodbye to her sister. She saw Allie whispering to Sylvia, but she didn’t think much about it. Her mind was on the cowboys out front. She prayed she’d find Holt sitting at her table. She stopped short when she went through the swinging doors. Holt wasn’t there. She felt her smile drop onto the floor but she picked it up, pasted it back on, and sashayed over to the tables to take the order. She wouldn’t think about him for the rest of the day. She mentally kicked herself. Oh, sure, she wouldn’t. ~*~ The black Porsche raced along the desert road, avoiding the tangled, glistening cage-like branches blowing across the highway, pulled out from their roots in the local washes by the heavy rains. Holt took special notice of the finger-like branches sinking their roots into the cracks on the highway. They were trying to grab him, hold him there. Keep him close to the land. He gripped his leather-covered steering wheel tighter. Why was he resisting? Why couldn’t he pick up his life with Kasey where he left off? What the hell was stopping him from carrying her away to his wickiup like his Apache ancestors would have done and make love to her for endless days, heated nights? She’d been deeply hurt by what happened ten years ago, he knew. He could see it in her eyes. A deep pain resided in the 72

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emerald green, and she’d locked him out. How could he get back into her heart? He took his eyes off the road to glance at the front page of the newspaper laying on the seat next to him. Kasey’s picture glared back at him, her big eyes wide with questions and a panic on her face that seemed to push her deeper and deeper back into a shell. Last night he had come so close to reaching her, but he’d failed miserably. If only he had kept his wild temper under control and not taken a swing at that scum Widmore, the two of them wouldn’t be plastered all over the newspapers this morning. He ached to hold her again, tell her he wouldn’t let them hurt her. Somehow she had gotten involved with an environmental group that had more than its share of local militants, though he found that strange for conservationists, who were usually more the birdwatching and bug-saving type. Which made him wonder exactly who was behind last night’s obviously planned scenario. He had never trusted Frank Widmore, who more often than not had his own agenda in any deal he was involved in. It didn’t make sense that a bunch of looney tunes protesters would get onto his land without him knowing it. He pressed his foot down hard on the gas pedal. That was one mystery he’d have to wait to solve. He had to get to Phoenix before noon. A frantic call from the title insurance company had awakened him first thing this morning before any self-respecting rooster would let out a grunt, let alone a crow. There was a mechanic’s lien on The Laguna. Not the ranch itself, they told him, but on mining equipment that his father allegedly ordered but never bothered to send payment. That sounded like the old man, he thought. The mine had never 73

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produced any significant minerals, so he wouldn’t be surprised if Garth Astin ignored payment on what he considered a bad investment in the first place. Holt wiped the sweat off his face. It also meant until the property title was cleared he couldn’t go ahead with his plans. Plans? What plans? He was having doubts about selling the ranch. He had to admit Kasey was a big part of what had changed his mind. Because of her, he was having doubts about giving up his land, his heritage. He had been living the life of a big, corporate attorney with all its perks—the Porsche, the Century City penthouse, the Beverly Hills parties, the country club membership. A relationship wasn’t one of them. He wanted a woman who would understand his shamanistic need to connect with the land. A man could get pretty lonely between clanking glasses of champagne and corporate takeovers. Seeing Kasey again brought it home to him. Now it was too late. He may not have any choice but to sell The Laguna. His father had debts. Big debts. He’d never suspected the enormity of his father’s losses until he started going over the books. Bad business investments, gambling losses, women. Selling the ranch to a developer who would pay top dollar was the only way out, he decided. He saw the Tucson airport up ahead. He hadn’t been able to get a seat on the milkrun commuter flight out of the tiny Denmore airport this morning, so he had to drive to Tucson. He’d miss this flight if he didn’t hurry. A rush of tumbleweed blew across the road, veering him off course. He frowned. His ex-wife, Taylor, had also thrown him off course. Sleek as a racehorse, cunning as a she-wolf, and empty as a dry desert well. Taylor was a beautiful woman, and in her own way she 74

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loved him. He wanted more than that. He wanted real love. He wanted Kasey back. He had only a few minutes before his flight for Phoenix took off to try his call again. He picked up his cell phone and dialed the now familiar number to the Denmore Diner. The phone rang four, five times before someone picked it up and answered it. “Denmore Diner, can you hold, please?” asked a pleasant feminine voice with a Spanish accent. He heard a click before he could say a word and a loud commercial from a local radio station filled his ear. He was getting impatient. It had been the same thing all morning. He’d been trying to call Kasey for the past hour, but he couldn’t get past the hold button. He smiled. He could imagine the commotion at the restaurant with her sudden-found popularity. Every reporter in town must be calling her for an interview. And men callers, too, he thought, gripping the steering wheel harder. That was a strange thing for him to think about at this time. Stranger yet was the question in his mind about the man she had married. And divorced. What kind of a man would run out on a woman with a child? he questioned. What kind of— “Denmore Diner...” he heard again. “I want to speak with—” Holt began. “Kasey Mitchell is not giving out interviews.” “Who is this?” Holt demanded, making a sharp turn into the airport parking lot. “Juanita...” came the hesitant reply. “This is Holt Astin, Juanita. I want to speak to Kasey now.” “I’m sorry, Señor Astin, but she won’t take calls from anyone. 75

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Holt pulled into a parking space, then looked at his watch. Ten minutes to make his flight. “Tell her I’ll be back on Saturday and I’ll stop by the diner—” “Lo siento, Señor Holt,” Juanita interrupted nervously, “but she’s not here on Saturdays. She goes to her son’s Little League games.” Click. Still cradling the phone to his ear, Holt turned off his engine. Obviously the young woman had hung up. A dead silence was all he could hear, confirming his suspicions. He put the cell phone in his breast pocket, grabbed his briefcase and headed for the first class boarding area. Little League, huh? It had been a long time since he’d heard the crack of a bat singing in his ears. He smiled. He’d be back in Denmore in a few days. With any luck, this time he’d hit a home run. ~*~ “Who was that on the phone, Juanita?” Kasey asked, skidding by the young Mexican woman as she hung up the phone, a fresh order of hotcakes and sausage on her tray, warming up her hand. “Another reporter?” “Sì, Señora Kasey,” Juanita answered uneasily, not meeting her gaze. Kasey shook her head. It was unfair of her to make the young girl take all the phone calls from overly curious reporters. She could see how upset the girl was. Juanita wasn’t looking at her. Her head was bowed low, eyes closed. As if she were praying. “I’ll take the calls for the rest of the day, Juanita,” she said, trying to smile. It wasn’t easy. She’d been racing around the diner since six a.m., serving up so many orders she couldn’t tell the difference between scrambled eggs and runny omelets, 76

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repeating the story about how she got into the papers over and over again, each time reliving those moments in Holt’s arms, the sting of his kiss, the deliciousness of his touch. No wonder she felt like she was overheating inside every time she repeated the story. She had to get her mind off Holt Astin. Kasey caught the splash of a golden-yellow sun slicing through the front window of the diner. It would be hotter than a pancake griddle in here soon, she thought. She served her order, then before she could draw the blinds down over the front window, the flash of a black sports car pulling up to the curb outside caught her attention. A sudden skipping of her heart pulsed through her. The lunch crowd was starting to drift in. It was then she realized it wasn’t the lunch crowd she was looking at but the black sports car. She let out a disappointed sigh. It wasn’t a Porsche. She closed the blinds with a loud snap, the worn aluminum pieces crumbling up and sitting on top of each together. She shook her head in frustration. All morning she had been hoping Holt would stop by the diner. She envisioned the two of them sitting in the back booth, holding hands and laughing over their photo in the papers. Regardless of her doubts, she knew he had loved her once. A nagging question played with her mind. Could he find a place for her in his heart again? The phone rang. Without hesitation, she picked it up, “Denmore Diner... No, Kasey Mitchell is not here!” She slammed down the phone. And went back to work. She hated phones.

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Six “Str-r-r-ike one!” “What do you mean, strike?” Kasey yelled. “That was a ball.” “Sit down, lady,” the umpire yelled back, turning around and giving her a dirty look. Fuming inside, Kasey pulled down her baseball cap, shading her eyes. The nerve of that guy, she thought, sitting back down on the bottom row of the wooden bleachers. What was wrong with him? Logan was trying his best, his very best, to hit the ball. She could see the determined look on her son’s face as he squinted hard and gripped his bat tightly, ready for the next pitch. The poor kid was sweating like a sausage hip-hopping on a hot pan. Looking up at the white-yellow sun beating down on her, shining overhead like a giant blister in the smooth, blue sky, Kasey wiped prickly beads of perspiration off her face. Whew, it was hot out here. At least a hundred degrees, she figured. But not even a heat wave could keep the crowd of parents from cheering on their favorite player, yelling like wild coyotes when their kid made contact with the ball. Especially Kasey. She had to keep her cool, though, for her son’s sake.

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Not an easy thing to do. Kasey was getting frustrated, watching her kid getting knocked around by these people. What was going on? This was Logan’s third time up at bat and he was losing his confidence. First he’d popped out into the field, next he struck out. Now it was the bottom of the seventh and his team was behind three runs. Kasey fanned herself furiously, trying to keep her mouth shut, trying to keep from yelling out, but what parent could keep quiet when they saw their kid’s selfesteem going downhill faster than a runaway roller coaster? “Str-r-rike two!” came the call. “Get a new umpire!” Kasey shouted toward home plate as the coach called a time-out to confer with the young pitcher on the mound. She couldn’t stop herself that time. “Is that your boy up at bat?” she heard someone behind her ask curiously. “Yeah, Logan’s the best,” she answered, standing up and waving her arms about, cheering him on. Then she stopped, her hands dropping quickly to her sides. A funny feeling flipflopped in her stomach. She felt Holt’s presence even before he sat down near her, some primitive female instinct alerting her. She breathed in and out slowly, peeking at him from out of the corner of her eye. He looked even more the warrior today, standing in the hot sun, wearing a tight T-shirt that revealed his muscular chest underneath the thin material. She didn’t move— how could she?—but acted more like a mother mountain lion calmly assessing the presence of humans close to her cubs. She wouldn’t pounce, wouldn’t strike unless she sensed imminent danger to her offspring. “That kid’s got a good swing,” Holt said, meaning it. “Yeah, he’s a terrific ballplayer. Really good,” Kasey said, repeating herself. “Great ballplayer.” Holt was smiling at her, as if he were evaluating a case. That unnerved her. She clamped her mouth shut. Damn, what was 79

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wrong with her? Why was she acting guilty? The man was a lawyer. He knew when a witness was trying to hide something. She pushed her sunglasses up on her nose. Thank God he couldn’t see her guilt-smudged eyes, though her lower lip was quivering. What did she have to hide? Holt had never acknowledged the boy, never asked about him. So what was the big deal? “Sorry I missed you at the diner the other day, Kasey,” Holt said by way of an explanation. “I tried calling you before I left for Phoenix.” Kasey refused to look at him. He tried calling her? That was all he had to say about that night at the Three Wells Ranch? The night he tried to kidnap her in his black Porsche? She looked up at his smiling face and it made her sweat. He would have made love to her that night if she let him, she was sure of it. “I suppose you think you can pick up where you left off,” she said hotly. “I know it’s been a long time—” “It’s no go, Holt. We live on different sides of the barbed wire fence. And that’s the way it has to be.” She had to put him out of her mind before any buried passion she felt for him could crack through her anger. She shivered in spite of the heat. She had come so close to losing control just now, so close to forgetting he was a rancher and she was just a girl from Hogan Heights. Why couldn’t he leave her alone? Leave Logan alone? “Listen, Kasey,” Holt began, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve been living with the memory of you for the past ten years, thinking you were dead, trying to get on with my life, but never forgetting what we had together. Why don’t you give me a break so we can figure out how we can pick up the pieces?”

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Kasey kept her eyes on her little boy shuffling about nervously at home plate and practicing his swing. She wouldn’t look at Holt. Wouldn’t be swayed by the sight of his tight Tshirt outlining the sinewy muscles in his chest, his arms. She was afraid of her own emotions. Afraid of falling in love with him all over again. Holt waited for her answer. She said nothing. He continued to keep silent, though his mere presence spoke to her in a million different ways. Vibrations blitzing the humid air made her shake all over. In that same instant, a slight breeze picked up. It didn’t blow any more dust than the players did when they ran around the bases, but the air felt different. Stifling. As if something was stuck in her throat. Kasey knew Holt was still waiting for her to say something. She wanted to reach out to him, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t take the chance of giving herself away. She had too much to lose. She had Logan. Kasey looked back over at home plate and saw her son knock the dirt off his spike shoes with his bat, getting ready for the next pitch. No, she had to stay strong, for Logan’s sake. “Go for it, Logan!” she called out, cupping her hands to her mouth and keeping her eye on the pitcher winding up for the pitch. “Knock it out of the ballpark!” Her words caught in her throat as Logan swung at the ball and— “Strrrr—ike three! You’re ou—out!” “No, he can’t be!” she cried out, disbelief hitting her in the gut. He couldn’t be out. Kasey almost felt she had gone stone deaf. Silence hit her from all sides, as if her life moved in slomo when she saw her little boy hang his head in shame and head for the bench. She couldn’t hear herself breathe, then she realized she was so stunned by her son’s disappointment in himself she was holding her breath. She jumped back into the noise and speed of the baseball game and her first instinct, her only instinct, was to get to her 81

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son. She had to go to him, tell him it was okay. Tell him he’d done his best. She felt a hand on her arm. She turned. It was Holt. “Leave him alone, Kasey.” She started, as she would have at any sound at that moment, but Holt’s voice paralyzed her. It’s just a baseball game, she kept telling herself, don’t let him see how upset you are. Keep cool. Keep cool. She couldn’t. Not when her son’s feelings were at stake. “He needs me, Holt.” “He needs to figure this out for himself, Kasey.” “I’ve got to go to him. He’s just a kid,” she said softly, touching his arm before she could stop herself. Did she feel him stiffen at her touch? “If you go over there now, Kasey, you’ll deny him that chance to be his own man.” Kasey looked at him. Hard. She started to say something, then she saw something in his eyes that compelled her to go along with what he said. “Okay, if you think that’s the right thing to do,” she said reluctantly. “I do, but I understand how you feel. I’ll go over and talk to him,” Holt said, not waiting for her approval. Would she have given it? She could see Logan grab a bottled water out of the cooler, then look up at the tall man approaching him, curiosity eating at him. She held back. What was going on in her head? Why didn’t she stop Holt? She wanted to run over to them, stake her claim on her son. That was crazy, she thought. What was she trying to do? Protect him from his own father? She didn’t move. She hoped she wouldn’t regret it later. ~*~ 82

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“Your mom says you’re a good baseball player,” Holt said. “Aw, moms are supposed to say stuff like that... I suck.” “I think we can fix that, Logan.” Logan’s face turned toward his, eyes big and wide. “You can? You’re not fooling me?” Holt smiled. “Here’s what you do. First, choke up on your bat and stay close to the plate.” Logan grunted a few times as he went through the motions. “You mean like this?” “Yeah, that’s right. Keep your eye on the ball and don’t swing at everything you see.” Holt grinned. He continued chatting with the kid, showing him how to swing at the ball, then talking stats with him about famous players. He gave Logan a few more pointers, watching the kid’s face beaming, his hands animated as he talked about how much he loved baseball. Holt was surprised how easily he connected with the boy, considering he didn’t have much experience with kids. Taylor hadn’t wanted children. It would ruin her figure, she told him. She seemed to think he was only interested in her slim body. That wasn’t true. He wouldn’t have minded if she had gotten pregnant and put on a few pounds. He liked kids, wanted some of his own someday. He glanced over at Kasey in the bleachers. She had never looked more beautiful to him, her blonde hair sparkling in the sun like a yellow desert rose. He could see how worried she was about her kid. It must be hard for a woman to raise a son alone. Where the hell was the boy’s father? Holt felt anger tighten his chest. Didn’t the jerk know what a great kid he had? He wanted to bring up the subject when he went back to the bleachers, but he didn’t. Instead, he said, “I think he’ll be okay now, Kasey.” “Thanks a lot, Holt.”

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Kasey smiled at him and he returned her smile, a deep feeling of satisfaction settling in his gut. He had enjoyed talking to the kid and it paid off. By the time it was Logan’s turn at bat again, he could see he had a brand new smile on his face. And renewed confidence, Holt thought. That would take him past this game, no matter what happened. Holt looked up at the scoreboard. It was the bottom of the ninth. Logan’s team was behind one run. Two men on. Logan let the first pitch go by him. Kasey said, “He’s scared to swing at the ball, Holt.” “He’s not scared,” Holt assured her. “He’s concentrating hard.” The next pitch came low over the plate. Holt held his breath. Could the kid do it? Crack! He had to shade his eyes from the sun high in the sky as the ball went flying over the field and Logan began running around the bases as fast as his legs could carry him. Holt smiled. Logan hit a double. Enough to drive the two men on base home and win the game. “He did it!” Kasey yelled, jumping up and down and grabbing onto his sleeve. “He did it, Holt!” Holt didn’t say a word. He was enjoying feeling the pressure of her body pressed up against his, the warmth of her joy hugging him with a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time. Finally she broke away, leaving him wanting more. Holt let out a deep breath. There was only one thing he didn’t like about this game, he thought, watching her hug her son, wishing he could hold her again. They didn’t have instant replay. ~*~ “What did you say to Logan out there on the field, Holt?” Kasey asked. They were sitting in a booth at the back of the 84

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Denmore Diner, enjoying a post-game pizza with the rest of the team. The boys were busy cranking up the video games and putting away the pizza while the adults congratulated each other on winning the game. “The usual things you say to a batter before they go up to the plate. That’s all.” “I don’t believe that, Holt. Not the way he swung at the ball.” Holt thought a moment. “Well, there was something else, Kasey. Something he lost along the way.” “What was that?” Kasey asked. “Belief in himself.” Holt paused. Kasey knew he had something on his mind but she wasn’t prepared when he said, “I wish you would believe in me, Kasey.” “Holt, I—” Kasey let her answer hang. Hang there, dammit, she thought, not wanting to pluck it out of the air and make a decision yet. She needed time to let his words sink in. Decide how she was going to handle this new situation. How she was going to explain to Logan who this man was. Never talk to strangers, she always told him. How could she explain that Holt was no stranger? Kasey sighed. She looked at Logan, then at Holt. It seemed so natural, the three of them, sitting together. Sylvia kept her usual comments to herself when she zoomed by with pitchers of cola for the team, though she could barely keep her eyeballs from popping out and landing on top of the pizzas when she saw Kasey and Holt sitting together. What’s this all about? her lips mouthed the words. Kasey smiled, but said nothing. “I’d like to see you again, Kasey,” Holt whispered in her ear. “When no one else is around.” “How about another slice of pizza?” Kasey asked, ignoring his comment and trying to remain casual. 85

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“I’d prefer something else.” “Holt Astin, what will these boys think?” “It’s not the boys I want to impress.” He leaned over to kiss her on the cheek and this time she didn’t turn away. Her stomach was jittery and her nerves were frazzled, but she hid it well. And she hid from herself any idea of coming to terms with her feelings. She was determined to bury her head in the sand rather than face the fact she could never go back to where she was before the baseball game. What was stopping her? She wasn’t afraid of his kiss. She was afraid of where it would lead. Afraid to go there again. This time she may not get her heart back in one piece.

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Seven “Is this all the mail today, Kasey?” Allie asked, putting down the stack of boxes that she’d brought home from the store, then she began looking through the bills and advertisements strewn all over the table. “That’s it, Allie,” Kasey said, opening up another bag of peanuts. Her third in an hour. She knew she shouldn’t eat them but nuts were healthy, she tried to convince herself. And they were protein. And they were part of a good diet. She continued enjoying the salty taste of the nuts. Whatever her excuse, since Holt came back into her life her nerves were on edge. “Why are you so curious about the mail?” “I’m not curious about the mail,” Allie said in a casual voice, but she looked through the letters again. Carefully. Kasey had the feeling Allie was keeping something from her, but she was too tired to figure out what it was. She had worked the early morning shift at the diner and she was home early. Logan was outside chasing after desert frogs, and the trailer felt like a steam box in the heat. “I thought you got all your business mail at the shop?” Kasey asked, probing for what, she didn’t know. “I do. By the way, did anybody call?” 87

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“No. And that’s the second time you’ve asked me that in the last five minutes.” “No, it isn’t,” Allie answered, trying to sound disinterested. “C’mon, Allie, what’s up?” “Nothing,” she said with an eloquent air of innocence. Kasey could see a special glow in her eyes. What was making her sister act so nervous? Then it hit her. “Oh, Allie, you met someone!” Kasey cried out, a different melody making her pulse race. She was so happy for her sister. Allie had been widowed for four years and rarely went out on a date, always handing out the excuse she wanted to build up her business before she started dating again. “Who is he? What does he look like?” Allie rolled her eyes. “It’s not what you think, Kasey Mitchell.” “C’mon, Allie, tell me about this mysterious guy you met.” “There is no mysterious guy, Kasey.” She eyed the empty bags of peanuts. “What’s this? You’re supposed to be watching your fat intake.” “A few peanuts won’t hurt.” “Not if you did some exercise,” Allie said, thinking. “Exercise is good for toning. You’ll need to look toned.” “Toned? For what?” Kasey asked. “Uh...” Allie stammered, “…for the next City Council meeting.” “I don’t have time to exercise,” Kasey said, but Allie looked so disappointed she added, “Holt did ask me to go riding with him—” Allie did a double take. “You’re seeing him again?” Her sister looked absolutely ecstatic, sending Kasey into a guilt spiral because she hadn’t shared with her what happened 88

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at the Little League game a few days ago. The truth was she didn’t want her bubble to go belly-up on her. She let the memory linger a little while longer. After Holt had kissed her on the cheek in the diner she kept her emotions in check, telling him they needed time to get re-acquainted. He had something else on his mind. He wanted to discuss some letter with her but she insisted the noisy diner wasn’t the place. Instead she’d been content to float in a fuzzy glow for the rest of the afternoon, pretending ten years had never happened. Pretend they were a family. It wouldn’t last, she knew, but she felt so good inside she couldn’t let it go. She put down the half-eaten bag of peanuts and decided to come clean with her sister. “Holt and I ran into each other at Logan’s game on Saturday, and before I knew it we started talking about baseball.” “Baseball? I don’t believe it. My own sister hooks up with the man of her dreams and doesn’t say a word to me. Not one word.” “He’s not the man of my dreams, Allie,” Kasey said, not allowing herself to be carried away by the fantasy. She couldn’t. She had Logan to think about, his future. She was convinced Holt didn’t know Logan was his son. It wasn’t going to get any easier keeping it from him, she thought. The boy adored Holt and kept asking about him, not understanding what the consequences would be if Holt found out who he was and tried to take him from her. She’d never let him do that. Never. Before Allie could shoot back another word at her, the phone rang. Allie dove for it, nearly trampling the boxes she brought home from the store. 89

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“Mitchell residence, Allie speaking,” she said, recovering quickly and speaking into the receiver slowly and clearly, like she was auditioning for the phone company. Kasey wrinkled her nose. What was up? “Yeah, sure, she’s here.” Allie handed her the phone, disappointment written all over her face in capital letters. “It’s that City Councilwoman person.” Kasey grabbed the phone. She had been expecting this call. The City Council was meeting this afternoon to decide whether or not to participate in the purchase of The Laguna Ranch. The city was considering buying several thousand acres for a natural wildlife habitat, acres that sat on the hillside along the perimeter of Interstate Eighteen. Kasey hoped the news was good. If the city bought the land that would mean a widening of the corridor passing directly by the Denmore Diner. And that meant more customers for the diner. “Yes, Hazel?” Kasey said into the receiver. “You say the City Council wants to go on a field trip?” That meant they hadn’t made up their minds yet about buying The Laguna. “Sure. I’ll see if I can arrange it with Mr. Astin.” She hung up the phone. Allie gestured wildly. “Tell me, what’s happening?” Kasey frowned. “The City Council wants to go out to The Laguna Ranch to look at the property before they make up their mind whether or not put in a bid to buy it.” “So, what’s wrong with that?” “They want me to lead the field trip.” ~*~ It was impossible not to flip through a million different emotions when the City Council van pulled up into the driveway of The Laguna Ranch, Kasey thought. Fear. Teen 90

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angst. Excitement. She had felt them all so many years ago when Holt first drove her up to the sprawling ranch on the back of his motorcycle. He was a boy of twenty-three then, recently graduated from college and on his way to law school. She was barely eighteen, hoping to go to college after graduation, and more than a little touched by the reality of finding out her Apache prince lived in a castle. Funny how nothing’s changed, she thought, ignoring the chattering going on around her. She still lived on the wrong side of the tracks and he still lived in a castle. She looked at the little boy sitting in the seat next to her. Well, something had changed. She had Logan. He was trying his best, his very best, to sit still and look at the baseball cards Holt had sent him. She was certain her son was very unhappy being squeezed in a van with a bunch of adults. Not when there were video games to be conquered and bikes to be ridden. However, she had no choice but to bring him with her rather than let him drive Allie crazy at the dress shop. Little boys and ladies’ dresses went together about as well as peanut butter and perfume. As the van stopped under a sweeping canopy of forest, the side doors slid open, letting in the fresh smell of lemon trees drifting on the air. The City Council members clambered out, all eager to mount up and head out into the outskirts of the ranch. Kasey held back. She was content to enjoy these few moments alone with Logan, simmering in the warmth of her girlhood memories, remembering that hot spring day when she first met Holt. Her high school science class had traipsed all over the ranch in search of arrowheads, spearheads, and pieces of pottery from the Hohokam Indians, who settled here over eight hundred years ago. 91

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She had gotten separated from the group when she turned her ankle climbing up to the top of the rocky foundations of the ancient homes. She took refuge in a small fortification near the edge of the river. She remembered the tiny waterfall cascading in symphonic rhythm along with the high-pitched birdcalls and base notes of the frogs as she splashed cool water over her hurt ankle when, for some unexplained reason, she looked up at the ridge. She could still see him now, standing on top of the rock, wearing tight leather pants, his bare torso golden and brown, his arms folded across his chest. She had no idea how long he’d been watching her. A metallic-like flash of sun burst behind him, weaving streaks through his longish, dark hair and making her swear that something supernatural had propelled him into her line of sight. He looked like a god. An Apache prince. She held her breath, her eyes squinting up at the sun-soaked warrior. He didn’t move, didn’t twitch. He just glared down at her. Long minutes passed. Kasey was painfully aware that her bare, outstretched legs were directly in his view, but she couldn’t stand up without turning her ankle again. The man sensed her pain, how she didn’t know, but her prince came down from the ridge and without a word, swept her up into his arms and carried her back to the adobe ruins where her classmates were working on the ancient site. Nobody knew who he was, though she guessed he was a student or maybe even an anthropologist when he eagerly volunteered to lecture on the history of the ruins and told the class how the human remains found there had been returned to the Tohono O’Odham Nation. Kasey was the envy of every girl 92

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when he held her hand as he told them the legend about the warriors’ sacrifice, then gave her the Apache Tear rock. A story he repeated to her many times when they came up to the trincheras, adobe ruins, alone and snuggled close together in a blanket under a quilt of stars overhead, their young bodies eager to discover the pleasure of knowing each other’s touch, the thrill of rising emotions, the satisfaction of fulfilling their needs. He never told her who he was until the day before he left for law school. The day when she stood in this same spot under the lemon trees and gawked at the grand style of the ranch house before her. It was the same day she found out she was pregnant. She couldn’t tell him, not after finding out he was the son of Garth Astin. She was afraid he would think it was a scheme, a pretty girl’s lasso to grab the rich man’s son. No, she didn’t want him that way. Later, when she'd had time to think, she wrote him a letter, telling him about Logan. A letter he had never received. And so she had lost him. Her heart was heavy now, her mind wondering if she had found him again, when she saw the figure of an older man appear from somewhere out of her view. A doorway to the past, she knew, seeing his deerskin pants, red-checkered shirt, red band around his forehead accenting his long, gray-black hair. She knew that wonderful, weathered face immediately. Natchez. “Mom, look!” Logan called out to her. “Who’s that Indian?” Native American, she almost corrected him, but she could see the older Apache wasn’t offended. Quite the opposite. He smiled openly, never taking his eyes off Logan. Puzzled, wise eyes taking in more than the face of a young boy with dark eyes, sandy brown hair, and the faint beginnings of high 93

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cheekbones. Kasey sucked in her breath, praying she hadn’t made a mistake bringing Logan with her. “I’m happy to see you again, Natchez,” Kasey said warmly, extending her hand in friendship. Natchez bowed his head slightly, then returned the handshake. “The others are saddling up, Ms. Mitchell. Mr. Holt is waiting for you,” he said simply. He indicated she would find Holt in the stable, then he smiled at Logan. “I will take care of your son.” Closely watching Natchez, Kasey nodded. Looking at his face, he seemed to be reading the pages of a new generation. An uneasy moment lingered in the air. She hadn’t planned on letting her son out of her sight. Now she was worried. She wasn’t sure if Holt had put the old Apache up to this or if it was his own idea. “Hant’é gonlzéé?” Natchez said to Logan in his native language. “What is your name?” “Logan,” her son offered eagerly, intrigued by this wonderful old relic from the past. Kasey smiled, knowing there was more to it than that. What kid thought of the past as anything except what happened yesterday? No, Logan was more intrigued with the old Apache than she’d like him to be. Natchez said, “Come with me, Logan.” “What’s your name?” Logan asked politely. “I am called Natchez,” the Apache said, bowing his head ever so slightly again, and for some reason that mystified Kasey, Logan also bowed his head and followed his new friend into the ranch house without another word. She noticed with amusement he didn’t look back at her to see if she was watching him, something he always did when he went off to 94

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school. Her eyebrows went up as she considered this new turn of events. “Natchez will take good care of your boy,” Holt said behind her. Kasey felt the hairs stand up on her neck in a pleasant sort of way. How did he creep up behind her without her seeing him? “Oh, I’m not worried,” she answered easily, a wary smile curving over her lips. That wasn’t true. She was apprehensive. She was bringing the cub into the lion’s lair. Innocent. And impressionable. She slipped her hands into her jeans pockets, then turned her wary smile into a happy one. She couldn’t let him guess what she was about, could she? ~*~ Sunday afternoon was one of those days the Arizona tourist commission prayed for, Kasey decided. There was no hint of rain, the sun was tossing down temperatures that didn’t burn a man’s skin alive, and the ranchland grasses tasted rich and moist to the grazing cattle. But according to Holt, there were a couple of invasions that day to stir things up. First came what looked like a mounted posse in pursuit of a horse thief, but was actually the City Council of Denmore racing over the grazing lands like a bunch of ants invited to a picnic. Next they were invaded by an army of tarantulas brought on by the recent heavy rains. It was difficult to know which was worse, he confided to Kasey as they rode behind the rest of the group. They had been in the saddle for a couple of hours, crossing the property from where it started at the Alta Verde Road to the river, over to the lush sycamore-lined Burnside Creek and in view of the old Black Hill Mine. 95

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“The tarantulas I can deal with,” Holt said confidently, dismounting and resting his horse under the shade of a very old tree, its branches reaching out to give shelter as it had done to so many ponies and their riders before them. Kasey followed his lead. “The City Council members,” he said, laughing, “are another matter.” Kasey also laughed. “I know what you mean, Holt. I’ve been trying to get them to come to my conservation committee meetings for weeks. Now, ever since that story about The EcoConservancy broke in the newspapers I can’t get rid of them.” Then in a serious voice, she added, “I was wondering, Holt, would you consider allowing the city to buy up some of the ranch’s public lands for a wildlife habitat?” “I’m not against selling to the city, Kasey. Never have been.” Holt looked out over the grazing lands, out toward the river flowing through the property and Kasey could see he was sincere in his words. “I love the land as much as you do.” “Do you, Holt?” “Yes. I don’t want to see The Laguna chopped up into tiny, overdeveloped parcels, but the city was outbid by a private investment firm. There’s also the matter of the title to be cleared up before the deal can go through.” “Title? What do you mean?” “I discovered a bogus mechanic’s lien on the deed when I went up to Phoenix. That’s why I agreed to allow the City Council to have a look at the property today. It’ll take some time and legal maneuvering to get the lien cleared up and, who knows, the other deal may fall through.” He thought a beat, talking almost to himself when he said, “I’m certain someone is trying to sabotage the sale of The Laguna.” 96

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He looked at her strangely, why she wasn’t sure, but it was a look that backed into being a question. Kasey took offense at his remark. “Don’t look at me, Holt Astin, like I have nothing better to do than go around squashing eight million dollar deals.” She stared at Holt, who raised his eyes in a who-knows look. Who-knows is right, she thought, wondering if that same person was behind trying to re-route the corridor widening of Interstate Eighteen and messing up her life as well. Holt said, “Originally I took the investment firm’s offer because I wanted out. Fast.” He paused and sucked in a big breath before he said, “That was before I saw you again, Kasey.” She saw it coming, knew he was going to do it, but in all the heaven’s names of a million stars, she couldn’t stop him. Could anyone stop a comet once it had settled on its course? Did she want to? He pulled her into his arms, bent his head low and kissed her on the mouth. She didn’t resist. Couldn’t. The burst of pleasure that shot through her filled her with such happiness, giving her a top-of-the-mountain feeling of breathlessness that pulled her into a whirlpool of desire spinning her round and round, never letting her put her feet down on earth. It wasn’t until several long moments later she realized her feet weren’t touching the ground. She was suspended in midair, Holt’s strong arms holding her to him, twirling her around in a circle, her feet dangling in the air. “Put me down, Holt,” she demanded, laughing. “Not until you give me another kiss,” he said in such a manner that she knew he would claim another kiss with or without her permission. 97

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“I always knew you were a wild Apache, Holt.” “You don’t know how wild, Kasey.” She pretended to swoon, keeping one eye open as he eased her down onto the soft grass, his hands slipping down over her hips, running down her thighs. She didn’t want him to stop. Why did it feel so good? And why was she being so naughty? She moaned in pleasure when he cupped her full breasts in his hands, easily pushing aside her T-shirt, then her bra, bringing alive her senses when he touched the bare skin on her breasts. She was glad she was wearing stretch jeans when he slipped his hand inside the expandable waistband and squeezed her waist teasingly with his fingers. She was so carried away by the moment she didn’t realize Holt was looking at her with a worried expression on his face. She didn’t know what to say. “I didn’t mean to take advantage of you, Kasey,” he said. Kasey chewed on a piece of grass, trying to think how to tell him what was on her mind. She didn’t know how to say it any other way, so she went ahead with, “Why didn’t you write to me, Holt?” He looked puzzled, then he said, “I did write to you, Kasey. When I got your letter I came back to Denmore to find out why you didn’t wait for me—” “Why I didn’t wait for you?” Kasey stared at Holt, letting that thought sink into her brain. It hung in the air between them for the briefest of seconds as she tried to figure out what he meant when— “Mr. Astin! Mr. Astin!” came a loud shout. Kasey and Holt got to their feet quickly, looking to see what the problem was as they shook the blades of grass from their clothes. Kasey could still feel the heat of Holt’s breath on her neck, sending a pleasant sensation down her spine as a rider 98

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streaked into their shady teepee of forest green with the power of an enemy arrow. “What’s wrong?” Holt shouted to the man on horseback. “Charlie May’s horse is running away with him.” “Let’s go!” Holt snapped into action, racing off on his stallion, the City Council member close on his horse’s behind, clinging to his reins like he was riding on a carousel, trying his darndest not to fall off his horse. Kasey stayed behind, her heart pounding in her ears, her pulse racing out of control. She couldn’t get their conversation out of her mind. What did Holt mean she didn’t wait? Did he think she ran off with another man? That she didn’t love him enough to want him to be the father of her baby? What was wrong with the man? ~*~ Holt stood at the doorway of the library in his ranch house, drinking coffee and watching the old Apache showing the young boy how to mark a trail, while he waited for an ounce of sense to drill its way back into his head. He was still thinking about what had happened out there on the plains earlier. What insanity had made him lose control and let his pent-up desire for Kasey get the better of him? Knowing that she wanted him, too, didn’t help the situation. A madman would know she wouldn’t fall into his arms willingly after all these years without some kind of commitment. A commitment he wasn’t ready to give. He’d been hurt once. He wasn’t a man to make the same mistake twice, though with Kasey he was damn tempted to throw all caution to the wind and make love to her. Now that would have to wait. He had business to attend to first. 99

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He finished his coffee and put down the cup. Kasey was upstairs, dressing for dinner. It had been quite an afternoon. Fortunately, Charlie May’s horse had been more frightened than he was and hadn’t knocked its rider off its back. The City Council members all agreed they hadn’t had such an exciting afternoon since one of their members drove a bulldozer through a trailer at a construction site dedication. More importantly, they had been impressed enough with the aquatic habitat and wildlife preserve on the public lands to consider re-submitting a bid for the ranchland. One council member, however, was absent. Frank Widmore. That could be a problem since Holt wasn’t certain which way his vote would go. The two men hadn’t talked since that night at the Three Wells Ranch. A dull ache throbbed in his head. He was pretty sure the smooth-talking rancher would do whatever he could to make his life miserable and that included going against the sale of The Laguna to the City of Denmore. The smell of cooked food drifted through the ranch house, reminding him his guests would be down soon. Dinner was to be a catered affair. Holt leaned against the door of the library, allowing a steady stream of memories to overtake him. He was even feeling sufficiently relaxed to allow himself to remember the days when his mother had given parties for the other ranchers and their families. Fun, exciting nights when the small boy would creep downstairs and watch all the excitement. His mother died when he was not much older than Logan. His eyes felt misty. The warm, caring manner of Natchez were the closest he’d experienced to parental love after she died. The fondness he felt for the Apache made him smile when he saw Natchez take down a glass-covered case, open it, and 100

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allow the boy to run his fingers over the stony points of the arrowhead. “Wow, is this a real arrow?” Logan asked. “Yes. It belonged to Geronimo, a Chiricahua Apache shaman and a great tribal leader.” Holt had to smile. Natchez had told him the same story when he was about Logan’s age, though he doubted if the great chief had ever seen the arrowhead. But the story, like all stories, served a purpose—To give courage where the spark flickered, but had not yet burst into flame. “Wow, that’s cool, Mr. Natchez,” Logan said, then asked, “What does Apache mean?” “Man who fight,” Natchez answered easily. “The Apache tribe chased wild game and the great buffalo herds and lived off the land. The warriors had great courage and could live nearly naked in zero temperature.” Logan’s eyes popped open wide. Holt smiled. “Can I be an Apache, Mr. Natchez?” the boy asked. Time seemed to stop as Holt watched Natchez do a very strange thing. The Indian looked at the boy then at Holt, then back at the boy, and in a cool but fervent voice he said, “The call of the wild is strong in the blood of the Apache, young one. All Apaches. You have but to look at yourself in the mirror to find that Apache spirit.” Then Natchez pulled a wooden flute out of his pocket and began to play. Soft, echoing notes that were timeless in their melody. Holt felt strangely moved by what he had just witnessed. He studied the face of his old friend, noticing how the Apache’s features betrayed no sign of what he was thinking, only concentration on a truth he had yet to reveal to him. 101

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Natchez finished the tune, then allowed Logan to play the flute. He knew Holt was watching him, studying the boy. Nothing escaped his eyes. Nothing. Holt started into the library, a question forming on the tip of his brain he couldn’t put into words, when the phone rang. He caught it before Natchez answered it. “Laguna Ranch, Astin speaking... hello, Barry, how’s the smog in L.A... that good, huh?” Then his face turned serious. “Right. I understand. I figured we might have a problem with the Walters deal, but not this soon. By the way, did you dig up anything on that bogus mechanic’s lien on the title on The Laguna?... That’s very interesting. I’ll take the redeye to L.A. tonight and see you in the morning.” He was about to hang up when he had another thought. “One more thing, Barry. You know those legal papers that belonged to my father that we found in that old steel box in his safe?... Yeah, that’s the one. Well, I haven’t finished with them yet. Have Chrissy put the papers in a file and leave them on my desk. I want to go through them when I get back to the office. Thanks.” Holt hung up, then he looked at Natchez and the boy hunched over a map, the old Apache showing the boy where the tribal fortifications were located. Something nagged at his mind, but he couldn’t put it into words. He picked up the phone again and dialed the airlines, the question for Natchez on the tip of his mind pushed to the back of the brain for the moment, but not forgotten.

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Eight Kasey stood on the balcony of the three-story frame house on The Laguna spread and looked out at what she could see of the ranch. To her left the view was obscured by the barn and stable, the horses probably in a state of exhaustion after carrying around the City Council members all afternoon. Looking out to the right she could see miles and miles of the “big open.” Spectacular, scenic beauty of rustic reds and oranges, rich greens, bursts of yellow. She could also hear the sound of cool, blue jazz coming from the patio. She started tapping her foot in rhythm to the music. She caught herself and stopped. She wasn’t in a party mood. Something was on her mind. After what had happened today, or nearly happened, she had to convince Holt something was still missing between them. Ten years of something, Kasey thought, and she didn’t feel right going on like she was, letting him kiss her then trying to make love to her on a bed of grass. Gummy grass, she noted, picking off bits of the green stuff sticking on her boots before putting them into her backpack. Even so, it had been a wonderful afternoon, she thought, remembering how it felt to be in his arms again, smell the muskiness of his aftershave, thrill to his touch. But it didn’t make everything all right between them, she decided. She had 103

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to make him understand that if there could ever be anything between them again, they had to start all over, get to know each other, then maybe she’d feel confident enough to tell him Logan was his son. Logan. Her maternal instinct snapped to attention. She had been worried earlier about her son getting bored, but when she checked on him she saw Natchez showing the boy how to make and feather an arrow. Logan looked so engrossed, his eyeballs popping out of his head when Natchez let him try on a ceremonial headdress. She smiled. Holt would be so proud of him. How she wished she could have shared that moment with him. The time would come soon, she promised. And before she could think about what she was doing, Kasey twirled around in a circle on the outdoor balcony, letting herself go and dancing in time to the music. A warm, humid breeze tapped her on the shoulder for a dance and she obliged, holding her imaginary partner, pretending it was Holt. She moved easily across the floor in her blue dress, yes, that blue dress, the one Allie gave her, she reminded herself, flowing around her. Warm, pleasant feelings flowed through her. She felt good. Very good. No matter what the practical side of her brain tried to tell her, she couldn’t deny she was happy Holt was back in her life. She danced and danced until she felt a wet stickiness under her arms. The quiet heat of the past few days seemed to be coming to an end, holding its breath, waiting for rain. The sky above was losing its blueness, she noticed, going gray and dark in the distance near the trinchereas, the adobe ruins. Kasey stopped dancing and looked out over the balcony. A very real emotion gripped her, filled her stomach with the familiar butterflies of her girlhood, warning her to look before 104

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she leaped. Somewhere out there, the spirit of what she and Holt had when they were young continued to roam the sacred site. She was sure of it. The question in her mind was—Could they ever get it back? ~*~ She danced like an angel, Holt thought. Tall and graceful with wings of blue, hair of gold. Why did she stop? Leave him wanting more? He stood outside on the patio, looking up at the girl in the blue dress standing on the balcony, looking out into the distance. Kasey, too, sensed the coming storm as he did. Or was it something else? he wondered. She was looking out toward the old ruins, her body swaying like a willowy, beautiful desert flower lifting itself up to the sun. Was she thinking about how it felt to kiss and be kissed? To touch, to dream? A dream that would have to wait awhile longer, he thought, cradling his cell phone in his palm. He was waiting for a call from the airlines. He had to leave tonight, return to Beverly Hills and take care of business. Frustrated, Holt let out a deep breath. If he thought Kasey would see things his way, he’d close up the whole damned office and move back to the ranch. And he’d take care of that boy of hers, too. He liked the kid. A boy needed a home and there was no better place to grow up than on a ranch. The ring on his cell phone startled him. He answered it. He could get a seat on a flight leaving for Phoenix, they told him, but he’d have to change planes to get to L.A. A long, tedious flight. He winced at the idea. The sooner he got started though, the sooner he got his business in order, the sooner he could get back to Kasey. Holt put his cell phone in his back pocket and his business with it. He couldn’t leave without talking to Kasey first. He 105

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went around to the rear of the rambling old house, up the back servants’ stairs, figuring on cutting her off at the pass. He had something to say to her. In private, and it couldn’t wait until he got back. ~*~ Kasey had been right about one thing. A storm was coming. She didn’t know that a storm of another sort was already brewing in the ranch house. “She is beautiful,” she heard a City Council member say as she came down the staircase. Kasey stopped. Who were they talking about? “Holt sure knows how to pick’em.” Kasey stepped back and listened. She recognized the voice of Charlie May of the runaway, bucking bronco fame. He had seen them together earlier. What had he told the council members? Charlie always did exaggerate, she thought, but she’d take the compliment anyway. She only hoped Holt felt the same way about her. She strolled out on the patio, her head held up high, her confidence higher. Then she stopped when she heard a second City Council member say, “She’s so skinny.” Skinny? Kasey tugged at her dress, trying to pull it down and smooth out the bulge around her waist. They couldn’t be talking about her. Who, then? She had to find out, not that it was any of her business, but Holt had kissed her today. Didn’t that give her the right? If she stretched her neck ever so slightly she could see around the corner. She nearly tripped over herself when she caught a glimpse of the magazine the councilwoman was holding. She was right. The woman gracing the cover was skinny. What there was of her. Who was this mystery woman and how did Holt fit into the conversation? she wondered. 106

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Kasey smiled weakly and kept walking, though she did slow down a little. Something told her there was more to this conversation and she had to hear it. “I heard Taylor Hunter ran after Holt until he caught her,” Charlie said, laughing. “But she couldn’t hold onto him.” “I don’t know any man who would let a face and body like that get away from him,” the councilwoman said smugly. Kasey stopped, her feet seemingly stuck to the wooden floor. She remembered reading somewhere Holt had married a model. A gold digger, the tabloids said. A fortune hunter who looked for gold in a Beverly Hills mother lode. Even though the marriage hadn’t lasted, a sour taste tripped over her tongue and made her mouth dry at the thought of Holt being married to someone else. Jealousy. A natural feeling, yes, but something she had no right to feel. She hadn’t been married to Holt. She was the homegrown girl he had left behind him. How could she have ever believed she could get him back? A sudden rumbling shook the ranch house and thunder and lightning cracked wildly overhead, as if the rain gods were rattling their voices in agreement, telling her what a fool she was. “Looks like we’re in for a storm later,” Charlie May was saying. “Bad flying weather for our host tonight.” “You know these Beverly Hills lawyers,” the councilwoman said, laughing. “Holt probably can’t wait to get the smell of cattle manure out of his hair.” Kasey leaned against the outside wall of the patio, a slick of raindrops starting to fall and wetting her dress. Holt was leaving for L.A. tonight. Everybody knew but her. Why? Because you’re not important, Kasey Mitchell. You’re nothing but a game to Holt Astin. Roll the dice and move your game piece across the board. 107

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See if you can make the small-town girl fall in love with you again. See if you can make her think you like her kid. Your kid. You’re not going to find out Logan is your son, she vowed. No way, Holt. You and your phony story about how you thought I was dead don’t cut it. I don’t believe you. She had to get out of here, fast. Get Logan. Go back to where she belonged. Forget about Holt, this time for good. ~*~ The plane began its descent into Los Angeles, making Holt’s ears pop. He swallowed to ease the pressure and went back to work, dividing his time between moving around the blurry numbers on his laptop computer screen and punching in the all-too-familiar phone numbers to a certain party back in Denmore. “I’m sorry, sir, but there is no answer at that number,” he heard the operator say. A live operator. This time he hadn’t gotten one of those robot machines. Maybe his luck was changing. “I’ve been trying to reach Denmore, Arizona for hours,” he said, exasperation hanging in his voice, “but every number I get is out of order.” “The power hasn’t been restored in Denmore yet, sir. We’ve had several outages tonight because of the storm. Power lines in that area were downed by sixty mile-an-hour winds—” The operator went on about how lightning ignited some trees near Hawk Field and the rain was coming down at the rate of two inches an hour. Holt put down the phone and glanced out the window. Clouds, lights, freeway brake lights. He didn’t see any of it as the seven-thirty-seven streaked over the freeway toward the 108

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airport. His mind was filled with a new worry. Did Kasey get home all right in the rain? When he discovered she had left suddenly, taking Logan with her, he couldn’t understand why. Still couldn’t. He had an idea it had something to do with what happened ten years ago. He was hoping he might find a clue in the papers he had found in his father’s safe. A notation, a name, something that would explain why Kasey had married someone else so quickly, why she wouldn’t believe him when he told her he thought she was dead all these years and he had never stopped loving her. Natchez hadn’t put his mind at ease when he told him Kasey was extremely upset when she left, mumbling something to her son about how they didn’t belong at the ranch and they had to go home. Keep out of the big rancher’s way. What kind of gibberish was that? he thought. She belonged with him. Always had. Underneath that hard shell she’d tried so hard to make him believe was a part of her, he was certain she was the same girl he had fallen in love with all those years ago. The only problem was—How could he convince her? ~*~ The phone rang and rang and rang. Exasperated, Kasey blew out her breath, then picked it up and answered it. “Kasey’s not here,” she said and hung up. Like she’d been doing all week. She had no desire to talk to Holt Astin. Damn him. It was because of him she had new problems to think about, she decided, picking up another low-fat snack cake and not feeling guilty. She’d even lost a few pounds this week because she was so upset. After she left The Laguna Ranch that night, dragging Logan with her, her car had broken down in the rain and they’d had to walk two miles to the nearest phone at the convenience store, only to discover there was no phone. The 109

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lines were down. The power was out all over town. The owner closed up for the night and gave them a lift home, but Logan caught a bad cold and had missed school all week. He was still sniffling today and the doctor warned her it could turn into bronchitis if he didn’t stay put in bed. That was like trying to keep Geronimo on the reservation, she thought, but she managed to keep him occupied by getting him books and videos from the library about the life of the legendary Apache chief. She and Allie took turns staying home with him until Juanita came over to baby-sit when her shift at the diner was over. That wasn’t the worst of it. The power wasn’t restored until the next morning, which didn’t help business at the diner, seeing how they lost a night’s receipts when Sylvia had to close up early. And the next few days brought a heat wave that wouldn’t quit. It was bad enough for the humans, but the cows weren’t giving milk and the chickens weren’t laying eggs, so prices for staples at the restaurant had risen sharply. Sylvia was having a cow of her own, worrying about everything. When the diner owner felt faint this morning, Kasey made her go home, leaving only Juanita to help her run the restaurant. Angelo was back, thank God, but if it got any hotter in the kitchen, he threatened to do his cooking on the sidewalk. And when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, the City Council voted four-to-two against buying The Laguna with public money because, in their words, the deal provided “too little visitation and ecosystem monitoring.” She couldn’t understand what had caused them to change their minds. It had to be Holt’s doing, she figured, sitting behind his fancy desk in Beverly Hills, cashing in on the ‘show-me-the-money’ land market. According to the gossip around town, The Laguna Ranch had already changed hands and the new owner would 110

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take full advantage of the current laissez-faire state law that guaranteed raw land could be sold off, subdivided, and resold in rural Arizona for a huge profit. And if that happened, Kasey found out, Loop Five-oh-one would be re-routed away from the road near the Denmore Diner and they’d go out of business. Holt Astin was the last person she wanted to talk to now. She had every right to be upset with him. Besides, she was due back at the diner in half an hour and she needed to put her feet up and get some rest. No wonder she was losing weight, putting in twelve-hour days— The phone rang again as Allie blew in the door, slamming the screen on the mobile trailer. Kasey ignored the ringing this time. “I see you’ve turned up the air conditioning,” Allie quipped, indicating the ten dollar and ninety-eight cent fan busting its blades in the corner of the living room. “It’s the closest thing we’re gonna get to Alaska,” Kasey said, turning the fan toward them. The phone stopped ringing. She let out a sigh of relief. Allie was miffed. “Why didn’t you answer the phone?” “Because I know who it was,” Kasey shot back, grabbing another snack cake. Allie grabbed it out of her hand. “I told you not to eat that stuff. You’ll spoil your figure.” “What figure?” “You’re impossible, Kasey Mitchell,” Allie said, going through the mail, mumbling no news was good news, then tossing it down on the kitchen table. “By the way, Allie, you can have that blue dress back,” Kasey said, “I never want to see it again.” “You’re saying that because of Holt, aren’t you?” “So, what if I am? He ran out on me that night without an explanation. And now I know why he sold out.” 111

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Allie looked genuinely depressed. “Oh, Kasey, you don’t know for sure Holt sold The Laguna to that investment firm. That’s only talk. Why don’t you ask him yourself?” “I don’t want to hear any more of his lies.” The phone rang again. Did it seem louder than before? Kasey thought, not making a move toward it. She was being stubborn, she knew, not talking to him, but she’d had enough of his roller coaster and she wanted off the ride before she lost her sense of reason. The phone kept ringing, bugging her, as if the person on the other end wasn’t giving up this time. Making a face at her, Allie answered the phone. “If you’re not going to answer it, I will. Hello,” she said into the receiver, “No, this isn’t Kasey Mitchell. I’m her sister...” There was a long pause. Too long, Kasey noted, watching her sister’s mouth drop in disbelief, her eyes bulge out like marbles. What was it? Something awful must have happened. Kasey’s heart started skipping as Allie put her hand to her mouth and began jabbering incoherently about having to tell her sister the news first before she could give her the phone. “What news, Allie? What is it?” Kasey yelled, jumping out of her chair and panic setting in. “The diner? Yes, that’s it. It’s on fire! Angelo had an accident in the kitchen. A grease fire—” She tried to grab the phone from Allie as she hung up but her sister started crying, tears streaking down her face. “No, Kasey, the diner’s not on fire—” Kasey’s hand went to her throat. “It’s not Sylvia, is it?” Allie shook her head back and forth, trying to get her composure back. “No, Kasey, it’s not Sylvia. Everything’s fine.” She choked back her tears. “Everything’s wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.” “What’s so wonderful about you crying?” 112

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“You’re one of the winners, Kasey!” she shouted, excitement catching in her throat. Kasey shook her head, confused. “Winners? What are you talking about?” “The contest I entered your picture in,” Allie said, dancing around in a circle. Kasey stepped back, wrinkling her brow. Her stomach stopped doing flip-flops, her sudden worry was replaced by a puzzled feeling. Winning something was the last thing she had expected to hear. “What contest? What picture?” she asked, wondering what her sister was up to now. Allie put her hands on Kasey’s shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. “The M’Lady Plus-Size Model Makeover Contest, my dear sister.” ~*~ “I can’t go, Allie.” “Of course, you’re going.” “Who’s going to look after Logan? The doctor said—” “The doctor said he’s fine, Kasey. I’d be the first one to tell you not to go if I thought he was very sick.” Kasey tried a different excuse. “Sylvia needs me at the diner. She’s not feeling well.” “I’ve already talked to Sylvia and she said Juanita asked a couple of her girlfriends to help her out while you’re gone.” “You’ll be here all alone...” “Kasey Mitchell, will you stop making up excuses? You’re a winner in the M’Lady Plus-Size Contest and you’re going to L.A. That’s final.” Kasey picked up the airline ticket to Los Angeles and flipped through the computer-printed cards, not believing it was 113

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real. Nothing seemed real. In the past twenty-four hours she had gone from struggling waitress-and-partner in a small diner to supermodel. Kasey smiled. Now she was getting carried away. It was all so ridiculous she started laughing again. She felt like she was starring in a three-act play and the curtain was going up. First act, the phone call. Allie called back the contest coordinator, then put Kasey on the phone. “Yes, Ms. Mitchell, it’s true,” the woman said, “M’Lady Plus magazine is happy to inform you that you are one of our five lucky winners in the M’Lady Plus-Size Contest. You’ve won a complete makeover and wardrobe, as well as a photo layout in our magazine.” Second act, behind the scenes, in Allie’s words. How did she win the contest? Kasey wanted to know. “I tried to get you to enter the contest, Kasey, remember?” her sister confessed. “But you were so down on yourself I decided to go ahead and enter you on my own.” “Why did you enter me in a modeling contest?” “Because you’re a perfect size fourteen to sixteen and that’s exactly what they were looking for. In case you didn’t know it, the plus-size market is a twenty-three billion dollar industry and still growing.” Kasey wasn’t convinced. “The contest coordinator said something about a photo.” Allie smiled, intensely proud of her ingenuity. “The Denmore Star did the work for me. All I did was clip your photo out of the newspaper and send it along with the application. Clever, huh?” Kasey nodded, her mouth dropping open, but accepting her sister’s explanation. “I can’t believe it,” she said for the umpteenth time. “My own sister did this to me.” 114

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Allie waited for Kasey to calm down. “Don’t be angry with me, Kasey. It’ll be great publicity for the shop, as well as the diner.” “But why me, Allie? Why did they pick me?” “Because you’re a great role model for plus-size women. You’ve worked hard to get where you are—going to accounting school, working at the diner, and raising Logan on your own.” “I don’t know what to say, Allie.” “Don’t say anything, Kasey. You’ll have a wonderful time—new clothes, limousines, photographers...” Kasey drew in a slow breath. There was something else on her mind. “In case you’ve forgotten, Allie, Holt lives in Los Angeles,” she said, keeping her emotions in check. She was scared. She thought she could put Holt behind her and get back on track. Now this. “Oh, I guess it slipped my mind,” Allie said innocently, looking at the instruction sheet included with the overnight express package the contest coordinator had sent her. “Anyway, it says here you’ll be staying at the—” Kasey cut her off with, “Wherever it is, Allie, it’s too close to Holt.” Allie shook her head. “Why can’t you admit you’re still in love with him, Kasey?” Kasey ignored her remark. “I don’t know why you’re on his side, Allie. You’re my sister. If it wasn’t for Garth Astin you wouldn’t be a widow.” She immediately wanted to take back the words. She didn’t know why she’d said that. She didn’t want to hurt Allie, remind her that her husband was killed in a cave-in in a mine owned by Holt’s father. 115

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“You may be right, Kasey, and I can’t change that. But I wouldn’t have my dress shop if it weren’t for Holt.” “What do you mean, Allie?” “Not everybody knows this, Kasey, and I’m sure Holt wouldn’t want it to get around, but it was at his insistence the mining company paid back benefits and insurance to the families of the men killed in the mining accident.” “No wonder you’re on his side,” Kasey shot back hotly, then quickly regretted it. She felt the blood drain from her face, dragging her emotions down as well. What had gotten into her? Why was she arguing with her sister? “I’m not on his side, Kasey. I’m not on anybody’s side. I just think you should give him another chance.” Allie paused, sniffling slightly. Her face looked pained, but she refused to give in to tears. “I don’t know why things turn out like they do, why Jeff was killed, why you and Holt didn’t get together. That doesn’t mean we have to give up and stop living.” Kasey stared into her face. Her eyes seemed to look into her soul. They were eyes wise with the knowledge of someone who had suffered and come to terms with the hand fate had dealt them. “Oh, Allie, I’m such a jerk,” Kasey said, hugging her sister. “Can you ever forgive me?” “You know I only want the best for you, Kasey,” Allie said, then added, “And, no matter what you say, I know you’re still in love with Holt. Kasey didn’t say anything. She realized that for all of her objections, Allie was right. She was in love with him. How could she have denied it? Kasey thought about what that meant. She was confused. She looked to Allie for help. “Oh, Allie, what am I going to do?” 116

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Allie smiled, then hugged her warmly. “You’re going to Los Angeles, Kasey, and be the best M’Lady Plus winner they ever had.” ~*~ The third act of this crazy play was the most exciting, Kasey decided, sipping her champagne. It was only seven o’clock in the evening and she was tired from the flight to Los Angeles, but she didn’t care. Everything was happening so fast since she got off the plane. Getting her luggage, finding the limo they sent for her, keeping her nerves from spilling over and making her more nervous. And balancing the champagne glass someone had put into her hand half an hour ago. She took another sip of the sweet wine and the bubbles tickled her nose. She felt like sneezing, when— “Ms. Mitchell... over here, please. One more shot.” Flash! Kasey held back her sneeze, just barely, and blinked, then she blinked again. She felt like pinching herself. She was afraid once the photographers’ bulbs stopped flashing and she could see clearly, she’d find out she never left the safe haven of her trailer for Beverly Hills. But the dream stayed. And it was real. She looked around the garden, soaking in the ambiance. The Bel Air Hotel was a luxurious affair that sat primly in the shaded wood of a long, winding road in Beverly Hills. It was arranged in an early California bungalow design with a gazebo in the middle filled with bursts of pink and yellow flowers. Everything was sugar-sweet, she thought, from the carpet of perfect green grass to the icing-white gleam on the stucco buildings. The perfect setting to see and be seen, the late afternoon sun casting a rose-pink glow on the five women sparkling and chatting with the press. 117

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Including Kasey. Kasey turned her head from side to side, checking out the reception area filled with reporters and photographers, drifting around the lawn area like stale smoke in a room. They moved from one contest winner to the next, taking the same photos, asking the same questions, and usually getting the same answers. Where are you from? Is this your first trip to Beverly Hills? What do you do back home? Married, kids? Do you plan a career in modeling? And so on. Kasey answered their questions with a big smile, plugging Allie’s Clothes Alley and the Denmore Diner as often as she could, though she felt self-conscious and uncomfortable among all these people. She’d been rushed to the reception as soon as she arrived at the hotel, no time to change from her jeans, oversized shirt, and old pair of boots. She found the whole thing amusing. She wasn’t used to being treated like a princess when she was dressed like a cowhand. She didn’t know what to say when someone asked her if she wanted a career in modeling. “I think winning the contest is a lot like the three-egg omelets we serve at the Denmore Diner,” Kasey said with a smile. “Fluffy and filled with air, and gone before you know it.” Laughter. Kasey tried to smile but she couldn’t hold back that sneeze any longer. She let it go. “Aahhchooo,” she said, spilling half of her champagne. Was she funny? Or did they think she was stupid? “Gesundheit, Ms. Mitchell,” said a man at her elbow, slipping a card into her hand. “Call me before you leave L.A. I think I can help you make that omelet of yours last longer.” 118

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“Yeah, sure,” Kasey said, trying to glance at his card, when a high-pitched voice startled her. “Ah, there you are, Kasey Mitchell.” Kasey turned around, thoroughly confused, and finished what was left of her champagne before slipping the card into her pocket. She was stalling. Was she supposed to know this woman? She was pretty and sophisticated in an overdone way. Her suit was too bright, her hair too full, her lipstick too perfect. “I’m Gaby Townsend,” the woman said, extending her hand. “Contest coordinator for M’Lady Plus magazine,” Kasey raised one eyebrow. She never expected the coordinator for a plus-size magazine to look like this. Gaby Townsend was a small, petite woman but her smile was plussize. Warm and genuine. She greeted Kasey like a long-lost girlfriend. Kasey relaxed as the woman introduced her to the other winners. A tall blonde from Atlanta, Georgia, size sixteen plus, she was proud to say. A beautiful redhead from the midwest, size fourteen, a striking black woman from California, size fourteen, and a size sixteen silver-gray grandma from New Jersey. What a motley crew we are, Kasey thought, realizing that everyone introduced themselves by their dress sizes slipping off their tongues as easily as their first names. The women chatted and laughed, exchanging stats and photos of their kids. Everyone was impressed with her work for the environment, and although she was both excited and scared, for the first time Kasey felt accepted for who she was, not her appearance. She continued mingling with the crowd as the late afternoon sun slipped behind the trees, leaving its orange glow behind and highlighting the circle of women enjoying their moment of fame. A moment that would last longer than fifteen minutes, 119

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Ms. Townsend assured the winners as she escorted them through the hotel lobby. Kasey listened intently as the coordinator explained that over the next two days they would each have a hair, make-up, and wardrobe makeover and participate in a photo shoot for the magazine. Then lots of sightseeing before they headed home. “You’re all Cinderella, ladies. M’Lady Plus magazine will provide everything you need.” “Everything, did y’all say?” the Atlanta blonde wanted to know, checking out a couple of businessmen walking through the lobby on their way to the hotel restaurant. Ms. Townsend smiled, then shook her head. “Everything but Prince Charming. That’s up to you.” Kasey glanced around and her own feelings, already on edge, shot up a couple of notches when she noticed a man staring at her. He was tall, dark, and looked like Holt, but it wasn’t. She put away her crazy thoughts. Los Angeles was a big city, a lot bigger than Denmore, she thought, and the chances of her seeing Holt were next to none. At that moment she felt very much alone in the big city. ~*~ It was after one a.m. by the time Holt finished going through the stack of papers his father had kept in a box in his safe. They were letters, he knew that now, and he could not get the foul taste out of his mouth, knowing the disgusting little secret his father had hidden from him all these years. The unbelievable hoax that Garth Astin perpetrated to keep him from finding out the truth. He had a son. Logan. Holt let out the moan he’d been holding in for ten years. It pained him to know Kasey had waited for him, written to him 120

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several times, never asking for money—as he had been led to believe from his father—but poured out her love for him in several letters. And he had let her down, not knowingly, but he could understand why she acted toward him the way she did. She thought him a first-class heel. Heel, nothing. He was the whole shoe. No wonder she didn’t want him back. And that hurt more than anything else. Even though he hurt inside, a deep hurt, by what his father had done, he was determined to get Kasey back. All his life he believed he was missing something. That someday he would find meaning in his life. He had looked for that meaning in the law and in his Apache heritage, always carrying with him the feeling he was striving toward a fulfillment that had nothing to do with being the son of Garth Astin. That there was something good in his life, some reason why he was here. The search often left a painful, hollow feeling in his soul. When he found Kasey Mitchell, he thought he had found that reason. Then he lost her. Holt got up from his desk and paced around the room. His penthouse office was dark and quiet except for the greenish glow of his desk lamp, casting a long shadow across the mahogany desk. He’d been sitting there for hours, the cleaning crew had come and gone, overnight faxes beeped at intermittent times, and the grandfather clock standing in the corner of his office ticked off the hours. Reminding him how quickly the years had passed him by, years he missed with his son. He ran his fingers through his hair, wishing he could move the clock backward, make up the time they’d missed. As a family, dammit. The one thing he’d wanted all these years and never had. And all the time the woman he loved and the child they had conceived hated him. 121

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No, that wasn’t true, he realized. Logan didn’t hate him. He was certain the boy didn’t even know he was his father. That explained why Kasey had been troubled about bringing him to the ranch. She didn’t want to see the kid hurt. Holt smiled, remembering the words of his old Apache friend when he saw the boy. The call of the wild is strong in the blood of the Apache, Natchez had told Logan that day, knowing in that spiritual way of his that the boy was his son. You have but to look at yourself in the mirror to find that Apache spirit. Holt was unable to get that thought out of his mind. Yes, he still couldn’t believe it, but he had a son. Logan. He held his head in his hands, a giddiness coming over him that made him feel like a kid again. It was unbelievable, he thought, this sudden truth hitting him between the eyes like a lightning bolt out of the past that hovered over his head but he had been too blind to see. Until now. He had a son. Holt sensed Natchez knew the boy was his son. The old Apache must have felt the spiritual presence of the heart of a warrior beating in Logan’s chest. Seen the fierce fire burning in his eyes. No wonder the boy showed such interest when Natchez taught him about the Apache. They were his people, too. No matter what other blood ran through his veins, Holt knew, his Apache blood would always push his spirit beyond any endurance test. And he would win. Find his true path. Why hadn’t he seen the boy’s resemblance to him when he talked to the kid? What kind of blinders had he pushed down over his eyes that he didn’t recognize his own son? He was a fool. A sad, sorry fool. Years wasted. Holt picked up the phone on his desk and punched in the numbers, giving in to a sudden urge to call Kasey again, make 122

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her listen to him this time. It rang and someone picked up the phone. “Kasey?” “No, it’s her sister Allie. Who’s this?” Holt thought for a moment, then said, “Holt Astin. May I speak to Kasey? It’s important.” He thought he heard the young woman at the other end of the line draw in her breath, then, “I’m sorry, Mr. Astin, but she’s not here—” “Please... it’s very important—” “No, really, she’s not here. She’s in Los Angeles—” He paused, surprise catching in his throat. That was the last thing he expected to hear. “Los Angeles? Why?” Holt listened intently to what he was hearing, how Kasey had won a magazine contest which included a trip to California. He asked Allie where she was staying and she told him. He thought about that and what it could mean. He was happy again, something he wouldn’t have believed possible a few moments ago. He smiled broadly, his heart filling up with new hope. Kasey was close to him and this time he wouldn’t let her go.

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Nine Who said you couldn’t get beauty out of a jar? Kasey asked herself. She prayed there was magic in a tube of hair color as she looked into the mirror and studied her dark roots. She had started out at seven a.m. this morning with the other M’Lady Plus winners who, accompanied by a camera crew, were then whisked away to a fancy Beverly Hills make-up studio and hair salon—a salon where the stars had their locks cut and shaped. And this was just the beginning, according to Ms. Townsend. Kasey could only guess what came next. For nearly thirty years she had been Kasey Mitchell, plain vanilla wafer. Now, they were promising to turn her into a fancy cremesandwich cookie. Soft, pink gels leaking through the lighting in the room added to the drama, but nothing could help her over-bleached hair, she thought. Her blonde streaks stood straight up from her dark roots, crying out for help. The stylist, a quiet young woman wearing gigantic glasses and calling herself Sophie, shook her head several times as she ran a comb through Kasey’s hair. That didn’t help boost Kasey’s confidence level. “Pretty bad, huh?” Kasey ventured to say, attempting to smile. 124

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“I’ve seen worse, honey,” Sophie said, grabbing a couple of tubes of color and mixing up the smelly stuff in a plastic bottle. “Don’t worry, Kasey,” Ms. Townsend said, rushing by her as she checked on all her girls, “we call Sophie the ‘miracle worker.’” Miracle, indeed. She needed nothing less than that. Kasey was determined to look good, even if she had to soak up the salon’s entire supply of hair color all by herself. After all, she didn’t want to disappoint Allie, seeing how her sister was so excited about her winning the contest, telling her over and over again what great publicity it was for the shop. However, she knew Allie was upset over something else this morning when she called home. “Is something wrong with Logan?” Kasey had asked, downing a cup of coffee in her hotel room. Her breakfast sat untouched on the tray. She was so nervous about the makeover and photo shoot today she couldn’t get the food into her mouth. Couldn’t get the butterflies out of her stomach, with or without a net. “No, Logan’s much better. He went to school today.” Allie fell silent. “Kasey, have you heard from Holt?” “No, of course not. Why?” “He called here last night.” Kasey’s heart skipped quickly. “Did you tell him where I was?” “I had to say something.” “Something as in the name of the hotel where I’m staying?” Silence. Kasey knew better than to think her sister didn’t tell Holt where she was. That thought lingered on her mind all morning and continued to gnaw at her. She was secretly glad Allie did tell him, though the idea that Holt knew she was in town had sent her to the telephone more than once this

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morning, checking to see if there were any messages for her. None so far, but she kept hoping he’d call. And in case he did call, she was ready for him. She had put that scene at the ranch house behind her. She felt good about herself and no longer felt like she had to bury her pride in stretch jeans, a comment she had made earlier to reporters when the camera crew started taping this morning at breakfast. She spoke her mind, letting a new and different Kasey take center stage. She was talkative and funny, entertaining them with her crazy stories about life at the Denmore Diner. She was getting into this modeling “thang,” as the New Jersey grandma called it, quoting her teenage granddaughter. And she liked it. She liked her new hairstyle even better. “I can’t believe it, Sophie,” Kasey said, looking in the mirror nearly two hours later, flitting her hands around her head, afraid to touch her hair. “You really are a miracle worker.” Sophie took off her glasses and chewed on the frames. The stylist didn’t talk much, Kasey noticed, but she did her job well. What had been corn-yellow hair the color of dried-out drought, according to Ms. Townsend, was now a flowing wave of hair the color of amber-grain falling down to her chin. Golden highlights flowed through the soft brown color and onto her wispy bangs. “It makes you look ten years younger,” Sophie said, pleased with her work. “I feel ten years younger,” Kasey said, choking on the words, her emotions rising to the surface. “Thank you, Sophie.” Kasey had to fight back the tears. She never dreamed there was anything left of the young girl she had once been. The young girl with the big dreams. Dreams that included a

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handsome Apache-cowboy rancher. Maybe it wasn’t too late for them after all. “Next stop, ladies, skin care,” Ms. Townsend announced confidently as she waltzed through the salon, motioning for Kasey to follow her. Chattering like a bunch of Sunday chickens on their way to the dinner table, Kasey and the other winners headed for the exclusive Camille Beauchamps Salon on the other side of Beverly Hills. Staring out the window of the black limo, Kasey noticed a line of tall palm trees stretching down Wilshire Boulevard, their long leaves swaying in the afternoon breeze. Next to her, the other women chatted as if they’d known each other forever, encouraging each other, sharing hints on everything from how to schlep the kids from here to there, to how to deal with uncooperative husbands and boyfriends whose most common denominator was the comment, “You don’t need a makeover. I like you the way you are.” The women all agreed they were doing this for themselves first. Kasey joined in when they each took a turn speaking about how much more confident they felt, how they could love and respect who they were, and not what the world or anyone else wanted them to be. “It’s liberating!” the blonde from Georgia said. “I’m happy with me for the first time in my life.” “I was always the fat girl before,” admitted the black woman, her voice breaking. “Now, when I look in a mirror I like what I see.” “My babies encouraged me to enter the contest,” the redhead from the midwest said, then added, “They’re in college.” Everybody laughed, then it was Kasey’s turn to share her experiences. Eagerly, she talked about how she had worked her way through business college, then about the diner, but when 127

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the conversation turned to husbands, she became quiet. She didn’t want to talk about her lack of one. Excusing herself, she asked the limo driver how to use the cell phone. He gave her a funny look. “We don’t use cell phones much in Denmore,” she said, trying to explain her awkwardness, “all the cows have pagers.” The driver laughed, putting her at ease, and showed her how to call the hotel. “I’m sorry, Ms. Mitchell,” the concièrge told her. “No messages.” Kasey clicked off the phone, trying not to show her disappointment. But she felt it. Felt it deep inside her. Holt knew she was in town and he never even tried to call her. It didn’t make sense. He went to all the trouble of calling her at home in Denmore, but now that she was in his own backyard, he couldn’t pick up the phone? Why did that bother her? She tried to put him out of her mind as the limo pulled up in front of the Salon de la Beauté created by Camille Beauchamps back in the thirties when Art Deco was all the rage. Tall, streamlined sculptures stood at the doorway as Kasey and the other winners walked through the archway into another world. Make that another universe, she thought, where everything and everybody was so beautiful. Sleek aluminum sculptures. Clean pink-white silk walls. And pretty young women, their upswept ‘dos as turned up as their noses, fluttering around the salon, making certain that pampering was the order of the day. Each winner, they were told, would be treated to a full beauty regimen, beginning with a facial. “Exfoliating is the key to happiness,” announced the beauty expert assigned to Kasey. “That is, removing dead skin.” “Is that like getting the mold off the kitchen sink?” Kasey asked, drifting into a dreamy state, lying on the soft, cushiony chaise lounge, covered with the softest white leather. The 128

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woman smiled, then explained the wonders of a facial as she spread slimy green cream smelling like avocados all over Kasey’s face and neck. It doesn’t taste like avocados, Kasey thought, licking her lips. Umm, she was getting hungry. She’d hardly had time to eat since arriving in L.A. last night. Then she had a funny thought. She’d starve herself out of this gig if she ended up a size twelve or less before the day was over. That thought, along with the avocado spread tickling her nose, made her sneeze. “Aaahh... chooo!” “Sneezing while you’re wearing the avocado mask is not permitted, Ms. Mitchell,” the beauty expert said dryly. Kasey wanted to giggle, imagining what she must look like with the green monster goo all over her face. She felt sleepy, and so relaxed as the woman continued patting the facial mud all over her face and neck. She didn’t know avocados could make you feel so good. And so sexy. Like she was a pampered princess. That was okay with her. Didn’t Ms. Townsend say they were all Cinderella? With her eyes closed, she barely let out a “Sure, okay,” when the manicurist started working on her nails. And was that warm steam she felt oozing into the pores on her face? Ummm, it felt wonderful, like she was relaxing on warm, moist sand, the shifting grains hugging her body and making her feel all tingly. She felt so good she let her imagination run away with her as she drifted into a sensual state of mind, jumping right back into the fairy tale that she had dreamed about for so long. “Kissing while you’re wearing the avocado mask is not permitted, Ms. Mitchell,” a sexy, male voice whispered in her ear, echoing, echoing. A twitch moved in her neck, ever so slightly. 129

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Who was speaking in her ear? “No... no kissing?” Kasey mumbled, sighing, straining to hear the voice again. She couldn’t open her eyes, but she could see color everywhere. Beautiful green, blue. Shimmering. Like an ocean. Where was she? “You wouldn’t let a little green slime come between us, Kasey, would you?” That rich, cowboy drawl again. She smiled widely. Yes, she recognized that voice. “Holt, where have you been? I’ve missed you so, but I couldn’t tell you. I was too proud,” she said in her dream, letting go of her thoughts, letting them spill out in a sudden need to say what she’d been feeling since that day at the diner. “I missed you, too, Kasey,” she heard him say in that wonderfully sexy voice she knew so well. “Oh, Holt, I must look so funny, wearing this green stuff on my face.” “You look beautiful to me, Kasey. You haven’t changed. You’re the same beautiful woman I loved then and I love now.” “You mean what you’re saying, Holt. I know you do. But you didn’t write to me... you didn’t write.” Kasey kept talking, knowing it was all in her mind, but she didn’t care. In her fantasy she was no longer lying on a chaise lounge having a silky facial. She was somewhere else, lying seductively on a warm, golden beach, looking at this gorgeous man through her outrageously long, dark lashes. A blush of sand clinging to her nude body sparkled when she raised her breasts, then she lifted up her shoulders, letting her hands move gracefully through the humid air in a playful dance before wrapping her arms around his neck. She smiled, licking her lips with her tongue, then she pulled him down to her, his hard body crushed against her breasts. She shivered. She could feel his

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heartbeat racing in rhythm to hers and she couldn’t, wouldn’t let him go. “Let me wash away the pain that you felt, Kasey,” Holt whispered in her ear, “pain I never wanted you to feel.” “Yes, Holt, yes...” she said, lifting up her face to feel the clean spray of a waterfall splashing all over her, the gurgling sound rushing in her ears, the cool, cool water hitting her nose, her cheeks, her lips. “Forget the past and let me love you, Kasey, as you were meant to be loved.” “Yes, Holt. Love me... love me.” “Kiss me, Kasey. Now.” “Yes.” She might not have been courageous enough to make the first move if she knew this wasn’t a dream, but as the cool water washed over her face she brushed his lips with hers, pushing his mouth open with her tongue, aching to feel his passion for her. She kissed him hard. His lips were hot. Her mouth stung from the heat shooting through her. Her body ached from want. Her soul ached from need. It was a combination that sent her emotions racing through time back to the adobe ruins where they first explored their passion for each other. She wrapped her arms and legs tighter around him, pushing her body into his hard flesh, aching to feel him deep inside her, filling her up with his raw masculinity. A slow, warm heat began to build in her, making her squeeze her pubic muscles together. She moaned, then before she could cry out, a sudden spray of coolness made her shiver. Like cold water in her face. Wait, she thought, her senses suddenly alert, it was cold water. She woke up, the spell of her dream lingering in the air like the scent of a favorite perfume. She looked around and saw the 131

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beauty expert disappearing through the door and leaving her alone. Kasey put her hands up to her face. She was surprised to find that her skin was smooth and as perfect as a magazine glossy. And warm. She was blushing after making love to Holt, though it was only a fantasy. She had never left the safety of the chaise lounge, but Kasey felt alive and moved by what she had imagined. Holt was back in her life, no matter how hard she denied it. She knew now he would haunt her dreams. How long could she resist him? How long? Danger lurked in her mind. A sensual danger, warning her that she could easily fall into the Apache cowboy’s arms and make love to him without missing a beat. She knew she was walking a tightrope every time she was near him. Damn, she thought, her heart skipping and spinning at the same time, she was like an acrobat working without a net. ~*~ “Are you cool or warm, Ms. Mitchell?” “Well, I was feeling quite warm,” Kasey quipped, touching her flushed cheeks, “before someone turned up the air conditioning.” “I meant your skin tone profile,” a young woman with big, beautiful doe eyes said, laughing. She identified herself as Sasha. She had popped into Kasey’s cubicle, carrying a large, worn-around-the-edges wooden box filled with sponges. Brushes. And was that the smell of coffee? Kasey hoped. “Are you warm or cool?” Sasha repeated. Kasey took a sip of the coffee. “Is there a wrong or a right answer?” “Not with your face, Ms. Mitchell. Making you up is going to be a pleasure,” Sasha said, setting up what looked like an entire cosmetics counter. The big wooden box was filled with pots and pots of every color of red, pink, peach, and brown.

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Kasey couldn’t count how many colors of powders for eyes, lips, cheeks, foundation, color sticks, mascara, and tubes all huddled together in close quarters in the big box. “Call me Kasey,” she said. “Here’s the deal, Kasey...” Sasha began, studying Kasey’s face and trying several different color sticks of foundation on her lower cheek area. “From what I see here, you’re definitely cool. That means you have blue tones in your skin, unlike someone who is warm with yellow tones.” “So what colors should I wear?” “Pinks and neutral colors for day, peach and red for evening. Lots of wine, plum, and purple for dramatic effect.” “Purple?” Kasey joked. “They won’t recognize me back at the diner.” “We’ll save the purple for another time,” Sasha said, laughing as she plucked Kasey's eyebrows and created a whole new open-eyed look for her. Next, she began applying a darker shade of foundation on her cheekbones, chin, bridge of her nose, and the middle of her forehead. “There’s so much to learn about make-up,” Kasey said. “I feel like a teenager with her first lipstick.” “Remember, Kasey, make-up should enhance, not hide your features,” Sasha said, putting contour make-up on the sides of Kasey’s nose, her forehead, and her cheeks. Kasey was enchanted with her new look, especially the colors. Pinks, peach, soft brown. Enhance not hide, Sasha’s brushes seemed to whisper in Kasey’s ear as the makeup artist continued to work on her face. She could feel a new person taking shape with a new attitude. A new Kasey. “Do you want to take a closer look?” Sasha asked minutes later. “Do I dare?” 133

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“Go for it.” Slowly Sasha turned the revolving chair around so Kasey could see her reflection in the wall-to-wall mirrors behind her. “Oh, no, that can’t be me!” she cried out, not believing. “I look like... like— “A movie star,” Sasha finished for her. “You took the words right out of my mouth before I could put them in,” Kasey said, laughing, feeling lighter than air. Her pulse beat faster and a whole new attitude kicked in, sending her senses reeling. She was floating on a big, sexy bubble and she couldn’t put her feet on the ground if she tried. How could she describe what she saw in the mirror? She didn’t see a woman with plus-size written on her forehead like a tattoo. Instead she saw a woman filled with confidence, a woman not afraid to stand up tall and shake out her hair so it flew around her face like she’d seen the smiling, toothy models on the TV commercials do. It was wonderful hair, Kasey thought. Soft, curving, naturallooking brown hair with blonde highlights and ending at her chin. She studied her face. Arched eyebrows. Full, peach lips. And did wonders and Sasha’s miracle brushes never cease, she had cheekbones. What more could she want? She knew the answer to that question long before Ms. Townsend told her she had a phone call. “A phone call for me?” Kasey asked, her smile spreading wider over her peach glossed lips, but her stomach clenched with fear. She hoped nothing was wrong at home. “Yes,” Ms. Townsend said, then she added with a not-toosubtle question in her eyes. “From a gentleman.” “Kasey Mitchell, you’re the hardest woman to get hold of,” she could hear Holt saying at the other end of the line.

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She refused to let the sound of his voice melt the make-up off her face. Refused, dammit. That didn’t stop oily beads of perspiration from bubbling up over her upper lip. She wiped the sweat, no, she dabbed it gently with a tissue, then spoke calmly into the phone. She said, “What are you talking about, Holt?” “First, the power lines were knocked out at the ranch, then you run off and win a modeling contest.” “Sorry if I upset your plans.” Kasey held the phone away from her mouth, pouting her freshly-painted lips. She sounded miffed, but she had a right to sound miffed. She didn’t dare let him know she was glad to hear his voice. “You upset my plans when you ran off and got...” Was that his heavy breathing she heard? “Well, anyway, I think I found something that will explain everything to you.” Kasey held her breath, waiting. Again, the feeling that her insides were twirling around like they were out-of-control spinning tops. She asked, “Explain what, Holt?” She wanted to say more to him, but didn’t. Something held her back. Fear of losing him again? She wasn’t sure. “I want you to see for yourself, Kasey. Have dinner with me tonight,” Holt said, his tone insistent but charming. “I’ll pick you up at your hotel—” “I don’t know if I can, Holt. They keep us so busy, what with all this preparation for the photo shoot.” She bit down on her lip. Hard. Why was she stalling? Because she was scared to see him again? Scared he had something to tell her that would destroy her dream all over again? Kasey shuffled her feet back and forth on the highly polished white-tiled floor, calming her nerves. Ms. Townsend was standing nearby, smiling sweetly, but there was an urgency 135

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in that smile that made Kasey nervous. Not to mention the fact she was tapping her pink and white nails on the black onyx counter. The contest coordinator was taking the winners on a special shopping spree to Theo’s, a fashionable boutique on Rodeo Drive, to pick out their wardrobe for the photo shoot afterward and they were on a tight schedule, she reminded Kasey. Kasey waited until the woman walked away, but not before Ms. Townsend tossed a look in her direction that said, “Hurry up.” She held the phone tightly in her hand. There was something else on her mind as well. How could she explain to Holt that having dinner with him wasn’t going to solve what was wrong between them? What could she say? By the way, Holt, you have a son. Yes, the little boy you met at the baseball game is yours. You want to see him again? Do I dare trust you? How do I know you won’t try to take my son away from me? No, Holt Astin, I’m afraid to see you again— “Kasey, are you there? Kasey!” Holt’s voice jolted her out of her miserable conversation with herself that was going everywhere and nowhere at the same time. “I’m having a facial, Holt,” she lied, trying to think of something, anything, to end this phone call before she let her emotions rule her reason. “With avocados,” she finished weakly. “You can sit naked in a milk bath up to your pretty neck if that’s what you want, Kasey, but we have to talk.” “You don’t know what I want, Holt. You just don’t understand—” “The others are waiting, Ms. Mitchell,” Ms. Townsend said, discreetly tapping her on the shoulder and making her jump. When did she come back?

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“I’ll be right there, Ms. Townsend,” Kasey said, then she whispered into the phone receiver. “I’ve gotta go. The avocados are hardening on my face—” “Damn the avocados! I want to see you.” She had the feeling she wouldn’t get rid of him unless she promised him something, anything, so she said, “Okay, I’ll have dinner with you tonight. Now I’ve got to go—” “I’ll be at your hotel at seven, Kasey. I think you’ll be very interested in what I have to tell you.” ~*~ Holt hung up the phone and leaned forward in his tall, black swivel chair and stared at the dated letters spread out on his desk. Kasey’s letters. A sharp pain erupted in his gut. Hit him hard. The truth was there for him to see in black and white. They were letters from a young girl in love but frightened out of her wits. Holt picked up the letter from Kasey that he had been reading and looked at it again. A new life will be born to the land, my darling Holt, she wrote. He will be brave and strong like you. Like your ancestors. I am proud to carry your child. And I will be proud to be your wife. Kasey had poured out her feelings for him in those letters, feelings of love and loneliness, and faith in him. She had never gotten an answer back but she never faltered, never blamed him for making love to her. She embraced the result of that love growing inside her as something holy, something sacred. The irony of it all hit him deep in his psyche, tore apart his usually hard-nosed approach to everything he did. He fought back a terrible ache that threatened to overwhelm him. Keep your emotions out of your business was a credo he’d practiced since he was a young lawyer. Damn, he’d put his emotions on ice for ten years. He was thawing out fast. 137

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Holt threw the steel box onto the carpeting, the soft piling muffling the sound of the old box hitting the floor. He cursed and cursed again, bringing down the wrath of his anger against Garth Astin far too late. His father had tricked him. There was no car accident, no marriage, no divorce. Only the life of a beautiful young girl nearly destroyed by the mad rantings of an old man. He had always known his father had lied and cheated to get The Laguna Ranch. He remembered the pain he felt when, as a young man, he discovered that his father had connived his way into his mother’s affections with his charming ways and promise to keep The Laguna Ranch in operation after her father died. Then when he was certain he would have his way, Garth Astin forced himself upon the young Apache woman who held the deed to the vast property. A deed that belonged to her father, a white man. Holt’s Irish grandfather had fallen in love with a beautiful Indian princess and their only child, his mother, was crippled as a young girl after falling from her horse. What he hadn’t known until he found his father’s old steel box, was that his mother was secretly in love with Natchez; but her father had forbidden the alliance, wishing instead that his daughter marry a white man. That suited Garth Astin. He was only too happy to become engaged to the beautiful Apache girl, even though he knew her heart belonged to another man. Garth Astin found he couldn’t live with that. Holt found the notes his father had received from a private detective, detailing when the two lovers would meet. He could guess what happened next. Garth Astin seduced the young woman to his bed and forced her to marry him when she found herself pregnant with his child, making her believe that without his help she would lose the ranch.

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Natchez refused to leave her, caring for her, and he was at her side when she died. He also promised her that he would care for her young son. He treated Holt as if he were his own blood, often trying to help the boy come to terms with his father in times of turmoil. Now Holt understood why his Apache friend never spoke of his mother. He’d loved her too deeply to shame her memory with the hint of a scandal. Holt also understood why Garth Astin hated Indians, hated everything they stood for because of his mother’s love for an Apache. Garth was never able to appreciate the beauty of spirit that the Indian, in spite of his warlike nature, brought to the land. How the Apache was never at war with the land, but he fought only to keep the desert and the plains clean and whole. Not see it stripped of the beauty the Earth God and the Mountain Spirit had bestowed upon them. Garth Astin saw in the land only the opportunity to make money. A fortune in a short time. Cattle ranchers ruled the Southwest then and beef prices skyrocketed. The value of the ranchlands made him rich when he sold thousands of acres to the government for federal grazing purposes. And he spent it, according to the list of debts that he left unpaid. On women, cars, horses. Anything money could buy. But Garth Astin couldn’t buy Kasey Mitchell. He tried. Holt could see that in her letters. She wrote letter after letter to him, asking Holt to make his father stop sending her gifts, gifts that she returned. Garth promised to make the rest of her life financially secure if she would give up her baby. But Kasey wouldn’t go away quietly or forget she ever knew Holt Astin. She wouldn’t do it, wouldn’t give up her belief in the man she loved. Holt ran his fingers over the aging paper, cracking at the edges. He still couldn’t believe his father had intercepted all her 139

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letters. Easy enough to do, what with him away at college in California. Garth Astin was a very powerful man with powerful friends. He paid his agents well to keep Holt from getting the letters. Inevitably, though, Holt began asking questions about Kasey—Where had she gone? Why didn’t she write to him? It hadn’t been difficult for Garth Astin to have an expert forge her handwriting and write Holt a letter about an impending marriage. Holt wouldn’t accept it. He knew only one person could tell him to go away, stop writing, stop loving her. Kasey. So he came home, looking for her. Garth even had a solution for that. He killed her. On paper. Once and for all he was rid of Kasey Mitchell. And by doing so, Garth had denied him his son. Holt felt a chill run through him, making his pulse race faster. Overcome by the heaviness that lay over his heart, he paced around his office. He could find no excuse within himself for not finding Kasey sooner. He should have known she was alive. Should have known that a child lived, blessed by the union of their love. Events had moved so fast since his father’s death that he hadn’t time to think about anything but settling the estate. A poor excuse, but he kept to it. Yet he couldn’t forget what Garth Astin had done. How he had ruined the lives of three people. Legal maneuvering wouldn’t change the past, he knew, and forceful tactics wouldn’t make up for what Kasey had suffered, though a rising hatred to have the scalp of the man he’d called father hanging at his belt made him want to let out a yell that would tear through his office like wildfire. He couldn’t let himself. Though the acceptance of Garth as his father was something which continued to elude him, he tried not to hate him. His sense of filial duty demanded that he respect him, but he didn’t have to

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hold him well in his memory. He hoped it wasn’t too late to change the devastating wrong he had done to all of them. “Excuse me, Mr. Astin...” Holt spun around as his office door opened and his secretary popped her head in the doorway. She was a petite woman who wore her years of experience as a badge of honor on her cuffed sleeves. She hesitated, as if she sensed the heated confrontation he was having with his father’s ghost. Holt ran his hands through his dark hair, calming himself down, at least on the outside, though inside his stomach was churning. “Yes, Chrissy, what is it?” He didn’t mean to sound agitated, but he did. He smiled at her and she relaxed. “I have a call for you from Phoenix. The District Attorney’s office—” Holt picked up the phone before his secretary could finish her sentence. This was the call he had been waiting for all day. “Astin here,” he said into the phone. “Yes, that’s it, Carlisle. That was the name of the company on the lien.” “They’re bogus, Mr. Astin,” he could hear the D.A. state clearly at the other end of the line. “And this isn’t the first complaint we’ve had. There have been several others at all levels.” “Then this is a professional operation?” “Maybe, maybe not.” “What do you mean?” “Some guy in prison has been filing these things against congressmen and well-known businessmen like yourself. Anyone they have a grudge against.” A grudge against Garth Astin? Not impossible, he thought. Holt knew his father’s business tactics well. The owner of The Laguna Ranch had many enemies before he died. It could be any one of a number of people.

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Holt asked, “How can these guys in prison access this kind of information?” “It’s a paper world we live in, Mr. Astin. With computers it’s turned into a matter of hitting a few keys here, file a document there, and these crooks can make anyone a victim of paper terrorism. We can clear it for you, though. When’s your sale scheduled to close escrow?” Holt held the phone in his hand for what seemed like a long time. Sweat formed on his neck and he had the urgent desire to unbutton his collar. He pulled on his tie and ripped open the top button on his shirt. Why couldn’t he answer that question easily, quickly? What was holding him back? Holt knew the answer. Green eyes. Smiling at him from the old letters sitting in front of him on his desk. Kasey. And he was going to get her back. “Take your time in clearing the lien, Carlisle,” he said, not letting the memory of holding her tightly in his arms fade. “I’m in no hurry to close the deal.”

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Ten Later that day while cruising the fancy showroom at Theo’s, Kasey suffered a bargain buyer’s worst nightmare. There were no reduced price racks at the expensive shop, she discovered, no “Ten-percent-off on Tuesday” sales, and no racks of overruns or irregulars. In fact, there were no racks at all. She poked her curious out-of-towner nose around the ultrasophisticated Beverly Hills boutique, running her fingers over the highly-polished armoires and tall garderobes filled with beautiful clothes, all inviting the customer to fling open the drawers and closet doors and discover the treasures inside them. The shop itself was a piece of art. Huge mirrors emblazoned with family crests hung on the walls next to plumed hats in pink, white, purple, and sage. Fairy-soft chiffon dresses floated on top of old-fashioned hat racks, while pink and silver-gray satin meridienne couches invited customers to sit and inhale the smell of pricey silk, Southern voile, and burned-out velvet. Tiptoeing around the shop on carpeting so high she swore she was floating, Kasey took her time looking at everything. She pulled out filmy pajama pants, silk blouses that seemed to melt between her fingers, and wool jackets so smooth they felt like velvet. All the while, she felt like she was peeking into the 143

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private bedroom of the twelve dancing princesses in a faraway palace from long ago. And where were the price tags? Kasey wondered, touching the clothes carefully, like a little girl sneaking through her mother’s closet. She didn’t recognize any of the labels in the clothes, though Made in France appeared on most of the garments, unlike the I shop at Wal-Mart label she was certain was sticking to her forehead. What happened next surprised everyone, especially Kasey, when Ms. Townsend looked at her and said, “Would you be our model, Kasey, so I can show everyone how wonderful these clothes look on you?” Kasey made a face, as if to say, “Who, me?” Ms. Townsend nodded, then motioned for her to step forward. Kasey hesitated. She wanted to shrink and hide in the high carpeting, but Ms. Townsend was the kind of woman who knew when to push and when not to push. And Kasey definitely needed pushing. Kasey smiled weakly as the contest coordinator handed her a pair of silk turquoise drawstring pants, a crisp-collar white shirt, and a turquoise jacket. “Put them on, Kasey,” Ms. Townsend said sweetly, and minutes later Kasey was showing the winners how the outfit made a flowing, slimming look on her. A sudden pride welled up inside her as she tossed away her stretch-jeans mentality with a rush of sensuality oozing from her. She really did feel like a model, strutting through the store, swinging her hips and letting her inhibitions go. Twirling around in a circle, hamming it up, she didn’t know where she got the courage. She felt so good about herself, as cool as spring water in the desert heat. “We call this elongating the waist, ladies. It makes you appear taller, slimmer...” she could hear Ms. Townsend saying. Next she had Kasey try on a pair of bright yellow, wide-legged 144

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pants and a long blouson top. “...and don’t be afraid to use lots of color.” “Doesn’t color make you look bigger?” asked the redhead from the midwest. Ms. Townsend smiled, as if she’d been asked this question numerous times. “Not if you build your outfit around one color that flatters your skin tone. Or you can use black as a basic color, adding a bright shirt, scarf, or jacket to accent it.” Ms. Townsend moved quickly, pulling clothes out of the armoires, off the walls, out of drawers, showing the winners different ways to dress up what Kasey knew was every plussize woman’s best friend—a slimming black dress. “Would y’all explain that elongate thing again?” asked the blonde from Georgia. “Of course,” Ms. Townsend said, going through her spiel once more and using Kasey as her model. “Don’t forget to turn up the collar to elongate the look,” she emphasized, “And we’ll add these shoes for the final touch.” She handed Kasey a pair of high heeled taupe sandals. “Aren’t these heels too high?” Kasey asked. She was taller than the rest of the winners and the shoes would make her stand out, something she had avoided up until now. “The better to see your new world, my dear,” Ms. Townsend quipped like a fairy godmother, smiling. After she put on the shoes, Kasey wondered where the contest coordinator kept her magic wand. The woman was right. Though she wobbled a bit at first, Kasey recovered quickly as something clicked inside her psyche and her female instinct took over. Without questioning why she was doing it, she pulled her shoulders back, lifted up her chest, and sucked in her stomach. With her lips parted in a big smile, she walked slowly up and down the middle of the shop, tilting her head to the side and batting her eyelashes in a coquettish manner. An almost fairy 145

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tale-like quality to this moment gave her the confidence to make this thing work. She tried to look past what would happen when the pumpkin express rolled in and she was back at the diner serving up omelets, but she couldn’t. She was having too much fun. Changing clothes faster than a superheroine, Kasey modeled one gorgeous outfit after another, until nature called. She shuffled her feet back and forth. Too much rich, hot gourmet coffee all morning was making its presence felt with an urgency that couldn’t wait. “The ladies’ powder room is located at the top of the stairs, mademoiselle,” a girl with jet-black hair, white alabaster skin, and four-inch heels told her. “At the top of the stairs, you said?” Kasey asked. “Yes, turn left, past the row of photographs.” “Photographs?” Kasey asked curiously. “Oui, mademoiselle. They’re pictures of our special customers wearing gowns from Theo’s,” the salesgirl said with house pride. Kasey was intrigued. Movie stars? Social debs? She should have known better, should have gone straight to the bathroom and not been so darn nosey, but that wasn’t her. Customers at the diner liked her because she did stick her nose into their business, cared about them, knew their favorite item on the menu, and asked about their kids. So it should have come as no surprise to her on her way out of the powdered pink ladies’ room she would see something that made her heart stop. On the wall. A big, eight-by-ten glossy. In a silver frame. Kasey blew out a big breath. It was a photo of Holt and a woman. A beautiful woman. Who was she? His ex-wife? A girlfriend? Did she really want to know?

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“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” said a woman’s voice behind her. Kasey jumped. It was Ms. Townsend. Had she followed her upstairs to the bathroom? Kasey didn’t turn around, though she quickly shifted her eyes to another photo. “Yes, all the women in the photos are beautiful.” “I believe you were looking at the photo of Taylor Astin.” It was a statement, not a question. “Yes, I was,” Kasey said quietly, then bit her tongue. So it was Holt’s ex-wife. Why should she care? It was none of her business. “Holt Astin is rich and charming,” Ms. Townsend said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Any woman would fall for him, but he’s a man used to a certain type, if you know what I mean.” “I may be from a small town, Ms. Townsend, but I know the rules of the game, and being bigger than a size six is against those rules,” Kasey said, becoming suddenly rigid. Who was this woman? Her camp counselor? The older woman took Kasey by the arm, as if pulling her away from temptation. “I’m only telling you this, Kasey, because I know that Holt Astin called you earlier. I’ve been concerned about you ever since.” Kasey was taken aback, but she was too drained to fire back a snappy reply. She said quietly, “You don’t have to worry about me, Ms. Townsend. Holt and I are merely old friends. Nothing more.” Ms. Townsend let out a sigh, her eyelids fluttered, and she actually smiled. “Well, that’s a relief. I feel personally responsible for my girls while they’re here with us.” Walking alongside Kasey down the stairs, keeping her voice low, as if she were telling her a secret, she added, “You know, Kasey, so many of our winners come out to Beverly Hills with high hopes and big dreams. We wine and dine you, give you a new look, a 147

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new wardrobe, and hopefully a new attitude about yourself. When our winners go home they think everything will be different, but it isn’t. Some still can’t get jobs or husbands.” She paused, thinking hard about what she was about to say. “As hard as we try, we haven’t totally changed how society sees the plus-size woman. It’s still the last accepted prejudice in our society.” “What are you trying to tell me, Ms. Townsend?” Kasey asked. “You and the others are stars for a day, my dear, and it is M’Lady Plus magazine’s sincerest hope that we’ve helped you to find personal satisfaction in being who you are.” She smiled, motioning to the other women having a good time, trying on clothes, playing dress-up. Kasey could almost see her giving herself a mental pat on the back. She turned back to Kasey. “However, only a select few can make the jump into a career in the modeling business.” A sudden need to stand up for herself, prove herself, made Kasey stand up straighter. “I have a career back in Arizona.” “Yes, I know. Your diner,” Ms. Townsend said. She chewed on her lower lip as if mentally flipping through the three by five cards in her head until she came to the one with Kasey’s name on it. She had clearly thought a lot about what she was going to say. “I’ve watched you since you got here, Kasey, how you handle yourself, the way you take easily to wearing clothes, as well as your genuine smile and pretty features. I believe you could make that jump to a plus-size model.” Kasey’s heart began racing wildly. “Do you really think so, Ms. Townsend?” “Yes, I do... if nothing else gets in your way.” Kasey knew where the woman was heading, so she beat her to the punch. “You mean Holt Astin.”

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Ms. Townsend nodded. “Yes. I wouldn’t want to see you give up a career before it started because of a broken heart.” Kasey drew in her breath and let it out, slowly. Ms. Townsend was warning her about Holt, telling her the same things she told herself but didn’t listen to, didn’t want to hear. Well, the coordinator didn’t have to worry about her. Her decision was made and she wasn’t backing out now. She’d have dinner with Holt, listen to her heart beating wildly when, make that if he touched her hand, but she wouldn’t let him get under her skin. She’d stay in control. Completely. And if he kissed her, she’d suffer through the delicious agony; if he held her in his arms, she’d tremble, but only for a little while. Kasey stared at her new look in the mirror, surprised that she could have changed so quickly. And now that she had, she felt at ease with this new person. When she looked closer, she could see a rising excitement tinting her cheeks pink and making her eyes sparkle. Perhaps this was what she was meant to do all the time. Modeling. And if she did succeed, she would discover the strength to do so came not from her new look or the new clothes, but from the strong woman that had always been inside her. The woman who had worked hard at making a life for herself and her son, who didn’t give up, no matter what. All she had to do was look for her. You’re going places, Kasey Mitchell, she repeated in her mind. If you can make something out of this modeling opportunity, then Allie can have a bigger shop, you can help Sylvia refurbish the diner, and send Logan to the best schools. You can be somebody. No more the girl from Hogan Heights, a girl not good enough for Garth Astin’s son. Because no matter how much she denied it, Kasey wanted to be with him again, but she wasn’t sure that he wanted to be with her. So why not give modeling a try, she thought, and see

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what happened. The only problem was that it might cost her the loss of her heart. ~*~ Knees knocking so badly she swore the sound echoed throughout the studio, Kasey walked across a small stage, took a deep breath and waited for somebody to say “cheese.” It didn’t happen. Instead she heard a man’s voice say, “Put your hands on your hips, honey, lower... lower.” Kasey slid her hands down her hips awkwardly. She knew she must appear stiff, like a wooden soldier. She didn’t know what else to do, so she did nothing. It was obviously the wrong thing to do when she heard a loud gasp of exasperation coming from the photographer. “Let’s try something else, Ms. Mitchell,” he said. The cool tone of the photographer’s voice, not to mention the fact he was pulling out bits of his spiked-blond hair, told her he wasn’t going let her go until he got what wanted from her. What that was, she didn’t know, so she continued to stand in front of the camera, as rigid as an ironing board, scared to death to move, when her big toe started to itch. Not now, she pleaded, trying to ignore the nervous twitch in her toe. Not on her first photo shoot. This was too important to mess up. If she didn’t do this right, she would miss out on receiving her portfolio of color and black and white stills. Glamour shots, Ms. Townsend called them. Kasey shuffled her feet, dying, absolutely dying to kick off her high heeled shoe and rub her toe against the floor. Finally, the itch got the better of her and she dragged her shoe along the floor, which was actually only a backdrop consisting of a never-ending sheet of white roll-out paper. As she did so, a loud crackling noise unsettled her nerves. She dared to look down at the torn paper and laughed, letting her emotions go— tossing her head, throwing up her arms, and kicking her feet. 150

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Inspired by her sudden shift in mood, the photographer started snapping photos of her, bouncing around her, up and down, and going through an amazing array of acrobatics that made Kasey laugh again. “Yes, that’s it. Laugh,” he urged. “Give me a bigger smile... yeah, perfect. More ‘tude, sweetheart. Make love to the camera.” Kasey stopped suddenly, though she held her pose. Her mouth dropped open at his suggestion. She didn’t know how to respond to his request that she should make love to the camera, but it seemed like an irresistible idea to her, standing as she was in a wildly sexy outfit of red silk pajamas with her body so tuned in to playing the game that her mind was caught so offguard at the thought of it. But as her heart beat desperately in her breast, her mind was also saying, “Hold on, Kasey Mitchell, what do you think you’re doing, acting like this? There are people watching you.” That cooled her off. Fast. Though she couldn’t resist letting a smile curl over her polished lips and a naughty thought popped into her head. But what if she pretended the camera was Holt? What then? her conscience challenged her. A flash of that night at the ranch shifted her emotions into overdrive and she remembered his hands touching her, their bodies pressed up against each other, her head tilting up to meet his lips. It was a delicious idea, like hot fudge melting on her tongue. Before she knew what she was doing, she leaned toward the camera and a naked vision of Holt appeared in her mind. Her warrior. Bronze and tanned, his body the color of the golden sands of the desert, moist with a summer rain. His chest bulging with muscles, his dark eyes fixed on her. Watching her. Wanting her. A long moment passed before she caught sight of half a dozen people staring at her. 151

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Kasey swallowed hard. She felt embarrassed, not to mention naked in front of the camera, her body’s tiniest flaws exposed to scrutiny, though the make-up girl had assured her that every mole, every brown freckle, every unwanted wrinkle would be airbrushed out of existence in the final photos. It was a comforting thought, if she could just loosen up. She was so scared with all these people watching her, she couldn’t get the fantasy right. A moan stuck in her throat. Who would have thought she couldn’t conjure up the idea of Holt making love to her? Something she had done every night for years. “Ms. Mitchell... Kasey, don’t be nervous. We’ll try it again,” said the photographer in a fatherly-wise voice, treating her like a child. She found that amusing. A few minutes ago he wanted her to make love to the camera. What next? Welcome to the insane, carnival world of the photo shoot, she thought, feeling drips of perspiration dribbling down the side of her mouth. She didn’t dare move. Head tilted up, hands on hips, shoulders back, tummy in, she was center stage in a play where everyone and everything had its place. Hot lights, white background, umbrella lighting, a guy sticking a light meter under her chin, wild, crazy loud music blasting in the background, make-up girls powdering anything that moved, wardrobe ladies with mouthfuls of pins, pulling and tucking at the models’ clothes. Oh, God, what am I doing here? Why did I let Allie talk me into this madness? I’m not a model. I’m an ordinary woman from a small desert town in Arizona with an accounting degree. How do I get off thinking I can do this? Kasey wanted to forget the whole thing and jump off the stage. Then someone turned on the wind machine, blowing warm air up the legs of her silky red pantsuit and tickling her in a very delicate area of her anatomy. A sudden tingling caught her off guard and the memory of Holt touching her in that same 152

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place shot through her, making her feel warm. Very warm. She couldn’t help it, but she blushed straight into the camera, giving the photographer exactly what he wanted. “Fabulous... love it, give me more! Great, great... keep your chin up. Super.” Smiling big, Kasey let go of all her inhibitions, tossing them away like yesterday’s old jeans. She couldn’t deny her obvious and very female reaction to the suggestive atmosphere of sexy music and warm, breathy wind blowing between her legs. It was a turn-on, but she knew it was up to her to pull together her dreams, mix them up with her own personal experiences, and melt a big, healthy dose of fantasy all over it. Like a creamy, double chocolate topping on top of golden vanilla ice cream. Ummm, it was so real she could taste it. She began licking the chocolate off the top. Slowly. So very slowly. A chill shot through her and she shivered, courage racing through her like liquid lightning, fueling her ambition, tempting her body with the want of something so primal, so deep inside her that she inadvertently whimpered, a low sexy sound that only she could hear, but it acted as a cue and set the stage for what was to be the debut of the coming out of her old self and showing the world a new Kasey. Confident. Sure of herself. And downright sexy. It was in that instant she discovered that posing in front of a camera was all about letting go, letting that inner woman come out in the magic of being in the moment. It was a powerful feeling. And exhilarating. She pushed out her chest, her full breasts standing up tall, her eyes shining. She felt the pull of the fantasy, drawing her in and giving her the self-confidence to forget she was surrounded by people watching her every move. They didn’t exist. Nothing mattered but the camera and her. She stared into the camera and its giant eye pulled her inside herself and she was seeing another time, another place— 153

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—where a wild pony raced around a hidden canyon, boxed in by towering granite peaks sparkling with gold dust under the merciless, hot sun. Kasey held her breath, squinting at the hot lights above her, but keeping the scene clear in her mind as she wiped the perspiration off her nose. She felt sweat pouring down her neck, then she saw sweat beading up on the horse’s sleek chestnut flanks, its mane hanging in wet, tangled braids down its back. Her own hair felt heavy on her neck as she pulled it up off her back, then stretched her arms up high over her head. She cried out when she saw the pony rear up on its hind legs as summer lightning ripped through the sky and struck the ground near the animal. She could see the pony wasn’t hurt but struggling to free itself from a lasso around its neck. Oh, the poor thing, she thought, reaching out to help the animal, her face and body gliding through pose after pose as she did so, the camera snapping, snapping, every emotion, every pose. Then the pony slowly dissolved in front of her and its melting shape took on the form of— “A woman,” she whispered, only realizing then the horse that had become the woman was her. Before she had time to put it all together, she felt the lasso being pulled taut around her waist, her long, long hair swirling around her and covering her nude body in silky strands. Around and around in a circle she danced, her arms held up high over her head, her bare feet tapping out a strange-sounding rhythm as the lasso wrapped itself around her waist. Dizzying sounds echoed in her ears, making her head spin until she could see nothing but colors. Red, pink, purple, blue dots dithered before her eyes in flowery patterns. Then she felt someone tugging on the lasso around her waist and pulling her to him. Closer, so close she could hear him breathe, feel his breath on her neck, thrill to the strength in his hands when he 154

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held her around the waist, pulling her long, long braids off her shoulders, then cupping her breasts in his hands. She sighed as he squeezed her breasts gently, pinching her hardened nipples between his thumb and forefinger and pulling a delicious sensation from deep inside her. She parted her lips. They were dry from the heat and cracking. She didn’t care. She ached for the moistness of his mouth on hers and she knew without a doubt whose mouth she wished would claim hers in a kiss. Holt. In her dream, she opened her eyes and a sudden delight took hold of her. Although she knew she was totally vulnerable, she had no choice but to lift her face up to his. “Holt,” she whispered, licking her lips with her tongue, begging for his response. “I want you, Kasey. I want to feel your legs wrapped around me, your heart beating against mine in rhythm, your arms encircling me—” “I want you, too, Holt,” she moaned in her faraway fantasy, the fuzzy edges of reality creeping into her mood, but she ignored them. She didn’t want the fantasy to end. She was tired of just dreaming about making love to Holt. She was ready to surrender to him, to let go of the pain that had festered inside her for so long, drowning her desire in a heady perfume— “Ms. Mitchell... Ms. Mitchell,” she heard someone calling her, saying somewhere in the back of her head. She didn’t want to answer him, but the deep voice was insistent, though not threatening. “Yes, yes...” she answered slowly, very slowly. She was floating in a mood of desire and wanting, yet there was a childlike vulnerability in her voice that made her seem so innocent. “We’re finished, Ms. Mitchell,” the photographer said, and was that scampish smile of his tinged with embarrassment? she 155

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wondered. Kasey felt her heart leap into her throat. She looked around at the small crowd of onlookers—make-up girls, lighting technicians, Ms. Townsend, the other models—all watching her with amused expressions on their faces. She avoided their eyes. What had come over her? Wiggling around the stage like a dancer in an MTV video, dropping her tunic top over her shoulder, biting on strands of her hair between her teeth, pouting her painted mouth, licking her lips, pulling up her pants legs, wiggling her hips. No wonder she felt like hiding behind the backdrop and never coming out again. Kasey sighed. It wasn’t her fault. It was that cowboy rancher’s fault, coming back into her life and making her feel... feel like what? she asked herself, remembering the delicious fire she felt when she was near him. Feel like a woman again? A spontaneous laugh bubbled up in her throat and she couldn’t stop giggling as she stepped off the stage, refusing to be embarrassed by what she’d done. Why should she? She’d given them what they wanted, hadn’t she? She hadn’t felt so good in years. “You put on quite a show, Ms. Mitchell,” said a voice behind her. She turned around to see a man coming out of the shadows. Not a tall man, she could see, though his voice, rich and deep, made up for his lack of height. He looked familiar to her. Who was he? “Excuse me, but have we met before?” she asked casually. “I’m Don Shaw,” the man said, his professional smile in place as he presented his card by way of an introduction. Kasey looked at the card, one word grabbing her attention. Don Shaw, it said, Agent. “Are you a modeling agent?” Kasey asked, skepticism shading her voice, but her heart was racing wildly. “Yes. I liked your look the first time I saw you.”

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“Saw me? Where...? Oh, I remember.” Kasey nodded. “At the hotel reception,” she said, falling into step with the agent, his hand leading her by the elbow over to a table filled with bagels, fruit, and doughnuts. The generous spread was for the models and crew, but Kasey wasn’t thinking about food. A bigger need was bubbling up inside her, and like a little kid, she was gushing with enthusiasm. “I never expected to see you here, Mr. Shaw.” “I often check out the photo shoots, looking for new talent.” He paused and the last thing Kasey expected to hear was—“I thought we could have dinner tonight. I want to talk to you about representation.” He picked up a bagel but didn’t eat it. It was almost as if he were giving her time to think about what he’d said and he never intended to eat the bagel. Looking at his lean frame, Kasey was certain she was right. “Dinner? Tonight? I don’t know...” she stalled, lingering near the fresh strawberries. Was that a bowl of whipped cream? “Shall we say around seven?” “Seven?” Kasey couldn’t say yes. She was having dinner with Holt. She didn’t know what to do. Here was the chance for that career Ms. Townsend was talking about, but her heart couldn’t let her go. What if Holt didn’t show up? Still, she had to find out what was on his mind. “I’m sorry, Mr. Shaw, but I have an engagement this evening.” She smiled weakly, hoping the agent would understand. Don spread some cream cheese on his bagel, but he didn’t bite into it. “Oh, I see.” Kasey couldn’t resist the strawberries another minute. Her nerves were eating her up inside, turning her stomach topsyturvy. This game was maddening and she didn’t know how to play it. She dipped a big, plump strawberry into the whipped cream and put it into her mouth and waited for him to say something. “I could meet you at six for cocktails,” he offered. 157

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“Cocktails? At six?” she said, her mouth dripping with whipped cream. Don wiped her mouth with a napkin. It was a gesture that both surprised and unnerved her. “You see, Ms. Mitchell, I’m very interested in signing you as a client and I won’t take no for an answer.” Kasey found her voice, though she felt the strawberry sticking in her throat. “I’m really flattered you want to sign me, Mr. Shaw, but I’m going back to Arizona in a few days.” “Oh? Is that for certain?” Don asked, stalling her. She didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. She had to go home. She couldn’t stay in Los Angeles and be close to— Close to Holt, isn’t that what’s on your mind? You can’t fool yourself, Kasey Mitchell. You don’t have the courage to admit you want to be with Holt. Not just tonight, but every night. You’re still in love with him. “I see you’ve met my favorite agent, Kasey,” Ms. Townsend said, breaking into the conversation at the right moment. Kasey felt like she’d been setup, like these two were passing signals between each other, but she went along with it. Kasey said, “I was telling Mr. Shaw I have to go back to—” “You’re a lucky girl, Kasey Mitchell,” Ms. Townsend interrupted, as if she’d rehearsed it. “Don is the best agent in the business. His plus-size models work all the big shows.” Taken aback, Kasey said, “They do?” “Yes, and they’re well paid for it, too,” she continued, naming a figure that sent Kasey’s blood pressure soaring into the high triple digits. Who would have thought that she, Kasey Mitchell, could earn that kind of money modeling? Ms. Townsend had confidence in her and so did the agent. What was stopping her?

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“Shall we say cocktails at six then, Ms. Mitchell?” Don offered again, the bagel in his hand, the cream cheese melting. Like her resistance, she thought. She said, “At six, Mr. Shaw.” Then with a big smile, she gathered up what was left of the old Kasey and stuffed her into her back pocket, her heart racing with excitement. She was probably going to regret this, probably going to run home with her pride shriveled up, but she’d made her choice. Lights, camera, action. Kasey Mitchell was going Hollywood.

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Eleven Sitting on her hotel bed, putting on her earrings, her eyes misty, Kasey called home. “How’s my big boy tonight?” she said into the phone, her voice showing signs of cracking. She missed her son so much, she thought, taking a sip of water from the glass sitting on her nightstand. Talking to him was more difficult than she thought it would be. It was almost impossible not to let her emotions come through in her voice. “Gee, Mom, do you have to treat me like a baby?” came the young boy’s voice across the telephone lines and straight into her heart. Kasey sighed, trying to keep her feelings in check, trying not to let her son know how much she missed him. She couldn’t help it, but in spite of all the excitement of winning the contest, she was homesick. “Aunt Allie tells me your cold is gone, and you’ve been doing your homework and helping her with the chores.” “Hey, Mom, guess what I found yesterday,” Logan said quickly. Kasey smiled. Obviously more important things were on his mind than homework and chores. “Tell me, honey, what did you find?” she asked, glancing at the time on the small clock radio. She winced. Five forty. She was supposed to meet with the agent in twenty minutes. Well, 160

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at least she was dressed, her new eyelashes stuck into place, and her lips glistening with pink gloss. Looking into the mirror a few minutes ago, she had decided she looked pretty glam for a baseball mom. “I found a real Apache arrowhead and lots of other cool stuff,” Logan said, rambling on with typical youthful enthusiasm about finding some old bones and bits of stone arrowheads. “That’s wonderful, Logan,” Kasey said, listening to him as she slipped on her high heels. Ms. Townsend suggested she wear the sling-back sandals to give her that “extra something.” Whatever that something was, she needed it tonight. She felt her courage starting to crumble as she thought about what she was getting into with this modeling business. She was scared. Really scared. What if she fell flat on her face or other parts of her anatomy? What then? She didn’t want to fail. Couldn’t. Not for Logan’s sake or Allie, and most of all, herself. Kasey checked her watch. Five fifty-five. She grabbed her purse, at the same time telling Logan to mind his Aunt Allie and not to track dirt into the living room. She’d already talked to her sister, letting her fill her in on what bills needed to be paid, how many dishes Sylvia had broken at the diner, and what progress hadn’t been made on the highway widening project. Kasey told her about shopping at Theo’s and the photo shoot, and though she didn’t like keeping anything from her sister, she stopped short of telling Allie that she was meeting with an agent tonight. Or that she was having dinner with Holt. “...and Mr. Natchez said I’m a real Apache,” Logan was saying. Kasey’s heart stopped when she heard that. “He said what?” She nearly dropped the phone, hugging the receiver to her ear,

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praying she hadn’t heard right. The old Indian couldn’t have guessed her secret, could he? No, no, no. “Aw, gee, Mom, don’t get nervous or nothing—” “Anything, Logan. Now what’s this about you being an Apache?” “Well, Mr. Natchez said I’m smart and I learn fast, so he’s teaching me Apache stuff.” “What kind of stuff, Logan?” she barely whispered. “Tell me.” Silence. Kasey took a deep breath. She must have sounded harsh. Logan probably thought he was doing something wrong. She sighed. How could she explain to him that his interest in Indian folklore was only natural? That he was part Apache? How could she tell him that Holt was his father? He’d never understand why she lied to him, why he never knew. He might turn against Holt, not understanding why his father had never come to see him. No, she had to calm down, keep him safe. Keep him away from The Laguna. Away from Natchez before the Indian shaman guessed her secret. “Logan, Logan, are you there?” No answer. “Please, Logan, talk to me.” “I’m here, Mom,” she heard him say quietly. “Listen, honey, I’m sorry... I—I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just that I’ve been so busy here and I’m always in a rush—” She thought she heard a sigh at the other end of the line, then, “When are you coming home, Mom? I... I miss you.” “I miss you, too, baby,” she said, not caring if she was treating him like a little kid. He was a little kid, her baby, and she must be crazy to think about getting involved in this modeling business. She had a son and he needed her, but she knew this was the opportunity of a lifetime. She hoped she wasn’t making a wrong decision, although she knew Allie would encourage her. After all, trying to make it 162

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as a plus-size model was one way of assuring their future, she thought, especially now. According to what Allie had told her earlier, the new superhighway project was stalled. Put on hold indefinitely, according to the rumors around town. “Aunt Allie says I gotta go eat dinner, Mom,” she heard Logan say. “You do what your Aunt Allie says, Logan. I’ll call you tomorrow. I love you, honey. Goodnight.” “‘Night, Mom.” She heard the phone click at the other end, but she sat on the hotel bed for at least ten minutes, staring into space, thinking about what she was going to do. Maybe she should go home. They’d get by at the diner somehow. They’d made it up to now, hadn’t they? Besides, she had no business staying here so far away from her son. He needed her. And Holt doesn’t need you? The real reason you don’t want to stay in L.A. is because you don’t want to have to see Holt Astin again and deal with the emotions that you put on hold ten years ago. “No!” she shouted to her inner self, standing up and throwing her purse on the floor. Oh, damn, what was the use? She was so confused she didn’t know what to do. She glanced at the clock radio. Omigod, it was six fifteen. She raced out of the room, taking the opportunity not to make any decision. Anyway, it wasn’t up to her. The agent was probably just giving her a story. It was a fortunate thing she didn’t believe a word he said about wanting to represent her. Not one word. ~*~ Holt didn’t acknowledge the commotion in the hotel bar when the man and woman walked in and sat down at a small table near the corner fireplace. The flashbulbs going off, the whispering at the bar elicited no response from him. The man 163

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sitting next to him, going over the legal documents did notice, drawing in his breath and making a typical male comment about the woman’s upper torso that usually didn’t accompany his meetings with clients. Holt smiled. He wasn’t with a client. The private investigator that he’d paid to unravel the mess of dirty dealings with the phony lien on The Laguna was the type who usually held meetings in girlie joints downtown and wasn’t accustomed to doing business in the exclusive bar of the Bel Air Hotel. When Holt did look up to see what all the commotion was about, he saw only the shadow of a tall woman sitting down at a table with a much shorter man. Her perfume seemed to drift on the air, touching each man with its heady scent, allowing him to think or feel what he wanted to think, pull his dream into place by way of an evocative fragrance. Holt was immune to such things when his mind was on business. Not even the lure of a beautiful woman could take him off course. He was glad when the moment passed and the patrons went back to their flat-tasting aperitifs and dull conversations. Holt asked the private investigator, “Did you find out who’s putting up the money to finance the Western Land Investment Company?” He wanted an answer tonight. He had to settle the question of who was behind all the scuttlebutt to keep the City Council from putting in a bid to buy The Laguna before moving on to his other business. He tried to keep his mind focused, but he couldn’t concentrate. He tapped his pen on the table, somewhat unnerved. This was not like him. Not at all. He had the strangest feeling the woman in the corner was staring at him and it made him uncomfortable, though he didn’t know why it should. He was used to the curious eye of the female sex wandering in his direction, but this woman seemed to be undressing him with her eyes. He suppressed an amused smile, pulling his masculine pride into place and forcing himself to 164

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move on with his business. The boldness of the woman was a boost to his ego. He only wished Kasey would look at him like that. That idea set his pulse racing. He pushed down his emotions and turned his attention back to the man seated across the small table from him. “Fellow by the name of Frank Widmore is behind the company trying to buy your ranch, Mr. Astin,” the P.I. said, finishing his bottle of imported beer. His second. Holt shrugged. Why didn’t that surprise him? He pressed for more information, which the P.I. eagerly provided with a neatly typed report. He handed it to Holt. The P.I. said, “I think this will explain everything.” “I see what you mean,” Holt said, skimming the pages quickly. “According to this, Widmore also owns the mining supplies company that filed the mechanic’s lien on the ranch.” “You got it, Mr. Astin.” Holt left his drink unfinished. So Widmore was not only behind the phony lien on his ranch, but he had also put into play an additional obstacle to obstruct any bids for The Laguna. For whatever reason, his father’s old friend was doing everything he could to get possession of the ranch. It didn’t take Holt long to see what was really going on here. Put simply, Frank Widmore had seen the opportunity to snatch up most of the private and public grasslands from other less fortunate ranchers forced to sell in the soft beef market. Only The Laguna Ranch stood in his way. So he had come up with this elaborate plan to take over the ranch with no one the wiser. Holt swallowed hard, not tasting his drink. Still, it made no sense to him. At least not in a business way. Widmore’s holdings were bigger than The Laguna, so why was he trying to push Holt out and put in his company ? There was only one thing Holt could think of—It must have something to do with the widening of Interstate Eighteen. A project that would put 165

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Denmore on the map. It hadn’t been approved yet, he knew, and Widmore owned most of the town already, so securing The Laguna must be the final piece in his puzzle. Holt gave out a low whistle. If he got control of The Laguna, Frank Widmore would own it all then. Except, Holt remembered, the strip of property along the truck route where a few small businesses continued to struggle to survive. Like the Denmore Diner. Kasey. That sent his pulse racing overtime. Damn, she was in the thick of a land war and she didn’t even know it. Frank Widmore was determined to make certain the new highway passed through his property and put the Denmore Diner out of business. And Kasey. She was strong and obstinate, he was certain of that, but how could she fight a powerful rancher like Widmore? That was why he must convince her to let him help her. And her son. His son. The thought of Logan being his son still felt unreal but so right. As much as he’d like to share his new discovery with her, be a family, he couldn’t let her know he’d found out that Logan was his son. Why, the whole town would be on her doorstep if the news leaked out, digging up the whole story, lurid details and all. She wasn’t ready for that. She’d been embarrassed enough by the scenario at the Widmore ranch and the front page story that followed. So he decided to keep the information to himself, especially after he found out that the gossip in the little Arizona town was already flying fast and wild about what was happening with the sale of The Laguna. Most people believed that because the City Council was used to dealing with dog runs and non-flush toilets, they had pulled out of the bidding and the ranch had been sold to some big investment firm from out of town.

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More of Widmore’s dirty doings, Holt figured, like the henchmen the corrupt rancher had paid to disrupt the meeting of The Eco-Conservancy that night and cause the commotion on his property. And Holt had played right into his hands, knocking the rancher on his butt exactly as he knew he would do. Holt remembered that night. He wasn’t sorry about what happened. He’d do it all again just to hold Kasey in his arms once more. The thought of it made him sweat. Was it hot in here? Holt loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, the pleasant memory of that night sending his blood pressure soaring upward. He felt his jacket pocket for a pair of tickets that he’d purchased earlier today. He had a surprise planned for Kasey tonight, a surprise in a private airplane up at five thousand feet, flying high over L.A. He could already feel her soft body beneath him, not yielding to him, holding back, but only barely. He wanted to love her, show her how much he missed her. He hoped she felt the same way about him. He undid another button on his shirt and he had that funny sensation again at the back of his neck that his every move was being watched. He stared into the corner of the fancy hotel bar and he knew it was that woman again staring at him, though he couldn’t see her face clearly. “If you’re such a good investigator,” Holt ventured forth with, noticing the P. I.’s empty beer bottle, “and a thirsty one, then tell me who that woman is over there.” The P.I. smiled widely. “Don’t know the lady’s name, Mr. Astin, but she’s one of those plus-size model winners staying here at the hotel.” Holt nodded. He was impressed with the private investigator. “You work fast.” “Have to in my business, Mr. Astin.” He looked around for the cocktail waitress. 167

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“Another beer, please.” A model, huh? Holt smiled. Call it crazy or wishful thinking, but he had a funny feeling, a nudge you could call it, that it was Kasey giving him the once-over. He leaned in toward where she was sitting and he could hear her laughing then protesting about something. He was disappointed, however, when the artificial log in the fireplace threw its transparent red glow in her direction and he caught a flash of the woman’s face. Elegant and very glamorous looking. Her hair was a light brown, soft and pretty, and falling just to the tip of her chin. And her lips were brightly glossed. Could that be Kasey? Then he caught a flash of her eyes. Green eyes. He shook his head in disbelief. It was Kasey and she was having fun at his expense. He found that amusing. Very amusing. He’d like to put her over his knee and— “If we’ve concluded our business, Mr. Astin, I’ve got to pick up a client at the airport,” the P.I. was saying, his beer already finished. “Yeah, we’re done. Good job,” Holt said, pulling out his checkbook, then sending the investigator off with a hefty bonus. When he looked up a couple of minutes later, he was surprised to see Kasey standing in front of him, her table companion nowhere to be seen. Who was he? Too bad the P.I. didn’t have the answer to that question, Holt thought, gazing downward and taking a languid excursion up and down her beautiful legs. She was wearing high heels that added to her sensuality rather than giving her a stilted look. She carried herself with the elegance of a woman born to wear such footwear. It wasn’t her footwear that drew his eyes upward again. It was her beautiful breasts, full and womanly. A swirl of chiffon the color of crushed pink roses barely covered her breasts, inviting his eye to explore the luscious cleavage between them. 168

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No wonder the men in the bar couldn’t take their eyes off her earlier. A tinge of jealousy shot through him, but he fought to hide it as he said, “Kasey Mitchell, you look gorgeous.” “Don’t try to fool me, Holt, I’ve been watching you. You didn’t know it was me.” “Okay, you got me. I plead guilty,” Holt teased, throwing his hands up into the air. “What’s my sentence?” “I’ll have to think about it, after all this is the second time you didn’t recognize me,” she said, laughing, throwing her head back, her silky brown hair whipping at her cheeks. Her pink lips were full, smiling, and inviting him to kiss her mouth. “Forgive me, Kasey?” he asked, his eyes pleading. She nodded. “Sure.” He smiled at her. “You’re even more beautiful, Kasey, than the day I met you.” “Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Astin?” she asked. “I’m not trying to seduce you, Kasey, I am seducing you,” he said, standing up and pulling her into his arms. He felt his heart beating faster when she didn’t resist him. “I’ve got a lot of years to make up for with you. Years I spent thinking that I’d lost you forever. Not knowing that all the time you were alive, waiting for me, and you had...” He stopped short of saying, You had a son. Our son. And I never knew. Kasey lost her smile and the fun went out of her eyes. She seemed embarrassed by his openness and pulled away from him. “Let’s not make up for lost time all in one night, Holt,” she said. “I’m sorry, Kasey. I wanted you to know how I felt before you go back to Arizona—”

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He stopped, her big, exuberant smile cutting him off. He sensed she had something to tell him. He waited, not certain he was ready to hear what she had to say. “I’m not going back to Arizona, Holt,” she said with an assured confidence that surprised and pleased him at the same time. “You’re not? What are you up to now, Kasey Mitchell?” “I’ve just signed a contract with Elegante Models,” she said, smiling big, then she added, “I’m going to model professionally.” “That’s wonderful, Kasey,” he said, admiration for her beaming in his eyes. He let out his breath, relieved to find out the man she was sitting with was an agent. He made a mental note of the name of the modeling agency. He’d check them out in the morning. After all, he told himself, someone had to watch out for her. And their son. He wanted to help her all he could, and though he was delighted at the news she wasn’t going back to Denmore right away, he couldn’t resist asking, “What about the diner?” “With the money I’ll be making we can hire more help.” “And your sister? What will she say?” Kasey laughed. A big, sexy laugh. Her breasts shook, teasing him, making him want to grab her and kiss her, but he held back. Barely. “Allie? This whole contest was her idea. She’ll be so excited about me being a professional model she’ll have my picture pasted all over her shop by morning.” Holt leaned toward her, trying hard not to look at her breasts. “And what about... your son, Kasey? What about Logan?” He’d almost said “our” son, but this wasn’t the time. Kasey stopped smiling and pulled the chiffon over her cleavage, her maternal instinct bringing a different light into her eyes. 170

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“I’ve got that all figured out, Holt. As soon as I can afford it, I’m going to bring Logan out here to Los Angeles.” “Are you sure this is what you want, Kasey?” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “The long hours, the rejection. They’ll eat you alive in this town if you let them.” Something I’d like to do, he decided, fueling his inner need for the taste of her with that pleasant thought, but he kept his mind focused on trying to help her. The muscle at the side of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t let his guard down in front of her. He wanted her to be happy, to follow her dream, but he didn’t want to see her get hurt. “This is the kind of opportunity every girl dreams about, Holt,” Kasey said, dropping her eyes, though he could sense the pain in what she wanted to say. “What I’ve dreamed about. You see, I never fit in anywhere before. I was always the girl from the wrong side of town, the girl who didn’t have enough money to go to college. Then I was the overweight girl with the pretty face—” “You’re a beautiful woman, Kasey.” She looked up at him and he was surprised to see there was something else in her eyes. A mission. In that moment he felt so proud of her when she said, “There are millions of women like me, women who have no confidence or self esteem because they’re not a perfect size six. I want to promote self-acceptance to them and give them hope.” She paused to take a breath. “And now because of winning this contest I’ve been given the chance to prove that real-size women are people with emotions and feelings and wants and desires.” “I want you, Kasey.” He thought he heard her draw in her breath but he couldn’t hold himself back much longer. He wanted her back in his life. “Holt, I... I...”

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“We were engaged once, Kasey,” he said, saying the first thing that came into his mind. Not exactly brilliant. And he called himself a lawyer? Never before had a woman upset his thinking process like this one. “It’s not too late to try again.” “I don’t know, Holt. I don’t know what to think anymore.” She let out her breath, her excitement calming down, yet he sensed that her nerves were simmering below the surface. “Everything is happening so fast. Winning the contest, and now this modeling opportunity. Give me some time. Please. For right now, I just want to celebrate, go out to dinner, dance all night—” “I can think of something else to do all night...” he offered, leaving the rest of his sentence hanging in the air. Kasey’s eyes blazed at him, yet he swore he saw the heat of desire smoldering under her long, spidery eyelashes. “Holt Astin, you wouldn’t dare put your hands on me,” she teased. “Try me.”

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Twelve Kasey shut her eyes and fought back the sexy, wonderful, guilty thoughts popping into her head. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow herself to imagine what it would be like to make love with Holt again. After so many years of wanting him, needing him, she was so close to Holt she could hardly resist reaching out and and pulling him closer to her. She was floating on air just thinking about it. That was an understatement, she thought, blowing out a sigh and watching her hot, steamy breath fog up the tiny airplane window. She was floating all right, flying five thousand feet above the city of Los Angeles. Trapped. Alone. With Holt. In this in-between world where nothing existed but the two of them. A tightness gripped her chest. She couldn’t forget she had a life back on solid ground and there would be a price to pay if she forgot that up here among the stars and the clouds. All evening long that thought weighed on her mind, nudged at her sense of what was right and what was, well, she preferred to think of it as letting herself go and being the young girl she was when they first met more than ten years ago. She hardly ate anything at dinner and when she asked Holt about why he wanted to see her, he started to say something about some letters he found when they were interrupted by friends of Holt’s 173

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who stopped by their table. He said nothing further, except he had a secret surprise for her. After dinner, he insisted he had the perfect spot all picked out for their night on the town. See L.A. at night like you never dreamed, with lots of stars, he said, tempting her. Looking out the window at the smooth ebony black sky lit up with stars, she smiled. He never mentioned the stars were of the twinkling variety. Before she could protest, a black limousine had whisked them away from the secluded wooded area of the Bel Air Hotel and down Sunset Boulevard into the neon-happy lights of West Los Angeles. At first, she thought Holt had planned for them to spend the evening riding around in a limousine, but he kept insisting he had a surprise for her. A surprise, she discovered, waiting on the runway at Santa Monica Airport. A white twinengine plane. She hadn’t done more than glance briefly at the pilot and copilot when they boarded. She couldn’t look them in the eye, though she was certain they were eyeing her with obvious interest. She wiggled in her seat, barely able to keep her seatbelt on as the sleek charter craft dipped and swayed, finding its own rhythm among the stars. Up and down, down and up. Ummm... like the pulsations of making love, she thought, surprised by her own sexy thoughts. She didn’t toss them out of her mind. Instead a pleasant sensation settled within her, pushing a warmth through her from the bottom of her toeless sandals up to her blushing cheeks. She could feel Holt’s eyes staring at her, his gaze waiting for her reaction as he grabbed a bottle of iced champagne from a frosted silver bucket and popped the cork as the plane dipped again, a little more to the left this time. Champagne squirted everywhere, sending Kasey into giggles. “Why, Holt Astin, you’re soaking wet,” she said, laughing. She drew in her breath and subconsciously bit on her lower lip 174

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when she saw him take off his jacket. She couldn’t help but react to his masculinity. Underneath he wore a tight-fitting, blue silk shirt, several buttons already undone, the muscular outline of his chest revealed by the wet silk. Lean and hard, his muscles pulled at the fragile fabric, tearing it slightly at the seams. Kasey drew in her breath. He wasn’t planning on taking off his shirt, too, was he? “I’m sorry the champagne didn’t spill all over your lovely body, Kasey.” She narrowed her eyes. She could play the game, too. “Don’t you dare stand there and look at me like a cat eyeing a saucer of milk, Holt Astin. I’m not purring yet.” Wrinkling his forehead in mock surprise, he said, “You are a sexy wench, aren’t you? I was merely suggesting I would have enjoyed coaxing you out of wet clothes and into something less confining than that dress.” He finished unbuttoning his shirt, exposing his bare chest. “However, I suppose it doesn’t matter who undresses first.” “He who undresses first dresses last,” she quipped, determined to keep her dress on and her senses intact for as long as possible. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, though she wasn’t going to give in so easily. She tossed back her hair, then looked at him from under her long, glued-on lashes as if to say it would take more than a sudden dip in altitude to get her to play his game. She took a deep breath and tried to focus on the millions of lights dotting the city below them. She was going to do something stupid if she didn’t get control of herself. Let her emotions trip her up. Would that be such an awful thing? she questioned. She let out a deep breath, steaming up the window again. “That’s Malibu down there,” Holt said, filling two glass flutes with champagne and leaning over her shoulder, 175

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unnerving her even more. How did she allow him to take her flying? “Why did you bring me up here, Holt?” she asked, taking the glass of champagne from him. “To show you the sights.” “Are you sure it wasn’t so you could make love to me?” she teased, trying to keep an edge to her voice, keep him guessing. She had to struggle to keep from sighing, even moaning. “That can be arranged,” he said. “I see. I suppose this plane rents by the hour,” she said, looking at her watch in a vain attempt to ignore his sexy remark. “There are other ways of measuring time,” he answered, brushing her neck with his lips. “Name one.” “Like how often I intend to make love to you before we land. Once, twice, three times, M’lady—” Kasey pulled her chiffon scarf around her shoulders, daring to shift her gaze back to Holt. The man was watching her intently, his dark eyes devouring her as he drank his champagne with a finesse and slowness that was maddening. He still had his shirt on, but she wondered for how long. She felt what could only be described as a blip in her stomach. No, it was lower than that, she admitted, crossing her legs. Cruising over Santa Barbara, a mile high above any sane civilization, she lay her head back against the padded wall separating the cabin from the cockpit. It didn’t take much thinking to figure out why the wall was padded, making it soundproof. There wasn’t much room in the cabin, considering a bed took up most of the space. Holt edged closer to her, asking her if the temperature was cool enough. Did he see her sweating? Kasey looked out the window again, trying to ignore what was so obvious and so unnerving to her. She wanted him as 176

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much as he wanted her. What was stopping her from making love to him? “The ocean is so beautiful,” she said, daring to let down her guard. “I never noticed how beautiful you are, Kasey, until tonight,” Holt whispered, holding her tightly. She could hear his heavy breathing, feel his warm breath hitting the back of her neck. She didn’t dare turn around, afraid her lips would meet his in a kiss and she wouldn’t be able to resist him. She tried to relax but couldn’t. How could she, when out of the corner of her eye she couldn’t help but notice several deep, midnight blue velvet pillows bouncing all over the bed every time the plane rocked back and forth? Instead she kept her eyes fixed on the beauty of the sea below them. She didn’t protest when Holt took a sip of champagne from her glass, taking the opportunity to move even closer to her, so close she could smell his musky aftershave tickling her nose. He mumbled some excuse about wanting to see the ocean at night. She smiled. Whatever his excuse, she enjoyed having him so near to her. Holt kept hanging over her shoulder, breathing hotly on her bare neck as she sipped on the silvery-smooth wine, watching the surf crash on the beaches below in a silent fury. Her own insides were thrusting back and forth in a wild tempest that wasn’t getting any tamer. Ripples of goose bumps wiggled up and down her spine, making her shiver. “Do you always sit so close to the person next to you when you fly?” she asked, her voice huskier than she would have liked. “What would you like me to do?” Holt said, his fingers pulling aside the filmy chiffon covering her cleavage, then caressing her bare shoulders. “Go for a walk?”

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“Don’t be funny, Holt,” she answered quickly, then quipped lightly, “It’s dark out there. You might get lost.” “I’m already lost, Kasey.” Holt sighed deeply, burying his face in her hair. “And I can’t find my way back without you.” “Oh, Holt, I want to believe you. I do.” “Then let me make love to you, Kasey. Make love to you as you were meant to be loved. As I’ve wanted to love you for so long.” Warm with the fever of too much champagne, Kasey let her instincts take over her heart. She was as close to happiness as she had been in ten years and she refused to let anything get in the way of that happiness. All she knew was that her lips were parted and Holt took advantage of the moment, possessing her with his brand, his mouth claiming hers. She felt her body trembling, but she didn’t pull away. This moment was hers and she didn’t want him to stop. His mouth explored the rosy pinkness of her lips, brushing them, teasing them so lightly that she couldn’t help but tilt her face up to his, joining him in the game. They didn’t touch with their hands, their bodies didn’t meet, keeping her in a delicious torment. Kasey knew Holt was holding back, giving her the chance to taste desire first. Taste it? That wasn’t enough for her. She devoured his kiss, reaching down deep inside herself to show him how much she missed him, wanted him. Giving then taking, then giving again, they explored each other in a long, hot kiss that went on endlessly. The heat from their breathy kiss frosted the tiny round windows with a frothy steam, their heavy breathing drowning out the hum of the two plane engines, while Kasey could feel the coolness inside the cabin dissipating under the heat of their bodies longing to touch each other. Kasey pulled away first, the taste of him lingering on her lips. “Why did we have to wait so long to find each other again, Holt?” 178

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“I don’t have the answer to that, Kasey,” he said, taking off his shirt. His body glistened with sweat. Kasey drew in her breath sharply. She thrilled at the sight of him, the perspiration shimmering on his chest like tiny stars under the cabin lights. “This time I’m not letting you go,” he said. “You belong to me, Kasey. You always have.” Kasey pulled back. This new realization that Holt loved her and wanted to be with her again was both more wonderful and more frightening than her old world. Yet she couldn’t enter this new paradise without telling him the truth. She couldn’t remain silent about Logan any longer. “Holt, there’s something I have to tell you—” she began, feeling slightly rocky. The plane bounced from turbulence, making her voice sound shaky. Was it the champagne? Or the heaviness in her soul that was making her feel tipsy? “Don’t speak, Kasey, unless you say you love me.” Kasey felt her throat tighten, her body go rigid. The words telling him about Logan, telling him he had a son, wouldn’t come. She tried, really she did. But the words burned her throat. The fire in her belly was too hot, the blood pounding in her head too fast, she couldn’t think. A sudden, dramatic shift in the balance of the plane sent them both tumbling into each other’s arms, Kasey laughing, Holt moaning with a husky, wanting need as he grabbed her, pressing his hands into her softness. Together, like two storm clouds fussin’ and fightin’, they rolled onto the bed. Kasey moaned. The luxury of the crushed blue velvet hugged her body as Holt lowered himself over her, pushing aside her wispy skirt of chiffon. A quivering came over her and she threw her arms against the soft padded wall, making fists. She didn’t want to know anything but this moment. Her need to know again the man who had fathered her child seethed within her. She wanted to feel him in her again. Just like the first time. Her desire 179

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ripened, blossomed to the fullest when he touched her. Everywhere. All over. And she never wanted him to stop. He pushed aside her bra, chewing on the delicate lace, tasting the swell of her pink flesh with his tongue, digging his fingers into her waist. Kasey felt so sexy. And more of a woman than ever before in her life. She knew now that loving Holt was worth the risk of loss. That true happiness was having the love of this man, having him close to her, and the purpose of her existence was to love him as he loved her. The plane swayed again, this time with more turbulence that sent their bodies crushing against each other until they were no longer flesh and blood, but a pulsating quasar exploding in the heavens with trails of trickling stardust showers lighting up the universe. Holt kissed her all over, touched her with his hot lips in her most secret of places and taking her up higher, higher to a spot where no earthly bound creature had ever traveled. She cried out with pleasure. Exquisite joy. Her sighs, her moans floated through space on a carpet woven with strands of black midnight, hopping from one star to another, her voice echoing on forever. When Kasey could bear it no longer, she called out to him and he came to her, wrapping her up in his arms and taking her with a passion that made her spin endlessly as the plane turned on its side and swooped down toward the hungry ocean below, shaking them with a delicious passion as he emptied his need into her.

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Thirteen It seemed to Kasey it took hours for them to get back to her hotel, but she didn’t mind. She was still in a dreamy state of mind as the limousine turned onto the Santa Monica Freeway and drove into the shiny, steel world of automobiles going east. By the time the sun came up with scarcely a yawn, she could see the freeways were already jammed with morning commuters talking on their cell phones and the skies were filled with TV news helicopters circling the area like mechanical buzzards. More than one head turned to look at the stretch limo navigating through the traffic in the clogged commuter lanes. Kasey ignored the heavy traffic around them. The air was cool inside the limousine and filled with the aroma of the fresh coffee they had stopped to pick up after they left the airport. She sipped the specialty brew slowly, not wanting to completely wake up. Not yet. She was determined to make her fairy tale last long past midnight. Snuggled in the back seat of the limo, her head resting against Holt’s shoulder, she drifted between what she was assumed was sleep and a heavenly drowsiness. She dreamed she was dancing on a black carpet of twinkling, diamond-white stars when suddenly someone gently pulled the sky carpet out from underneath her. Laughing, she 181

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flew up into the air and floated for a few seconds before landing on a fluffy, downy-white cloud. When she awakened, she found herself in Holt’s arms, the warmth of his embrace giving her a secure feeling. Ummm... that felt good, she thought, knowing he was here to protect her and to love her. She stirred for a moment, mumbling to him about dancing in her dreams. He laughed and began kissing her face, then he kissed the pulse at the side of her neck and the swell of cleavage between her breasts. “Kasey, my darling,” he whispered in her ear, his hot breath warming her up all over again. It couldn’t get better than this, she thought. “I can’t believe I found you again.” “You never lost me, Holt.” She sighed with a breathlessness that kissed the air between them as she put down her coffee and snuggled deeper into his love. “I’ve always loved you—” Before Kasey could finish her thought, the limousine jammed out of the slow-moving traffic and hit a pothole on the freeway off-ramp, knocking her up against Holt and reminding her of the sexy turbulence they had enjoyed in the twin-engine plane five thousand feet above the ground. Pushing, thrusting, and sending them into a delicious out-of-this-world experience. Kasey floated on the memory of their lovemaking, taking care to keep every detail tucked away in a special compartment of her mind. How long had they been up there, flying high above the horizon? she wondered. Hours? Days? She could only wish. She curled up closer to Holt, his chest hard under her soft cheek, and moaned something inaudible before she went back to sleep on a fluffy cloud. ~*~ “We’re almost at your hotel, Kasey,” Holt said, kissing her face and awakening her.

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“Can’t we circle the block one more time?” Kasey said, smiling and trying to open her eyes. It wasn’t easy. How long had she been asleep? An hour? “Sorry, Kasey, but I have to get to my office. I’ve got an important meeting this morning.” As if on cue, his cell phone rang and he answered it. “Astin here... yes, Chrissy, that’s the file. Have them messenger it to my office immediately and tell Barry we’re going into merger talks next week so we have to come up with our strategy tonight. The meeting could go past midnight so order in sandwiches for later, and by the way,” he said, looking directly at Kasey, “send a dozen, no, make that two dozen red roses to Ms. Kasey Mitchell at the Bel Air Hotel.” Kasey looked at him surprised, but he answered her back with a look that clearly said, I’d buy you all the red roses in the world, if you’d let me. Then he was back to business. “I’ll be in the office as soon as I can, Chrissy.” What a sexy voice he had, Kasey thought as she heard the audible click of his cell phone as he disconnected his call. He opened the window and she crawled out of her dream, letting the sounds of the outside world bring her slowly back to reality. Out of the corner of her eye she could see they were driving up and down the hilly streets of Sunset Boulevard with its big, beautiful homes and expansive lawns. The clean smell of fresh grass drifted inside the limo and tickled her nose. Kasey lay back on the soft limo seat, sinking down into a slump. She was exhausted. She hadn’t had more than a few winks of sleep since she’d arrived in L.A. What she needed was a shower and some sleep. And a good breakfast. “I’m starving, Holt,” she said, then added coyly. “They say that making love increases the appetite.”

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Holt shot an interested glance in her direction. “If you keep up that kind of talk, we’re heading straight back to the airport.” Kasey lifted her eyebrows, amused. “Yes, sir, Captain,” she said, saluting him. He started to say something, then looked at his watch and said in a serious voice. “Let’s see. We’ve got about an hour or so before I have to be in my office. I can get a plane for us in, say, about ten minutes—” Kasey jumped up in her seat, her mouth dropping open. “I was only kidding, Holt.” Holt planted a big kiss on her lips. Short but oh so sweet. “I wasn’t.” Kasey laughed, then became serious when she said, “I’ll never forget last night, Holt. It was wonderful.” She turned around slowly, looking him straight in the eye. She wanted him to know how she felt. “You were wonderful...” She sensed he didn’t want to rush what he was about to say. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, Kasey, about selling The Laguna. And also about us. There are certain things I have to tell you. I was planning to do so last night, but...” Holt stopped, though he didn’t continue with his thought. She didn’t push him. There was something he wasn’t telling her and she had a woman’s intuition that she shouldn’t ask. Not yet. Kasey felt the limo jerk to a sudden stop as the driver put on the brakes. She pulled on the window shade and the dark curtain shot upward. A sinking feeling flooded through her. The big, black limo had pulled up to the long, snake-like awning entrance of the hotel. She stared at the striped awning suspended over the winding bridge leading to the hotel lobby and sighed heavily. Her bridge back to reality. “How about some breakfast?” Holt asked in a noncommittal voice. Kasey sensed he was trying to keep his emotions in place. 184

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She nodded. “Sure, but can we go someplace where the scrambled eggs don’t come on china plates?” She looked him squarely in the eye, her eyes pleading with him for a few more minutes together. She wanted to keep out the world a little while longer. Keep in the warm, wonderful glow she felt inside her. She had the feeling Holt was about to tell her something important when the driver had suddenly slammed on his brakes. Tell her that he loved her and wanted to marry her? Or was it her schoolgirl imagination getting the better of her? And if he had asked her, what would have been her answer? So many questions and inevitably they all came back to one thing—Logan. She wanted to tell Holt that Logan was his son. Wanted to badly. But she was still afraid of what would happen if she did. How much longer are you going to keep from telling him, Kasey? her conscience asked her. Fortunately, she didn’t have to answer that question now. Once again in a playful mood, Holt kissed her on the cheek and said, “So where shall we dine, M’lady?” She picked up his fun mood and, with a big, happy-meal smile lighting up her face, she answered quickly, “To the closest Golden Arches, M’lord.” ~*~ Eighteen hours later Kasey sank into the luxury of a jasmine-smelling, soapy bubble bath with red rose petals floating on top of the water. A vase filled with Holt’s two dozen red roses sat on top of the nearby marble counter so she could look at them and remember last night and making love to him five thousand feet up in a plane. Until she’d gotten drowsy, so drowsy she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. With her eyes half-closed, she sipped a glass of champagne, letting the sparkly elixir linger on her tongue slowly at first, then in a tired moment she gulped down the sweet wine in one 185

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big slurp. She burped. Hiccupped. Then she burped again. She laughed. She felt like the Queen of the Nile wrapped up in luxury and dreaming of her lover, his name mumbled lovingly and with a delicious longing. And with a measure of hope. Hope for a future together. The three of them. Holt, Logan. And her. Kasey took another sip of champagne, its tartness sending chills up and down her spine. It was embarrassing for her to admit, but she liked the taste of champagne while bathing nude in a fancy spa bathtub in a fancy hotel. And she liked the thought of Holt being with her in the tub. Then she could tell him what an exciting day she’d had. It started with the “I am so hungry for you” looks Holt was swinging her way earlier that morning during their McScrambled breakfast. They sat in a back booth of the fast food restaurant with their coffee and egg muffins, holding each other, still enchanted with the magic of the night behind them. Holt didn’t say another word about what they had almost discussed in the limo, what Kasey was certain would have been his marriage proposal, though it hung in the air between them like a stale doughnut. Those thoughts lingered on her mind the rest of the day after she was back at the Bel Air Hotel, diving into a new pantsuit outfit with a big, sunny-yellow straw hat and on to a day of sightseeing with the other plus-size model winners. It was so much fun. Cameras flashing, reporters taping, and tourists gawking at their every move. From the Grove at Farmers Market to CBS studios to catch a peek at their favorite soap opera stars, then on to the movie magic of Universal Studios, Kasey smiled on cue and chatted easily with the reporters. Then something happened that even the best publicist couldn’t have planned. Something Kasey would have done wherever she was. The plus-size winners were touring 186

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Universal Studios, doing some souvenir shopping, when Kasey found a lost little girl, tears streaming down her face, her body hunched up with fear. Kasey immediately understood the child’s plight, how it felt to be left out. She started talking to the girl and discovered she had become separated from a group of physically challenged children. The child was so frightened she couldn’t speak more than a few words, then she began to cry hysterically. Kasey calmed her down, telling her a story about a beautiful princess who lost her way when she went out into her kingdom, but she didn’t let it stop her from finding her prince. A reporter from the local network affiliate caught the whole thing on tape. Ms. Townsend checked with the TV station and discovered the piece was scheduled to run on every major newscast in the country tonight. Now, as Kasey soaked up the warmth of those good feelings in the tub, she thought about what that little girl had needed so she could find her way—To believe in herself, in her abilities, like she did now. It felt good. So good. She flipped on the remote control hooked up to the tiny television built into the nook of the bathroom wall and channel surfed until she found the encore edition of the late night news. Who knows? she thought, settling back into the tub filled with bubbles. Maybe she’d catch the story they’d taped on her earlier today. The breezy voices of the co-anchors lulled her into a dreamless snooze. Helped by the champagne, she admitted with a smile. She dreamed along with the day’s news events, half listening to what was going on in the world because she couldn’t stop thinking about Holt and their night flying lesson. Was it seconds or minutes later she came back to reality when she heard her own voice talking back to her? “...and the handsome prince and his beautiful princess lived happily ever after.”

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She convinced her eyelids to open, though the dull ache she felt in the back of her head didn’t help, and focused on the small TV screen in front of her. She grinned. Her own smiling face beamed back at her, but it was the happy look on the little girl’s face that brought soapy tears to her eyes. The child reminded her so much of herself. She hadn’t realized until now how lonely she had been all her life. All her life without Holt, she admitted. She couldn’t let him go. Not this time. She watched the reporter finish her sound bite, then the station cut to the rest of the story, showing the plus-size model winners vamping for the cameras at Universal Studios. Kasey had to laugh. They looked like teenagers hamming it up at a cheerleading competition, all dewy-faced and smiling as the reporter talked about how they were positive role models for women everywhere. It was true, she knew, sobering up for a moment, they were positive role models, and she was proud to be a part of it. Rrrrr—ing. Rrrrr—-ing. Kasey jumped, sending bathwater spilling onto the floor as the telephone continued ringing and the station went to commercial. Who could be calling her this late? She flipped off the remote control and grabbed the phone, her heart beating quickly. For a few seconds, her thoughts raced to Logan. She prayed nothing was wrong at home. Then she smiled, as if the answer just came to her. It had to be Holt. His meeting was finished and he was calling her to say goodnight. “Hello,” she said in a sexy voice, blowing the bubbles away from her face. The effect was breathy, wanting. It wasn’t Holt on the other end, she found out quickly. “Kasey, Don Shaw here.” “Oh, yes, Mr. Shaw,” Kasey answered quickly, embarrassed by her breathy greeting and grabbing a towel as if that would 188

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make her feel dressed. She wrapped it around herself and sat on the edge of the tub. “What can I do for you?” Did she sound more in control? Hopefully. “It’s what I’ve done for you,” he said, pleased. “You got me a job?” “You need a place to live first, Kasey,” he teased. “I’ve found you an affordable apartment on the Westside.” He went into detail about how one of his clients needed a roommate, then he mentioned a monthly rent amount that Kasey could afford, at least for a short time. After that, she would have to dip into her savings. And what about after that? she asked herself, warming her feet in the soapy bathwater. Was she going to stay in L.A. and keep hoping she would get together with Holt? That she could get up the courage to tell him that Logan was his son? Listening to her agent giving her the address to the apartment, she watched the bubbles floating up from the bath and into the steamy air around her. Then one by one, they popped and disappeared. She only hoped her own bubble wouldn’t burst so easily. ~*~ “You’re gonna love living here, sugar. The landlady never comes around except on the first, the Chinese restaurant on the corner delivers, and the deli down the street has the most fab chocolate chip bagels,” said the young woman named Dawn, her lean, tight body clearly outlined in her long-legged black leotard. “Sounds great,” Kasey answered and before she could stop herself, she bumped into a cobweb hanging from the low archway. Fingering the sticky web stuff, she realized housekeeping was not half as important to her new roommate as take-out. But, after all, this was Hollywood. What did she expect? 189

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Welcome to the land of long-legged ponies on two legs, she thought, trying to stand up straighter as she watched the girl sashay through the two-bedroom apartment off Doheny with the confidence of a woman who didn’t know the meaning of the word calorie. Kasey was lucky to get the apartment, Don Shaw had told her over the phone this morning after putting her on hold three times. Dawn was one of his clients, the skinny variety, and she needed a roommate. Seemed that her last roommate got a recurring gig on a soap and had moved to more expensive digs. By the looks of the various written-on calendars hanging on the wall in the spare bedroom, along with the remnants of clothing in different shapes and sizes left hanging askew in the closet, this apartment was more of a waterhole than a place to live, Kasey thought, dropping her bag on the bed. “Are you a comedienne?” Dawn asked, chewing on her fingernail. “No, I’m a model,” Kasey answered quietly. Why didn’t she feel comfortable saying that? Was it because the girl thought she must be a funny lady because of her size? “Cool,” Dawn answered, trying not to stare but she was anyway, so Kasey felt she had to say something. “I’m a plus-size model. You know... two size sevens for the price of one?” Kasey quipped, starting to unpack. Dawn laughed, then she relaxed. “Oh, that’s funny! Yeah, I knew you had to be a comic.” Kasey let out a big sigh and shook her head. Why argue? She couldn’t blame the girl. Her type of look was something new in the industry and it was going to take a lot of convincing to a lot of people there was room for her size, even though half the women in the U.S. fit in the plus-size category. It wasn’t going to be an easy job, she thought, her mood taking a nosedive. She needed time to get settled, go out on a 190

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few calls, feel comfortable in her new skin. Time on her own, she told Holt. That hadn’t been an easy choice for her to make, but he understood. Now she wasn’t so sure it was a good idea. She missed him, dammit. “Did you say the Chinese restaurant delivers?” Kasey asked, realizing she hadn’t eaten since this morning. Or was it just nerves? Either way, she had to concentrate on keeping her body fit and toned. “Double egg rolls on Tuesdays. Big, juicy ones.” Kasey flinched. Did she have to say it like that? “I’ll wait for the small, skinny egg rolls on Wednesday,” she said with a straight face. That sent Dawn into riotous laughter and Kasey into the bathroom. Was she really ready for this business where everything, even food, was judged by its size? She closed the door, not slamming it, and looked out of the open window at the alley below, trying to pull in her emotions. Open trashcans, stinky leftovers, a cat or two making a feline appraisal of the neighborhood, and a guy on a smoky motorbike ripping up what was left of the asphalt as he roared through the small alley. This was the modeling business? She closed the window and leaned back against the bathroom door. If she had any sense she’d call Holt, tell him she was forgetting this modeling thing, and run into his arms and let him love her like he wanted to do. If she had any sense, but she didn’t. She was determined to make something out of this opportunity to be a model, if not for herself then for Allie and Logan. She couldn’t resist a smile, remembering her sister’s enthusiasm when she’d called and told her the news. “You got an agent? A real agent?” Allie gushed into the phone as if getting an agent was the same as acquiring a guardian angel. 191

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“Yes,” Kasey said. “He thinks I can make a career as a plussize model.” “Don’t you worry about anything here, Kasey. Sylvia’s got the diner under control and I can handle Logan while you’re gone.” “I hope I’m making the right decision, Allie. If you think I should come home...” Kasey left her words hanging in the air, guilt feelings washing over her. “No, Kasey. You stay in L.A. and pursue your modeling career. You deserve this chance.” Kasey didn’t know what to say, how to thank her sister for everything she’d done for her, so why did she lie to her when Allie asked her about Holt? “By the way, have you seen that gorgeous cowboy?” Allie asked eagerly. “You mean Holt?” “I don’t mean anyone but, Kasey Mitchell, and you know it.” “We—we kinda bumped into each other on an airplane,” Kasey said, smiling at the thought of the intimate “bumping” that had gone on between them five thousand feet up, but she told her sister nothing. Allie would be planning a wedding with all the trimmings if she even smelled the hint of a romance between Holt and herself. Kasey wasn’t ready for that. Yet. First, there was the problem of how to tell Holt that Logan was his son. And she didn’t, make that wouldn’t, feel confident enough to tell him until she’d finished what she set out to do in this town—Prove that a real-size woman could be successful in the modeling business. Allie understood how she felt and that helped, but she couldn’t tell her sister she had let Holt make love to her. She simply ended the call with the promise to call home as often as she could and keep her sister updated with how her career was going. 192

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“Hey, Kasey? You decent?” It was Dawn. Kasey found her voice and opened the door. “Yes...” “Call for you.” Kasey blinked. “For me? Who is it?” Dawn wiggled her shoulders, then her hips, which Kasey imagined she did often. “A man.” Holt. Kasey found her feet in a hurry and was running down the hallway to the kitchen where an old-fashioned wall phone hung, surrounded by peeling sunflower wallpaper. Dawn told her she should get a cell phone, that nobody used old fashioned land phones anymore. Smiling to herself, Kasey picked up the receiver and swallowed quickly, trying not to appear anxious, as she said, “This is Kasey—” “Kasey, Don Shaw. I’ve got...” Kasey almost let the phone drop from her hand and only some semblance of survival telling her this was her agent calling and that’s why she was here in the first place kept her ear within hearing distance of the receiver. “...and they want everybody there tomorrow morning at ten a.m. for the model call,” he was saying. “Can you give me that address again?” Kasey was relieved when Dawn suddenly appeared and pointed out the pad and pencil hanging from the kitchen cabinet by a long string. She scribbled down the address and tore off the paper. “Got it, Don. I’ll be there,” she said, then hung up. “Do you have a gig?” Dawn asked hopefully. Kasey imagined it was just as important for her to keep tabs on her roommate’s jobs as her own so somebody could pay the rent. “No, but I’ve got an audition tomorrow.” Dawn smiled. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it. You’re funny.” Kasey opened her mouth to correct her, then closed it just as quickly. What was the use? She couldn’t change who she was 193

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to Dawn. Could she make others see her as a woman confident in her own skin? Kasey stared at the address on the scrap paper. She was entering a world that was no longer the one into which she had lived her whole life. The question lingering on her mind was, could she survive in this new world? ~*~ It wasn’t the pink and purple chairs that made Holt uncomfortable. Or the seductive and misleading Special Sale signs topping the racks of skimpy outfits. Or the racks of sheer panties hitting him in the face when he had walked into the lingerie shop. It was the smell that bothered him. Like an overpampered poodle with bad breath, he thought. Something about the scent wasn’t appealing to his masculine nose. He discovered the offensive smell was crushed rose petals mixed with a hint of lavender, according to the salesgirl giving him the once-over in an arena he had already determined was a shopping paradise for female predators. “Are you buying for your wife or your girlfriend?” the young woman with the pop-out bosom asked discreetly. “Both,” Holt quipped, making the salesgirl smile with approval. He was determined to get out of here as quickly as possible with his masculinity intact. He was on his way to see Kasey at her new apartment, a West Hollywood address that bordered on Pico Boulevard but was a long way from Beverly Hills. And a long way from him, he thought, with more than a sudden urge to hold her in his arms again. He had understood she wanted to get settled in her modeling career, but she’d been holed up in the apartment her agent had stuck her in for almost two weeks, going to auditions and tryouts, and coming home dead tired. That didn’t stop him from missing her, especially since they hadn’t seen each other and only talked on the telephone for a few minutes every night. Not exactly the kind of bedtime story he had in mind. He sucked in 194

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his breath. His bed had been empty for too long. His heart empty even longer. That night five thousand feet up in the small plane had only made him more determined to make Kasey his wife. He admitted he was impressed by Kasey’s determination to make something out of her opportunity to be a positive role model for plus-size women. He was also a man in love with her. And he was getting frustrated. At first he tried to go along with the situation he’d found himself in when he walked into the Denmore Diner that morning a few weeks ago. Do a little chasing, see what happened, that maybe what they’d had as kids wasn’t a lasting thing. But he’d been wrong. So terribly, wonderfully wrong. He knew that now. He had always found her beautiful and sexually appealing. More so now. And he could imagine how downright seductive she would look in a see-through number of the sheerest chiffon, he thought, looking around at the flimsy nightgowns on display. “I see you’re a man of many tastes,” the salesgirl said with interest as Holt scanned the display. “I want one in every color,” he said, buying up everything from nightgowns to garter belts to cover-ups that showed more than they covered up. Which suited his purposes perfectly, he thought, an aching need for her heating up his groin. Minutes later he walked out of the shop in the Beverly Center with a ribboned box filled with his selection of frilly lingerie to go along with the other gifts he’d bought, including a radio alarm clock and a sleep mask. Practical gifts for her new apartment, considering the fact that he intended to take up a lot of her time in the evening. Starting tonight. Holt raced out of the multi-level parking lot in his sleek black Jaguar that was de rigueur for Beverly Hills lawyers, a 195

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symbol of what he didn’t know, but it seemed like every attorney with a 90210 address drove one. An address he was going to change for one in the Arizona town of Denmore. Holt pulled into the parking lot of the twenty-story commercial building in Century City, threw the keys to the attendant, then jammed for his office. His excursion to Alice in WonderBraland had cost him an extra hour of time, but it would be worth it later. He thought of Kasey in his arms, her breasts crushed against him. God, he wanted her, needed her. But for now he had to turn off his emotions, put them on hold and focus on the important phone call he had to make. A call that was going to change the lives of three people.

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Fourteen Kasey couldn’t take her eyes off the television screen. Her attention was completely focused on the guests confronting each other with wild gesturing and aggressive body language. This was afternoon court TV at its best. “You promised a first class video of my wedding and all I got was a film with a bunch of guests I don’t even remembering inviting,” one guest yelled at the other. “It’s not my fault your in-laws invited their whole neighborhood to the wedding.” “I don’t care what excuses you make. I want my money back.” Kasey laughed when the talk show judge butted in with her own unique brand of justice, pleasing the plaintiff with her verdict and upsetting the defendant, but always entertaining the audience with her dry wit. Keeping her eyes on the tube, Kasey grabbed another handful of low calorie, artificially flavored, microwavable popcorn and ate it in one gulp. With any luck, I’ll have my own wedding video to fuss over, she talked back to the television as she propped up her aching feet on the battered coffee table. Her feet hurt a lot nowadays. The high heels wars, she called her daily struggle to make it to the look-sees and auditions in her 197

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two and three-inch wonders. At first she’d worn high heels everywhere, including on the bus. Then she switched to running shoes, saving the stilts, as she called them, for the auditions. She was relaxing today, watching Judge what’s-her-name on television, lounging around in her bare feet and the silky, nylon kimono that Dawn gave her. “Fits all sizes, honey,” Dawn had told her. “I shouldn’t accept this,” Kasey said, but her roommate insisted. “You gotta have one to put on between wardrobe changes, especially when you go to the make-up and hair people.” Kasey hadn’t needed the robe for that yet. She hadn’t gotten any gigs, though she was hoping, but that didn’t stop her from lounging around in the apartment in the Japanese-style robe. She loved the silky, cool feeling that rippled through her when she wore the open-front kimono with the blue and pink butterflies painted onto the full, wide sleeves. So sexy, she thought, feeling warm and more than slightly flushed. Something she was feeling more often lately. A fireball of pentup passion seemed headed her way, making her feel like she was about to explode. She missed Holt. Missed him terribly. She hadn’t seen him for two weeks. Two long weeks. Those two weeks seemed longer than the ten years she had spent trying to put him out of her life. Now he was firmly entrenched in her heart and this time he was there to stay. She had no one but herself to blame for not seeing him. She was the one who had insisted on showing him she could be independent. She hadn’t counted on missing him so much. She was beginning to realize that although being independent was a good thing, having someone to share things with was better. Kasey continued munching on the popcorn, pushing her own problems out of her head as she changed the channel to her 198

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favorite talk show, Oprah Winfrey. Dawn told her she should watch all the talk shows to get some pointers on how to act in front of an audience. Kasey’s newly-trained eye focused on how Oprah moved around the stage, her reactions to questions and comments, even her wardrobe. She grabbed more popcorn and ate it gleefully, studying Oprah’s on-camera demeanor. She giggled. Who would have ever thought that watching afternoon talk shows was part of her job? A job that included more offtime than on-the-job time, she quickly found out. She’d been a professional model for two weeks and two days, she counted in her head, muting the television when the commercial came on. If she didn’t include the photo shoot she did for M’Lady Plus magazine, which was a prestigious but not a paying job, she’d had exactly one gig and that had lasted only four hours. Even if the pay was minimal, Kasey had to admit she enjoyed parading up and down the cosmetic aisles of a fashionable department store, spraying perfume on customers. The only problem with the job was that she made more money in tips on a slow day at the diner. Where was the big money she’d heard about? Getting the jobs wasn’t easy. The agency always called her on the day before an audition, as if that was supposed to add to the excitement. She’d never understand it. Then when she got to the audition, whether it was in a big, fancy office or in a halfempty warehouse, she spent the rest of the day waiting for her turn with a lot of other models, some with big, black portfolios filled with fabulous photos and tear sheets, and others gripping cheap laser copies of their picture. Then it was over in one minute when a girl with a clipboard took her headshot, looked her over, smiled and said, “Thank you for coming.” So much for the glamour of being a model. 199

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Kasey glanced at the clock on the wall. It was after three o’clock. Time to make her daily phone call to her agent. Every day she went through the same drill and called him after he’d looked at the day’s breakdowns—the daily service sent by fax to agents with job listings. She dialed the number and when he came on the line, she asked him if there were any calls for her. “Nothing yet, Kasey,” he said, “but I am submitting you.” “Not even a nibble?” she had to ask, helping herself to another peanut chew. “It takes time to get established, Kasey,” Don Shaw patiently explained to her. “Most people go on ten interviews in their lifetime. Models hope to go on ten interviews a day.” “A day?” Kasey questioned, figuring out the bus fare. If she didn’t get a job soon, she’d have to ask Allie to send her more money, which didn’t make sense, since she was only doing this to earn money to send home. She fiddled with her kimono sleeve, unrolling it, then rerolling it again. She needed to be doing something while she talked on the phone because if she let her mind wander too much, she’d have to face the real reason she was sticking it out in L.A. Holt. “Yes, Kasey, ten interviews a day,” Don Shaw repeated for her benefit. “Plus-size models are a relatively new phenomenon in the business and most agencies have only recently added plus divisions. The clients have to get to know you.” “What about the contest I won?” she asked. “Shouldn’t that help me get work?” “In time, yes. I do have several clients interested in you for future assignments.” Kasey could hear him rattling some papers, as if he were looking through them. Or was that for her benefit? “I may have a runway show for you and I’m working 200

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on getting you booked on a national talk show. That would be great exposure.” So Dawn was right about checking out the talk shows, Kasey thought, but she still wasn’t convinced. “What would I do on a talk show?” “Talk. What else?” “About what?” “About how you haven’t let anything or anyone stop you from working toward your dream to be a confident and independent woman.” “I don’t know, Don. I’ve never been on a talk show—” “There goes my other line, Kasey,” he said, cutting her off. “I’ll call you back if the runway job comes through.” Then the phone line went dead. Kasey blew out her breath as she put down the phone. She was uneasy if not downright scared. She knew her agent had faith in her, but she never imagined he would try to land her on a national talk show. She wandered into the kitchen. Imagine what Allie and Sylvia would say? she thought. Thinking about how excited they would be, she breathed out a sigh. She was sick of the popcorn. She reached for a fresh peach. How did anyone watch their diet in this business when there was so much time to sit around and do nothing? Take her roommate, Dawn. She never ate at home. She was always lunching at some studio commissary and schmoozing with someone. It was a matter of survival for her and the other actresses, Kasey knew, not to mention the free lunches. Dawn worked mostly as an extra though she was serious about her work, going to acting classes and doing showcases when she wasn’t working. She was a nice kid, even if she did have strange friends. Yesterday Kasey had been surprised to find three musicians sleeping in the living room with their instrument cases as 201

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pillows. And even more surprised when she went to brush her teeth and discovered she had to share the bathroom with a mime practicing his facial expressions in the mirror. She turned up the sound on the television and wandered back into the small kitchen, listening to the talk show as she tossed the peach pit into the trash. Thank God she had the apartment to herself today, she thought. Dawn was shooting a teen horror flick somewhere out in the desert and the band had moved out this morning with their instruments. She smiled. The mime had disappeared last night during the full moon. Damn, it was lonely. No one to talk to about anything. At the diner there was always something happening. She realized how much she missed her life back in Denmore. Sylvia and the gang at the diner. Allie. And Logan. She fiddled around the apartment, straightening up, doing the dishes, resisting the urge to call home. She couldn’t afford to call home every time she felt lonely, though she would if she could. When she had called this morning, Allie assured her Logan was doing okay. But she sensed a hurt in his voice when she talked to him, as if he didn’t understand why she wasn’t there for him. That set her maternal alarm into high gear, especially when Allie told her Logan had to spend detention after school yesterday because he got into a fight with another boy. Worrying about it won’t do any good, she thought, staring at the phone, something she did a lot of for one reason or another. Now she was waiting for her agent to call back and she didn’t dare leave the apartment in case he did call. Don had been shocked when he found out she didn’t have a pager or a cell phone. She couldn’t afford them, she said, though her agent assured her they were as much a staple in a model’s life as push-up bra pads and a perfect smile. 202

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So she had no choice but to baby-sit the phone today. She changed the channel when Oprah was over and stopped clicking the remote when she found another talk show, the excited repartee of the guests bouncing loudly back and forth off the apartment walls. It was the closest thing to having company, she decided. She was just figuring out who was cheating on whom when the phone rang. She grabbed a pencil and paper and picked up the phone. “Hello, Kasey Mitchell here.” “It’s Don, Kasey. Hold on a sec...” Kasey tapped the pencil on the counter, thinking. Why did it always seem like someone else called when she was on the line? She put down the pencil and fiddled with the silky belt tied around her waist, twisting it this way and that, trying to hide her nervousness, even from herself. Don wouldn’t call unless she got the job, would he? She hoped so. She needed this job. The rent was due soon. Before she could conjure up any additional situations, she heard Don come back on the line. “Good news, Kasey, you got the runway job.” “Oh, Don, that’s fab,” she said, lapsing into the kind of response she heard Dawn use all the time on the phone. She was so excited, she didn’t know what else to say. She sniveled a couple of times to keep from sounding teary-eyed, then she grabbed the pencil, scribbling down all the information she needed. “Did you get everything?” Don asked her. “The address? The time?” “Yes, Don, I’ll be there at nine for the rehearsal,” she said, her excitement racing through the phone line like a zap of electricity. “Hotel Sunset Royale. I’ve got it.” She looked down at the unfamiliar address, telling herself she’d figure out the bus route later, then hung up the phone. 203

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“I did it!” she cried out, dancing around in her bare feet on the cracked kitchen tile. Tap, tap, tap. She pulled the loosened tie from around her waist and whipped it through the air like a lasso, letting her kimono fly open. She got a job. A real job, modeling designer fashions at a celebrity luncheon. She was so happy she twirled around and around, her exposed breasts shaking and a flash of her long legs peeking through her open robe. She laughed. Who was there to see her? She threw open her kimono, letting the cool air hit her body like a welcome breeze as she dashed into the living room and— —she heard a loud knock on the door. She froze. Did Dawn forget her key? Maybe the band was back, ready to crash in the living room. What if it was the mime? She had a funny thought. She’d spend the rest of the afternoon telling him how excited she was about getting this job and he wouldn’t say a word. She rushed over to the door, pulling her kimono tightly around her. What for, she didn’t know. Every curve she had could be seen through the sheer material. If it wasn’t Dawn, she’d have to race into the bedroom and throw on an oversized sweatshirt before she answered the door. “Who is it?” she called out. “Holt.” Holt? Instinctively she pulled the kimono even tighter around her. “I’m not dressed, Holt.” “Sounds good to me,” he answered. A grin tugged at her mouth as she opened the door slowly and saw him standing there, looking handsomer than ever. “What are you doing here?” “I brought you some housewarming presents.” He pushed the door open a little wider. “If you let me in, Kasey, I’ll show you.” 204

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He was only a kissing breath away from where she stood, the direct stare in his eyes daring her to stop him. She backed up, but only slightly. She had to get rid of him before she succumbed to something all together too tempting, too delicious. “I got a modeling job,” she said, blurting out the first thing that came to her mind. “That’s great, Kasey. Now we have something to celebrate, so will you please let me in?” “Well, okay,” she said slowly. “But only if you promise you won’t try to make to love to me.” “I can’t promise that, Kasey,” he said, his eyes slowing making their way up and down her body, then pleading for her to let him into her apartment. He looked so forlorn, his arms filled with packages, his eyes filled with desire, she couldn’t stand it. She let him in anyway. “Won’t you even try to act like a gentleman?” she asked. “Is that what you really want, Kasey?” Holt said, then before she could stop him, he grabbed her around her waist and pulled her to him, squeezing her breasts against his chest. She sighed deeply, holding on to her sanity but only barely. It took her a few seconds to realize he’d dropped the packages he was carrying on the worn carpeting. She could feel her kimono slipping off her shoulder, only seconds away from revealing her entire body to him. She felt a smash of confusion scattering her brain. Her senses ran smack into a brick wall, shut down for a few brief seconds as she experienced the thrill of their bodies touching, her sex-o-meter wiggling upward. She couldn’t stop it, but with any luck at all she could resist him, she told herself, keep her feelings from betraying her. She held her breath in, closed her eyes. If he didn’t stop, she reasoned, she wouldn’t be responsible for her own emotions. What was 205

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wrong with her female defenses? Why were they letting her down? “Please stop, Holt,” she said, but she didn’t mean it. She couldn’t, wouldn’t deny to herself any longer how much she loved him, how much she wanted him to make love to her. Nothing had changed, really. He sensed how she felt, knew she wanted him. Holt, however, was not the kind of man who would try to take advantage of her. All she had to do was tell him to stop and— “I love you, Kasey,” she could hear Holt whispering in her ear. She was so in tune with him, she didn’t know which ear. Didn’t care. The sexy sounds coming from his lips shivered through her head, echoing. No matter what good intentions she had, she’d missed seeing him, hearing his husky voice whispering words of desire, feeling him touching her all over her body. “I should tell you to leave, Holt.” She pulled away slightly, though keeping her hand on his shoulder. “I should...” “Please don’t ask me to leave, Kasey. I’ve been hurt as much as you have. I wish I could make you understand that,” Holt broke in before she could shut him out completely. She winced. Damn, she couldn’t concentrate as a naughty breeze played tag with itself through her legs and reminded her that only a wisp of Japanese silk separated her from Holt. The brief sensation of his smooth, silk suit sliding up against her naked skin was a turn-on she’d never experienced before now. His fault, she thought, blaming him, that she was standing here, his body dangerously close to hers. His fault that the room was spinning. She wouldn’t give up her position, nor would she give in to her passion.

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“It’s not going to work, Holt,” she said finally, knowing deep in her soul what she wanted from him was some sign that it could work between them. “Are you afraid of loving me, Kasey?” He kept her hand in his, taking the advantage of pulling her to him. “I don’t want you to be afraid. I want you to love me.” “I’m not afraid, Holt. Th-there’s something else.” She couldn’t catch her breath, afraid if she did, the words would come tumbling from her lips. Words that could destroy what they had found again if Holt knew he had a son. She still couldn’t get over her fear that he would try to take Logan away from her. “I don’t know why you’re holding back, Kasey. I just told you I love you.” “And I love you, Holt, it’s just that...” “What is it, Kasey? What’s standing between us?” “I’ll tell you later, Holt,” she said, weakening. “I promise.” Oh, God, let her have these few moments in his arms, loving him, before she told him about Logan. Love me, my darling, her eyes said, telling him how much she wanted him to touch her. She let go of her fears and lay her head back slowly, letting the delicious moment linger, overtake her like a heat wave, creeping into her pores and raising her temperature to dangerous levels. “I’m a man who loves you, Kasey, always have. Let me show you how much.” “Yes, Holt, show me.” He held her closer to him and the strength of him filled her. She ran her hands through her hair, frustration rushing through her as her blood quickened, her need for him reaching a point of no return. She sighed dreamily, a soft giggle catching in her throat when he kissed the throbbing pulse at the side of her 207

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neck. She felt like a woman again. It felt wonderful to be loved like this. She’d been alone for so long— Rrrr—ing. Rrrr—ing. Kasey pulled back, startled. She couldn’t believe it. The telephone was ringing. Loudly. “Let it ring, Kasey—” Holt said, nuzzling his face in her hair. Oh God, he was touching her again, but the fierce pounding of her heart in her ears couldn’t drown out the ringing phone. “Holt, please... it could be Allie,” she said, gently but firmly wiggling out of his grasp. Allie was going to find out what happened at school, why Logan got into trouble, and call her back. “She’ll call back,” Holt insisted, reaching for her with the long embrace of his desire, pulling her back into his arms. Kasey sighed, her fears diminished. She knew now she was never out of his heart, but she still had to answer the phone. In a moment of modesty, she pulled her kimono robe tightly around her and ran over the cracked tile, her bare feet tapping in rhythm to her quickened heartbeat. She grabbed the phone, knowing for certain Holt hadn’t taken his eyes off her. Oh God, she hoped he would understand. But how could he? He wasn’t a parent. No, he was a parent, he just didn’t know he was a parent. Would she ever be able to tell him? “Hello, this is Kasey...” she spoke breathlessly into the phone. “Kasey, it’s Allie,” she heard at the other end. Her sister’s voice sounded hesitant, upset. Something wasn’t right. “What’s wrong, Allie?” she asked. “It’s Logan, Kasey. I found out why he got into a fight at school.” 208

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Kasey shifted her bare feet back and forth. They were sticking to the dirty tile, making her more nervous than she already was. “Give it to me straight, Allie.” “Well, it seems some kid’s been bullying him, trying to get his collection of Apache arrowheads away from him and threatening to beat him up. So he did, beat him up, I mean.” “Are you telling me Logan got into trouble because he wouldn’t let some kid bully him?” Kasey felt her maternal ire rearing up. Something was wrong with the school system when they punished a boy for standing up for himself. “Wait, there’s more. Seems the kid started saying Indians were dumb, and since Logan’s been going around telling everybody he’s an Apache—” Kasey’s world stopped at that moment, grabbed her and tossed her down a cliff, crashing her on the rocks below her. She felt her heart lodge in her throat and she barely managed to blurt out— “He’s been telling everybody what?” “Seems your friend, Mr. Natchez, told him he could be a brave Apache warrior if he got good grades at school and didn’t let anyone bully him.” Kasey leaned against the wall, letting the crumbling sunflower wallpaper flick off onto her kimono. Her knees felt as if they would crumple beneath her at any moment. The old Apache knew. He knew. What was she going to do now? “Kasey, Kasey... are you there?” Kasey found her voice, barely, and spoke into the phone. “I’m here, Allie. Exactly what did Logan do to the bully?” She swore she could hear a big amount of family pride coloring her sister’s voice when Allie said, “He popped the kid and sent him sprawling across the playground. As far as I’m 209

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concerned, the kid only got what he deserved, but the school principal doesn’t see it that way.” Kasey had to agree with her sister, but that wasn’t important now. She had to speak to her son, help him understand what he did was wrong. “Put Logan on, Allie. I want to talk to him.” Kasey bit on her lower lip, trying to think of something comforting to say to her son. She nosedived into a guilt spiral. She was hundreds of miles away from him when he needed her most. Needed her to explain what he was feeling. This never would have happened if she hadn’t brought him to The Laguna. Oh, what was the use? She couldn’t blame herself or Holt. The day would have come at some point when Logan wanted to know more about his father. She just didn’t expect it so soon. And now she wasn’t there for him. She never would have come to Los Angeles if it was going to hurt her son. But if she had never come to L.A. she wouldn’t have seen Holt again. Wouldn’t have another chance at loving him. It didn’t seem fair. She couldn’t sacrifice one for the other. She wanted both. Deliberately she turned her back so Holt couldn’t hear what she was saying and spoke low into the phone.

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Fifteen Holt was fighting a war within himself as he stood close enough to the kitchen so he could overhear Kasey’s conversation with her son. He stayed just inside the door, off to the side, so she couldn’t see him. He didn’t like to eavesdrop, though as a lawyer he often felt his whole profession depended on being able to drop into other’s people lives and solve their problems. He used that rationale now to convince himself he had no choice where Kasey was concerned. He had to know what was going on in her life so he could be part of it. The conversation wasn’t going well, he could tell that right away, more by the tone of her voice then by what she was saying. Seemed that her son was in some kind of trouble and she was trying to comfort him. He leaned in closer. From what he could gather, Logan had knocked the block off some kid who was bullying him. Holt had to smile in spite of himself. His kid was something else. Tough like his old man. Wasn’t it just like a mother to try to take away the pain? Women mollycoddled their boys too much. What the kid needed was a man to talk to, get things off his chest. He needed his father. Holt stood up straighter and sucked in his breath. This was probably as good a time as any to tell Kasey that he knew Logan was his son. 211

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Holt started to walk into the kitchen, his male ego ready to take on his new role. He’d talk to his kid, explain that mothers didn’t understand stuff like this— “...and I miss you, too, baby... Yes, I know it’s hard when I’m not there, but Aunt Allie loves you very much...” Holt could hear Kasey sniffling, trying to keep the longing out of her voice. “...of course I want to come home, honey, but people are depending upon me. I can’t let them down.” Holt stayed right where he was. This wasn’t the time to invade her world, not when she missed her little boy so much. A sudden guilt washed over him. And what would she think of him if she knew he had been spying on her? No, he didn’t want to let her down again, make her think he was some kind of a bum who didn’t understand how important her kid was to her. He’d have to wait before he let her know he was suffering, too, that he wanted to race back to Denmore and hug his kid and tell him how proud he was of him. Holt stepped backward slowly toward the living room, leaving Kasey to finish her phone call while he contemplated this new predicament. He couldn’t stand to see her so unhappy. An idea began forming in his mind. Crazy. And it wouldn’t help his own agenda, he thought, picking up the box he’d dropped on the floor earlier. A red and black satin garter belt was hanging out of the box. Tempting him. He felt the black lace and red satin slip through his fingers as he pushed his desire to make love to Kasey out of his mind. He must be crazy, he thought, letting her slip out of his fingers just as easily. It was the hardest thing he’d had to do in a long time. Before he could change his mind, he shoved the sexy garter belt back into the box. Though he sensed she wanted him as much as he wanted her, this wasn’t the time for romance. Something else was missing in her heart. And he meant to give it back to her. 212

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Holt went down to his car, locked the box in his trunk, and was back in her upstairs apartment before Kasey noticed he was gone. Looking cool and collected, and not so hot under the collar, he stretched out on the couch, waiting for her when she finished her phone call. “Holt, I... well, it was about Logan,” she began, but he could see by the pain in her reddened eyes that she didn’t want to explain further. And he didn’t ask. Instead he took her out to dinner. ~*~ Kasey kicked off her shoes when she got back from dinner with Holt, but she didn’t undress. She wanted to relax, mull over the evening. She was puzzled and somewhat confused. Her feminine ego dented a bit. Holt was gone. Like that, she thought, snapping her fingers and collapsing on the bed. No mad, passionate embrace. No tongue-searching goodnight kiss. He didn’t even try to come in when they got back from the restaurant. Instead he had dropped her off at the door, explaining in a rushed voice he had to catch a plane and he’d call her soon. She would have questioned the entire story except his cell phone rang several times during dinner, and from what she could pick up from his conversation, he was having a problem getting an airline reservation. It wasn’t until she turned off the light that she remembered the packages Holt had dropped on the floor. Wondered what was in them. What happened to them? They had completely disappeared. What a silly thing to think about, she thought, closing her eyes, silly enough to make her dream all night about what could have been in those boxes. ~*~

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Holt always felt at peace when he came back to Arizona. Back to The Laguna with its clear natural streams and pools of swirling water shaded by lush vegetation. He sat on a cliff looking out over the river, his mind and body in a meditative state. He loved the quiet and the solitude, and the memories he had of his boyhood sitting curled up in the rocks surrounded by petroglyphs, the ancient drawings of his ancestors. He felt a spiritual tie to the land, knowing that the symbols carved into these rocks represented centuries-old ceremonies and sacred rites. But not today, he thought. A sour taste stayed in his mouth even as he took a swallow from the bottled water he carried with him. Today he had an unpleasant job to finish before he headed back to the ranch. He got into his car and drove his black Porsche up the winding road to the Three Wells Ranch, shifting into high gear with more urgency than usual. Frank Widmore was going to have company. It was time the irascible rancher answered a few questions. Like why he was trying to sabotage the sale of The Laguna, though Holt already suspected Widmore wanted to make sure the widening of the corridor of Interstate Eighteen took place along his property lines bordering on the eastern side of town and nowhere else. Holt finished the water and set it down in the console next to him. He didn’t have much time left. The state planning commission was going to make their final decision public in a few days about whether or not they were going to build along the western part bordering The Laguna or the eastern part of town belonging to the rancher. That freeway would be the major north-south thoroughfare through Denmore, he knew, creating an unbelievable opportunity for commercial development. Businesses located along the route would be seen by thousands of commuters every day from Tucson and 214

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Denmore. Still, the big question remained in his mind—Why did Widmore vote against the City Council’s bid to buy The Laguna? Why didn’t he just buy the ranch and save himself all this haggling? To find out the answer, Holt set his legal research team into action. It didn’t take much digging into local business activities for his researchers to discover that Widmore was in deep financial trouble and his cash flow problems prohibited his outright purchase of The Laguna. Holt also discovered that if Widmore sabotaged the city’s plan to buy The Laguna until he could afford to own both properties, then the unscrupulous rancher would have total control of the parcels located along the new highway and could buy out any existing businesses standing in the way of development. Businesses like the Denmore Diner. And Kasey. She was right in the thick of it. Holt held onto the steering wheel tighter, digging his fingers into the soft leather and nearly ripping it apart. He hadn’t forgotten holding her in his arms. He could think of nothing else these past few days. He wanted to marry her and make them a family. He also intended to keep the ranch house for Kasey and himself, along with several parcels that fronted on the river along the far west edge of the tract. But there was the matter of settling with Frank Widmore first. “Tell Mr. Widmore I want to see him,” Holt announced to the white-coated houseboy who answered the front door. There was a moment when he thought the boy was going to close the door in his face, then thought better of it. “Mister Widmore is not at home, sir.” “He’ll see me.” “I’m sorry, sir, but Mister Widmore is not—” “You tell him I’m here about a lien.” 215

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The young man opened his mouth to repeat his standing order, then stopped. Holt took a step forward, keeping his eye on him, challenging him. The servant probably had no idea what Holt was talking about, but he knew the young man sensed a threat in his voice. “I will check to see if Mr. Widmore is at home, sir.” The young man bowed, invited him in and quickly disappeared, his sandals tripping over the tiles. Holt paced up and down the foyer of the expansive home, remembering the last time he’d been here, that night when he’d found Kasey in the thick of the protesters. He smiled, remembering how she reacted when he held her in his arms. She was like a skittish filly, eager to run, trying to find her place on the prairie away from the herd. He rubbed his chin, thinking. How could he have been so blind? Kasey was reluctant to let him back into her life because she was afraid of losing her son. Afraid he would claim the boy and take him from her like his father had tried to do. He cursed the man. Because of Garth Astin, she’d had to endure a long struggle to make a home for the boy. Logan had suffered, too. He knew that the first moment he saw the kid at the ballgame. Would he ever forget the hunger in the boy’s eyes for a man’s strength to guide him? The sound of hurried footsteps on Spanish tile drew his attention. Holt spun around and quickly turned on a confident smile. The one he saved for court appearances. Like a well-cut dark suit, the right smile always set the tone for his opening argument. Especially today. “Cool weather we’re having,” Holt tossed off easily, “though I hear we’re in for a hot spell.” “You didn’t come here to give me a weather report, Holt,” Widmore shot back, not trying to hold back his anger. “What brings you to Three Wells Ranch?” 216

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Holt flashed him a grin. “It’s simple, Frank. I heard the City Council’s going to take another vote on buying The Laguna.” Widmore’s eyebrows shot up, but he tried to keep his voice calm. “I haven’t heard about such a vote.” “That’s because you haven’t proposed it yet.” Holt walked across the foyer and looked out the window over the vast ranchland. He turned around to face Widmore. “But you will.” Widmore didn’t move. Holt could see that he wasn’t convinced. “What makes you so sure I would propose another vote?” Holt took his time, never faltering, feeling the raw energy crackling between the two men. Like the dust settling after a surprise round-up of a herd of wild mustangs. “Let’s just say if the City Council doesn’t make a bid to buy The Laguna,” Holt began, “then I’ll be forced to bring charges against you for filing a bogus lien against my property.” He paused, noting Widmore’s angry look, then tossed out his closing argument. “I don’t believe you’d welcome a felony on your record with a jail term attached.” Silence. Neither man moved. Holt had to give it to Widmore. He didn’t back down, though he knew Holt had slammed his unethical backbone against a brick wall. There was no way he was getting out of this one. Instead he thought a moment, then said, “Garth would be proud of you, Holt. You’re a smoother operator than he was.” Holt ignored the so-called compliment, taking the advantage and making his exit. “I’ll be waiting to get the results of the City Council vote, Frank. Goodbye.” “By the way, Holt, you take after your father,” he heard Widmore say as he followed him outside the ranch house. “I always heard all you Apaches had a mean streak in you when you’re cornered.”

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That made Holt stop, nearly turn back and demand an explanation. Instead he shrugged off the remark, started up his engine and raced the black Porsche down the winding road, twisting and turning the wheel, avoiding the gravel spraying around him. His mind was also twisting and turning, trying to unravel what Frank Widmore meant about his father and the Apaches. Garth Astin didn’t have Indian blood in him. His father hated Indians. It didn’t make any sense. He put the idea out of his head as he turned down a dirt road and headed toward the trailer camp on the edge of town. He had something else on his mind. Something very important and it involved Kasey. It hadn’t been difficult to find out where she lived. He merely had his secretary look up the address on her sister’s insurance papers. Taking time to notice the small white picket fence around the neatly-kept trailer, he sensed that here was a home filled with love. He tried to imagine what it would be like, going home at night to a woman like Kasey. Knowing she’d be waiting for him, eager to accept his kisses, delighting in soothing his tired bones with her soft hands stroking his brow, exciting him with the nearness of her pressed up against him. It was a scene he wanted to have, needed to have, and by God he was going to do everything he could to make it happen. An ache gnawed within him, driving a new emotion deep into his heart at the sight of the small boy racing around the trailer, chasing after something, an empty jar in his hand. His son. Logan. More than ever he was determined to get Kasey back and make her his wife. But he needed Allie’s help. ~*~ “You want me to go to California?” Allie said, her pretty blue eyes opening wide. “And bring Logan, too?”

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“Yes. I’ll take care of all your expenses.” Holt looked around at the modest trailer home, neat and tidy. Filled with family photos. He noticed a wedding picture of Allie and a young man hanging on the wall. But there were no pictures of Kasey in a wedding dress. There never was another man. He breathed out a big sigh of relief. “Kasey might not like it if we show up on her doorstep,” Allie said, scurrying to make coffee for him. Holt smiled. “Leave your sister to me, Allie. She doesn’t know what’s good for her.” Allie’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t know Kasey. She’s stubborn and used to getting her own way. She wouldn’t understand you helping us—” “I intend to marry Kasey,” Holt interrupted her, then he chose his next words carefully. “And adopt her boy, too.” Crash. Holt shot his head around in time to see Allie quickly drop to the floor to pick up the smashed pieces of a coffee cup. Was it nerves that made her drop the cup? he wondered. Or something else that she didn’t want to reveal? “You—-you want to adopt Logan?” she asked, her voice shaking over the clatter of picking up the broken china. “Yes. The boy needs a father.” Then Allie did a strange thing. She started laughing hysterically, then crying, then laughing again. Holt held back, not revealing what he knew to be the truth. “How about letting me in on the joke?” he asked, trying not to give himself away. Allie swallowed hard, trying to contain herself with great difficulty, pull herself together, then she said in a pleading voice that sent him on edge, “I can’t explain, Holt. Please don’t make me.”

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“Hey, Aunt Allie,” Holt heard a young boy’s voice call out as Logan burst through the screen door, holding an open jar filled with wiggly bugs, “look what I got!” “Take those bugs out of here,” Allie said in an unhappy voice that clearly said what she thought of the squirming little creatures. “Aw, gee, Aunt Allie, they won’t hurt you. They’re cool,” the little boy pleaded, then he noticed Holt sitting on the couch. “Hey, Mr. Astin, you like bugs, don’tcha?” he asked hopefully. Holt took the jar of happy wigglers and pretended to look at them closely, but he was actually scrutinizing the young face of the boy so intent on showing off his prize. That moment drew him back for a long, careful study, as if he were staring off at the past. A flood of sweat poured out of him, his pulse raced. Yes, he could see the resemblance between Logan and himself. Bright brown eyes with a hint of mischief tweaking the corners. Dark, unruly hair. High cheekbones. Why had it taken him so long to see what was so obvious? “Sure, I love bugs,” Holt began, a warmth in his voice for the kid that he couldn’t hold back. “I used to collect them in jars, too, when I was a little boy just like you—” He shot a glance to Allie standing behind him, staring at him and biting on her lower lip, but the joy on her face when their eyes met told him what he wanted to know. He didn’t want to keep anything from her. They both knew that Logan was his son.

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Sixteen There was no turning back for Kasey, even if she wanted to, which she didn’t. She’d made her decision to take the yellow brick road to fame and fortune no matter where it took her. It was simply that no one had told her there were so many twists and turns on the path to Oz. She could rattle them off quicker than a grocery list—Auditions, call-backs, waiting by the phone, then getting called back again. And all this for one job. No wonder she was tired, she thought, waiting for her chance on the runway this morning. This was her biggest opportunity yet and she couldn’t afford to worry about her feet hurting. She argued with herself every day that aching feet were part of the job, and that a healthy dose of confidence and a box of Band-Aids would make the pain go away. She was right. At least about the Band-Aids, she decided, walking up and down the runway in relative comfort a few minutes later when they called out her name. “Could you try it again, Ms. Mitchell... down the runway and back, please?” Kasey looked to see who had spoken, smiling as she did so. It was the fashion coordinator. A Mr. Humphrey, very lean of physique but heavy in style. And aftershave, she thought, getting a whiff of his pleasant scent as he approached her. 221

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“Certainly, Mr. H.,” she said, careful to use the initial surname she had been cued in by her agent that he preferred. She lifted up her chin, pushed her shoulders back, and took on what she’d heard the other models call ‘tude. “It’s essential to have attitude if you want to stand out from the crowd and get the job,” her roommate Dawn preached to her on a daily basis, encouraging Kasey to practice her ‘tude every time she passed in front of a mirror. Now she was glad she had listened to her. Holding her head up high and affecting a stare that oozed self-confidence, Kasey sashayed down the runway again, crossing her feet one over the other, so that when she walked her rear-end moved elegantly. She felt like a goddess taking a leisurely stroll on a earthly paradise, and that was exactly what the fashion coordinator wanted for the celebrity luncheon crowd. “Fabulous, Kasey,” Mr. Humphrey commented, clapping his hands together. “You’ll do very nicely for the show.” “Thank you, Mr. H.,” she said, beaming, though she wasn’t sure what to do next. She held her position and kept smiling. “You’re finished for today, Ms. Mitchell,” the coordinator said, clapping his hands together again, dismissing her. “Report to Virginia Lee for your wardrobe changes.” Kasey nodded. “Right away, Mr. H.” As she walked off the runway, she didn’t dare let her shoulders drop. She did let out a big breath, though. What a relief. She needed this job to pay the rent and a month’s supply of Band-Aids, she thought, kicking off her pumps out of view of the fashion coordinator. “You’re becoming quite the professional model, Kasey.” Kasey turned around to see Don Shaw coming up behind her, all smiles. She smiled back. Kasey said, “Thanks, Don. I worked hard to get this job, but I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t 222

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for you.” She watched the fashion coordinator put the next model through her paces like a jockey coaxing a reluctant filly into the starting gate. “Mr. H. is a tough one to please, Kasey. You’re the only one of my models to make the final cut,” Don said, falling in step with her as she headed to wardrobe. “I believe you could have a good career in this business if you work hard at it.” “That’s a wonderful compliment, Don, but—” “But what, Kasey?” “I don’t know how much longer I can stay in L.A. I have a son back in Arizona.” She sighed. “I miss him a lot.” “Then bring him out here.” “I’d like to, but—” “Listen, Kasey, a lot of models have husbands and kids, and they juggle all of them along with a career. It’s up to you.” “Thanks for the encouragement, Don,” she said, then added sincerely, “I won’t let you down.” “I know you won’t, Kasey.” That was it. Nothing else said. She was relieved her agent hadn’t asked her for a longer commitment than she was willing to make. She pondered the idea of bringing Logan out to L.A. Then maybe she’d find the courage to tell Holt that Logan was his son. Which reminded her that she hadn’t heard from Holt for a couple of days. When she called his office, his secretary told her he was out of town. On important business, she said. Kasey hoped he’d call soon. She couldn’t deny she missed him. “...and if you pull off this luncheon gig, Kasey,” her agent was saying. “I think I can get you on the Oprah Winfrey Show.” Kasey spun her head around so quickly she heard the bones in her neck crack. “Did you say Oprah?” She never missed the show and turned it on every day at the diner for her customers.

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Don nodded, looking very pleased with himself. “One of her producers told me they’re coming out to L.A. to do a show on Cinderella Makeovers, showcasing women who have turned their lives around by trying new careers. I submitted your story and picture.” Kasey’s face was aglow with light coming from the many standing lights set up around the stage, but nothing could compare to the intensity of excitement aglow in her eyes. “This is incredible, Don, just incredible. Imagine me on Oprah—” “Hold on, Kasey, I haven’t booked you on the show yet,” Don reminded her. “When will you know if they want me?” Kasey asked, not resisting asking the question lingering on her mind. “It could be five minutes from now,” came Don’s reply, “Or not at all.” Kasey nodded. She was getting used to going out on looksees for shows and not getting them, but that was before Oprah. In her opinion that would be the ultimate experience and, as Don reminded her, a break for her career. As well as a plus for her resume. “As in plus-size?” she joked and Don laughed. Then he was off to lunch with a client or a producer, she wasn’t sure which, because all she could think about was getting on her favorite talk show. She walked quickly to wardrobe, excited about this latest development, where a different scenario waited for her, pushing her emotions into a whole new direction. “Are you Kasey Mitchell?” the wardrobe assistant asked her. “Yes, I’m Kasey—” “Message for you, Ms. Mitchell,” the young woman said, handing her a scrap of paper with a phone number scribbled on it. It must be Holt, Kasey thought, a smile of anticipation popping up through her pancake makeup. Her roommate Dawn 224

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probably told him where to find her. She hadn’t heard from him since that night in her apartment when she threw herself into his arms. A rising heat shot up from her belly, bringing back the delicious memory of feeling his hands all over her, holding her around the waist, his hard chest pressed against her breasts, his lips finding her hardened nipples, his tongue licking the tiny nubs, sending hungry desire shooting down to her— She stared at the note the girl had handed her, thinking. Wait a minute, this wasn’t Holt’s number. “Are you sure this is the right number?” Kasey asked the wardrobe girl. “Yeah, I’m sure,” the girl said, her mouth full of pins and chewing gum. “She said you’d be surprised to hear from her.” “She?” “Yeah,” the girl said, taking the pins but not the chewing gum out of her mouth. “She said her name was Allie.” Happy thoughts raced through Kasey, lightening up her mood instantly. Allie here? In L.A.? Was Logan with her? Kasey ran to the phone and called the number. ~*~ “You were fabulous, Kasey,” Allie said, trying to imitate her sister’s walk, exaggerating the sexy swinging of her hips, “floating down that runway like Cindy Crawford.” “You’re pretty good yourself, Allie,” Kasey said, laughing. “I thought for sure I was going to trip and fall off the stage.” “My sister, the comedienne.” “So I’ve been told.” Allie shook her head. “No, you were definitely born for the catwalk.” “And not for the diner?” “We could set up a catwalk in the middle of the diner when you serve up your orders.” 225

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“You mean like this, Allie?” Kasey pranced up and down the hotel lobby, pretending to carry a tray. Allie’s face turned serious. “Everyone misses you, Kasey, though Sylvia keeps insisting she’s getting by without you. One look at her tired face and you know it’s been hard on her.” Feeling guilty, Kasey followed her sister into the waiting taxicab outside the hotel and they sped off onto the crowded L.A. streets. Her emotions came rushing at her, pushing aside her guilty thoughts. The celebrity luncheon was only a memory now, an afternoon of chicken-and-avocado salad and peach iced tea, flashbulbs popping, quick changes, silky, sheer gowns, and afterward, Kasey’s nonstop questions about Logan and the diner. She couldn’t believe it. Allie was here with her in Los Angeles. And Logan. She grabbed her sister’s hand and held it tightly. It was Holt’s doing, bringing them out here, insisting they all stay in a hotel suite. She had balked at first, not wanting any favors from him, but she was so grateful to have her sister and Logan with her that she didn’t put up much of a fuss. She was even more surprised when Holt pulled a few strings to get Allie an invitation to the celebrity luncheon. Allie couldn’t keep her head from swinging back and forth, checking out the TV glam girls attending the charity event. But when Kasey came down the runway, her sister looked at no one else. “I repeat, Ms. Kasey Mitchell, you were great, prancing up and down on that runway like a show pony.” “I wouldn’t have this chance to be a model if it weren’t for you, Allie,” Kasey said, trying not to sound too maudlin. Her sister hated stuff like that so she changed the subject. “Anyway, it’s wonderful to have you here. I don’t know how to thank Holt for arranging all this.” “I know how.” 226

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“How?” “Marry him. He loves you, Kasey, always has.” “I wish I could be sure, Allie,” Kasey said, letting out a sigh that didn’t go unnoticed by her sister. “Would he feel the same way about me if he knew Logan was his son?” Allie drew in her breath, sudden-like. Kasey squinted a look at her sister, trying to read what was on her mind. She didn’t have to when Allie blurted out, “If that’s all that’s stopping you, why don’t you tell him?” “Just like that, Allie?” Kasey said, snapping her fingers. “No build up? No soft candlelight? No passionate kisses to melt away his bachelor armor?” She shifted her weight on the seat as the cab took a sharp turn around a curve. She had to face up to the fact that Holt had to be told about Logan. And soon, before this thing got way out of hand and she found herself weaving more and more lies that would surely strangle her. “I guess some femme fatale atmosphere wouldn’t hurt,” Allie agreed. Then with a chuckle she added, “I’m sure Holt wouldn’t mind.” “What are you,” Kasey teased, “his press agent?” “He doesn’t need one.” Allie grabbed her sister by the shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. “Oh, Kasey, when are you going to stop playing games and get on with your life?” “What do you suggest I do, Allie? Seduce him between television commercials?” Kasey asked, trying to make light of an awkward situation. “Since you arrived, we haven’t had time to be alone, what with Logan playing the cartoon cable channel nonstop.” Even more upset by that thought than she had expected to be, Kasey let her mind drift back to the past couple of days, remembering the longing glances passing between them, the way Holt brushed his hand against hers, the cool smile he threw

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in her direction that promised a rising of her temperature if he could just get her alone. She shivered, blaming her goose bumps on the hardworking air conditioning in the taxi, but the truth was she didn’t trust her emotions around him. “I could take Logan out for a walk when we get back to the hotel—” Allie offered, as if reading her mind. “Take a walk where?” Kasey joked, “Down to the ice machine and back?” Allie laughed. “We could change our plans for tomorrow. I’ll take Logan to Knott’s Berry Farm. Then you and Holt can have the hotel room. Alone,” she emphasized. Kasey looked out the window of the cab and drew a deep breath. It was a tempting idea, a delicious, tear-the-clothes-offHolt’s-body idea, but she couldn’t. She was torturing herself, but something had been nudging her for quite awhile, a tug inside her, prompting her to take this opportunity to give Logan something she felt he needed. Badly. His Apache heritage. Dawn had told her about Knott’s Berry Farm amusement park with its ghost town and Native American exhibit, complete with a village and tribal dance performances. She wanted to share that experience with her son, show him first hand how his ancestors had lived and hunted and prayed. And if Holt came with them, she planned, he could help her give the boy back that family history and neither of them would have to know he was Logan’s father. At least, not until they got to know each other better, she thought, enjoying the warm feeling that idea gave her as she counted on the success of her plan. Kasey had to smile. Holt had no idea what was on her mind. He had taken Logan to Disneyland today, promising to take him on every ride in the park.

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“Well, Kasey, what do you say?” Allie urged. “Is it going to be a sexy rendezvous for you and Holt tomorrow?” Kasey shook her head. “No, Allie, I think I know another way I can tell him about Logan,” she said as the cab dropped them off in front of their hotel. Her legs felt rubbery as they got out of the taxi and paid the fare. A late afternoon breeze blew hot in her face, challenging her. Would she tell Holt the truth about Logan tomorrow? Or would she keep putting off telling him? How much time did she have left? ~*~ It was an exhausted Holt who waited in line for another turn on the Indiana Jones ride and wiped the perspiration off his face. He was tired. Dead tired. He looked over at Logan. Face beaming, heart pumping, he was a wind-him-up-and-watchhim-go ball of energy. Sweat dripped into the little boy’s eyes, but he never noticed, especially when the next ride was in sight. He was ready to vault over the aluminum bar and into the empty jeep-car if the attendant would let him. Something Holt couldn’t understand. He didn’t want to admit he was worn out, frazzled, and his energy more depleted in one afternoon than if he had spent the whole day in court. He shook his head. Who was he kidding? He loved every minute of it. That wasn’t the only emotion he’d put to his first experience acting as a father to a nine-year-old. Proud. Puzzled at times. Confused. How did a kid Logan’s size put away so many cheeseburgers? he wondered. And didn’t he ever get tired? Kasey must have the energy of ten women to keep up with this kid. Holt let a lazy smile curl over his lips, one he didn’t wipe away and had nothing to do with the attendant finally opening the gate to the ride. He’d find out later how much energy she 229

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had when he took her into his arms and covered her from head to toe with an extra big dose of loving. A flash of desire shot down to his groin and he was barely able to keep his dignity intact. He could feel his heart racing with the delicious expectation of seeing Kasey again and holding her close to him. Holt took a deep breath as the line began to move quickly, Logan eagerly joining the happy park-goers ready to jump aboard the amusement park jeep and experience another four minutes of rats, bats, poison darts, a river of lava, and fifty tons of rolling granite threatening them at every turn. The best part for Holt was watching Logan. His enthusiasm, his curiosity. The way he grabbed Holt’s hand with boyish impatience, as if to drag him along quicker to the next ride. To Holt it was a show of affection that touched him deeply. But he couldn’t hide his feelings. His eyes were full of a sadness that came with another memory long buried. He’d never known that feeling from his own father and he realized now that he missed it terribly. “Can we go on the Orbiter next, Mr. Astin?” Logan asked, already planning his next move and taking no chances of hearing Holt say the words every kid dreaded—“It’s time to go home.” “Sure, Logan,” Holt said easily, at the same time making sure the boy was strapped into the ride. He wasn’t so sure he was ready to go soaring through the solar system in their own starship, zooming out into the cosmos and zipping past orbiting planets a little too close for comfort, but he wouldn’t disappoint the kid. It was all part of being a dad, he thought. Something he was becoming more comfortable with as the day wore on. He looked over at Logan, gulping down a soda and a hot dog in record time before the ride started. The boy would occasionally sneak a peek at him, his head tilted to one side, his eyes squinting at him, as if he were waiting for Holt to say, 230

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“Don’t eat so fast.” Or—“Haven’t you had enough?” But of course he didn’t. That was for moms to say. He was a dad. Dad. It was something he was still struggling with inside him. He could not understand why his mouth went dry or why his heart began to race every time he thought about it and what it meant. How was he going to tell Logan he was his father? He had tried a couple of times to ask the boy what he knew about his father, trying to figure out how to bring up the subject, but the words never came. He wanted to blurt out, “Hey, kid, I’m your father. Yeah, I know I haven’t been around for you, but it wasn’t my fault. Wasn’t your mom’s fault either. It was...” Damn, what would he say then? “Your grandpa kept your mom and me apart? We were never married, but you were born out of our love.” That kind of stuff would never settle right into a young kid’s mind, he knew. Logan would be angry, upset. Who could blame him? No, he had to wait to find the right moment, the right words to tell him. Besides, he had no idea what Kasey had told him about his father. He could imagine how difficult it had been for her to raise the boy by herself. “Mr. Astin...” Logan began, then hesitated. The ride was ready to start. “Yes, Logan?” Holt said, bracing himself for several minutes of jolts and bumps. “Do you think we could go on this ride again?” “Sure, why not?” Holt said with enthusiasm. If Logan could take it, why couldn’t he? “Thanks, Mr. Astin.” Holt looked at the kid’s face, questioning yet hopeful. He wished he could hear the boy call him “Dad,” but instead he said, “You can call me Holt.” Logan thought about this for a long moment and Holt could see he was struggling with something. Then the little boy said 231

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slowly, “Mom says I have to be respectful to adults and call them ‘Mister’...” “I think your mom would approve if you call me Holt,” he said easily, then added with a smile, “Your mom and I are old friends.” Logan blew out his breath and grabbed onto the safety bar as they took off into their Indy-style adventure. “Cool, Holt. I like hanging out with you.” Holt couldn’t resist an impulse to ruffle the boy’s hair. “I like hanging out with you, too, Logan.”

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Seventeen Kasey was so nervous she couldn’t down another cup of coffee, find her shoes, or stop chattering like a mechanical parrot with a new battery. It was nearly ten o’clock, dark outside, dammit, and Holt and Logan weren’t back yet. She paced back and forth barefoot in the hotel room, her suitcase wide open, her clothes thrown around, but her shoes were nowhere in sight. She had intended to go downstairs to the lobby and wait for them, if only she could find her shoes. “Don’t worry, Kasey, I’m sure they’re okay,” Allie said for the umpteenth time, sitting by the phone. She glared at it, as if willing it to ring. It didn’t. “I know it sounds crazy, Allie, but maybe I was wrong about Holt. Maybe they never went to Disneyland. Maybe he took off with Logan. They could be somewhere in Mexico by now,” she rambled on, grabbing a cold bottle of water out of the room frig. “You’re talking crazy, Kasey. Holt wouldn’t—” “You’re right, Allie, that’s impossible,” Kasey said, relief rushing over her like a cool waterfall as she drank the spring water. “He doesn’t know Logan is his son.” “Kasey...” Allie began, hesitating with what she had to say, her gaze shifting to her hand on the phone, as if it would ring 233

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by the mere presence of her fingers on the receiver. “What if Holt—” Knock. Knock. Kasey threw down the empty plastic bottle and ran to the door. “Thank God...” She opened the door and she couldn’t help but let out a cry of relief when she saw Holt standing there, her little boy sleeping in his arms, his innocence written all over his face. She had to admit he looked as content as a newborn cub safe in the lair. “Sorry we’re so late, Kasey...” Holt began, but Kasey’s frustration bubbled over, her fears and worry letting go in a flurry of words. “Late?” she whispered loudly, trying not to awaken her son. “Do you know how late you are? “Well, you see, Logan wanted to go on one more ride for the past three hours,” Holt said, his voice scratchy and nearly gone as he laid the boy down on one of the couches. “He was having such a good time I couldn’t say no.” Kasey calmed her breathing and stepped backward into the picture. She was overreacting, she admitted. They were home safe. That was all that mattered. It was at that moment she realized she wasn’t the only one worn out by the ordeal. Holt looked so tired, with dark circles standing out underneath his eyes. And by the way he was walking, staggering actually, she could see that he’d hit the bumps and grinds of Space Mountain one too many times. The poor darling, she thought, her maternal instincts reaching out into new territory to a place where she had never been before, reaching out to hug this man with a caring and warm embrace. Holt needed some tender loving care, too.

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“I’ll fix you some coffee, Holt,” she offered, trying to keep her voice pleasant but not sexy. Not now. This was not the time for romance. “The room has an automatic coffeemaker.” “We could order a nightcap,” Holt said lazily, pausing to stand in the doorway as if he were testing the waters before making his move inside the adjoining bedroom. “And what did you have in mind?” A different kind of heat shot through her. Oh God, she couldn’t believe it. It was happening again. She was thinking about all the pleasant sensations that touched her in her most secret places when she was in his presence. “A smooth glass of brandy and a pair of loving arms would be right just about now,” he said. Allie grabbed her purse and started to leave. “This is where I make my exit, you two.” “You can’t leave me here with him, Allie. He’s liable to fall asleep in my bed.” Allie winked at her. “I think that’s exactly what he has in mind, dear sister.” Kasey pretended to look shocked, and she was. She couldn’t let Holt stay with her in the same bedroom. How would she ever explain that to her son in the morning? She needn’t have worried. By the time the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the hotel suite, Holt was already asleep on the couch in the sitting room, sleeping as soundly as Logan. She looked at both their faces. Father and son. Together. Was any woman luckier than she was? She planted a kiss on both their cheeks, then went into her room and closed the door. ~*~ “Ummmm... smell that fried chicken,” Holt said, holding on tightly to Kasey’s hand.

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It did smell good, she thought, looking at the bulletin board menu outside the rustic-looking restaurant. Knott’s Berry Farm was famous for their chicken dinners and boysenberry pie. “It says here the first chicken and biscuit dinner was served at Knott’s more than sixty-five years ago,” Kasey said. Holt squeezed her hand. “I’m a leg man myself, but I also like brea—” Kasey kicked him in the shin. “Don’t you dare say it, Holt Astin,” she warned, nodding toward Logan. She knew Holt was about to say “breast.” Thank God the young boy wasn’t listening to their conversation. Her son was chomping down on a piece of pizza. His second in an hour, and even if Logan wasn’t listening, she felt her cheeks ripening with a peach flush. That wasn’t the first time today Holt had gone out of his way to hold her around the waist, whisper something sexy in her ear, or look at her as if she were a piece of fried chicken. She had to smile. Both his favorite parts. He was doing his best to compete with Logan for her attention and she found that amusing. It all started this morning. Up at dawn with the television set blasting, Logan was overjoyed to find Holt sleeping next to him on the other couch. Kasey tried to explain what he was doing there, but like all kids, Logan didn’t understand adult protocol and happily took it all in stride. In his eyes, finding Holt in his mom’s hotel suite was like finding a surprise package waiting for him on his birthday. “Awesome,” Logan said, “Now we don’t have to wait until after breakfast to go to Knott’s. Me and mom can leave right this minute!” “Mom and I,” Kasey corrected him, though she could see out of the corner of her eye that Holt found the entire episode amusing. He was grinning from ear to ear. Was she playing into his hands? Of course she was, walking into his trap with her 236

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eyes open, but she didn’t care. This was the only time they had for a family day adventure before Allie and Logan left for home tomorrow. It also gave Allie some free time to check out the fashion scene on trendy Melrose Avenue. Kasey didn’t want anything to spoil their day, though she was waiting for an important call from her agent about the talk show. Holt, like the knight she wanted him to be, came to her rescue. He called Don Shaw’s office and left his cell phone number as her contact. With her mind at ease, her eyes on Logan, and her emotions in perpetual upheaval around Holt, Kasey enjoyed the hourlong ride down to Orange County. Holt was also having fun, telling Logan stories about Indians and wagon trains, and getting him all excited about going on the rides at Knott’s, especially something called the Supreme Scream. Supreme stomach flip, Kasey called it when they went on the ride later that day. She’d never forget sitting at the top of the ride, thirty stories up, and looking down at the city of Buena Park all around them. The air was cool and fresh, and for the brief moment before they dropped down like a meteor hurling toward earth, she had an idea of what it must be like to float on a cloud. Or make love at five thousand feet up in the air. She looked over at Holt and their eyes met. A sparkle, a loving gleam of something she wanted more than anything to see flashed from Holt’s eyes. He must have been thinking the same thing because he reached out to take her hand, but before their fingers could touch— —down, down they flew at the rate of fifty to sixty miles an hour, their arms and legs flying through the air wildly in every direction, the electricity whipping at their faces, the excitement exhausting them. When they got off the ride Kasey could barely stand up, dizziness creeping into her head. She felt her body swaying. 237

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Holt grabbed her around the waist and held her tightly to him. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she snuggled up to his chest. It felt so right to be close to him, the nearness of him sending unspoken signals of his desire through her. Signals she couldn’t ignore. A rubbing of his hand on her hip. A quick kiss on her neck when Logan was riding on the bumper cars. Damn him, he was teasing her on purpose and she was determined not to let him know what effect he was having on her. At least, not while they walked around the amusement park after going on all the major rides, including the Bigfoot Rapids, the Jammer, Montezooma’s Revenge, and the Ghostrider roller coaster. “Watch those hands, Holt,” she teased as he squeezed her around the waist. “This is a public place.” “Then I’ll have to wait until we get to a more private place to ravish you,” Holt whispered back. “Later.” “If you have your eye on those teepees we passed in the Indian Village, Holt, forget it,” she said, joining him in his teasing game. “The teepee floor is made out of cement. Ouch.” Holt raised an eyebrow. “So you noticed? Good ideas travel in pairs, I see,” he quipped. He leaned down to kiss her on the cheek and Kasey couldn’t believe it when his cell phone began ringing. Once, twice, then again. “Astin here...” he said into the phone, grinning at her. “Yes, she’s here.” He turned to Kasey and handed her the cell phone. “It’s your agent.” She hesitated a moment, grinning back at him before she said, “Yes, Don?” “Great news, Kasey,” she heard her agent say. “You got the gig on the Oprah Winfrey Show.” “I what?” she could barely utter the two simple words. She gestured to Holt, trying to tell him the good news.

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“They’re coming out from Chicago in two days to tape some L.A. shows. You’ll be part of the Cinderella Makeovers segment. I’ll give you the details tomorrow. Congratulations again.” Then he hung up. She told Holt about the show, he gave her a big kiss, she kissed him back, then she realized she had lost sight of Logan. Her heart stopped. What was she thinking? Acting like she was on a first date and not paying attention to her son? Eyes looking everywhere at once, Kasey felt her pulse return to its normal beat when she located Logan standing in front of a food stand, eyeing something called a funnel cake. It looked like a giant waffle covered with powdered sugar. “Hey, Mom, can I have...” he began, but Kasey shook her head. “I think it’s time you ate some real food, Logan,” she said. Holt laughed. She glared at him, then with a sense of drama she said, “You, too, Mr. Astin. You need something to curb that raging appetite of yours.” Holt acknowledged her retort with a wink, but Logan had no idea what was going on. He leaned upward and whispered in her ear, “It’s okay to call him Holt, Mom. He said so.” Her son said it in such a charming manner she almost cried. What would Logan say if she told him he should call him “Dad?” What would Holt say if he knew? she wondered. It was a question that lay heavy on her mind as she grabbed her son’s hand and the chicken dinner restaurant beckoned them inside. ~*~ Kasey thought she handled the day at Knott’s Berry Farm with a great deal of control, not giving away her emotional joy at seeing how well Holt and Logan took to each other. How they acted like father and son, how Holt ruffled Logan’s hair with his hand, the way Logan listened so intently when Holt 239

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explained things to him, and how he tried to stand up taller walking next to him. Her hands didn’t shake, her voice didn’t betray her, and though her eyes did tear up at times, she hid them behind her sunglasses. And if she almost did blurt out at dinner that they were a family when the waitress commented on what a wellbehaved son they had, she covered herself in time. But she made one mistake later in the evening. A big one. It happened at the Indian Trails Stage in the Ghost Town area of the park. Kasey was sitting between Holt and Logan on a long log bench, her whole being tuned into the powerful spiritual message of the flute, while a troupe of Native Americans played songs on drums and flutes and performed traditional ceremonial dances on a small round platform. Her soul took wing like a nightbird soaring as the approaching twilight enveloped all of them in a warm embrace, caressing their spirits as they listened to the haunting melodies. She was reminded of Natchez and his flute. She knew all along she couldn’t hide her secret from him, just like she couldn’t hide her feelings about Holt. She was in love with him, always had been, and she couldn’t stop herself from loving him forever. Wouldn’t. The story of their love was written on the ancient hunting trails of the Apache, she knew, as surely as if Holt’s ancestors had decreed it. “Hey, Holt, how come that Indian boy is dancing?” Logan asked curiously, his eyes never leaving the young brave wearing head feathers and a loincloth and prancing around on stage in his bare feet with bells tied around his ankles. “What do you mean, Logan?” Holt asked patiently. “I thought dancing was for girls.” “Not in the Apache culture, Logan,” Holt said, interpreting the dance movements for the young boy. “Warriors weren’t allowed to talk about their victories, so the dances symbolized 240

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their lives and expressed different deeds in a warrior’s life, like a battle or the hunt of the buffalo.” “Yeah?” Logan asked, watching the young brave focusing on the ground. “What’s he doing now, Holt?” “He’s imitating the tracking of an animal.” “Is he hunting?” “Yes, he’s telling the Spirit of the Mountain that he wishes to prove his manhood by going on his first hunt.” “First hunt? Awesome,” Logan said, clearly impressed. “Yes. An Apache boy becomes a man when he brings back the feather of an eagle.” “Wow, I can do that,” was all Logan could say. Kasey should have known what would happen next when the young warrior asked the kids in the audience to join him on stage. Logan looked at Holt. “Can I go, Holt?” Holt nodded, smiling. “Yes, Logan. Go and join the others.” Without hesitating, Logan jumped onto the small stage and fell into step alongside the dancer as if he were born to the movements. Kasey swayed back and forth to the music, her whole body in a trance. She felt content, happy. With the veil of twilight casting a surrealistic glow on the scene of dancers and feathers and fringe and bells, she let herself go, not putting the world in order as she knew it but how it should be, should have been for ten years. So it wasn’t really her fault as she watched her son dancing and she said to Holt without thinking, “This is such a wonderful opportunity for Logan to learn about his Apache heritage.” She realized her mistake too late. Stunned and mentally kicking herself for not using her head, Kasey forced herself to look at Holt, though she was afraid what she would see in his face. “I agree, Kasey,” Holt said without looking at her. “The 241

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boy has a right to know his heritage, who his ancestors were.” He paused. “Who his father is,” he finished, looking at her, his face not giving her any indication of what he must be feeling, though his voice was full of pain. “How long have you known?” she asked softly. “Not long... Why didn’t you tell me, Kasey?” “I tried to tell you, Holt, many times. But the words wouldn’t come.” “Knowing that Logan is my son doesn’t change anything between us, Kasey,” Holt said slowly. “I love you and always have.” “You’re wrong, Holt. It changes everything.” “Why, Kasey? The boy is my son. I admit I’m angry that I missed so many years with him, missed so many years with you.” He hesitated, then, “What I’m trying to say, Kasey, is that it wasn’t your fault or mine.” Kasey sat quietly, listening intently as he explained to her about the letters from her that he never received, letters his father kept locked up in a steel box in his safe for years. She couldn’t believe she was hearing this, yet it was true. Garth Astin had tried to destroy her life. And Holt’s. She shivered, though the evening air was warm. Was it too late for them to try again? “I guess having a family will take some getting used to, Holt,” she said, waiting for his reaction. “I have all the time in the world to get used to it.” Kasey smiled when he took her hand in his and held it tightly. She was just beginning to believe everything would be okay when she heard— “Can we go home, Mom?” Kasey spun around on the log bleacher seat, not realizing the music had stopped and Logan was standing in the shadows a few feet away from them. Pushing fear that seemed to toss her 242

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emotions into a whirlpool, she looked at her son. She couldn’t see his face clearly but she knew that something was wrong. Something he couldn’t understand, but it hurt him just the same. Her heart jumped into her throat, her pulse started racing. She knew what it was. He had heard them talking about him and it upset him. A lot. “What’s wrong, Logan?” she asked. The boy didn’t answer her but looked at Holt instead. Hard. “Is it true that... that you’re my father?” “Yes, Logan, it’s true,” Holt said. “I’m your father.” For a minute Kasey was relieved to see his eyes light up, his face beam, then before she could catch her breath, he blurted out, “I don’t believe you! You’re lying to me. All the kids at school say I don’t have a father. That I’m... I’m...” Kasey looked at Holt and he looked back at her, pain in his eyes. She didn’t know what to say to him. Or to her son. So she said nothing. And she hated herself for it. “Let’s go home, Kasey,” Holt said finally, taking her hand. His hand was cold. Hers was colder. She nodded. Logan walked behind them, his head down, his hands in his pockets. He didn’t say another word. What he was thinking, she could only guess. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for whatever came next. Her dream was on hold. But for how long?

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Eighteen Kasey had heard about the Green Room, laughed about it, stayed up late at night to watch Dave or Jay joke about it, but she never dreamed she’d actually be sitting in it. She took a long, slow pan around the backstage area at the television studio of the L.A. network affiliate, taking in the whole room at one time. The guests’ waiting area wasn’t really green, she noticed, but covered with a soft, muted light gray wallpaper with embossed flowers. Funny, but its dated look made her think of a sit-com living room from the fifties, not a glossy talk show. The room was small and big enough only for a short couch, a couple of straight back chairs, and two television monitors so the guests could watch what was happening onstage. Not much was going on at the moment, she noticed, stealing a look at one of the TV monitors. She could see the warm-up comedienne going through her routine, cracking jokes about the L.A. freeways and asking the audience members where they were from, then coaching them to clap and cheer whenever the applause signs went on, no matter what was happening onstage. Kasey leaned back on the couch, thinking. She needed more than a warm-up. She felt her big toe giving her that old nervous twitch again. She scratched her foot, a nauseous feeling hitting 244

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her in the stomach every time she bent over. She let out a deep breath, trying to ignore it, and concentrated instead on what was going on around her. A young producer named Joanne was telling the women how excited the Oprah staff was to be out here on the west coast and, at the same time, checking to make sure the guests were relaxed and comfortable before they went onstage. Three other guests were drinking coffee and bottled water and having a doughnut or two—who was looking?— while they tried to second guess what Oprah would be wearing on today’s show. “She always wears the coolest outfits,” one woman said, reaching for her second doughnut. “I love those sexy black boots she wore last week.” “And how about that fuzzy gray sweater she wore yesterday?” another guest said. “She’s stylin’, girl.” Kasey resisted the temptation to take a doughnut when the guests passed around the plate of goodies, but just barely. She hadn’t been able to eat anything this morning. Nothing at lunch either. Now she was feeling lightheaded and her stomach was upset. It had to be from lack of food, she kept telling herself. And nerves. She’d been feeling somewhat queasy for the past few days. Maybe she was getting the flu. What else could be wrong with her? She knew the answer. She was still upset over what happened at Knott’s. At first, Logan was happy to find out Holt was his father, but the joy in his eyes quickly faded. Something was bugging him, she knew, by the way he acted, shuffling his feet, keeping his head down so she couldn’t see his face. When she asked him what was wrong, he mumbled something about them treating him like a kid, that they didn’t trust him enough to tell him about his father so they lied to him. That was even worse, he told her, than the kids at school who teased him a lot

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about not having a father. But he’d show them, he said, he’d show everybody he wasn’t a little kid anymore. Kasey didn’t know what to say to her son on the ride back to the hotel. She didn’t have to say anything. Logan fell asleep in the back seat, or pretended to be. She didn’t exchange more than a few words with Holt in the car. She was afraid of making a bad situation worse. When they got back to their hotel room, Holt carried the sleeping boy into the bedroom and put him to bed. Then he said goodnight to Kasey. She could see in his eyes he wanted to stay and talk. She shook her head, though she hated to let him leave. He understood and said goodnight, promising to call her in the morning. She couldn’t sleep. Logan seemed so hurt and that worried her. She felt herself drifting into a deep hole of guilt. How did a little boy of nine put it all into perspective? What was he feeling? What could he be feeling but anger and confusion? Logan’s actions at the airport the next morning also bothered her. He barely lifted up his face to let her kiss him goodbye. Then he got on the plane with Allie and a big part of her went with them. She wanted to talk to Holt, but when she tried this morning to call him before she left for the studio to tape the Oprah Show, all she got for her efforts was a quick answer from his secretary that he was on a conference call. She assured Kasey he would get back to her as soon as he could. Then she called home. She’d been overly worried about Logan all day. Yesterday he had stayed home from school, complaining of a stomachache. Allie set her mind at ease this morning, assuring her that her son had gone to school without protesting. In fact, he seemed eager to go to class today, her sister told her, taking extra care to pack a lunch along with his arrowhead collection before leaving for school. 246

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Kasey let out a deep breath. She had to let go of her worry, at least for the next hour. She prayed she could. For the next few minutes, however, she couldn’t bring herself to say much. Instead, she listened to the conversation going on around her. “I think Oprah’s fabulous,” one woman commented. “And I love her magazine O.” “So do I,” said another woman. “It’s a personal growth guide and I can tell you that it’s helped me.” “Was it Oprah’s idea to have real-size women on her show?” the third woman asked the young producer. “Yes. She believes in the power of women of all sizes,” the young woman with the clipboard stated eloquently. “This show came about when we realized the fashion biz is finally understanding this phenomenon. We want to help change the perception of plus-size women.” “Real size women rule,” Kasey said, grabbing a cold bottled water. “And we have curves. Dangerous curves.” She smiled as the young producer put pencil to her pad, making notes. “How did everybody get started modeling?” Joanne asked, her pencil poised in the air, ready to scribble down any additional sound bites they could use in the opening tease. “My kids all needed braces,” one woman said. “That’s why I got started.” “I’ve been modeling since I was a size six,” the gal with the doughnut said, “but the bigger I got the less money I made. Then things started changing. Now it’s our turn to make a plussize splash in the fashion biz with a capital P.” “I want to be a supermodel so I can get a new husband,” the woman with the three kids said, pulling out photos of her brood and passing them around to show the other women. “Anybody got any old boyfriends they don’t want?”

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They all laughed, eager to share their secrets to catching a man, including everything from answering personal ads with an airbrushed photo to the hottest new hair color. “Are you married?” the producer asked the gal with the doughnut in her mouth. She shook her head, swallowing her mouthful of pastry. “Almost,” she said, showing off the pretty diamond ring on her left hand. “I’m engaged.” “How about you, Kasey,” the producer asked. “Is there a man in your life?” “Yes,” Kasey said, glowing with every word, “Two men.” She told the group of women about Holt and Logan, and how her son took after his father, when suddenly she felt nauseous again. Trying to keep smiling, she reached for the last doughnut, knowing her nerves were showing, hoping she could keep the food down and not get sick before the show. No sooner had she bitten into the doughnut when the green light mounted on the wall above the television monitor started flashing, bringing an end to the conversation. At this moment, no more last minute make-up checks in the mirror, no more stops to the bathroom. At this moment, a nervous anticipation hit her hard. Kasey felt her mouth go dry, her hands shake. There was that funny, queasy feeling in her stomach again. The feeling only intensified in her as she swallowed the doughnut quickly and her stomach rebelled at the intrusion. “Take your places on stage, everyone,” the young producer announced, her voice taking on an urgency as she hustled the models out of the green room. “It’s showtime!” ~*~ Holt drummed his fingers on his mahogany desk while he tapped on his computer keyboard to bring up another screen. He took a long, deep breath. Finally he found what he was looking for on his computer. 248

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“That’s the document, Carlisle. Go ahead and make the necessary changes and I’ll sign it,” he said into his speaker phone. He leaned back in his swivel chair. There, it was done. The sale of The Laguna was in escrow. For two days he had worked on nothing but getting the final paperwork in order, putting aside all his calls and asking his partner, Barry, to take over his cases. “Subject to the final appraisal and other analyses, Mr. Astin, the sale of The Laguna Ranch to the City of Denmore is complete,” he heard the voice on his speaker phone say. Holt was pleased. Carlisle was in Phoenix and had called earlier with the good news—The lien had been cleared from the title to the ranch and all they needed was his signature on the final sale document. Holt had immediately put the City Manager of Denmore on a conference call with his man in Phoenix. “I can’t tell you how pleased the City Council is that you agreed to our purchase price, Mr. Astin,” said the City Manager. He was calling from the Mayor’s office in Denmore. “Your generosity will protect this valuable resource for generations to come.” “That’s exactly why I’m selling to the city, Mr. Gomez,” Holt said easily, his mind already planning how he was going to surprise Kasey later with the news. He could hardly wait to see her face when he told her. “I don’t follow you, Mr. Astin.” “It’s important for our children to be able to enjoy this natural habitat,” Holt said. “Important for their future.” Holt cleared his throat, trying to cover up the catch in his voice and finished up the details of the sale, turning the callers over to his secretary. Then he switched off his speaker phone and sipped his cold coffee. It was only then he realized he was sweating in his air-conditioned Century City office. He wasn’t 249

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used to dealing with the emotion he felt when he thought about being a parent, that he had a son who would someday inherit the section of ranchland he had kept for his family. It felt strange and wonderful, though he knew being a parent also carried a great responsibility with it. One he was ready to tackle head-on. First, he was going to ask Kasey to marry him. She’d have her modeling career and he would keep his practice and an apartment in Los Angeles, but the ranch house at The Laguna would be their permanent home. Theirs and Logan’s. He was still glowing with that feeling a few minutes later when he made a phone call to the ranch to tell Natchez about the sale. “The sale of The Laguna to the City of Denmore is a done deal,” Holt began when Natchez answered the phone. “I am pleased, Mr. Holt, but not surprised,” the old Apache said calmly. “I felt a shifting of the earth today, as well as the opening of your soul.” Holt sensed there was something else on his mind. “You knew all along Logan was my son, didn’t you, Natchez?” The Apache hesitated, then, “Yes, you have discovered a man’s greatest joy, Mr. Holt. Having a son. I am pleased for you.” Holt had to smile, pushing the coffee mug away from him. “You amaze me, Natchez,” he began, then stopped. No, that wasn’t true. He wasn’t surprised by anything Natchez did, remembering how his old friend looked at Logan with a wisdom he hadn’t understood. He remembered how the Apache had explained to the boy the important deeds of his tribe, the symbols, the dances, the sacred rites. “Why didn’t you tell me Logan is my son, Natchez?”

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“You would not have believed me, Mr. Holt, as you would not believe other truths about your past that lay hidden from your eyes.” Holt was about to ask the Indian what truths he was talking about when his other line began to buzz incessantly. “I’ll call you back later, Natchez,” he said, deciding to tell his secretary to hold his calls for the rest of the day. He wanted to get in touch with Kasey right away and finalize his plans for tonight. He intended to surprise her with two dozen red roses, then take her out to the best dinner in town, and, he planned without missing a heartbeat, make love to her again more than a mile high in the sky. “Hold all my calls, Chrissy,” he said, punching in the phone line, “I’ve got work to do.” “Yes, Mr. Astin.” She hesitated, then, “but I think you’ll want to take this call.” “Can’t Barry handle it?” Holt asked. He was anxious to talk to Kasey. “He’s taking over all of my cases.” “It’s not a client, Mr. Astin. It’s a Mrs. Cochran. She said it’s about your son. And it’s urgent.” Mrs. Cochran? It took him only a second to realize Allie was on the other line. He could hear the questioning tone in Chrissy’s voice, but he didn’t have time to explain. He grabbed the call. “What’s wrong, Allie?” he said into the phone. “It’s Logan, Holt. I was out of my shop this morning doing an errand and I didn’t get the message from the school until a few minutes ago.” Allie stopped, out of breath. He sensed she was shaking, trying to hold back tears. “I don’t know how to get hold of Kasey. She’s taping the Oprah Show today.” Holt ran his fingers through his hair. He had been so busy planning this surprise for her, he’d almost forgotten about the

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show. “For God’s sake, Allie, what’s wrong?” he tried to say calmly, but he couldn’t. He asked quickly, “Is Logan hurt?” “No. I mean, we don’t know. He was acting so strange this morning, packing his own lunch, taking his backpack filled with his arrowhead collection to school.” “Calm down, Allie. What did his teacher say?” He heard her take a deep breath, then she said, “Logan never made it to school, Holt. He’s run away.” ~*~ If Kasey ever thought being on a talk show was easy, a job of glamour and breathtaking close-ups, she changed her mind that afternoon. That anyone could sit still in a chair with hot lights blasting down on them in a shower of heat and smile constantly and tell the entire studio audience—not to mention the millions of unseen viewers at home nibbling on potato chips and doing their ironing—every intimate detail of their lives still amazed her. She was even more impressed with how easily Oprah moved across the stage from one guest to the other, asking questions and joking with them. “Where did you get those shoes, girl?” Oprah teased one model about her ultra-high, sling back sandals. Kasey would have enjoyed herself if she was in the audience, but she wasn’t. She was sitting on stage, fidgeting in her chair, crossing then uncrossing her legs. She took short breaths in and out slowly, trying to calm her nerves, wondering what would happen next. The first half of the show was devoted to the models’ “personal” stories, filled with photos of them with their voiceovers talking about their lives. Kasey was pleasantly surprised how the producers portrayed her and the other women as positive role models for what was popularly becoming known as real-sized women. When the film segments were over, Oprah took a few minutes to personally interview each model, joke 252

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with her, and make her feel as if her story was the most important segment on the show. Kasey talked about how her sister Allie had entered her in the magazine plus-size contest, then how she was “discovered” by a talent agent when she came out to Los Angeles, and how she got her first job as a runway model. When Oprah asked her if the new plus-size fashions gave her confidence, Kasey said, “You have the confidence first. Then you choose the clothes.” Everybody clapped and Oprah smiled at her, clearly impressed with her answer. Kasey smiled back at her hostess. Barely. Her stomach had crash-landed at her feet at least twenty minutes ago and her face was dripping with perspiration drizzling down the sides of her face. She was certain her hairdo was drooping and she had a cramp in her leg, though she was afraid to move. She was never sure when the camera was on her. She tried to concentrate on keeping her stomach from making a fool out of her, telling herself the second half of the program would be easier when she and the other models did an informal runway show. A sudden movement in the audience caught her attention. She saw a man sitting down in an aisle seat near the front of the stage. She couldn’t see him clearly because of the bright lights. A sudden shiver tingled through her. Why did she feel uncomfortable all of a sudden? As if someone was watching her with more than curious interest? Kasey let out a big sigh when she saw someone wearing a headset give Oprah the “Go to commercial” signal as he waved his hands about in the air. She gave the “We’ll be right back” tease about the next segment, then quickly disappeared into the make-up room. Relieved, Kasey stood up and walked backstage, her legs rubbery, but she was eager to change into her first outfit for the runway show. She didn’t know how much longer she could 253

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hang on to whatever food was left in her stomach. She stopped short when she heard someone calling out her name. “Kasey, Kasey!” She turned around and nearly tripped over her own feet when she saw Holt making his way toward her. She couldn’t hide her surprise when she said, “Holt, what are you doing here?” “I have to talk to you, Kasey,” he said, then he steered her into a quiet corner backstage. “What is it, Holt?” she asked, trying to keep the longing out of her voice. She couldn’t stop herself from putting her hand on his arm. Feeling the closeness of him overwhelmed her with a confidence she hadn’t felt a few moments ago. That confidence was soon shattered when Holt looked into her eyes and started to speak. The last thing she expected to hear was that her son was missing. ~*~ A few minutes later, Holt watched Kasey sashay down the small runway in front of the television audience like it was the most important thing in the world to her. He had to hand it to her. She was a real trouper. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the only thing that mattered to her right now was showing these women how to have her bubbling self-confidence. He knew inside she was breaking, her heart ripped from her, her soul stripped from her essence. Her little boy was missing. “It’ll only take me a minute to grab my things,” she had said to him after he gave her the news about Logan. Her voice was low and husky, as if she couldn’t catch her breath. “What about the rest of the show, Kasey?” “Are you crazy, Holt? My baby is missing, lost somewhere out there in the desert, and you expect me to stay and finish a talk show?” 254

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“Listen, Kasey, I know how you feel—” “How can you know how I feel?” she blurted out, hurting him more than she knew. He didn’t blame her. If it wasn’t for him, Logan wouldn’t have run away. He could see the boy had something on his mind that he wouldn’t share with them. Holt blamed himself for what happened. He should have talked to the boy, told him he was his father, but he didn’t. Kasey had every right to be angry with him, but he had to take control of the situation and help her make the right decision. “Hear me out, Kasey, I’m just as upset as you are about Logan running away.” That seemed to calm her down. She nodded and said, “Okay, I’ll listen.” “I’ve already made the plane reservations on the first flight out of L.A. I’ve got a car waiting to take you to the airport after the show.” “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go—” “We’ve got time. Our flight doesn’t leave for two hours.” “Our flight? Then you’re coming, too?” she asked, that thought sinking into her brain as if she hadn’t thought about it before this minute. Why should she? he asked himself. For ten years she had been used to doing everything without any help, worrying alone and trying to take care of her son. No more. He’d be at her side from now on, if she let him, sharing that responsibility. “I am his father,” he said quietly and he watched her face change, her eyes turn compassionate. His words hit her deep and she fell into his arms, crying softly on his shoulder. “Oh, Holt, I’m sorry for what I said, but I’m so worried about Logan. What am I going to do?” “You’re going to go out on that stage and finish what you came to L.A. to accomplish.” “I can’t, Holt, I’m too upset. Oprah will understand.” 255

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“Yes, she’ll understand, and no one will blame you for not finishing the show.” He paused. “But you’ll blame yourself. Not now, but later when you realize you’ve become a good example to all women not to give up and to follow their dreams.” A new shimmer of light sparkled in her eyes. Green eyes. He could feel their magic working on him. “You do have a way with words, Holt.” She hesitated. “You’re right, I’m not a quitter. I’ll finish the show.” She took a deep breath, stood up straighter and dug down deep into herself to find the courage to go through with her routine. Then she went out on the stage and made him proud of her. The applause was tremendous. Kasey never looked more beautiful to him than she did now. As the show drew to a close, Oprah thanked her guests for coming, then invited the audience to tune into tomorrow’s show. As all the guests hugged each other, Holt wondered if anyone would ever know what a brave and wonderful woman Kasey was. He knew. And that was all that mattered. “I’m ready, Holt,” Kasey said, running offstage and grabbing his hand. He liked the way her hand felt wrapped in his. How could he have lived without her for so long? He smiled at her. “Let’s go home, Kasey, and look for our son.”

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Nineteen Kasey would not begin to feel whole again until she felt the closeness of holding her little boy in her arms, his soft cheeks pressed up against her face, his mischievous smile lighting up her heart. She only prayed it would be soon. She could not repress a look of despair on her face as she turned around and looked at Holt, sitting next to her on the small commuter aircraft, his face as unhappy as hers. She said, “If anything happens to Logan, Holt, I’ll never forgive myself.” “It’s not your fault, Kasey,” Holt said, trying to comfort her. “I’m the one to blame. If I had any sense at all, I would have said something to you as soon as I knew Logan was my son, then we could have told the boy together—” “We can’t go on blaming ourselves, Holt. We’ve got to find him.” “We will, Kasey. I promise you.” Kasey nodded, then she looked out of the tiny porthole window of the plane. She was back home and Holt was with her. It was strange, she thought, how connected she felt to him. More than at anytime. Is this what having a child together did to two people? It was a wonderful thing, she thought, this being 257

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a part of a family. She just prayed they would all be together again soon. Their plane started making its descent into the tiny Denmore airport, but she knew that her real journey had just begun. Somewhere out there among the saguaro-studded landscape of the desert or hidden among the cottonwoods, or lost in the blushing walls and hidden valleys was her little boy, Logan. Running away from something he didn’t understand. Running. Fear and anger and hurt tearing at his insides, tormenting his body. His young mind asking questions. Why did they lie to him? What had he done wrong? Logan didn’t have the answers, so he ran away. At least that’s what Allie surmised when she discovered he had taken a supply of food with him along with his arrowheads. That had been this morning. Early. Hours ago. Kasey prayed he would simply get hungry and tired and come home. She blocked the thought of anything horrible happening to him, set it in a place in her brain behind a steel door that slammed shut and refused to let anything inside but what she wanted to feel. Which was nothing at the moment, she decided. Numbness flowed through her like wet sand. Even the nausea she felt earlier had subsided. She couldn’t think of anything but finding Logan. Thank God Holt was with her. She was grateful for the firm pressure of his hand wrapped around hers. She took great comfort in that. His warmth heated up the chill in her heart and gave her strength, knowing he was at her side. And, she blew out the breath she’d been holding in for too long, he knew he was Logan’s father and shared her pain. They had talked little since leaving the television studio, Kasey deciding not to tell anyone her son was missing. This 258

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was a family matter, she told Holt. Her only thought was to get back home to Denmore as soon as possible and find Logan. Besides, she didn’t want to dampen the mood. There was always a feeling of excitement surrounding the Oprah Show even after the taping, with the hostess talking to everyone and filling them with her tremendous spirit, and the guests chatting with each other, relieved it was over, yet wishing they could do it all again. Kasey, already counting the minutes until their plane took off, mingled with the producers and the other guests and had her picture taken with Oprah. Then she went back to her Westside apartment and packed her things quickly, not stopping to do anything but call her agent to explain the situation and promising to keep him informed of her plans. They checked with Allie again, hoping, but there was no news. The search hadn’t turned up any new clues. Kasey refused to cry. Everything was going to be all right, she told herself over and over again. It had to be. She refused to believe anything else but that. She had never been so scared in all her life. “My car’s parked at the airport,” Holt was saying as he took down her carry-on bags from the overhead bin. “We’ll go straight to The Laguna.” Kasey blinked, then blinked again. The plane had landed and she never felt it, so deep into her thoughts she barely remembered the flight from Los Angeles to Tucson, then changing planes. She did remember leaning her head against Holt’s shoulder, no words needed, but her actions spoke to him just the same. He had stroked her hair and told her everything would be okay. Now they were home and her stomach clenched with dread. Where was her baby? They stepped down from the plane and onto the tarmac. It was late in the afternoon, nearly twilight. The tiny commuter 259

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airport had few passengers, though Kasey noticed a local police vehicle parked at the curb and a plainclothes detective and uniformed officer calling out to them. Kasey grabbed Holt’s arm, pulling on him. “Do they mean us, Holt?” Holt shot a look in the direction of the police car. “Yes. That’s Detective Thomas. He’s handling the case.” The detective and the police officer waited patiently for them. Kasey was grateful for the aura of confidence the two men gave to the unstable situation. Quickly she walked with Holt across the open area to where the men waited for them. “Astin... Mrs. Mitchell,” the detective said to them, politeness overriding the seriousness of his mission. “Any news yet, Detective?” Holt asked, holding onto Kasey’s hand. Firmly, she noticed. It did make her feel good inside that he was as concerned as she was. “No,” the detective said, shaking his head. Kasey could feel the tenseness in his voice when he added, “We haven’t found the boy yet.” Kasey couldn’t help it, but a low cry erupted from deep inside her. Her stomach was tied up in knots, her throat tight, she could barely breathe. Logan had been missing since this morning. Ten hours he’d been out there on his own. Ten hours. “Any leads yet, Detective?” she had to ask. He’d understand. He was probably a parent, too. Yes, she thought he’d understand. “Well, from what Mrs. Cochran told us, your son was very upset about something. So upset he ran away.” The detective looked directly at her and she knew that although he was trying to comfort her, he was also trying to get at the truth. He didn’t ask what could have been bothering the boy and Kasey didn’t want to reveal more than she had to in 260

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this situation. How could she explain to a stranger that Logan believed he had been lied to and hurt by his own parents? She couldn’t. There were some things that were personal and this was at the top of her list. No way would she put Holt in an embarrassing position. She loved him and wanted to protect him. “I don’t know what could have been troubling Logan,” she said evasively, hoping the detective wouldn’t press her further. “I wouldn’t worry about it, ma’am,” he said finally. Kasey could see he knew he wasn’t going to get any more information out of her. She almost relaxed. “Kids usually find their way home after they’ve had a chance to think things out.” “I hope you’re right, Detective,” she said, taking the opportunity to end the conversation. “What’s the next step, Detective Thomas?” Holt asked. “My men will continue looking for the boy until it gets dark, Mr. Astin,” the detective said. “If we don’t find him by then, we’ll resume the search at dawn.” “Sounds reasonable. Mrs. Mitchell and I will be over at The Laguna if there’s any news,” Holt said, shaking the detective’s hand and leading Kasey to his parked car. She avoided the policeman’s eyes. She had nothing more to say. So far, they had kept the media out of it, but once the news got out that Logan was Holt’s son, the local press would be on her doorstep. She wasn’t ready for that. When they found Logan—she refused to think any other way—she’d take on the whole town. But not until then. She was grateful to Holt for taking the precaution of sending word to Allie to pack a bag and wait for them at the ranch. Once inside his sports car, Kasey lay her head back on the soft, black leather seat of the Porsche and let Holt whisk her away into the approaching night. A whispery, desert breeze blew in 261

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through the open moonroof, lulling her into a kind of inbetween state of mind where she could neither think nor feel anything. She didn’t dare let her imagination fuel her fears as the nighttime worked its desert magic on her. She swore she could hear ominous sounds, see the dark outline of frightening creatures around every turn in the road. Coyotes and rattlers. Screeching owls. Logan would be terrified alone out there. She buried her head in her hands, holding back tears as the black Porsche raced through the small downtown then out into the desert. It was impossible not to think about the worst happening to her son. Holt must have sensed what was going through her mind when he said, “Logan’s a strong kid, Kasey. He can take care of himself.” “I hope you’re right, Holt.” “I know I am. He’s part Apache,” he said with pride, making Kasey smile. A weak smile, but it was a smile. She knew there was something else on his mind, something that was bothering him. Finally, he said, “The whole town will know about us by morning, Kasey.” He kept his eyes on the road. “I don’t care for myself, but I don’t want to see you or the boy hurt.” “I can’t think about that now, Holt. Not until we find Logan.” Holt took one of his hands off his steering wheel and grabbed hers. “I know it doesn’t help matters now, Kasey, but I want to marry you. I want us to be a family. You and me and Logan.” Kasey looked over at him in the darkened car. Feeling came back into her, a warm, wonderful feeling tinged with sadness. She wanted to hold that feeling out in front of her, save it for later when she could enjoy it, taste it, delight in it. For now, she 262

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couldn’t think about anything but finding their son. Their son. She breathed in deeply. It felt so good to say it she said it again. Their son. She continued looking at Holt, his eyes focused on the road, worry etched on his handsome face. He didn’t look like a man who’d just asked a woman to marry him, and she knew he didn’t expect an answer now, but she gave him one when she squeezed his hand. Nothing more needed to be said. ~*~ “Any news, Allie?” Kasey asked. They were all gathered in the game room at the ranch house, pacing up and down, drinking coffee, and waiting for the phone to ring. Her sister shook her head. “No, I’ve been on the phone all day with the police, his teacher at school, his friends—anybody I can think of who might know where he went. Nothing.” Kasey ran her fingers through her hair. Her mouth was dry, her eyes red from crying. She’d let her tears fall while driving over here, then gotten over it. She had to be strong. For Logan. The waiting was the worst part and she didn’t know how much more of it she could stand. “It’s my fault,” she said, going over everything she’d said to Logan, everything that had happened these past few weeks. The Apache Tear Rock. Taking him to The Laguna. Going to Knott’s. The Native American dancing. Why did that strike a nerve in her all of a sudden? Something she couldn’t yet grab onto, something she couldn’t quite put into words, hit her. A chill ran up and down her spine as the pieces of the puzzle slowly began to come together. An idea was forming in her brain. Insane, maybe. Necessary, yes. She had to act on it. Now. But something else kept getting in the way. Her own guilt. “If I had told Logan the truth about Holt and me from the 263

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very beginning—” she said, not letting go of the blame that hung over her. “—maybe he wouldn’t have run away.” “He would have done the same thing, Kasey,” Holt said, opening the French doors in the game room where the three of them waited. A cool night breeze came in, bringing a welcome breath of fresh air into the room. “He couldn’t cope with all that information at one time.” “I can’t sit here and do nothing, Holt. I can’t,” Kasey said, standing up and pacing up and down the room. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m going out there and find him myself.” Holt grabbed her by the shoulders. “Don’t be crazy, Kasey. Where are you going to look for him?” “I don’t know. The hills around the trailer, the valley. Maybe he was on his way to The Laguna to see Natchez when he ran into trouble.” “Even if Logan did head this way,” Holt said, “The Laguna covers thousands of acres. How are you going to find him?” “Holt’s right, Kasey,” Allie said, laying a hand on her sister’s shoulder to try to comfort her. “The police have helicopters, dogs. They’re doing everything they can.” “It’s not enough, Allie. We’ve got to find him. We’ve got to.” She stopped when Natchez came into the room, holding a tray filled with fresh mugs of hot, steaming coffee. She took a mug of coffee and looked at the old Indian, searching for something in his eyes that she couldn’t explain. It was as if he held the key to where Logan was, but she didn’t know why. She thought back to how Logan listened to Natchez so intently, hanging onto his every word, wanting so much to be an Apache, not knowing the strength and courage of the ancient warriors flowed through his veins. And when the time came, Holt would prepare him for his first hunt into the wilds— 264

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“That’s it!” she yelled out loud, startling Holt and Allie. “That’s where he went.” “What are you talking about?” Holt asked, standing up. Kasey grabbed his shirtsleeve. “Logan didn’t run away, Holt.” She looked over at Natchez, standing off to the side of the room, silent but watchful. “Did he, Natchez?” The eyes of Natchez beamed brightly. He nodded his head, smiling. The old Apache knew what was on her mind. “Then where did he go, Kasey?” Holt said, alarm in his voice. “Yes, Kasey, where?” Allie pleaded. Kasey grabbed her sister, her heart racing so fast she could feel it ripping through her chest, her throat so tight she could barely get the words out of her mouth. “Logan’s on a mission, Allie.” She turned and looked at Holt and in that instant she could see he knew, too. “He’s trying to prove to you he’s a man, Holt, isn’t he?” A big smile relaxed the tension on his face. “Yes, Kasey, I think you’re right. He’s gone on his first hunt to get the feather of an eagle.” Allie said, “What does that mean, Holt?” “He must first get the eagle feather, then survive the night in the desert alone. If he does, according to Apache tradition, then he will have proven himself worthy to be a warrior in the tribe.” Kasey turned to Natchez. “What do you think, Natchez? Is that why Logan took food and his arrowheads and went out on his own?” Natchez nodded his head, folded his hands across his chest. “Yes, I, too, believe the boy wishes to prove himself worthy to be a warrior.” Kasey was beside herself with worry. “He’s out there all alone, with no help.” 265

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“The young warrior is a good student, Ms. Mitchell,” Natchez assured her. “And very brave. He will mark his trail as I have taught him.” The Apache smiled widely. “I have much faith that he will return with the feather of an eagle, and that he will return a man.” With hope sounding in her voice, Kasey said, “What do you think, Holt? Is it possible? Can we find him out there?” He nodded. “If he marks his trail as Natchez has taught him, that will help us find him.” “Where would he go to find the feather, Holt?” Allie asked. “His best chance would be near an eagle’s nest,” Holt said. “An eagle’s nest?” Kasey questioned, “Where would he find that?” “He would have to head toward the thousand-year-old Sinaguana Indian granaries hidden on a cliff near where the valley narrows into the canyon,” Holt said, thinking. “That’s eagle country.” “How far is that from here?” Kasey asked. Holt thought a moment and Kasey swore she saw a shadow pass over his eyes. Dark and foreboding. She didn’t like the feeling it gave her, but she wasn’t backing away now, not when they had a clue to finding Logan. “The canyon isn’t far from the ranch, but he’d have to go around the old Black Hill Mine to get there.” Holt hesitated and Kasey could see something click in his brain. She started shaking. “What’s wrong, Holt?” Kasey forced herself to ask. “What are you afraid of?” “It’s possible the explosives we set off a few weeks ago didn’t seal up all the openings. There could be open mine shafts, making the area around the Black Hill Mine very dangerous.” 266

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Kasey’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Holt, suppose he fell down into a shaft and he’s hurt or—” Holt grabbed her and held her tightly as if to steady himself as well as her. She could feel his heart racing madly in his chest. “Don’t worry, Kasey, we’ll find him.” It was a statement, but Kasey sensed the physical pain Holt was feeling, felt it bone-deep. Trembling, she clung to him. She wondered what the coming dawn would bring. ~*~ Kasey drank quickly from the thermos of water, then replaced it in her backpack without missing a step. Darkness hugged the night around her but that didn’t stop her from sweating, or making her throat feel dry and parched. She’d had little opportunity to quench her thirst. The search party had been on the move for hours. She followed Holt, who was leading the group with two powerful flashlights. Allie followed behind her with Natchez bringing up the rear, the haunting notes of his traditional wooden flute guiding them into the shadowy night world of the desert. His nimble fingers picked sounds out of the air and made them dance on the night wind, tempting Kasey to hum along with him. Putting one foot in front of the other, she listened carefully. She didn’t recognize the tune Natchez played on his flute, if it was a tune. She found it strange he hadn’t stopped playing that same melody since they began their trek in deep darkness toward the Black Hill Mine, their boots crunching along the hard-packed dirt of the trail. She asked the old Apache why he kept playing the same tune. “If the boy is in trouble and he hears the call of his Apache ancestors, Ms. Mitchell,” Natchez explained, “it will give him courage.” 267

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Rounding another curve in the trail, her eyes looking everywhere for danger, Kasey wasn’t sure how much courage a nine-year-old boy would have if he were lost in these hills in deepest night. She shivered. The sounds of coyotes yipping or the wings of bats reverberating in the night air were enough to scare the living daylights out of her. Trying to keep up her own courage, she went over in her mind how much of the trail they had already covered. Earlier they had made their way through the canyon, eagle country Holt called it, but there was no sign of Logan except for a few carefully placed stones at the fork in the road. Kasey didn’t dare hope it was a clue until they saw a second group of stones placed exactly in the same position— Three stones piled up high with three more stones placed carefully around them. “Could they be Logan’s markings, Holt?” she asked, hoping against hope she was right. “It’s possible, Kasey.” Holt turned to his Apache friend. “What do you think, Natchez?” Natchez bent down and looked carefully at the stones without touching them. He looked up at Holt and nodded. “Yes, they are the markings of the young warrior.” Kasey breathed out a big sigh. “Then he can’t be far from here.” Holt said, “That means he must be somewhere around the old mine.” Kasey held her breath, but she couldn’t still the thumping of her heart. It hit her brain like a drum beating a constant hum that never stopped. Logan was around here somewhere. They’d find him soon, she hoped. Soon. She tried to turn off her emotions, put her body through the physical steps of walking, listening, observing. She had to tune into the night where the only real things you could see were what you could hear. 268

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And what if they came up against the creatures of the desert that preyed upon the unsuspecting traveler? she thought, again feeling that icy chill grip her and not let her go. Bobcats? Rattlers? Her eyes darted automatically to the holster around Holt’s waist. Though she couldn’t see it clearly in the darkness she knew he carried a pistol as well as a rifle for protection. She prayed he wouldn’t have to use them. The search party kept going forward, trekking past the dried up ponds filled with mining waste that looked like huge white scars against the foothills. Kasey craned her neck, straining to see, praying her son hadn’t fallen into the dry pond. Suddenly Holt stopped, raised up his hand and called out, “Hold it!” Kasey reached his side in seconds, her heart pumping. “What is it, Holt?” Without a word he shone his flashlights up into what she thought at first was a black sky. She kept staring as the brilliant yellow beams of the flashlights left tracings in the dark, like liquid gold melting into black velvet. Kasey looked into the blackness and, almost like magic, the shadows looming in front of them began forming huge, angular shapes. Scary, creepy shapes, she thought, like the hollows of a skull. Sunken and dark, yet seeing. She took a step backward, almost as if she feared going any farther. She didn’t have to ask where they were. The Black Hill Mine. “It looks so dark in there, Kasey.” Allie was right behind her, her voice barely a whisper. “What if Logan fell in an opening? God, I’m scared.” “Me, too, Allie,” Kasey said, not masking her own fear. She knew what obstacles they faced, what the odds were against finding Logan. The old mine was filled with a honeycomb of tunnels, Holt told them, forming a labyrinth of twists and turns that went on for miles underground. After sealing up the mine 269

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with explosives a few weeks ago, he had dismissed the skeleton crew guarding the mine and the smelter, then mothballed the equipment. The problem was that it was nearly impossible to seal up every opening and any opening, especially a small one, could be a deadly trap for a young boy unfamiliar with the terrain. For some reason Kasey couldn’t explain, call it instinct, she felt compelled to look at Natchez, as if the gathering of all the wisdom of hundreds of years were behind those eyes. Would he share that wisdom with her now? She had the feeling her son’s life depended on it. She concentrated on watching him. Had he seen something they didn’t? His eyes looked everywhere at once, though he kept his flute pressed to his lips as if ready to summon a spirit if it would help them find Logan. She saw a tenseness on the old Apache’s face. His features were drawn tightly together, though not in fear. It was a determined look, as if he knew Logan was here and they would find him. Kasey drew in her breath when Natchez looked up at her and smiled in that wise old manner of his. She looked quickly to where he was pointing. It was a patch of sand barely visible to her eye in the darkness. She looked hard, unable to see what he wanted her to see. “What is it, Natchez?” she asked quickly. It was a plea for help more than a question. “At the edge of the circle,” he said. “Look.” Kasey and Allie looked over Holt’s shoulder as he shined the powerful beams of his flashlights around in a circular pattern in the sand. “I see it now,” Kasey cried out, grabbing Holt’s arm. “It’s that same pattern of stones piled up on top of each other.” Holt could hardly contain his excitement. “Logan’s got to be around here somewhere. But where?” 270

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“Maybe we should break up into pairs and look for him,” Allie suggested. “No, it’s too dangerous,” Holt said, arcing the light in his hand over the area, slowly, carefully, looking for anything that would lead them to Logan. Kasey saw the scrap of fabric first, her heart racing out of control. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could see her son playing outside the trailer and wearing a shirt with exactly the same colors. “Look over there, Holt. It’s a piece of Logan’s shirt, I’m sure of it,” she said, excitement giving her new courage. “Where, Kasey?” Holt asked. “It’s caught on a wooden slat sticking out of the ground.” With her excitement pushing her, she bent down to pick up the piece of fabric without thinking about where she was. Caution was not on her mind, and as she moved forward to grab the scrap of fabric, she thought only of Logan and not of her own safety. She knew Holt was watching her every move, she just didn’t see what he did in time. She cried out in surprise when Holt grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and pulled her back. “Stop, Kasey. Don’t move.” His voice was sharp, and threatening. “What’s wrong, Holt?” she said, spinning around and glaring at him. “What do you—” Holt pulled his gun out of his holster and before she could finish her sentence he fired his gun. Not an instant too soon. She jumped back when she saw the glistening scales of a rattlesnake shooting into her view, just inches away from striking her. Twice he fired. Hand outstretched, body rigid, Kasey held her breath, Allie behind her did the same. They didn’t dare move until the ugly hiss of the rattler went silent after what seemed like endless minutes, its coiled body 271

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slumping onto the sand, thumping loudly as it made contact with the earth where it had been curled up for the night before they awakened it. “Kasey, that snake almost bit you—” Allie’s voice gave out and she started shaking. “It’s all over, Allie. I’m okay.” Kasey put her arm around her sister, though she wondered who was shaking more. Allie or her. Oh God, she was almost bitten by a rattler. A sudden rise of nausea rose in her stomach and threatened to make her sick, vomit at the thought of what a snake bite would mean. A slow, horrible death. Only Holt’s quick actions had saved her. She looked over at him, trying to see his face clearly in the beam of his flashlight. His brows were crossed, his face lined with worry and glistening with sweat. She swore he looked pale. She wanted him to hold her, tell her everything was okay, but she sensed he was more shaken about what had almost happened to her than she was and that touched her deeply. “Holt, I—” she started to say. “I’m taking you and Allie back to the ranch, Kasey,” he said calmly, the tone of his voice telling her it was not a question. “It’s too dangerous for you out here.” “No, Holt,” Kasey said flatly, laying her hand on his arm. She had to make him understand she wasn’t leaving without Logan. “We’re staying with you. And Natchez,” she finished, looking at her sister and knowing by the determined look on her face she spoke for Allie, too. Holt put his gun back in its holster and grabbed her, his eyes forging steel when he looked at her. “Dammit, Kasey, you were almost killed. I—I can’t lose you.” “You won’t, Holt. You’ll never lose me again.” With her arms holding him firmly around the waist, her cheek leaning against his shoulder, being tough with him but in the spirit of a 272

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woman who loved her man, she said, “Logan might be hurt, Holt, unable to move or see, or cry out. We have to find him. Together.” She let out her breath. She wanted to find Logan and hold him close to her. The piece of cloth made her believe they were close to finding him. Cautiously this time, she removed the scrap of fabric from the wooden slat, while Holt flashed the light on it. “Is it Logan’s?” Holt asked. It took her only a moment to answer with confidence, “Yes.” Nothing more needed to be said. They stood so still, holding onto each other, their spirits joining as one, they didn’t realize for several long moments that Natchez had disappeared until Allie cried out, panicked, “Hey, what happened to Natchez?” “Natchez, where are you?” Holt called out, breaking away from their embrace, but Kasey felt his hand holding her around the waist and she was warmed and fueled with courage by his touch. “Natchez! Where are you?” she echoed, straining her eyes and trying to force the curtain of blackness to separate in front of her. She felt the old Apache’s presence before she saw him, which didn’t surprise her. He was coming from the opposite direction, near the entrance to the mine. She noticed several big rocks piled up high in front of it, probably from the explosion. She directed her attention back to the old Apache and searched his eyes, seeking some sign from him. She wasn’t disappointed. “I have found a rabbit hole big enough to hide my grandson,” Natchez said quietly. “Where, Natchez, where?” Kasey blurted out, excitement sending her into a frenzy. The tension was draining her, whipping her emotions, making her hear things. She couldn’t 273

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have heard Natchez call Logan his grandson. No, it was just her nerves. She had been hoping for an answer to her prayer, that Logan was safe. Instead the search wasn’t over yet. She turned to look at Holt and she sensed he was barely holding back from saying something. He seemed to be wrestling with something inside him, as if everywhere he turned his eyes, he saw things differently. Kasey looked back at Natchez, waiting for them. He was her only link to Logan. She swore he possessed a magic sense, a coupling with the earth she would never understand. The old Apache motioned for them to follow him. He led them into the darkened mine as if he could see without light. Allie was behind her, with Holt bringing up the rear, strangely silent, his flashlights pushing out in front of them like an ancestral spirit lighting up their path. Natchez began to play his flute and she started to relax. The long, sustained notes reverberated off the rocky walls of the mine, giving her hope. Giving them all hope. It felt good. But she was scared, too. Scared by what they might find. She pushed that horrible thought out of her mind and kept going. “Are you sure Logan’s in here?” Kasey asked when Natchez pointed to a long tunnel big enough for them to crawl through on their hands and knees. Natchez nodded. “See, the tracks are fresh here. The earth has been recently disturbed by the movements of someone about the size of my grandson.” Kasey stopped. Her ears popped and she knew she had heard right this time. His grandson. For whatever purpose, the old Apache held fast to his attachment to the boy. She could not understand why he continued to do so.

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Before she could ask him, Holt threw the spotlight from his flashlight into the tunnel, lighting it up like a field of stars on a black backdrop. “Natchez is right,” Holt said, “See those tracks? It looks like Logan crawled in here and probably wandered around in circles.” “Then where is he? Where did he go?” Kasey asked, her voice rising to a pitch and demanding an answer from some unseen force as she poked her head inside the tunnel. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” Holt said, turning to Natchez and handing him one of the flashlights. “Shine the light in the tunnel behind me,” he said. He sucked in his breath and hesitated, then he added, “You were right, Natchez. Sometimes the truth is there for us to see. We have only to look for it.” Natchez bowed his head low, a pleased expression coming over his face that puzzled Kasey. She sensed a new understanding between the two men that didn’t include her. Baffled and concerned by this new turn of events, she made up her mind she was not going to be left out of the action. “I’m going with you, Holt,” she said firmly and she was grateful when he nodded. “I know it won’t do any good to tell you not to follow me, Kasey,” he said, motioning for her to fall into step behind him, “but stay close behind me.” With Holt out in front of her, his flashlight spreading an arc of light before them, Kasey crawled on her hands and knees on the soft dirt for what seemed like endless minutes. Tiny bits of rock pricked at her exposed palms and crunched under her knees, poking through her jeans. She ignored the discomfort and kept going, leaning her head forward and listening. She 275

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heard nothing but the sound of their breathing and their hands and knees scraping along the dirt floor of the tunnel. Just when Kasey thought her hands must be raw and bleeding, they reached a clearing big enough for both of them to stand up. The ache in her back and knees cried out as Kasey stretched her body, took a deep breath, and pulled herself up to her full height. If Holt felt the need to stretch, he didn’t show it. He was already swinging the beam of his flashlight through the cavern-like room. “It looks like a dead-end,” he said, disappointed. He wiped his face of sweat, dripping like the wax of a candle too near the flame. Kasey wiped her own face on the sleeve of her shirt. It didn’t help much. She could feel bubbly perspiration popping up on her face, the back of her neck. “It’s stifling in here,” she said, taking quick, short breaths. The heaviness of the humidity, trapped in the nearly airless cavern, seemed to drag the breath out of her. “No one could survive in here for very long.” “We’ll search every inch of this place if we have to, Kasey,” Holt said, gritting his teeth. Kasey pulled her emotions together and held to her mission. Stifling heat became stifling emotion. She turned off her feelings, had to, and kept looking, knowing anything she saw out of the ordinary could be a clue and could mean the difference between life and death. Suddenly she stopped, looked at the ground, then looked again. What appeared to be fresh tracks—or was that only in her mind?—drew her attention to the other side of the cavern. The clearing appeared empty, except for a few tools abandoned by workers and a pile of rags. She noticed something different about those rags. The color. Not dust covered or faded, but bright, almost new. She didn’t dare breathe. 276

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Taking her first fate-filled step toward what she prayed was a clue, Kasey said, “Shine your light over there—at that pile of rags.” Holt directed the beam of his light toward the pile of rags, playing the light over the rocks with Kasey close behind him, her eyes desperate to see what she wanted to see. Were her eyes deceiving her now? Or did the outline of a small boy light up under the eye of the flashlight? “There he is, Holt!” Kasey cried out, her voice screeching, grabbing at her throat and making her hoarse. “Where, Kasey?” “Over there, by the large rock.” “Let’s go.” They raced over toward the hanging formation situated near a big boulder. As Holt continued to shine his light on the pile that looked like rags, Kasey was tense. Hoping it was her son, praying they weren’t too late. When they reached the area, Kasey stifled a cry in her throat. It was Logan. Curled up in a ball on the hard cold ground, his eyes closed. He looked like he was sleeping. Her eyes squinted, as if she were straining not only to see if he was okay, but also to keep the tears from pouring out of her. “It’s Logan, Holt, it’s him!” she cried out, repeating herself. “Hold the flashlight, Kasey, while I get him,” Holt said, handing the light to her. She nodded, taking the flashlight as Holt scooped the small boy up in his arms. It was then she saw a gray feather clutched in his fist. She couldn’t explain it, but that made her smile, gave her some comfort for the briefest of seconds because it was then she realized her son lay very still. “He’s unconscious, Holt,” she screamed, a wretched sound coming from her throat, the coarse emotion grabbing her gut so 277

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painfully, so terrifying her mind couldn’t identify it. Wouldn’t, dammit. “Hopefully he’s just passed out from the heat,” Holt said. Kasey had never felt so helpless, so useless. She could only keep holding the flashlight on Logan’s face while Holt laid his ear against the small boy’s chest, listening for a heartbeat. Please, God, she prayed, make him okay. You’ve got to. Please, I need him. Holt needs him. “He’s alive,” Holt said, perspiration running down his face, his voice cracking. Kasey slumped over with relief, lowering the light so only its soft glow shone on her son’s face. She brushed the boy’s hair off his forehead, repeating over and over, “Logan, my baby.” “He’s having trouble breathing, Kasey,” Holt said, deep concern shading his voice. “We’ve got to get him out into the fresh air.” Panicked, Kasey reached out to carry her son but Holt motioned for her to go ahead of them and direct the flashlight through the tunnel. She forced herself not to look back, not to panic, her body pumping with each breath as she scraped along on her hands and knees, throwing the light in front of them with the flashlight. Holt followed with Logan in his arms. It was at that moment she heard the sounds of Natchez’ flute filtering into the tunnel. A soothing, calming feeling glided over her. She knew Natchez was the missing link from Holt to Logan. Everything fit perfectly into place, though she didn’t yet understand why. When they reached the end of the mine tunnel, she was shaking with the release of tension, her emotions spilling over when she turned and saw Holt coming out behind her, carrying Logan in his arms. 278

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“You found him!” Allie cried out, rushing over to them. Natchez put down his flute and nodded to Holt. Kasey caught a brief exchange between the two men, an immense sense of relief she would remember later. For now, she had only one thought on her mind. “We’ve got to get him to a doctor, Holt,” she said. “Here’s my cell phone, Natchez,” Holt said, laying the boy down on top of a smooth rock, then handing the Apache his phone. “Call 911—” Kasey felt her son’s forehead. Cool. She leaned down over his small face. His lips were still, nearly blue. A loud gasp tore at her insides and her hand flew to her mouth. Her son had stopped breathing. Holt began CPR on the boy, thumping down on his chest, then breathing into his mouth. “Logan, Logan!” she cried out, holding him in her arms. “It’s Mom, open your eyes, honey. Please!” As if she willed it to happen, or maybe it was the power of a mother’s love that did it, but the little boy began coughing, his tiny chest rising up and down, though his breathing was ragged. He gulped in the fresh clean air of the beautiful desert night, sucking in deep breaths. “Mom,” he said, opening his eyes and looking around for her. “Where are you?” “I’m right here, Logan,” Kasey said, wiping his face with her hand and crying at the same time. “Thank God you’re all right.” She grabbed him tighter and held him close to her. Then Holt put his arms around the both of them and held them tight, making her circle complete.

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Epilogue “You’re acting crazy, Holt. We’re not married yet.” Kasey threw back her head, laughing as Holt scooped her in his arms. She didn’t really want him to put her down or let her go. Not when it felt so good. She snuggled against his chest. She loved being in his arms. She felt so secure and so womanly with her oh so manly warrior. “As the Mountain Spirit is our witness, we are mated, Kasey, my darling, and have been since the first time I took you to my blanket,” Holt said, easing her down on the ground. She noticed how smooth the fibers of the old blanket felt against the back of her neck, the bare skin of her arms, her legs, as if welcoming her home. She could hear a breeze rustling the blades of grass growing around them and playing a tune in her ears, as if the wind played the strings of a harp. She held out her arms to Holt as he took his place next to her on the old Apache blanket and placed his arm around her waist, sending a sensual shiver up and down her spine. “I’ve always been yours, Holt. I never left you,” she said, pulling him down to her, eager to taste the warmth of his lips. “I was just hurt.” “You’ll never be hurt again, Kasey. I’ll always be here to protect you. And Logan.” 280

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Kasey liked hearing that. She let his words amble over her like refreshing spring water. She shivered again. It was a cool night, just after sundown, and the vanilla-laced bouquet of pine wafted in the breeze skipping down from the ponderosa. “Did I ever tell you how much I love you, Kasey?” “Not for at least an hour and—” She pretended to look at her watch, “—ten minutes.” Holt laughed. “Then let me show you what you’ve been missing.” “Oh, no, you’ve got it wrong, Holt,” she cooed, throwing him a shameless smile and raising her eyebrows. “Let me show you what you’ve been missing.” She pulled him close to her and kissed him deeply, so deeply she swore she felt the earth beneath them move in a sacred rhythm. She felt his mouth on hers, his fingertips over her nose, her cheeks, down the line of her jaw. They touched, explored, and stopped short of devouring each other under the moonless sky high up on the old abandoned Indian settlement near The Laguna. Nearby the sounds of gurgling water in the running stream added a lushness to the music already playing in their heads, notes of harmony and love that played on and on, reviving the spirit of all the lovers who had come here before them and made love under the big open sky. “You can’t escape me, Kasey,” Holt whispered, “all my ancestors are watching.” She pretended to look shocked. “Oh, really? And what do you think they’re saying to each other?” “That you are as beautiful as any Indian princess who ever shared her blanket with a brave warrior.” Kasey sighed, a sensual pleasure filling her up with the sound of his words. She smiled at him as he leaned his chin on

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his hand and stared into her eyes. Kasey watched him and wondered, what was he thinking about now? As if reading her thoughts, he said, “Right now I’m thinking about taking off every bit of clothing you’re wearing and doing things to you underneath that blanket I’ve dreamed about doing for a long time.” She shook her head back and forth. Slowly. “Later, my brave warrior. It’s my turn first,” she said, unbuttoning his shirt, one button at a time, until his bronzed chest was exposed to her eyes. Did he love her as much as she loved him? She smiled. And knew. An aliveness touched her, warming her soul. She wanted him so much and now he was hers. It didn’t seem possible. So much had happened in the past few weeks. Seeing Holt again after all these years, winning the contest, then Logan running away. Did the night suddenly get colder? Kasey felt a chill run through her at the thought of her little boy lost in the mine. Her eyes felt misty but she couldn’t help it. She had felt only halfalive that night, dragging her spirit through the motions of breathing, walking, speaking. She thanked God they had found their son in time. Holt sensed her mood and cradled her in his arms. But with the passing of the darkness came a new time in her life, she thought, filling her with an echoing joy that settled deep into her bones. A joy that was going to change all their lives. Kasey hadn’t been sure until today. She smiled, patting her stomach. She would be modeling bigger sizes in the coming months, she thought. A funny kind of wonderful feeling filled her up inside as she watched the rose-gray sky above them slowly take on the richness of the coming darkness. The night mist colored the

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granite rocks surrounding them with a dewy moistness that shone like tears. Apache tears, Kasey thought, like the Tear Rock Holt had given her on that morning so long ago. So much had changed since then. The deal for the City of Denmore to purchase The Laguna was going through escrow and Holt had come up with an offer to help Sylvia turn the diner into a franchise operation to keep it in business and put enough money in her pocket for a nice retirement. Kasey’s magazine spread and appearance on the Oprah Winfrey Show were a big success. Her agent told her she could come back to modeling whenever she was ready. And Allie was making plans to go to New York to bring back the new plus-size fashions for her shop. Kasey snuggled next to Holt, her arms wrapped around him, her eyes on the sky above them. Yes, she thought, everything was right in her world. The clean, fresh moon was starting its ascent in the sky, greeting them with hope. They talked about the ranch, the plans they were making for the future. And Natchez. His real father. It seemed the man Holt had believed was his father, Garth Astin, wanted the title to the ranch so badly he was willing to marry Holt’s mother when she discovered she was pregnant with Natchez’ baby. The two young lovers couldn’t marry because, according to the provisions of the old treaty in force at that time, if Holt’s mother didn’t marry a white man, The Laguna Ranch would have reverted back to the government when her father died. So Natchez had quietly assumed the role of advisor and friend, keeping his secret from Holt though never abandoning his son, even when Garth threatened to expose him and throw him off the ranch. Kasey still couldn’t understand the racial prejudice that had prevented Holt’s parents from marrying and the outdated treaty 283

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that took the land away from the Apache people. New laws had since repealed the unfair treaty and she knew a new generation of Apache, including her son, would not have to face losing their land. Or the person they loved, because of their race. “It must have been so hard on Natchez all these years, watching you grow up, never having a say in your life,” Kasey said, pulling Holt’s arms closer around her. “Natchez did play a big part in my life, Kasey. I always knew my mother cared for him deeply. I didn’t know how deeply until now,” Holt said. He smiled through his pain. That touched Kasey to the edge of her soul. “I’m sure that’s why Garth tried so hard to keep me from you. He didn’t want to see me happy.” “He couldn’t stop your mother and Natchez from loving each other,” Kasey said softly, stroking his brow with a gentle touch. Many times Holt glanced at her. She thought of him as being handsome. Caring. Wonderful. And the look in his eyes told her what she wanted to know. Needed to know. He loved her. “And he couldn’t stop us from being together.” Kasey pulled the blanket closer around them to keep out the night breeze tickling their faces with a cooling wind. She understood now that love was not a fleeting emotion, but a law of the heart as true as any law of the universe. And just as unbreakable. “I want to love you always, Kasey,” Holt said, smiling at her, then tracing the curve of her jawline as if holding her image in his memory. “You’ll make a beautiful bride,” he said, kissing her again. “As beautiful as any bride in a magazine.” “And you’ll be my handsome groom,” she answered, bringing her lips up to his. She was lost for a long moment in the heat of his kiss, the blood rushing through her, taking her along on a pleasurable ride that took her high then higher. “Especially if you go to the ceremony dressed, or rather 284

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undressed, like you are now.” She finished tracing the contours of his shoulder muscles with her fingertips, thrilling to the hardness of his naked chest. “Not unless you do the same,” he dared, biting on the tip of her ear in a playful manner. She laughed. “You’re outrageous, Holt Astin.” “And you’re a gorgeous woman, Kasey Mitchell. My woman. Two crazy people like us belong together.” Kasey smiled at his words. “Is that the only reason you’ve taken me to your blanket?” Holt thought a moment, taking advantage of her prone position to run his hand up and down her slender leg, caressing her in such a way she didn’t want him to stop. “Well, you are the mother of my son,” he answered, a deep pride coming into his voice. Kasey was filled with the wonder of it. And something else, too. She dallied a moment with the buttons on his jeans, tempting herself and him, wondering whether to tell him the news now or later. A bit of the devil in her made her twist the buttons one by one, undoing them, punctuating her words with excitement as she did so. “Make that the mother of your children, Holt,” she teased, pushing open the last button on his pants. Holt swallowed hard, grabbing her hand and casting a wary look at her. His eyes were questioning. She smiled back innocently, but he wasn’t fooled. “What are you up to now, Kasey Mitchell?” “It’s what you were up to, Holt, my darling.” Holt’s eyes narrowed at her. “What are you trying to tell me, Kasey?” “Does five thousand feet up ring a bell in your head?” He gave her a blank look. Whether Holt was teasing her or he couldn’t believe it, Kasey couldn’t tell, but it took a moment 285

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for the news to sink in. She enjoyed watching him trying to figure it out. “Are you sure, Kasey?” he asked and her heart sang a tune that skipped on the night breeze when she heard the hopeful joy in his voice. She nodded. “Yes, Holt,” she answered, then she smiled, “as sure as I am of my love for you.” Holt gave out an Apache yell, then gathered her up in his arms and kissed her with so much tenderness the sweetness of it lifted her off the ground. The night was charged with an electricity beyond her understanding. She wanted only to revel in the sheer beauty of this moment. With her hair wind-tossed, her eyes closed, she let her feelings go, grabbing on to him, hugging him, loving him. It took her several moments for her to realize she was still wrapped up in the old Apache blanket and Holt was carrying her in his arms. By now they were out of the old fort and headed into the green valley. Ahead was his car where he had parked it earlier. “Where are we going?” she asked, flinging her arms around his neck. “Home, Kasey. To a nice, soft, big bed so I can make love to you.” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “What if I want you to make love to me now?” Holt threw back his head and laughed. “Then we’ll do it in the back seat of my car.” “In your Porsche? You don’t have a back seat, remember?” “A minor technicality. One that I’m sure we can overcome.” “Put me down, Holt Astin,” Kasey demanded, trying to sound upset. What was the use? Holt wouldn’t listen to her. Did she really want him to? Did she want anything but this? Wrapped up in his arms, her face pressed against his chest, listening to his heart beating wildly. She began giggling when 286

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they reached the soft grassy land beside the stream and Holt laid her down on the carpet of grass and spread the blanket around them. The willow trees reached out to make a canopy over them so only a few stars could peek through and spy on them. It was enough. Enough light for her to see the fire in Holt’s eyes, burning only for her. It was all she needed. It was all any woman needed. “Did I ever tell you about an old Apache custom when a brave takes a wife?” Holt said, then he whispered something in her ear that made her blush. Kasey smiled, then pulled the blanket over their heads and said to him in a husky voice, “Show me.”

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Meet Jina Bacarr Jina lives at the beach with her husband, Len, and her golden retriever, Duke.

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