Those who noticed Ben's chair made way. The women did double takes. He was a handsome man.

Strong-jawed, tan, hair just long enough, mustache just bushy enough, and eyes so beautifully blue and knowing. Tara then saw the disappointment in the women's eyes as they noticed the wheelchair and turned away. Ben was oblivious.

"Sparkling water. I don't really need a refill."

"I think you do. In fact, you probably need something stronger right about now." He c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. She shook her head, hugged her purse closer, and looked around. She smiled at people across the room. She checked her watch.

She thought of Donna and the day threatened to overwhelm her. She watched as Ben ordered the drinks and kept an eye on her. An old world of memories fell in on her. His timing was lousy.

About as horrible as hers had been twenty years ago. Only difference was, she was still standing.

"Come on." He was back. Two drinks in one hand, the other maneuvering his chair.

"Let's start again. I'll ask you how your day was. You complain.

Everyone will leave and then we'll really have a good chat." He was moving ahead of her, looking over his shoulder, smiling gloriously when Woodrow caught up with them.

"Tara, I'm so glad you made it!" Woodrow's arm was around her, his lips on her cheek. He whispered, "Thanks. I really appreciate it."

Tara gave him a pat, "My pleasure. I'll make you pay me back one of these days."

"You got it," he promised.

r "Sooner than you think," she whispered and stood away, still cradled in the crook of his arm.

"I see you found Ben. It's great he's back in town. How about a picture?" Woodrow tipped his head. A photographer appeared. Ben moved out of the way.

"My man, where are you off to? Come back here."

"Nope. I'm the new kid in town again, but I don't need the publicity.

You go on." Ben grinned, happy to be out of lens range.

"Jane, come on over here for a picture with Tara and me," Woodrow called, taking Ben at his word.

Tara gave him a wry look then smiled broadly.

She could feel his eyes on her, even as she tried to stand tall and look good for the camera. Woodrow didn't notice how right she was, how uncomfortable despite her grin and chit-chat. But Ben knew something wasn't right. She played the game, he watched from the sidelines*amused and confused because it had been a long time and he couldn't put his finger on what was wrong. The trio smiled, the flash popped, and it was done.

"Ben, you don't mind if I borrow Tara for a minute, do you? There's someone over here who knew her father well." Woodrow had Tara by the hand, but they didn't go far.

"Well, here he is.

Tara, do you remember Jim Beckley? He was in Washington when your father was attorney general.

He was a Reagan appointee too. Now he heads up his own organization for senior citizens. The main idea is to create a network of transportation opportunities so that our older folks can get around safely day and night. Safety is a big part of my campaign."

Tara put her hand out. She'd heard Woodrow's speech on crime a thousand rimes and would bet that poor Mr. Beckley had heard it once more than she.

"Of course I remember. Jim, it's lovely to see you again. I know that Woodrow is very committed to our senior citizens. I'm delighted to see you here tonight." She made it through the speech without screaming. Small talk wasn't right. Not now when Donna was out there with that man.

"You've grown a bit since I last saw you, young lady," the old man chuckled, delighted to be remembered.

Tara swiveled and held out a hand.

"Have you met Ben Crawford? He just recently came home to Albuquerque from*from parts unknown."

Ben offered a hand. The older man took it between both of his.

"You're a man I'd like to talk to.

The handicapped have a lot in common with us old folk. Or is that what they call you these days?"

"Physically challenged," came the reply, but it wasn't Ben who had spoken.

The small group turned to look at the well groomed middle-aged woman who had offered the politically correct answer in an even more politically correct manner. Woodrow obviously didn't know her, but that didn't keep him from recovering nicely. There was more handshaking. Woodrow gave it a you-mean-a-lot-to-me emphasis.

"Nice to see you. Nice of you to come," he said.

The woman gave him a watery smile and severed their connection.

Obviously, she wasn't as thrilled as Woodrow was.

"I'm a freelance journalist, Mr. Weber. I wanted to ask you some questions. I think I could sell the story I'm writing to one of the national news magazines if it checks out, but I need some corrobora-don."

Woodrow's mouth turned down thoughtfully to keep his grin from flying off his face. National coverage.

The night was a success.

"Happy to carve out some time for the press.

Why don't we go find someplace that's quiet?"

Woodrow reached to steer her away, then stopped.

He snapped his fingers as if he'd just had a marvelous idea, and said, "You know, we could set a time tomorrow for an interview if you like. Lunch, perhaps. Hard to get the full story on certain things if you're rushed for time. I could make sure we weren't interrupted, Miss .. .

She ignored him.

"No, that's all right. I'm kind of booked up and this really won't take long." She pulled a recorder from her pocket, pushed a b.u.t.ton, and held it out to Woodrow without apology.

"Is it true that you refused to prosecute Strober Industries when investigators in the district attorney's office found that they had used inferior materials in a county building, making those buildings dangerous to the public? Did your investigators also find that full payment was authorized for the originally spec'd materials after their conclusions had been reached, knowing these materials were useless?"

Woodrow had taken more than a minute to process what was being said. Tara watched his smile tighten, falter, then fail. He tried to move out of the circle of people. Jim Beckley was enthralled.

Ben's face had tightened as he realized what was going on. Tara tried to run interference.

"Woodrow, I'm afraid I've really got to find Charlotte. I do hope you'll forgive us," she said to the woman as she stepped between them.

"Of course, Tara. Let me take you to her."

Woodrow took the hand Tara offered. She was now solidly between him and the reporter, but the woman was a pro and was hanging in. He called over Tara's shoulder, smiling but nervous.

"Call my office and I'll be happy to discuss this with you.

I'll provide information that you'll find very interesting."

Woodrow was sweating, saying too much, too loudly.

Ben wheeled himself into the fray, further distancing the woman.

"Woodrow, I'm afraid I've got to run, but I did want to have a word*" "Mr. Weber," the woman called, attracting too much attention by design.

"Did Strober, in return, funnel over thirty thousand dollars into your campaign coffers from various subsidiaries? Mr. Weber, this isn't a hard question. Are they still giving you money at the expense of public safety?"

Stunned, Woodrow stood beside Tara. His hand on the small of her back trembled, but his political sensibilities were intact. He moved slightly, facing the stringer, smiling just in case a rogue camera was about "I think you have some misinformation. I'd like to talk about that situation rather than give you quick answers that could be misconstrued. Now, if you'll give me your card, I'll call you personally and set up the appointment. I can see by the look on your face that you want to make this more than it is. Give me my say, that's all I ask. I'm not going to fight with you. So either accept our hospitality and enjoy yourself tonight, or let's set up something between the two of us. After that, print what you like."

The woman eyed Woodrow, a.s.sessed the situation*Ben, Tara, and a continually curious Mr.

Beckley*then made her decision.

"I'll call you," she said.

They watched her back as she bee lined for the front door. Woodrow mumbled his thanks to them all as he fished for his handkerchief, wiped his brow, and went the opposite way. Ben had wheeled backward as Mr. Beckley moved in on the group, wondering what that was all about. And Tara, who almost turned her eyes away when the reporter pushed through the door, was thrilled a minute later that she hadn't. Donna Ecold burst through, a tiny little thing blown in with the wind. Her eyes were wide. Her hair disheveled, her lips parted. To call for Tara? To ask for help?

Tara slid away, the world falling out of focus. She barely heard Ben call her name. She wasn't aware that Charlotte had joined Woodrow. Tara only knew she had to get to Donna. Slowly at first, then faster she went, until her heels seemed to crash onto the tiles in her haste. She was stopped by a knot of people.

Tara feigned left, then right before getting around them. That's when Donna saw her.

They were so close Tara could almost reach out and touch her. She was almost close enough to talk, but before Tara could ask if she was all right, before Tara could ask where Bill Hamilton was, she saw his reflection in the door. His image was liquid and one dimensional in the gla.s.s. Bill Hamilton, time traveler caught between dimensions. Then he saw her too, and the mother-of-pearl-colored Bill Hamilton smiled slowly, contentedly, and gave her a wink just as Tara gathered Donna into her arms.

"Tara, please, not in public." Donna laughed and pried herself away.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Tara breathed, her eyes flicking toward the door. He was gone, reflected now only in her mind.

"I'm sorry. I'm just so happy to see you. You looked so worried when you came in. Then Woodrow. There was this incident Hey, nothing. Sorry. I'm not making any sense. Long day." Tara ran her hands down Donna's arms. She felt good. So little, but intact.

"Must have been a killer," Donna said.

"You have no idea," Tara answered, drawing her into the lobby.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"I thought we'd go in." Tara stumbled, realizing how ridiculous that sounded. She couldn't drag Donna away from the man outside without an explanation and she couldn't give an explanation.

What Tara knew about Bill Hamilton couldn't be shared even with the woman who climbed into bed with him every night.

"Nothing. I don't know what I was thinking." Her smile was shaky but she managed it.

"Good," Donna put her arm through Tara's.

"Now, where's your coat?"

"Left it over there." She tossed her head back and followed the gesture. Coat in hand, she was retracing her steps when she saw Ben watching her from across the room. He made no attempt to intercept her. Tara almost wished he had. Realizing it was best, she lifted her lips sadly in something that could have been a smile but pa.s.sed more as an acknowledgment that situations had never been on their side. She left La Posada without another word to anyone and joined Donna, who was already cuddled up with Bill Hamilton in the car.

"Tara, you hardly ate anything. We should have gone somewhere else.

Greek was never your favorite."

Donna was draped over the back of the seat, her arms crossed, her chin atop them.

"It was fine. I'm just tired."

"Long day, huh, Tara?" Bill yawned and used his free hand to touch Donna's hair. She cooed and got closer to him.

"When you gonna get a real job, babe? Somethin' that makes a difference in the world."

Donna giggled and turned her head into his caress.

"I do make a difference. Every little kid who reads one of my books believes that there's a happy ending just waiting for them out there."

"I haven't read your books and I believe that too." Bill Hamilton was purring, his hand on the back of her neck now. Tara looked away. In the dark of the car the scene was too intimate*too frightening*but Bill wanted her attention.

"What do you believe, Tara? You believe in happy endings?"

She put her hand to the side of her head and rubbed her temple. She thought she did. She'd been living a happy ending all her life.

"I believe in the right ending. The one that's best for everyone."

"Does that always mean the bad guy gets it in the end?" His eyes were in the rear view mirror.

Tara could only wonder if they were also on her.

"I don't know, Bill. I don't know," she said, her voice a worn-out whisper.

"I don't think so. Bad guys can have reasons for being bad. What do they call that? Extenuating circ.u.mstances.

That's it. d.a.m.n, I love those lawyer words. What do you think, Tara?"

"Oh, let her rest," Donna murmured, turned around now, her head on Bill's shoulder.

"We've been playing all day and she's been working. Don't tease her."

"You're right, Donna. I won't tease. I'll just drive. Man, I love to drive."

Donna mumbled her thanks. Tara let her head fall back on the seat and closed her eyes. They would be home soon and she could think. But the car was moving strangely. Faster now than Tara knew the speed limit allowed. Bill took a left. Tara opened her eyes. She rotated her head to see the landscape changing. They weren't headed home, but out of town. She sat up. Even Donna noticed the change in route.